Last weak, news leaked that President Obama and Prime Minister Harper were secretly negotiating a step towards something I have long advocated: eliminated the border between Canada and the United States.
Our opposition, led by celebrity academic Michael Ignatieff, is confused - nay, wounded - that the government hasn't come clean with them on the secret negotiations. Iggy asks, "Why does this government want to impose a secret agreement on Canadians without debate? What do they have to hide?"
Here's what's hiding in plain sight Iggy: a campaign platform. A big idea. A majority-making move from the government. Canada is not a land of Maude Barlows, just because she reacts to the idea like its wheat gluten don't mean the rest of us are as allergic.
Get ready, Iggy, for Campaign 2012. Its polarizing. Its a big idea. And here's the fun-nest of all:
Obama will be campaigning FOR the deal. You and your Obama-worshippers will not only be fighting Tories - you'll be spitting venom the great O's way.
No wait, there's something even more fun about Campaign 2012:
You. Today, you were about a deal to ease border congestion in terms of our charter rights. You lived there. In Boston. I'm not making this up. You were not so worried about your own charter rights and you weren't just crossing the border - you were setting roots in that evil, charter-usurping land. If Beantown works for you, how come I'm not allowed a hassle free visit?
No leader in the history of the Liberal party is as badly positioned to play the hysterical, anti-Yank card than Iggy Ignatief.
Big Idea. Obama's backing. Iggy's inauthenticity. We's in grand slam country now.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Miracles of Science, The Al-Quaeda Edition
Like any organization in a globalized, competitive landscape, Al-Quaeda devotes an important part of its budget to advancing science and technology. Medical innovation is a cornerstone of Al-Quaeda's mission and its ambition in that field rivals the Mayo Clinic.
News that Al-Quaeda is working diligently on yet another leap in human medical knowledge should surprise no one. If the Nobel Prize in medicine weren't so biased in favour of life-promoting medicine and against death ennobling medicine, the devoted doctors of Al-Quaeda would be collecting them the way they collect body parts from failed and successful experiments.
News that Al-Quaeda is working diligently on yet another leap in human medical knowledge should surprise no one. If the Nobel Prize in medicine weren't so biased in favour of life-promoting medicine and against death ennobling medicine, the devoted doctors of Al-Quaeda would be collecting them the way they collect body parts from failed and successful experiments.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Joining the Club that would Have Me as a Member: Blogging Tories
In my first act as a member of the Blogging Tories, let me welcome myself to the Blogging Tory family. Getting selected as a Blogging Tory was a gruelling process like nothing I have experienced before.
I believe the hardest part of making the cut was the alien probe. It seems, ever since wikiLeaks, our supreme leader Karplak of Planet 4 is mighty paranoid about us going off message. So he's ordered thought-control implants for his conservative army. Aliens, it turns out, have no bedside manner.
The fitness tests were what you might expect: thirty push-ups under a minute and a 7 minute mile.
We also had a house inspector who came to measure the density of Stephen Harper images in our house decoration. Since his portrait hangs in basically everyone room, I scored high on that part of the test.
I believe the hardest part of making the cut was the alien probe. It seems, ever since wikiLeaks, our supreme leader Karplak of Planet 4 is mighty paranoid about us going off message. So he's ordered thought-control implants for his conservative army. Aliens, it turns out, have no bedside manner.
The fitness tests were what you might expect: thirty push-ups under a minute and a 7 minute mile.
We also had a house inspector who came to measure the density of Stephen Harper images in our house decoration. Since his portrait hangs in basically everyone room, I scored high on that part of the test.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Parker/Spitzer - Diva duel
Today's gossip about trouble on CNN's 8 pm show, Parker-Spitzer, was fun to read.
I do watch the show if the opportunity presents itself. I recommend everyone watch it. And, sad for Ms. Parker, the reason to watch is Eliot Spitzer.
I can understand Kathleen Parker's nervous breadown. She is a brainy babe used to having everyone's attention. She has never before encountered a troglodyte diva like Eliot Spitzer before. Spitzer has turned cro-magnon bad-looks into charisma. He wears more eye-liner than Marylin Manson but still it is his bulging, blooming eyes that have your attention.
Oh. And Spitzer had very expensive sex with a hooker. Of the kinky requests he made, keeping his socks on is the closest thing to normal about him. That fact doesn't condemn him. There he is, jutting his chin out like its the Titanic half-way cross the pond, smiling through it. It becomes another check mark on the charisma charter. Hutzpah ain't nothing.
Case in point. The show cuts to commercial but teases us with a trailer for the next segment. The "political panel" (read: seven shades of commie) are going to say pithy things about how crazy everybody off the island of Manhattan is. The big line comes from some chick in funk-glasses, who says, "Republicans and Democrats are like my marriage. I say, 'no sex until you start washing the dishes.' So now no one in my house is getting laid and the dishes are piling up."
Anywhere, that's just a line. With Spitzer it becomes an awesome, awkward silence. You know his knee-jerk response to that joke would be, "what? your husband should have sex with a hooker. Here are three numbers for him to call. Tell him to tell the people who answer the numbers that Mr. TV sent him."
But he will stop himself. You, in the privacy of your own home, can make the comeback for him and laugh a good belly full.
I do watch the show if the opportunity presents itself. I recommend everyone watch it. And, sad for Ms. Parker, the reason to watch is Eliot Spitzer.
I can understand Kathleen Parker's nervous breadown. She is a brainy babe used to having everyone's attention. She has never before encountered a troglodyte diva like Eliot Spitzer before. Spitzer has turned cro-magnon bad-looks into charisma. He wears more eye-liner than Marylin Manson but still it is his bulging, blooming eyes that have your attention.
Oh. And Spitzer had very expensive sex with a hooker. Of the kinky requests he made, keeping his socks on is the closest thing to normal about him. That fact doesn't condemn him. There he is, jutting his chin out like its the Titanic half-way cross the pond, smiling through it. It becomes another check mark on the charisma charter. Hutzpah ain't nothing.
Case in point. The show cuts to commercial but teases us with a trailer for the next segment. The "political panel" (read: seven shades of commie) are going to say pithy things about how crazy everybody off the island of Manhattan is. The big line comes from some chick in funk-glasses, who says, "Republicans and Democrats are like my marriage. I say, 'no sex until you start washing the dishes.' So now no one in my house is getting laid and the dishes are piling up."
Anywhere, that's just a line. With Spitzer it becomes an awesome, awkward silence. You know his knee-jerk response to that joke would be, "what? your husband should have sex with a hooker. Here are three numbers for him to call. Tell him to tell the people who answer the numbers that Mr. TV sent him."
But he will stop himself. You, in the privacy of your own home, can make the comeback for him and laugh a good belly full.
Monday, November 29, 2010
I too enjoy a thumbprint of facial hair just below my lip.
Holy frijole, Batman. Because every Canadian should be forced to watch this.
Justin Trudeau thinks he's Johnny Depp playing Martin Luther King in a bizarre High School variety show skit. And this is a heavily constructed, rehearsed piece: Trudeau wanted us to see him this way.
No question, Trudeau junior is the first wave of an alien invasion. Be careful out there, Canada.
Justin Trudeau thinks he's Johnny Depp playing Martin Luther King in a bizarre High School variety show skit. And this is a heavily constructed, rehearsed piece: Trudeau wanted us to see him this way.
No question, Trudeau junior is the first wave of an alien invasion. Be careful out there, Canada.
Today's By-Elections
Sayeth the Globe and Mail:
"If the Liberals lose Vaughan, is will be interpreted as a sign of leader Michael Ignatieff's inability to capture the imaginations of voters"
Is will be? Is shouldn't be; the problem is even more fundamental:
Iggy can't capture the imagination of his machine. The folks who show up for no damned reason except to see Liberals get elected don't want to show up. Without capturing their imagination, Iggy loses their ability to deliver voters to the polls.
Tories aren't in a real, if still long-shot, bid for Vaughn because Harpermania has caught on with Sally Leftovers or Marty Metro-rider. His machine, however, does get all tingly every time the Harper calendar shows up at their doorstep. The machines are the difference.
For Iggy, the problem is Paul Martin disease (which, funnily, John Turner had too, we just didn't have a name for the disease at the time). When someone from the blue Liberal flank takes charge of the Liberals, the party flounders. No matter how trendy the eye-glasses or whispy the haircut, you need to be a lefty Liberal to have a shot at enduring.
Blue Liberalism trips up Blue Liberals because it is an intellectual fraud - a base of conflicting pillars assembled by equal parts fashion and emotion without any consideration for logical design. A Blue Liberal leader can't speak coherently for more than a season because the his (her, one day) position isn't coherent. So they end up having many, many priorities or making fake-bold statements like "Canada will be the bestest country in the world by 2017."
Back to the main point: if the Globe and Mail is allowed to make moronic whopper mistakes, so is Tarkwell.
"If the Liberals lose Vaughan, is will be interpreted as a sign of leader Michael Ignatieff's inability to capture the imaginations of voters"
Is will be? Is shouldn't be; the problem is even more fundamental:
Iggy can't capture the imagination of his machine. The folks who show up for no damned reason except to see Liberals get elected don't want to show up. Without capturing their imagination, Iggy loses their ability to deliver voters to the polls.
Tories aren't in a real, if still long-shot, bid for Vaughn because Harpermania has caught on with Sally Leftovers or Marty Metro-rider. His machine, however, does get all tingly every time the Harper calendar shows up at their doorstep. The machines are the difference.
For Iggy, the problem is Paul Martin disease (which, funnily, John Turner had too, we just didn't have a name for the disease at the time). When someone from the blue Liberal flank takes charge of the Liberals, the party flounders. No matter how trendy the eye-glasses or whispy the haircut, you need to be a lefty Liberal to have a shot at enduring.
Blue Liberalism trips up Blue Liberals because it is an intellectual fraud - a base of conflicting pillars assembled by equal parts fashion and emotion without any consideration for logical design. A Blue Liberal leader can't speak coherently for more than a season because the his (her, one day) position isn't coherent. So they end up having many, many priorities or making fake-bold statements like "Canada will be the bestest country in the world by 2017."
Back to the main point: if the Globe and Mail is allowed to make moronic whopper mistakes, so is Tarkwell.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Democracy Doctors
There will always be folks who observe the death of democracy in our time.
Today, our coroners are Marge Atwood and some corners of the Toronto Star. For them, this is not the result of a killer microbe, poor lifestyle or sudden accident: the death of democracy is ruled a homicide.
And in this murder mystery, the butler happens to be Prime Minister Stephen Harper. His weapon has been the tools and rules of parliamentary democracy. Death by doing, they exclaim.
To be fair, when opposition types get hysteric, a natural place to go is the charge of totalitarianism. In a former life, Tarkwell Robotico has indulged. Remember the late 1990s and early 2000s? Everyone thought that what happened after Jean Chretien's long tenure would be a Paul Martin tenure. We all thought Martin was a juggernaut and his tenure would be longer than Chretiens. Democracy was dying: we were sliding into a happy one-party state. It wasn't Chretien or Martin's fault. The opposition wasn't able to put together a respectable challenge to the Liberal colossus.
Atwood and the Star people were as hogs in muck during those days - the days they painted the country in thick coats of red, red paint. So when they checked democracy's breathing and took its pulse, they declared the patient ready for a marathon.
And Tarkwell is equally flipped on the issue: my read is democracy hasn't been better in a long while. We say partisanship is especially bitter these days, but that's a normal stress of minority government. Otherwise, our government runs along a generally concessionary course.
So. Taking the pulse of our democracy will tell us nothing about the health of our democracy. Instead, it is something worse than the uncertainty principle of quantum physics: it only tells us something about the person measuring the pulse. If you think democracy is dying, it is because you are losing the democratic struggle. That's all it tells us.
And yup, I sure do think I'll declare democracy on death's door one day. When I do, I hope you smile and remember this.
Today, our coroners are Marge Atwood and some corners of the Toronto Star. For them, this is not the result of a killer microbe, poor lifestyle or sudden accident: the death of democracy is ruled a homicide.
And in this murder mystery, the butler happens to be Prime Minister Stephen Harper. His weapon has been the tools and rules of parliamentary democracy. Death by doing, they exclaim.
To be fair, when opposition types get hysteric, a natural place to go is the charge of totalitarianism. In a former life, Tarkwell Robotico has indulged. Remember the late 1990s and early 2000s? Everyone thought that what happened after Jean Chretien's long tenure would be a Paul Martin tenure. We all thought Martin was a juggernaut and his tenure would be longer than Chretiens. Democracy was dying: we were sliding into a happy one-party state. It wasn't Chretien or Martin's fault. The opposition wasn't able to put together a respectable challenge to the Liberal colossus.
Atwood and the Star people were as hogs in muck during those days - the days they painted the country in thick coats of red, red paint. So when they checked democracy's breathing and took its pulse, they declared the patient ready for a marathon.
And Tarkwell is equally flipped on the issue: my read is democracy hasn't been better in a long while. We say partisanship is especially bitter these days, but that's a normal stress of minority government. Otherwise, our government runs along a generally concessionary course.
So. Taking the pulse of our democracy will tell us nothing about the health of our democracy. Instead, it is something worse than the uncertainty principle of quantum physics: it only tells us something about the person measuring the pulse. If you think democracy is dying, it is because you are losing the democratic struggle. That's all it tells us.
And yup, I sure do think I'll declare democracy on death's door one day. When I do, I hope you smile and remember this.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Comedy is Canada's Nuclear Stockpile
I have spent most of this week in one of Dante's circles of hell, Las Vegas. And I am late to the party with news in this great white north. But I caught this story about anecdote highlights from G. W. Bush's book, Decision Points.
Our Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, contributes to that short-list of top gems in the president's memoirs. The other prime ministers, Chretien and Martin, have much more ignoble presences in the book. Oops. Paul Martin wasn't in the book. Chretien is mentioned once for being rude.
Stephen Harper gets a line in at par with the best of Letterman or Leno in a document that will stand as important history in the United States for generations. Wicked cool, Mr. Prime Minister.
Our Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, contributes to that short-list of top gems in the president's memoirs. The other prime ministers, Chretien and Martin, have much more ignoble presences in the book. Oops. Paul Martin wasn't in the book. Chretien is mentioned once for being rude.
Stephen Harper gets a line in at par with the best of Letterman or Leno in a document that will stand as important history in the United States for generations. Wicked cool, Mr. Prime Minister.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Obligatory 2012 predictions
Sarah Palin has no chance. That seems like an overstatement but what happened in Alaska is the harbinger.
Rand Paul sounds loopy. He gave a victory speech that was a trick of boring anger. He promised to go to the senate and lecture everybody - childish and a little solipsistic.
Marco Rubio rocks. Sharpen up his rhetoric and he will mop the floor with Obama in 2012. Put a governor on the ticket to guarantee victory.
Obama should pull a Gerald Ford and not run for a second term. His disastrous presidency seems impossible to repair over the next year.
Even if Obama does run, he should be challenged. Democrats cannot offer up another serving of a slightly slicker Stephane Dion. Hillary Clinton would win the primary challenge and she would be very difficult to beat in the generals.
And if Obama wins the nomination, Hillary should run as an independent.
So, 2012 predictions:
Hillary-Bloomberg vs. Rubio-Christie.
Rubio-Christie win 51% - 49%.
Rand Paul sounds loopy. He gave a victory speech that was a trick of boring anger. He promised to go to the senate and lecture everybody - childish and a little solipsistic.
Marco Rubio rocks. Sharpen up his rhetoric and he will mop the floor with Obama in 2012. Put a governor on the ticket to guarantee victory.
Obama should pull a Gerald Ford and not run for a second term. His disastrous presidency seems impossible to repair over the next year.
Even if Obama does run, he should be challenged. Democrats cannot offer up another serving of a slightly slicker Stephane Dion. Hillary Clinton would win the primary challenge and she would be very difficult to beat in the generals.
And if Obama wins the nomination, Hillary should run as an independent.
So, 2012 predictions:
Hillary-Bloomberg vs. Rubio-Christie.
Rubio-Christie win 51% - 49%.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
On the Vitality of Quebec Separatism
In Today's Gazette, you'll find a column from Don MacPherson on the current state of the PQ leadership. The subject is as old as the party itself: PQ members are sniping at Pauline Marois. In fact, it is the usual cabal of jealous and impatient peckerheads: Yves "some of my best friends are jewish" Michaud, Jacques "money and the ethnic vote" Parizeau and Bernard "red rags" Landry.
None of these stalwarts find Pauline separatist enough. Pointedly, they praise Duceppe's separatist-ness.
The story is unremarkable deja-vu except one thing:
Parizeau and Michaud, each 80 years old, team up with 70-something Landry to bash 60-something Marois in hopes that 60-something Duceppe will take over the reigns. On the horizon, there's a couple of "young wolves" who might displace Duceppe. Bernard Drainville is the most ambitious "young wolf." The age of the "young wolf"? 47!!!
Forty-seven is not old. But the only place where you could call a 47 year old man a "young wolf" is in a retirement home. Or, apparently, the Parti Quebecois.
Duceppe, Marois, Parizeau, Landry, Michaud: a gaggle of geezers that should be fighting over lawn bowling and bingo cards. Or maybe they should move to Florida and see if they can get a trailer park of senior-owned mobile homes declared its own country.
None of these stalwarts find Pauline separatist enough. Pointedly, they praise Duceppe's separatist-ness.
The story is unremarkable deja-vu except one thing:
Parizeau and Michaud, each 80 years old, team up with 70-something Landry to bash 60-something Marois in hopes that 60-something Duceppe will take over the reigns. On the horizon, there's a couple of "young wolves" who might displace Duceppe. Bernard Drainville is the most ambitious "young wolf." The age of the "young wolf"? 47!!!
Forty-seven is not old. But the only place where you could call a 47 year old man a "young wolf" is in a retirement home. Or, apparently, the Parti Quebecois.
Duceppe, Marois, Parizeau, Landry, Michaud: a gaggle of geezers that should be fighting over lawn bowling and bingo cards. Or maybe they should move to Florida and see if they can get a trailer park of senior-owned mobile homes declared its own country.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Bush beats Obama
The Tiger talked about this yesterday and this poll has many jaws flapping down in Yankee-land: more Yanks think W was a better president than the Great O is currently.
There could be lots of good reasons for this. I'll pick on the two big, flashing, obvious ones:
1. W's presidency responded to the challenges of the times. When 9/11 hit, W's presidency was completely re-defined - compassionate conservatism was out, homeland security was in.
Obama was presented with economic enormous challenges and, for the most part, ignored them. That's the nice way to put it. Really, he compounded them. Regardless of its long-term merit, health care reform was a bone-headed project in the midst of the current economic horrors. The legislation passed months ago and still most companies haven't quite figured out what it means to them. Uncertainty is instability's best friend. Why nurse uncertainty?
2. W accepted protest and dissent. Visiting Canada, W once had a terrific line about the warm reception Canadians gave him as he drove from Ottawa airport to Parliament hill: "I want to particularly thank those Canadians who waved with all five fingers." Bookstores were overflowing with anti-W books. There was even a movie that fetishized his assasination. W took it all.
Obama has fairly nasty stuff to say about anyone who gets in his way. The electorate is largely stupid, afraid, religiously dogmatic, impervious to facts and ignorant of science. The last is my favorite: a lawyer who feels he's mastered science. Obama's skin is thinner than a sheet of graphene. And, cloistered in the academic world for so long, he is not accustomed to the diversity of thought one encounters in the wider world.
A wise, wise man - whose good looks rival mine - once said that if W could run against Obama, W would win. In 2012, this observation will be plain to everyone. Like Ethel and Archie Bunker once sang, "mister, we could use a man lie George W Bush again."
There could be lots of good reasons for this. I'll pick on the two big, flashing, obvious ones:
1. W's presidency responded to the challenges of the times. When 9/11 hit, W's presidency was completely re-defined - compassionate conservatism was out, homeland security was in.
Obama was presented with economic enormous challenges and, for the most part, ignored them. That's the nice way to put it. Really, he compounded them. Regardless of its long-term merit, health care reform was a bone-headed project in the midst of the current economic horrors. The legislation passed months ago and still most companies haven't quite figured out what it means to them. Uncertainty is instability's best friend. Why nurse uncertainty?
2. W accepted protest and dissent. Visiting Canada, W once had a terrific line about the warm reception Canadians gave him as he drove from Ottawa airport to Parliament hill: "I want to particularly thank those Canadians who waved with all five fingers." Bookstores were overflowing with anti-W books. There was even a movie that fetishized his assasination. W took it all.
Obama has fairly nasty stuff to say about anyone who gets in his way. The electorate is largely stupid, afraid, religiously dogmatic, impervious to facts and ignorant of science. The last is my favorite: a lawyer who feels he's mastered science. Obama's skin is thinner than a sheet of graphene. And, cloistered in the academic world for so long, he is not accustomed to the diversity of thought one encounters in the wider world.
A wise, wise man - whose good looks rival mine - once said that if W could run against Obama, W would win. In 2012, this observation will be plain to everyone. Like Ethel and Archie Bunker once sang, "mister, we could use a man lie George W Bush again."
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Stephen Harper - Colossus
On National Newswatch, the Liberals have a banner ad that reads: "the video Stephen Harper doesn't want you to see". It takes you to an infomercial about Michael Ignatieff and his orgasmic vision for Canada. I reviewed it some days back and second viewings only confirm first impressions: crap about a guy who mmakes Stephen Hawking look physically imposing.
The jury is out: Stephen Harper doesn't mind you seeing the video. In fact, after you watch the infomercial, if you tell a friend about it, Stephen Harper will send you a kitchen knife that cuts through metal pipes just for the word of mouth advertising.
It will get worse. The polls don't capture public reaction to the stunning results of latest Auditor Generals' report which conclude by lauding the stimulus program executed by the government. Titanic sums of cash dropped in a flash of time without a whiff of putrid play about it. That's good for a couple of points, n'est-ce-pas?
Stephen Harper will never be liked the way college kids dream of President Obama. Stephen Harper has always been boring. President Obama is nouveau-boring; recently joining the ranks. Likewise, Stephen Harper will never be disliked the way most of us have come to dislike President Obama. As rigidly ideological both men are, Stephen Harper has displayed vastly greater intellectual flexibility than President Obama seems capable of fathoming.
The floor of support Stephen Harper has is 30 inch slab of concrete. By the time his legacy can be summed, the slab will be a good 60 inches.
The jury is out: Stephen Harper doesn't mind you seeing the video. In fact, after you watch the infomercial, if you tell a friend about it, Stephen Harper will send you a kitchen knife that cuts through metal pipes just for the word of mouth advertising.
It will get worse. The polls don't capture public reaction to the stunning results of latest Auditor Generals' report which conclude by lauding the stimulus program executed by the government. Titanic sums of cash dropped in a flash of time without a whiff of putrid play about it. That's good for a couple of points, n'est-ce-pas?
Stephen Harper will never be liked the way college kids dream of President Obama. Stephen Harper has always been boring. President Obama is nouveau-boring; recently joining the ranks. Likewise, Stephen Harper will never be disliked the way most of us have come to dislike President Obama. As rigidly ideological both men are, Stephen Harper has displayed vastly greater intellectual flexibility than President Obama seems capable of fathoming.
The floor of support Stephen Harper has is 30 inch slab of concrete. By the time his legacy can be summed, the slab will be a good 60 inches.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Calgary last week. Toronto today. Canada has entered the Bizarro world.
So, Toronto picks the chub-master. And the tradition of loony mayors in Hogtown continues.
I know my lefty comrades probably don't consider David Miller loony: he's a dour, puritanical, ahem, "social democrat". But even in his shades of grey colourlessness, David Miller was a loony. He had French visions of a social order built on puff pastry and whipped cream fantasies. The reason you Torontonians couldn't see the folly is that you were all caught up with it. It fit so nicely in a Jeffrey Simpson column, you thought it would look terrific in the Mayor's office. Instead, it pretty much looked like a big, heaping pile of stinking garbage.
Now, Angry Suburbanite takes over. Good on ya', Toronto. You beat the Yankee tea-baggers by a week. You are the continental trendsetters, my friends. Some days, it won't work out so well. While I doubt this new mayor will be walking the Gay Parade next to a man with his bum hanging out of chaps or debating whether or not city workers should have 26 versus 27 sick days a year. But, maybe he'll worry about cannibals on an official visit to Africa or one of those far-off tropical islands. Who knows what it is, but to be sure it is coming. Still, it will be worth those wince-makers. Toronto's gettin' an early spring cleaning.
As for me, Tarkwell Robotico, I must confess some sadness. As many of you know, I have been a huge supporter of John Letonja since he first announced his intention to run. Lots of people said Letonja was splitting the vote, letting Rob Ford come up the middle. But Letonja had the vision for Toronto that made me exclaim, "yes we can." Turns out, we can't; he couldn't. Letonja 2014!!
I know my lefty comrades probably don't consider David Miller loony: he's a dour, puritanical, ahem, "social democrat". But even in his shades of grey colourlessness, David Miller was a loony. He had French visions of a social order built on puff pastry and whipped cream fantasies. The reason you Torontonians couldn't see the folly is that you were all caught up with it. It fit so nicely in a Jeffrey Simpson column, you thought it would look terrific in the Mayor's office. Instead, it pretty much looked like a big, heaping pile of stinking garbage.
Now, Angry Suburbanite takes over. Good on ya', Toronto. You beat the Yankee tea-baggers by a week. You are the continental trendsetters, my friends. Some days, it won't work out so well. While I doubt this new mayor will be walking the Gay Parade next to a man with his bum hanging out of chaps or debating whether or not city workers should have 26 versus 27 sick days a year. But, maybe he'll worry about cannibals on an official visit to Africa or one of those far-off tropical islands. Who knows what it is, but to be sure it is coming. Still, it will be worth those wince-makers. Toronto's gettin' an early spring cleaning.
As for me, Tarkwell Robotico, I must confess some sadness. As many of you know, I have been a huge supporter of John Letonja since he first announced his intention to run. Lots of people said Letonja was splitting the vote, letting Rob Ford come up the middle. But Letonja had the vision for Toronto that made me exclaim, "yes we can." Turns out, we can't; he couldn't. Letonja 2014!!
How to Fill 12 Inches of Newsprint
1. Keep a tickle trunk. (That's where you stuff stories that, at any given moment, can be pulled out and feel current.)
2. Reach into tickle trunk, blindfolded.
3. Take story out and publish.
It is a stunning result. If someone asked me whether Canadians preferred peacekeeping to combat, I would have said "combat" in a second. My guess would have been that Canadians like the idea of carnage on the battlefield; maimed soldiers; collateral damage.
Turns out I was exactly wrong: Canadians would prefer our military to run peacekeeping operations.
Thank you, Globe and Mail, for giving me the news I need.
2. Reach into tickle trunk, blindfolded.
3. Take story out and publish.
It is a stunning result. If someone asked me whether Canadians preferred peacekeeping to combat, I would have said "combat" in a second. My guess would have been that Canadians like the idea of carnage on the battlefield; maimed soldiers; collateral damage.
Turns out I was exactly wrong: Canadians would prefer our military to run peacekeeping operations.
Thank you, Globe and Mail, for giving me the news I need.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Confessions of an NPR supporter
This week, NPR dumped Juan Williams because he publicly confessed that he was scared by folks decked out in Muslim-wear when riding a plane.
Well, fire me before I get hired because I agree with Williams. Sure, I know that a guy with a beard as long as his robe isn't likely to want to blow my plane up. But maybe he hates me like a guy in dockers never will. And likely, he thinks I'm doomed to burn in hell for my infidelity anway.
Still, he's free to dress the way he wants. I ain't stopping him from riding the plane with me.
But I'm not free to be scared? Yes. I am free to be scared. I just shouldn't admit it. Airing out our fears is sooo counter-productive - even bigoted. The road to understanding lies in repression. Every Wasp knows that.
Dress how you want. Let me judge you for it. Afterall, some people judge me by how they dress. The Niqab - that toe to crown gown with a mesh slit for the eyes - is a judgement. When a woman dons the niqab, she says: "you men are all Colonel Williams. You sex pigs. You become a perverted beserker at the sight of my neck!"
Meanwhile, I am not hiring a Goth to babysit my kids. Quick, call the human rights commission!
Well, fire me before I get hired because I agree with Williams. Sure, I know that a guy with a beard as long as his robe isn't likely to want to blow my plane up. But maybe he hates me like a guy in dockers never will. And likely, he thinks I'm doomed to burn in hell for my infidelity anway.
Still, he's free to dress the way he wants. I ain't stopping him from riding the plane with me.
But I'm not free to be scared? Yes. I am free to be scared. I just shouldn't admit it. Airing out our fears is sooo counter-productive - even bigoted. The road to understanding lies in repression. Every Wasp knows that.
Dress how you want. Let me judge you for it. Afterall, some people judge me by how they dress. The Niqab - that toe to crown gown with a mesh slit for the eyes - is a judgement. When a woman dons the niqab, she says: "you men are all Colonel Williams. You sex pigs. You become a perverted beserker at the sight of my neck!"
Meanwhile, I am not hiring a Goth to babysit my kids. Quick, call the human rights commission!
Monday, October 18, 2010
Splice, A Movie Review
With gereantric habits, Torkwell and Wife, only get around to hot new movies when they come from a cable plugged into the tv. So, last night, we watched Splice.
It is a Canadian sci-fi flick with a promising setup: two nerds in a lab splice together a new species that looks half-human, half-evil flying squirrel with scorpion tail.
The movie sucked harder than the biggest water pumps the Big Apple uses to feed the taps. Why?
Because it is Canadian and cannot resist the gravitational pull of the Canadian film stereotype.
Of course, Splice isn't a terrifically made monster movie - a modern day Frankenstein terrorizing downtown Toronto. That would be too awesome. People would have fun watching that movie. And in Canada, fun in film is verboten (Trailer Park Boys excepted.)
Instead, Splice is what Canadian science-fiction always is: a stylish exploration of sexual perversion. It answers the metaphysical question: "What would happen if Golem were a raw-meat eating woman-creature with a hint of breasts? Would Sam the Hobbit be as hostile to her as she was to him?"
The answer happily comes to us just as we are hoping this creature will escape the barn and go on a killing spree to scare the be-jesus out of us. Instead, we get to see Adrian Brody's skinny white arse thrust up and down as he releases his passion on the thing with rooster legs. Minutes later, this creature will turn into a man and rape his "mother-clone".
"Ahh," I said satisfied with a night at the movies when the credits rolled. If there's one thing that really kicks off a work week, its 90 minutes of sexual perversion. I feel so edified. Thank you Canada's film industry.
It is a Canadian sci-fi flick with a promising setup: two nerds in a lab splice together a new species that looks half-human, half-evil flying squirrel with scorpion tail.
The movie sucked harder than the biggest water pumps the Big Apple uses to feed the taps. Why?
Because it is Canadian and cannot resist the gravitational pull of the Canadian film stereotype.
Of course, Splice isn't a terrifically made monster movie - a modern day Frankenstein terrorizing downtown Toronto. That would be too awesome. People would have fun watching that movie. And in Canada, fun in film is verboten (Trailer Park Boys excepted.)
Instead, Splice is what Canadian science-fiction always is: a stylish exploration of sexual perversion. It answers the metaphysical question: "What would happen if Golem were a raw-meat eating woman-creature with a hint of breasts? Would Sam the Hobbit be as hostile to her as she was to him?"
The answer happily comes to us just as we are hoping this creature will escape the barn and go on a killing spree to scare the be-jesus out of us. Instead, we get to see Adrian Brody's skinny white arse thrust up and down as he releases his passion on the thing with rooster legs. Minutes later, this creature will turn into a man and rape his "mother-clone".
"Ahh," I said satisfied with a night at the movies when the credits rolled. If there's one thing that really kicks off a work week, its 90 minutes of sexual perversion. I feel so edified. Thank you Canada's film industry.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Did Toyota pay for its product placement in Iggy's ad?
Iggy's latest personal journal can be viewed over at Calgary Grit where, predictably, the Grit is swooning.
Me, Torkwell Robitco, I am creeped out.
Not just because in the shot of Iggy hugging an old lady, Iggy's shoulders are tinier than hers (he's what, 110 pounds?). That's not fair, his lentil diet has nothing to do with it - she was a former Roughriders linebacker in her youth.
No, its mainly because he says he never admired his father more than when his father looked after his ailing mother. Really? Family is just so, so important to Iggy. Just not the family he deserted when he found his "soul mate". Can you picture one of Iggy's children, a couple of decades down the road, running for the Liberals, saying in a whispy, philosophical tones, "I never admired my dad more than when he dumped my frumpy mother for a hot hungarian with a tongue that ties cherry stems in nots." I doubt it.
Then he slams "career politicians" because they are such a gross class of people. You know, folks like Liberal premier Jean Charest. Or maybe former Ontario premier and bigwig Liberal Bob Rae. Even Jean Chretien. Career politicians.
As a right-wing fanatic, I am pleased to see the Liberal party leader impugn and repudiate Jean Chretien.
Me, Torkwell Robitco, I am creeped out.
Not just because in the shot of Iggy hugging an old lady, Iggy's shoulders are tinier than hers (he's what, 110 pounds?). That's not fair, his lentil diet has nothing to do with it - she was a former Roughriders linebacker in her youth.
No, its mainly because he says he never admired his father more than when his father looked after his ailing mother. Really? Family is just so, so important to Iggy. Just not the family he deserted when he found his "soul mate". Can you picture one of Iggy's children, a couple of decades down the road, running for the Liberals, saying in a whispy, philosophical tones, "I never admired my dad more than when he dumped my frumpy mother for a hot hungarian with a tongue that ties cherry stems in nots." I doubt it.
Then he slams "career politicians" because they are such a gross class of people. You know, folks like Liberal premier Jean Charest. Or maybe former Ontario premier and bigwig Liberal Bob Rae. Even Jean Chretien. Career politicians.
As a right-wing fanatic, I am pleased to see the Liberal party leader impugn and repudiate Jean Chretien.
Friday, October 15, 2010
You just took the first step to making your life better
By visiting this blog, you have done what countless others wish they would do everyday but only a handful actually do: you said "yes" to life.
Maybe I can't help you lose weight. Maybe your blood pressure needs a pill and not me. Maybe your family's happiness depends on much more than what you'll find in this blog. Heck, maybe this blog will actually make your family's happiness worse. I probably can't help you make any more money or win praise at work.
Those, my friends, are just details. You've tried everything else. Healthy living, board games, Anthony Robbins tapes, the latest garlic peeling gadget. None of it made a dent, did it? That's why you're here. In another age, Donald Rumsfeld would call you a "dead-ender". There are no other options but this spot.
You need me like you need a placebo. But when there's no cure for what's bugging you, a placebo is just what you need.
Maybe I can't help you lose weight. Maybe your blood pressure needs a pill and not me. Maybe your family's happiness depends on much more than what you'll find in this blog. Heck, maybe this blog will actually make your family's happiness worse. I probably can't help you make any more money or win praise at work.
Those, my friends, are just details. You've tried everything else. Healthy living, board games, Anthony Robbins tapes, the latest garlic peeling gadget. None of it made a dent, did it? That's why you're here. In another age, Donald Rumsfeld would call you a "dead-ender". There are no other options but this spot.
You need me like you need a placebo. But when there's no cure for what's bugging you, a placebo is just what you need.
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