A little older...a little hungover

I should probably mention the birthday...well, I'm 27 now! Had a fantastic trip to Toronto to ring in the 'new year,' and am now back in pleasant valley for the last round of the birthday fest, set to take place tonight.

No deep thoughts to share, or great insights had, mostly because my birthday horoscope basically told me to 'stay the course'.

So I leave my fate to the fullness of time, and begin to prepare myself for the oncoming pleasant valley winter -- a much harsher variety of cold than I've had to endure for years (Toronto is practically tropical by comparison). A good friend suggested I pick up some long underwear (!?)...oh dear... Maybe a pair of snowshoes while I'm at it?

one among the many voices: please follow this link

As a post-script to my most recent entry (though technically appearing above it), my good friend Joanne has sent me a link to an exceptional commentary piece by Chris Floyd. I encourage all to read this and reflect.

summer's end

It's been quite some time since I put forward words to fill this space, in a large part because of a busier than usual month of August. A trip to Toronto at the start of the month, a trip to the cottage mid-month, and many mini adventures in the spaces between have filled my time to capacity, leaving little time left to sit back and distill it all into anything approaching coherent commentary...but now, in the spirit of the "back to school" season, I'm having a "back to blog" renaissance.

For the past 5 days we've collectively witnessed the devastation in the Gulf Coast, and quite truly the images now reaching us have been such a raw exposure of what lies beneath our supposed developed world status quo. The poor are the last to be helped. The political will is crippled by its past sins of opportunism and reckless raiding of the treasury for partisan folly. The conversations I've had in recent days with friends have contained a recurring theme: we all watch helplessly, wondering how to begin to do anything for those stranded in a city where society has ceased to mean much. All of our usual coping mechanisms, the means to reach out, seem worth little in the face of such a massive breakdown of humane response. Finally we see the true cost of the current American Administration's policies, the almost limitless capacity for disingenuous sound-bytes, and the sheer ineptitude (callousness, even) when faced with a situation of true consequence, where the needs of the survivors should have been addressed days ago, and instead the buck keeps getting passed in the hopes of averting a political melt-down as opposed to a human tragedy.

And on and on it goes...

There have been many battles waged in recent years by the American Christian right, promoting family values and aggressively fighting against what they have perceived as liberal policies designed to erode 'morality' and faith-based living (abortion, evolution, contraception, homosexuality, etc.). What has been lost in this battle of the moral-right vs. the liberal philistines is the humanism that should be the core of any such belief system (be it Christian or otherwise), that places those least capable of caring for themselves at the centre of any relief effort, that takes care of the poor and dispossessed and that brings neighbours together in times of adversity instead of pitting individuals against one another in a vicious 'state-of-nature' style endgame for dwindling resources. All that to say, if, as many media commentators keep saying, we are to "learn lessons" from this tragedy (as though the news being broadcast were simply an interactive classroom exercise), I'd like to suggest a lesson for the list: HUMANISM. A return to the basics of commonwealth and shared responsibilities, to the respect and rights afforded individuals but within the context of their communities (local, national, international). I'm an idealist at times like these, I know. But with so much will for faith in America there must also exist a balancing force of understanding of the harder side of life: the work you must do not only for yourself but for everyone and anyone around you.

I don't mean to be prescriptive, it's just that watching the recent events unfold as they have has deeply disturbed me, and I suspect much of the world.

I'll end this here, because I detect an overly-preachy tone creeping into my words.

But a final thought: I hope we don't allow ourselves to forget what happened this week, and that once the water recedes and the dispossessed find at least provisional stability (at very least safety), that we ask ourselves the hardest questions and avoid the easiest answers.

My eyes are open...

On one of my regular searches through the alternative news-wires I stumbled upon this fantastic photograph, courtesy of today's NY Times. It's a publicity shot from the original production of Hair at the Public Theatre in New York (where else!?). It's also very much changed the mood of my day...

It's cheeky, and naively political in a 60s sort of way (not that I'm knocking the 60s!), and this evening it has become my little corner of escapism as the world spirals ever-more out of the frame that used to be called "SANE".

I look at this picture, and everything somehow seems better.

It makes me wonder whether we could all use a little more "back to basics" sixties-style L-O-V-E, featuring the transformative power of adorable and tastefully naked people behind cardboard signs (in black and white, of course!).

It's become apparent to me that too much righteous indignation is, well, too much to live with all the time. Sometimes you just have to throw off your clothes, grab a sign and sing anthems about love, war and politics in a celebration of subversion (as opposed to a hammering of serious good intentions).

So I'm turning my computer off, pouring myself a drink and cranking the Broadway recording of Hair tonight, while thinking thoughts of tastefully naked people behind cardboard signs that make a statement with four letter words, none of which spell R-O-V-E or B-U-S-H.

Let the sunshine in...(it's summer after all!).

oh canada, we bbq for thee...

If there's one day when the sometimes starched and straight-laced pleasant valley lets down it's collective hair, cuts loose, and goes wild with Bacchanalian-grade national pride, it's July 1, Canada Day, when Ottawa forgets to be quiet.

Mind you, I was in the mood for something less than the over-the-top-red-and-white-mania on offer downtown, and so found a happy middle-ground in my more intimate celebrations of "Canada's Day".

The afternoon into evening was spent in the mellowing backyard BBQ world; notwithstanding two flash downpours, it was a mojito-licious burger-flipping good time. It was a low-key affair, mostly patio furniture and home-grown mint, which was exactly the best way to celebrate after such a tumultuous year for our great nation: the calm after the storm, after the storm, after the storm...

Of course the real thrill of a C-Day in the valley, and the holy grail of our national celebration, is the magnificent fireworks display on Parliament Hill - something my band of backyard patriots and I managed to witness with some strategic parking, another backyard home base downtown, and a stealthy trek along the canal into the heart of the party.

Yesterday may go down as the best 'fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants' Canada Day I've ever had, because though we were making up our gameplan at every turn (most of which amounted to little more than "maybe I'll have another beer"), we still avoided overpriced drinks, the mad crush of the crowds, congested traffic and limited parking, and finally managed to find a great spot on the Laurier Bridge from which to take in the fire-in-the-sky-show before one last round of backyard beers and conversation. A deep thank you goes out to my backyard hosts, and the good people at the LCBO and Beer Store, without whom the day would not have been nearly so "happy".

Oh, and on another note: am I seeing things, or was Paul Martin sitting in the audience sporting a bright red mini cowboy hat for the opening hours of the downtown stage show? Is this supposed to help the problem of Western alienation?? Maybe on Canada Day all can be forgiven, and it really doesn't matter as long as nobody mentions the dreaded 'E word'.

the end of the world as we know it and i feel fine

Yup, I'm back again (I guess this would be Act II -- to carry the metaphor from my last post), and what an act it's already shaping up to be! Despite the best efforts of Stephen Harper to protect us from the irresponsible human-rights mongering of a triple coalition of "corruption, socialism and separatism" (Harpers words), the greatest affront to Canadians, one that makes the granting of the vote to women look like a typo on the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, SAME SEX MARRIAGE (everybody scream now!), is about to become the law of the land. After tonight's much anticipated win for the pro-same-sex marriage side, the legislation will be a mere hop-skip and a jump away from enshrined in federal law. Of course Stephen Harper, and any MPs regardless of partisan placement who choose to vote against this legislation are not villains for representing their constituents (if that is what they're doing). I respect that there are many points of view and understand that politicians should represent them according to their mandate, but the way in which some of them have gone about 'getting the message out' has been, well...to be polite, let's say 'over the top.'

No, that's not entirely it. Let's not mince words here: It's been a battle.

I think we'll all admit, with so much overblown rhetoric on all sides, a lot of not-nice-namecalling, and some pretty dire predictions coming out of the alarmist "debate" on this issue, the whole exercise has been hard to watch with a clear head. I'd like to remind us all that despite the constant labelling by the media of this legislation as a "same sex marriage bill," it is in fact called the Civil Marriages Act. Let me emphasize the word CIVIL, as in, can we be a little more civil, a little more open and a lot less angry, because whether you happen to be gay, homophobic or simply ambivalent, we're talking about minority rights - something, I'm afraid, that is beyond the ken of polls to decide, and even out of the hands of God in a religiously pluralistic yet SECULAR nation such as Canada.

I read a quote on the weekend that stuck with me, especially in light of the uproar that currently passes for our House of Commons. These are the words of British theatre artist Ann Jellicoe, as she explains why she avoids politics in her work:

"If we set out to challenge the basic political feelings of the communities we serve, we will alienate large sections of them and lose their support...Politics are divisive. We strongly feel that the humanising effect of our work is far more productive than stirring up political confrontation."

The bold emphasis above is mine, perhaps the simplest truth about politics I've stumbled across in a long time (although if you think about it, it's pretty obvious). My dream for Canada: I would like to see more "humanising effect" and less "stirring up of political confrontation" in our political leadership, in our institutions and in our everyday lives.

Obviously the 32 degree weather has gotten to me today...as you can see from the above, I'm becoming delusional...

Ah well, baby steps, right? At least the big, bad and ugly on the mighty Hill of Power in Pleasant Valley will soon break for a summer of BBQ schmoozing, leaving us to sit back and watch as nothing much changes, except possibly the announcement of a couple more civil marriages here and there...hardly anything to get upset about, right?

intermission

I've now reached the 2.5 month mark in the valley, a strange anniversary I know, and in looking back on the past few weeks I feel as though all my original assumptions about this time in Pleasant Valley have been tested to the limit - some still hold true, others not so much...

This entry is not intended to be an apologists manifesto for my patent lack of posts lately, but simply to say that I don't have a lot to say right now; the experiences have been a little denser than usual this month, so I'm still actively trying to unpack it all, and for this reason am admitting something of silence into my world, just to calm down and try to see with a little more clarity what I've actually been doing since I hit the valley.

So this is a temporary intermission, perhaps a little longer than the standard 20 minutes, but enough time to grab a quick glass of wine at the bar, use the facilities and find the seats again before the curtain rises on Act II...

coming up for a spot of air in pleasant valley...

it's been a manic few weeks in and out of pleasant valley...

I sincerely apologize (once again), for my lack of posts of late - it's been one helluva ride these past few weeks, and it all began with my after-shocks of Toronto, and a resettling into valley life, only to have the world go 'pear shaped' once again.

I'll begin with the sad news: my great uncle Harold passed away on May 30th. He was 85, suffered from Alzheimer's for a decade, but left behind a tremendous legacy, as was evidenced by the incredible family gathering at his funeral last week. He was one of 7 siblings, my maternal grandfather's brother on the Irish side, so needless to say an Irish funeral is not simply a sad affair. The massive amount of relatives combined with a generous amount of food and drink were the right ingredients for our version of an Irish wake - and although I had to leave before the night was through, I was told the dishes were washed to the karaoke soundtrack of "Stars on 45" (a disco staple). You can't keep a good family down. And it truly was incredible to reconnect with so many relatives, far-flung across the country, many of them now living out west; I left the funeral with a promise of a train-trip out West next summer - something I've never done, and which promises to be an amazing adventure.

Just before Harold's passing my good friend Ed descended upon Pleasant Valley to shoot a portion of a documentary; landing on Sunday and leaving on Tuesday afternoon, his visit prompted two fabulous nights on the town, and I've now rediscovered the Pleasant Valley market - and actually remember most of the places we ended up imbibing. It was pure patio weather, although the threat of thunderstorms loomed overhead (but NEVER materialized, thank God!), and we wended our way through the Byward Market, adding and subtracting to our group at various stops along the way. It was such a perfect antidote to my post Toronto PV doubtfest, and though I did suffer the short-term effects of staying up way past my bedtime (a 6am wake-up time never felt so brutal), it was restorative in another, much deeper, way. Although I am still trying to find my niche in the valley, I've found myself less and less prone to fits of urban superiority - which, I think, is progress.

Most recently (you notice how for me time isn't so linear these days?), I spent 2.5 days on a staff retreat in Gananoque, at a fabulously low-key resort on the St. Lawrence. I'm not entirely at liberty to discuss all the after-hours adventures (nothing too dirty, I promise!), but you can see from the picture above (taken on the drive to the resort), what the tone of the time probably was; I leave the goings-on to your imagination...

I realize more and more that my move from Toronto has been driven by a yearning for all the other spaces I had almost forgot were out there. Spending time with good friends during this retreat (who are also coworkers - a rare gift of fortunate circumstance!), many of them friends I left behind in Toronto, in such a fine and relaxing location, with none of the usual distractions that cut shared time short, was another powerful antidote to some of my post-urban angst. Perhaps I'm over-focused on this little angst of mine, but without a 'smoking-gun' political situation to harp on about (although there is another round of confidence votes next week!) I've become a touch introverted in my valley surroundings.

And why not? Two parties and a funeral (or three parties if you count the funeral) have to pluck some existential strings, don't they? I would worry if they didn't.

Now I'm looking ahead to the rest of the month - no less than 2 more rounds of visitors from Toronto before the main valley event of the season (Canada Day, for those who needed it spelled out), and apart from record smog levels and a humidex rating that makes it feel like 37 degrees outside, I'm feeling just fine in the valley, thank you very much.

So yes, I'm back after a lot of life crammed into three weeks, taking in a spot of smoggy and overly-humid air, and looking forward to nothing more than whatever happens next...

busy bee in the valley...

Okay, I realize I've been remiss in posting of late, but I'll preface this missive with the disclosure that the last 2 weeks have been both busy and filled with much personal contemplation.

Last weekend I spent 3.5 glorious days in the "big city" of Toronto, seeing many friends as I wended my way through the usual haunts of my former urban Arcadia. I was handsomely rewarded for my decision to change my ticket to take the train on Thursday evening instead of Friday morning, thereby securing an ENTIRE DAY OF GORGEOUS WEATHER on Friday. Spilling eagerly out the door first thing on Friday morning, I made my first stop at my friend Richelle's place for coffee, conversation and a sip of the most godawful naturopathic concoction that has ever passed my lips - my friend Richelle was in need of some organic rebalancing, and a Chinese herbalist had provided her with sackfulls of a variety of dried goods to be boiled down into a kind of veggie broth. If you have the stomach for such things, then I'm sure the benefits must outweigh the obvious impediments of godawful bad taste, but perhaps that one sip of her mega-concoction was the key to securing my superhuman energy for the rest of the day -- I suppose I'll never know.

The next stop was supposed to have been a quick lunch with a former coworker and friend who was unable to join later evening shenanigans already planned.

It was exactly at this point that everything I had planned and projected for my Friday in Toronto began to come undone: because of a rather strange twist of fate the day was now to unfold as a series of happy, though liquor-strewn, accidents.

Arriving at my former office I was informed that due to some calculation of time worked by all during our fiscal year-end everybody had been released from work at noon to enjoy the miracle of good pre-long-weekend weather...so, umm...long story short: I had my first pint just minutes past noon, and therefore squeaked within the boundaries of respectability. Having toasted some time with my friend, who then whisked away to go camping in Algonquin Park, I gathered about me a crew of other willing intimates from the office who dutifully joined me for the next act - to be played out on an expanse of patio where both conversation and beer seemed to flow without end.

Cut to 9pm. I know...do the math, and you can imagine what state I was in - I had reached 9th hour of steady consumption of good company and good spirits. A venue change was in order, so those who still had stomach for the night dutifully trekked to a condo owned by one among our magnificentourage, for more drink and merriment, before a partial parting of the ways took place - leaving only 3 of us to carry on the night. We'd now reached 11pm - hour 11 on the town.

We three troopers (or musketeers, if you'd prefer), found ourselves at a nearly empty martini bar for that drink that marked my CROSSING THE LINE. Yup, at this point I'm sure to any random onlooker my eyes were a pair of shiny glazed ovals, and my steps a little wobbly, but the night wasn't quite over yet...

By MIDNIGHT (a FULL 12 hours from the start of this adventure), we last 3 hopped a cab to the village to possibly dance at Buddies. Arriving on Alexander and sensing our venue choice was less than hopping, we wandered onto Church Street and found ourselves at Woody's (a place you can best enjoy if a little glazed), had our last drink of the night and then, finally, departed said dive and finally parted ways...

The next day was initially one of recovery - 13 hours of outdoor/indoor social drinking deserves at least 4 hours of hazy morning advil popping - but soon took on a more mellow shape as Joanne (my dear friend and host for the weekend) and I set about to prepare for an evening dinner party.

I can only say that good company, such as we had that night, is the most revitalizing thing I know. It was so marvellous to be among friends, eating and drinking and TALKING, and secretly wishing there might be a way for the evening to continue without end. Of course all such nights must end, but I have been relishing those recent memories ever since my return to Pleasant Valley...

And so the final chapter, Sunday, was a greyer day weather-wise, and so was a perfect day to flop around the house, enjoying a precious afternoon in my second home with Joanne, and preparing for one final social engagement - a casual evening with Diana (the queen par excellence of 'Perfect Days'), who is never one to disappoint. More intimate, irreverent and at turns disarming conversation, more wine and a meal of the previous night's leftovers (tying up loose ends, you see...), and my weekend came to as near a perfect end as I could have ever thought to plan for.

But the point of all this, and the realization I had, was that planning for such things is never possible. Friday was a manic adventure in Toronto, made great by the spontaneity and sparkle of each twist and turn; Saturday was a more languorous and soothing day, a warm counterpoint to Friday's heat; and the cooling greys of Sunday, coloured by the last night of conversation, was the perfect punctuation for a long weekend spent mostly off the rails.

Monday morning was an early start, as I had booked a 9:30am train to the valley to avoid the mad crush of post long-weekend travellers (my calculation had been spot on - the train wasn't even half-full). So launched by Joanne, who I missed even before her car had pulled away, I entered the train station full of a renewed sense of life, but also a kind of apprehension at my impending return to Pleasant Valley.

A person cannot live partly in two places and expect a perfect harmony in either one. So my new strategy has been to exist as fully as possible in each encounter, no matter what the place may be, such that no premium choices need to be made. This is, I'll admit, something of a fantasy. Choices are made, and preferences exist, if only to allow comparisons - to mark time with meaning.

This week I felt most deeply the longing to be elsewhere, even as I tried to normalize my valley boy routines, and regain my confidence in my choice to move away from Toronto. It was, quite typically for me, the act of reading that dispelled my tentative posture: words can cut through ambiguity so suddenly that a whole week's worth of wilting thoughts are tossed away with total ease. And in my case it was Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose, that took me out of introspective doubt, and placed me back in the outside wor(l)d: yes, that's right, Umberto Eco is my Prozac...

At that point I could do nothing else but laugh at myself: something more people really should do.

The other side of the coin, so to speak, of my recents weeks has been the degree of general humourlessness I've observed in the good old Pleasant Valley - a sense of immediate consequence without an ability for instant release. But even that impression has been subverted in part this weekend, after having spent the evening yesterday at a vegetarian potluck with long-time friends and other interesting new acquaintances - some of them urban ex-pats like myself. Turns out Halifax is the new Toronto - an informal poll of the room revealed no less than 4 of the 10 gathered were considering a move out East...

Hmm...life in "Pleasant Harbour"??

A ways to go yet before we get there, but at least for the moment here isn't such a bad place after all.

like sands through the hourglass...

I have to admit that I was VERY tempted, just moments after learning the sensational news of the Stronach defection, to jump onto my computer and write some pithy words about the sudden turning of the tides in the House of Commons, the validation of all our fears that Harper's leadership leaves no room for moderate, so called "Red Tories," and that this has shown that it is a bad time to trigger an election, when so much is uncertain and still at play.

It was after watching my second consecutive hour of Belinda-cam coverage that I decided not to indulge in a cathartic session of political philistinism; the tornado of opinion pieces, soundbytes, accusations of gender discrimination (I'm looking at you Bob Runciman), endless graphics detailing the "latest numbers" (how many ways can you say "it's a tie"?) and other miscellaneous speculations, recriminations, and rhetorical demonstrations (I'm looking at you Liberal Women's Caucus) has swept me much too far from terra firma to make any meaningful judgment; it's all too entertaining to seem real, isn't it?

It should come as no surprise that the phrase "soap opera" has been bandied about the Canadian coverage of the countdown to the budget vote: a high-powered "attractive dipstick," backstabs her lover, arguably also an "attractive dipstick" and then breezes across the dividing line that separates opposition from opposed, sinks into a plush leather chair in the Cabinet boardroom, leaving behind a disenfranchised and embittered ex-boss, widely believed to be the villain in all this (though nobody can pin down exactly why), a heart-broken deputy who needs to take some time to 'heal' on the family farm, and all this capped off by a rousing hero's welcome from the goverment she voted to defeat only a mere week ago. "Like sands through the hourglass...this is the vote of our lives..."

And this is good stuff - too good to ruin with cool and distanced analysis, or sober appraisals of the tactics of all those involved. And there are certainly strategic games being played on all sides, no matter how "betrayed" Mr. Harper may insist he feels, or how "lucky" Mr. Martin believes himself to be, this is one of those strange stories that ultimately illustrates the old saying: you reap what you sow.

But didn't I promise not to write a short thesis on all this stuff at the beginning of this post? Fine, fine... all I will say is that I'll be on a train to Toronto during the budget vote, ensuring I'm a safe distance away from the madness when, one way or another, a major event takes place in Pleasant Valley, and the next plot twist on this soap opera called the House of Commons is revealed.

a story of extremes (or competing versions of the natural world...)

I will admit, my dear friends, that I once again found myself at a little karaoke bar this Friday evening, once more did I imbibe the drink, this time enough to take to the stage 3 times (!), and yes, it was really quite inevitable, again was I greeted by my fairweather friend Mr. Hangover on Saturday morning. And the weather was so perfect for my state! It was rainy, cool and windy; all around miserable outside - and so, with more than enough reason, I found myself flopped on the couch watching endless hours of television and even managed to see the movie Closer, which I can only imagine worked better on stage than in film.

But today, as they say, is a new day...the weather has been fine and fair, and I've gone for my first long walk through what was once the 'back 40' near my parents home - now cut into two equal parts 'back 20' by a four-lane 400 highway... So much for the quiet contemplation of nature.

Here's the nicest thing I found on my wanderings through the forest brush, a trillium (it's the litte white shape in the middle of the image - I apologize, all I had to capture these pics was my tried and true palmpilot, bless its low-res heart):


Ontario, yours to discover on the ground?

Now, this picture was taken in a fairly dense part of my nature walk - when the path was surrounded by forest on two sides - although you could still hear the whizzing of traffic on the other side of the trees.

Below is the picture taken just 5 minutes up the path (please note the lot full of RVs on the other side of the many lanes of highway traffic):


Rolling pastures, RVs as far as the eye can see...

But it was still good to get outside - and not only that, but I had already done 30 minutes of Pilates before my walk!! Talk about extremes...from karaoke-liquor-pig to nature-loving-fitness-buff. What can I say, the Valley is proving to be an extreme place.

I should add, before I go, that I'm sick and tired of Canadian politics, living and working as I do so close to the 'seat(s) of power'. I cannot take another poll, more live coverage of shockingly obvious scandals, another roundtable with political pundits, or more tea-leaf reading exercises in election date prediction...

No, actually, that's not quite true - just another whim of extremes, because I'll wager the political scene will hold me in thrall once more in a matter of days, since the BIG EVENT, the VOTE OF CONFIDENCE is (we think) happening this week...thank G-d I'm getting out of town, heading to the BIG SMOKE (T.O.) for the long weekend, to a place where many people still ask: "so who's in charge in Ottawa these days?" I cannot wait for my great escape - a weekend full of extremes no doubt.

confidence is an overrated word...

Machiavelli, the father of all lobbyists...

Yesterday featured one of those moments in our nation's political life that will surely be enshrined in a future iteration of Canada: A People's History - the day a Canadian government was voted down but didn't fall...Of course, strictly speaking, the vote that Stephen Harper and Gilles Duceppe engineered, calling on the government to resign because it had lost the confidence of the house, was not technically that holy of holies, a "confidence vote." It was, you see, as Mr. Tony Valerie, leader of the Government in the House of Commons explained to us, a "procedural matter." Only in Canada...

A couple of weeks ago Stephen Harper made a joke at a press conference about the NDP/Liberal budget deal in which he quoted the great grandfather of realpolitik himself, Niccolo Machiavelli. This little moment, though I don't exactly remember the joke, has been buzzing around me with increasing persistence as the possiblity of an election approaches; I don't know why, but Stephen Harper's words are my new gadfly... To remedy this, and because while living in Pleasant Valley I have time in abundance, I decided earlier this week to reread Machiavelli's seminal treatise called The Prince, a sort of how-to book for dictators, Kings, Dukes and Prime Ministers that runs the gamut from bad to good, wicked to wise, and always with one objective in mind - becoming the Prince and staying that way. I have to say, the man has some very good and startlingly practical advice, one salient morcel of which I quote here:

"...one should never allow chaos to develop in order to avoid going to
war, because one does not avoid a war but instead puts it off to his
disadvantage."

It was good advice then, and as far as can see it's is good advice right now. I'm not saying an election is a done deal or anything like that, but the chaos that is spiralling out of the House of Commons, and is being fuelled by a PM on the defensive with no apparent strategy to stabilize, let alone maintain the government, seems to require some concrete Machiavelli-style action. War then? Too late to avoid that, as the Conservatives and Bloc made clear last night by tossing proverbial egg on the face of the government - showing the government cannot even win a FAKE vote of confidence, so what can they be expected to do about the very very REAL ones coming down the pipes in the next two weeks...

I'm still in the first half of The Prince, but if shrewd Machiavelli comes up with any good suggestions, I'll be sure to email them to the PMO - anything is better than nothing, right?

it all began so simply, in sober solitude...

What 6:55am looks like

Above, dear friends, is proof-positive of my success in "morning-persondom" - this picture taken as my (mis)adventures began on what was supposed to be an easy-going Friday in the valley. You'll note the entire absence of other bodies on my Express shuttle from West to East, since, yes, I am now officially the first person on the bus each day. But from this innocuous beginning flowed an unexpected force of social shenanigans, and led, I will admit, to my first full-blown hangover in the valley.

My day started in the usual manner, as I moved about the office in my carefree administrative paradise, thinking of the evening to come; I'd made plans with friends to share a spirit (or two) in the main Pleasant Valley hotspot, the good ol' Byward Market. The day flew by, and so released from work I made my merry way to the first stop of the evening: my friend Jen's house for an outdoor hike through the backwoods of the Greenbelt, and then dinner before departing by bus back to the downtown buzz of the valley market. We arrived a full 1.5 hours before our entourage, and so, as you might expect, ordered a pre-party aperitif...and then another one...and then perhaps one more. And so more folks arrived, much conversation and carousing, and perhaps one more cocktail arrived at the table. And then Act 2 was hatched...

SIDEBAR: Since Jen and I are both transit-going "Westenders" - and since the clock was approaching the midnight witching hour - we decided that if possible we should capitalize on our downtown situation and take in a round or two of karaoke at our sometime haunt, a little gay bar nestled at the back of an enormous parking lot in the core of the federal bureaucracy heartland (Queen and Bank, for those who know some PV geography).

Word to the wise: karaoke and alcohol are inseparable, especially at small gay bars nestled at the back of enormous government parking lots, so if sobriety is what you're after it may be wise to think twice before entering such dens of iniquity...

To make a long story short, the last I remember I was tumbling sideways into, and then backwards out of a $36 taxi cab...and it wasn't long before morning was upon me. Thank god for advil. Yes, the gods were kind who gave us wine to forget our troubles, and kinder still who gave us advil to forget our wine...

But today is a new day, and after an extraordinarily 'low-impact' Saturday, comprised mainly of naps, coffee and a little too much television, I'm going to go out and enjoy the damned fine weather before facing my second week of early starts, and my new-found lonely first position on the Express Bus to downtown...

snooze button vs. lovely light...

I apologize for the general lack of posts this week - you see, dear friends, life in Pleasant Valley is retooling it's schedule, as I - GASP - try to become a morning person.

My wonderful, and gainfully employed brother has returned to the valley, and with him have come the trials and tribulations of car scheduling, and other such things. For this reason I, in an act best described as super-human compromise (or patent stupidity), have volunteered to take the 'early shift' each day, meaning I wake up around 6am to be out the door at 6:55am. Today was day three...I'm yawning as I type this.

My current consolation is a poem that occasionally bounces in my groggy thoughts as I bump and whirr to work on the Express Bus at this new ungodly hour:

My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light!

Those words are Edna St. Vincent Millay's. I'm still waiting for the "lovely light," but am confident it will be beautiful when it finally graces the world. Wait for it, wait for it...

Well, on the upside, at least all the big bad leaders of the nation's political circus called Parliament are actually doing something decent and traveling to the Netherlands to honour our veterans; we may have some peace in the valley for a while, which quite frankly I'll need if this diminishing wax stick is to last until Friday...

Before I unceremoniously flop face down into my bed, I would like to share the good news: apparently the Republicans are cracking up. If that's not lovely light, I don't know what is.

"Uranus, planet of the unexpected"

I laughed out loud at my Globe and Mail weekend horoscope, mostly because I'm still prone to fits of giggles brought on by grade 6-level humour:

LIBRA (Sept. 24 - Oct. 23): Your first instinct is the one you should trust today, even if what it tells you does not seem to be logical. The sun in aspect to Uranus, planet of the unexpected, is encouraging you to let go of common sense thinking and do whatever takes your fancy, no matter how outrageous it might be. Common sense and logic are hugely overrated.

Okay, so if I'm reading between the lines correctly...

Health, health, health darling...

Finally, the damned flu-bug thing is gone! Maybe it's the collective force of May Day that has brought about my renewed vigor? Solidarity forever...and Happy May Day to all!

In restored health, I've spent the weekend being 'low-key productive,' but among other things MY TAXES ARE DONE! This may mark the first time I've actually filed on time! Okay, so fiscal year 2004 brings a paltry $32.64 tax refund to my bank balance, but it's certainly better than owing money!

As a means of diversion this afternoon, I listened to most of Rex Murphy's 'Cross Country Check-up' on CBC Radio 1, and must say the level of political conversation in this country is getting very interesting indeed. My informal averageing of 'real Canadians' commentary' leaves me with the distinct impression that most people in this country are actually above name-calling and other trash-politics shenanigans, and are downright disappointed with Stephen Harper's very personal approach to mud-slinging and general demonizing of the Liberal-NDP budget. "A deal with the devil"? Umm...maybe you should avoid overtly bringing up loaded Christian symbolism until after you're securely in power, Mr. H.

All that to say, my faith in democracy is slowly being restored...BUT, and this is a big 'but,' people aren't too impressed with whimpering minority governments that pander to everyone and everything with reckless abandon. So, the Libs need to act more like sane and sober statespeople, the CPCs (or Reform, Alliance, whatevers...) have to learn how to play with others, and the NDP - we're not too sure what they need to do, but it may or may not be what they're doing right now. At least we know where the Bloc stands, with two feet firmly planted in la belle province.

Looking to the south for a moment, check out this weekend's column by Frank Rich in the NY Times, it would seem that 'Right is the new Left.' American politics never ceases to amaze...
(Note: If you aren't a subscriber to NY Times online you can also find this column here).

The list...because I was tagged!

Okay, so my good friend Molly has tagged me in this virtual 'list' game she's started, so of course to defend my honour as a good sport I'm gonna play along.

To quote Molly on the rules:
The way it works is thus. I got this list. I responded to 5 (you can do more) and then added three (you can do more) of my own. The chosen few that I tagged, you must now take the new list, answer 5 (you can do more) , add three (you can do more) of your own and then tag 3 (you can do more) people of your own. Get it? Good. Here goes.

The List:
If I could be a scientist...
If I could be a farmer...
If I could be a musician...
If I could be a doctor...
If I could be a painter...
If I could be a gardener...
If I could be a missionary..
If I could be a chef...
If I could be an architect...
If I could be a linguist...
If I could be a psychologist...
If I could be a librarian...
If I could be an athlete...
If I could be a lawyer...
If I could be an innkeeper...
If I could be a professor...
If I could be a writer..
If I could be a llama-rider...(by Ogre)
If I could be a bonnie pirate...(By Teach)
If I could be a servicemember...
If I could be a business owner...(By Blue944)
If I could be an actor... (By Blue944)
If I could be an agent...(By KelBel)
If I could be video game designer...(By KelBel)
If I could be a comic book artist...(By Stoli
If I could be an exotic dancer...(by LuckySpinster)
If I could be a mental health professional...(by LuckySpinster)
If I could be a nail technician...(by LuckySpinster)
If I could be a character in a movie...(by Beatrice Petty)
If I could be a beauty queen...(by Beatrice Petty)
If I could be an enlightened despot...(by Beatrice Petty)
If I could be a hot-air balloon pilot...(by Molly)
If I could be a cab driver...(by Molly)
If I could be a taxidermist... (by Molly)

MY ADDITIONS:
If I could be a former Miss America...(by notsirjohn)
If I could be a small rodent or marsupial...(by notsirjohn)
If I could be a failed super-hero...(by notsirjohn)


--MY PICKS--

If I could be a scientist, I'd be an evil one, because their labs look so much cooler. Oh, and they make more money.

If I could be a musician, I would be a third trumpet player, because you only have to learn about 1/3 of the notes in any piece.

If I could be a missionary I’d finally learn the position.

If I could be an architect I’d only build things on stilts, no matter what the stupid client thinks I should do.

If I could be an athlete...Ha-ha-ha-ha…good one! Me, an athlete? Ha-ha-ha…

I tag LightDark ...(sorry, Molly tagged everybody else I know here...)

the bug lives on...

Bleh, I am still very much under the weather with a flu bug that just won't quit. It's given me time to watch the political dramas unfolding on TV - both at home, where we ask, what colour do you get when you mix red and orange? - and to the south, where we are hard pressed to keep a straight face while watching the President butcher the English language over live television...

I'll admit that it's strangely captivating to watch the North American democratic political systems implode, but for my part I have much more local matters on my mind: to get better post-haste.

...who kill at the whim of a hat.

Some 'Bushisms' for a Monday night, courtesy of my favorite website, commondreams.org.

Sick Day: economics, theatre, and the missing coffee and donuts...

Aye, me... I've been out of commission all weekend, and even now am still fighting the good fight against the shape-shifting headcold, now squatting in the back of my throat. On the plus side, I've managed to spend all day lounging around, reading the latest issue of the Economist, followed by a dreamy trip through my favorite theatre text, The Empty Space, by Peter Brook. It may sound like an exercise in contradictions, but world economics (and the ensuing geo-political chin-wagging) is much better understood with theatre on the brain. But enough of my intellectual pet-projects...

On the 'possible-election-to-appease-angry-Canadians' front, there was an excellent column by Jim Stanford in the Globe and Mail today (forwarded to me by a good friend who went to the trouble of scanning it from hard copy!), that I wish I could post a link to, but it's in the 'premium' Insider section of the Globe, under 'lock and key'...if you can scam a hard copy of the paper, or know somebody with the passwords to get online, it's worth a look. My summary of Stanford's column, in two bullets:

• the 'Sponsorship Scandal' cost each Canadian taxpayer approximately 0.01% of their taxes paid over the course of six years;
• by way of example: Jim Stanford says he paid $107,000 in income tax over 6 years, meaning he's out a whopping $10.70 as a result of the 'Sponsorship Scandal'.

I mean come on, is that really much of anything, when, as he points out in his column, there are plenty of other pressing matters to deal with, and far greater reasons for Canadian to feel outrage at the government. He then went on to plug the national childcare plan, making me suspect he's acting a bit of the sympathetic 'mouthpiece' for the government: all Martin can seem to mention these days is childcare or healthcare to counter adscare (for the Libs), or 'adscam' to the rest of us. But nonetheless, his is one of the first published pieces to outline just how 'small peanuts' this scam really is. Bravo, it's about time somebody cut through the opposition shouting and public cries for blood, to point out we're going hoarse over little more than the cost of a few cups of coffee and a couple of donuts per Canadian taxpayer.

But like the shape-shifting virus that has taken hostage my head, the sponsorship scandal has mutated and expanded into something no 'over the counter' remedy can seem to combat. Not even a live TV spot, a rather desperate prescription, has made any real impact. In the end the options are few for the ailing PM: make a deal with the NDP to make the yet-to-be-approved federal budget less cozy to corporations (a scenario with many possible consequences for both Martin and Layton), or acquiesce to the opposition's bloodlust, and go with the flow as we're pulled into an election that will certainly cost us more that 0.01% of our taxes paid over the course of 6 years (a scenario with inevitable consequences for the country at large).

As my mother, a former graduate student of political science and now-retired federal government executive put it today: "between a rock and a hard place doesn't even begin to describe this one..."

Fiction Alert...

Okay, so I didn't "zone out" as I had planned, but instead scanned more of the alternative internet news sites I've become addicted to of late. After a period of 'righteous indignation oversaturation' my mind, unbidden, churned out the following bit of playful fiction. Note: Any real people whose names are used in this piece HAVE NO CONNECTION TO IT, it's just a bit of make-believe fun, à-la-Onion. But enough preamble...

World’s liberals and progressives announce plans to ‘terraform’ Mars by 2050:
“This might be our only hope”

April 22, 2005

Rome, Italy – Today a watershed announcement was made by the newly-formed international coalition Left on Mars, outlining their plan to dedicate an unprecedented amount of time, money and scientific knowledge towards the realization of one of modern science’s greatest dreams: to create a habitable environment for human life on Mars.

The announcement to step-up plans to terraform the red planet, delivered from a makeshift podium on the steps of the Sistine Chapel, was precipitated, the group says, by the recent election of conservative Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger as the new head of the Catholic Church, and by the on-going “problems in political systems the world over, that have consistently consolidated power in the hands of the few, the radical, the conservative, leaving progressive politics and humanism out in the cold, so to speak,” says Left on Mars spokesman, and prominent progressive thinker, Noam Chomsky.

By utilizing the same industrial processes that currently release green-house gases into the Earth’s atmosphere, causing so called ‘global warming,’ but setting up these factories on the Martian surface, Left on Mars hopes to raise the temperatures on Mars to the point of melting the currently frozen polar ice caps. “It’s ironic, really, that the very thing we, on the left, have been fighting so hard against for so many years will be the ticket out of this worn-out hell-hole of conservative idiocy,” said obviously giddy environmental activist David Suzuki, prominent member of Left on Mars. Melting the ice-caps is just the first step in a long terraforming process. They will also build and point giant space mirrors at the planet’s surface, to further precipitate the conversion of the carbon-heavy Martian atmosphere to a life-friendly oxygen atmosphere more closely resembling that on Earth.

According to the group, they plan to terraform Mars over the course of the next 45 years, and will develop high-capacity solar powered space shuttles to transport supplies, introduce representative species from Earth’s various ecosystems to populate the new planet, and ultimately move every last progressive and liberal from the Blue planet to it’s red neighbour, located about 50% farther away from our Sun. “I know, I know, it’s kind of funny, all the blues on the red planet, leaving all the reds on the blue one, but heck, life is full of funny things, ain’t it?” said former President Bill Clinton, current president of Left on Mars. “It’s kind of like that Noah’s ark thing,” said one student volunteer from Columbia University, the research headquarters of the ambitious project.

Conservatives sneered at the plan, saying, “the science just isn’t there.” One prominent member of the Bush administration, asking not to be named, added, “it’s as if they think, gee whiz, we can heat up a planet with chemicals and drive flying machines with the power of the sun! Yah right, pal, and I’m Abe Lincoln!”

Despite criticisms of the plan, Left on Mars has said that with all of the expertise provided by out of work scientists in the United States looking for a chance to “actually do our job,” as one former researcher at the US Environment Protection Agency put it, they may even create a world more perfect than our own.

“It will be a brave new world, a solar-powered paradise, with gay women presidents, pluralism and harmonious multiculturalism, and a primarily soy-based economy,” predicts one of the movement’s most vocal proponents, Nobel Peace Prize-winner and Secretary-General of the United Nations, Kofi Annan. “I’m just so sick of America this, China that, Russia blah, blah, blah,” he continued, “it will be nice to get away.”

Noting that such an ambitious undertaking, which optimistic projections had previously estimated would take several millennia, not decades, is a long-shot, Left on Mars finished their statement by saying “well, if this whole Mars thing doesn’t work out, we’ve still got Canada. At least for now…”

A bug in the system

Yeck. I've been down for the count for over 24 hours with a nasty bit of fluish-virus, and my aching head is only further burdened by the political crackling in Pleasant Valley. PM Paul Martin made an unprecedented live national address during primetime TV last night which left most of us kind of scratching our heads up here. Why on earth would you add more fuel to a fire that is already burning so completely out of control? It doesn't add much to the heat, but nor does it do anything to diminish it. Just more of the same kind of knee-jerk commentary from all of the opposition leaders, as they re-rehearse they're already overwrought soundbites about "election without Gomery vs. Gomery without election," or "no more corporate tax breaks," or "what's good for Quebec is good enough for me." Yeck. A virus almost as potent as the once presently taking up residence in my sinus cavities and environs...

So tonight I plan to watch Coronation Street, rent Motorcycle Diaries, and then sink into a hot bath. I will forget about the teetering Parliament, the continuing post-Pope watch, the on-going (yet virtually unreported) turmoil in Iraq, the sinking stock-markets, and most of all my throbbing head, and instead I will quite simply zone out...

Apologia and other thoughts...

Let me begin by saying, what I wrote yesterday was very much in the heat of the moment, and was intended as a satirical piece aimed at exposing the coverage of the selection of the new Pope, more than a denigration of the Pope and the Church as historical entities. I received a very wise series of criticisms and questions from a close friend that highlighted for me just how potent words spent on this subject can be.

Nonetheless, I do find the selection of Cardinal Ratzinger to be a 'watch-and-wait' event, since he has a very dense past both within the Church and (or by extension) within the history of the 20th centry. He was, according to reportage, more of a progressive before witnessing the student revolutions in the late '60s, and feeling more than ever that orthodoxy and clear interpretation of doctrine were the antidote to the rise of secularism, concluded that action had to be swift and severe. He has, since then, championed what are typcially termed 'conservative causes,' including much Catholic dogma, such as the ban on birth control, denigration of homosexulality and exclusion of women from the institution of the Church, that have left many Catholics and non-Catholics around the world with post-conclave-cold-feet.

I've done a marathon of internet research, and offer up the following links for those who want some 'further suggested reading' to begin forming their opinions of the latest Pope with as much solid information as possible. These links are culled primarily from 'progressive' or 'alternative' news sources, so there is an implicit bias, but the essential facts are verifiable and true. Among them are columns of commentary, ranging from a piece written by a prominent San Francisco Rabbi, to a pop-culture critique from the New York Time's incomparable Maureen Dowd. Enjoy!

• Commentary by Rabbi Michael Lerner, from TIKKUN.org (from Commondreams.org)
• A piece from the Washington Post, American reaction to the new Pope
• Maureen Dowd, of the New York Times, weighs in (from Commondreams.org)
• A solid piece from the Guardian UK, provides a brief history of Joseph Ratzinger, and his impact on the Church, past, present and possible future
  

And the winner is...

Benny Ex-Vee-Eye

Today Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger emerged from the Sistine Chapel-cocoon as Lord Butterfly Benedict XVI. Apparently he's a rather conservative fellow, not too into that whole 'progressive' thing, which he terms "relativism" (for him a 'four letter word'), and will likely carry on much like his predecessor, Pope J-P II. His rise to the top-job has been widely viewed as an interregnum, or 'stop-gap-solution', while the Catholic Church gets its act together and figures out how to, umm, be relevant again...yikes. He was, we're told, a member of the Hitler Youth Movement in his early years, which was apparently an unavoidable thing at the time. You know what they say, "when in Rome..."

I'm not a Catholic, fundamental or otherwise, and have, for this reason, generally relegated most fundamentalist religious noise-making to the status of 'white noise', but my beef in all of this is how secretive the selection process was that led to this rather important power-shift in a church that shepherds over 1.1 billion souls. That number may seem impressive, but the Catholic Church is, in a sense, starved for ratings. They really need some pizzazz to light up the piazza. They need some TV flair and high drama, up-close-and-personal, not puff-of-smoke-and-bells.

For this reason I implore the princes of the Church to consider some options for the next Cardinal Conclave, which, as Benedict XVI is already LXXVIII, may come sooner than you think.

The obvious choice from which to derive inspiration for the next conclave is reality television. Survivor, that pioneer of RTV, would be a good start.

Send all the cardinals to a remote Pacific island, with only enough bibles for half of them, divide them into two teams, and give them only enough holy water for 3 days. As interpersonal dynamics play out, cardinals would be forced to complete a series of immunity challenges that might include reciting a whole mass backwards as fast as possible, arranging life-sized cut-outs of the saints alphabetically and in order of piety, a confessional-face-off, and finally, a beatification contest. And then there's the tribal council which would be conducted in LATIN! It could be good...

Maybe a more contemporary and 'real-life' reality format would be better suited to an already jaded television audience. Think of Michael Jackson's trial. No cameras are allowed in the courtroom, so what has Star TV done to keep the ratings up? In a stroke of pure genius, they've gone to terrible length and expense to recreate, from court transcripts, each and every moment in a dramatically re-enacted play-by-play that's almost better than the real thing. How about a daily conclave re-enactment - which because the proceedings are so top secret any cardinal who divulges what happens is excommunicated - would be a free-form improv in red frocks!

Reality TV might be just what the church needs to finally reach the MTV generation and compete in an entertainment marketplace that has already moved way beyond 'coloured smoke and bells' technology.

In the meantime, we have a new Pope not so different from the old Pope, and an audience waiting to see how all of this will play out on TV. The more things change, the more they stay the same...

On the road again? Maybe you should drive...

A long walk home...no sidewalk in sight.

I'm not sure if you can make it out from this rather washed out and sun-soaked Palmpilot photo, but this is the first position in my long walk home each day from the Express Bus Stop to my little plot of Pleasant Valley.

Before you get any ideas, let me assure you that I'm not interested in holding forth on such a mundane topic as "The great thing about Toronto is..." but the scarcity of sidewalks in Pleasant Valley does frustrate me - think of the damage to my precious brown leather shoes after walking so many miles on rough and rugged gravel embankments! I know, I know, the South-West end isn't an urban hub, and that's the point, and why people pay too much to live too far from anything interesting...okay, I admit, I'm still adjusting to my new locale and the abrupt change in scale: YOU'RE IN CAR COUNTRY NOW, LITTLE MAN.

For those who know me well, you've probably heard the tragic events of my now-expired but always ill-fated G1 license. Long story short: new shoes, convenience store, first time driving, tapped accelerator, store window no more... Yah, it's pretty sad, but on the plus side it was the catalyst in my decision to move to a city with an effective public transit system, like, well, Toronto. Oh, and it was also the great motivator in my then nascent 'walk everywhere' campaign. From tragedy ushered forth a brave new world, that of the transit-junkie pedestrian.

I do like my daily walk, don't get me wrong, but it's the sheer impossibility of getting from point A to B in any reasonable time that is starting to become apparent. It's a good thing I've got books and a constant and neurotic internal monologue to keep me company on my protracted travels through the valley. Of course I can't remain a transit-going-troglodyte for much longer so I have - sigh - started down the road to G1 rehabilitation, with a view to a G2 by late fall 2K5.

I hope the convenience stores of Pleasant Valley have good 'collision' insurance, because their worst automotive nightmare from years past will soon be 'on the road again'.

Disaster is the new "terra nullius"

I was casually scanning my favorite alternative newsite, www.commondreams.org, when I encountered this piece by Canadian activist-at-large Naomi Klein: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism.

You know, there are some things that you read that make you feel cynical, righteously indignant and altogether right-mindedly liberal (as opposed to one of those "backwater redneck conservative types"). You know, it's the old 'pat-yourself-on-the-back' for being on the right team (aka small 'l' liberal), kind of truism. But this piece by Klein deeply disturbed me. Not only that, it made me VERY angry at run-amok capitalism, and the hypocritical and duplicitous shits that make profit off of misery in the name of 'aid'. It is sick.

Please read The Rise of Disaster Capitalism, think on it and pass it on. We all have to face up to the continuing story of globalization gone wrong if there is to be a hope for something better than this sad example of human greed trumping basic humanity.

Lazy day in Pleasant Valley

Today, I will admit, has been one of the laziest days spent thus far in Pleasant Valley. Green is everywhere as the warming Springtime settles in, and all I've done is lounge around, sipping coffee and reading the Globe on the patio in my back yard.

Ahh...doing nothing can be so satifying.

Back to the yard I go...

Never take the bus marked "Local Route"

What an adventure I've had today in the backwoods of Pleasant Valley suburbia!

You see, dear friends, this Pleasant Valleyer is usually an 'express-bus-only' kind of cat, but as I waited patiently at my friendly neighbourhood bus stop for the usual 'quick-and-easy' Bus 70 Express Nepean South, I thought to myself, maybe there's another way. Just as this thought had finished percolating to a modest boil the "170" bus pulled up - and I thought, how much of a difference can one more digit make?

Umm...a big one.

I blithely flashed my pass and hopped aboard the 170 'Local Route' Nepean South, only to be treated to an experience that might rival the last great arctic expedition: "Day 53, no closer to the end of my journey, water is low and food rations are at a premium. Elderly lady in the reserved seating is eyeing me like a cut of fresh meat, cannibalism can't be too far off..."

Yup, I zig-zagged in and out of the far-west suburbs as the bus journeyed on a route that ran like a threading needle, back and forth and around and down and past just about every house in the neighbourhood. I could have made some extra scratch delivering newspapers had I known this was the deal with the good 'ol 170 'Local Route' Nepean South. You have to understand, my usual, darling, wonderful and almost Germanically efficient "70 Express Nepean South" is a concorde as compared with the 170 'Local Route' Nepean South twin-prop. I'm usually door-to-door-downtown-to-Greenbelt in 45 minutes, whereas today, my friends, it took over 90 minutes before I even stepped off my last bus.

Ah well, on the plus side it's true that I hadn't seen the new stretches of identical suburban housing that had appeared since last I called Pleasant Valley my home, nor the countless strip malls and big box stores that now cut through the once-sylvan forests of west-end Pleasant Valley. Delirious from my unending travels I almost found the monotony beautiful, you know, the way the Walmart catches the light of the setting sun, or the sublime dance of the construction trucks across the rich brown earth of a recent clear-cut. I'll stop myself before I start to cry...

So home I am, and after a hearty meal, some rehydration and a little time to think about my journey I feel a little wiser, and a little stronger, and a little less prone to idiotic experiments like the one I conducted today by choosing "Local Route" over "Express." One more digit DOES make a difference...

Quarterlife Crisis in Pleasant Valley?

A good friend forwarded to me an article from today’s Globe and Mail called “Quarterlife Crisis: angst for a new generation.” Although I didn’t agree with all of it, it was an interesting read that got me thinking about my own situation and by extension that of my “twentysomething” peers. I would urge all, whether or not you’re an actual “twentysomething,” to give this article a read, if only to needlessly self-diagnose.

Below is a slightly altered version of my thoughts on the article that I sent back to my friend by email, which I’ve decided to post because it might be a good conversation starter among some of you who scan these pages and posts. Also, I’m too tired to write anything else today!

It seems to me that the "Boomer" generation is trying to articulate what has become an increasing trend among their children, namely their choice to defer taking the straight and narrow path in order to establish something more durable before they enter the "nitty gritty real world."

At times I found this article genuinely condescending, which is not surprising when dealing with a near-critical-mass of potential self-help material currently in book distribution warehouses waiting for this trend to take hold. Once again twentysomethings are being told they are deviant, having strayed from the well-worn paths already trod by their parents. I’ll concede that this is a fair point-of-view from a parent's perspective, but from the point-of-view of a twentysomething, I think there are greater issues at play. Why are we, as a generation, so politically disengaged? How can we spiritually/emotionally/psychologically sustain ourselves in a world driven by material measures of success, in which our skills are worth so much less in a hyper-competitive job market, and there is virtually no job-security to speak of? It's not just fear of a career mistake, but the near insurmountable obstacles that come between a recent graduate and a path to a career that has perhaps forced a rethink of what it is we mean to do with our talents and time. Options are often few and far between.

Until the reigning “Boomer” generation begins to ask more interesting questions of the twenty-something generation, instead of automatically framing us within "career-path" projections, the answers will remain somewhat useless because they will be truisms. I would love to know how anybody could now justify, as I once did, devoting $25,000 and five years to a degree in Drama, given the expectations placed on those of our generation? Something much more fundamental than "career options" was gained from my experience, but because it’s so much less clear-cut than “I can now do these jobs”, I find it very difficult to articulate just how I find myself where I do, what exactly I'll do next. Mind you, I’m all for more interesting questions…

Beyond being a "twenty-something," I believe that asking questions of yourself and your place in the world is a life-long pursuit, especially at the most profound levels. I remember something from my theatre training (you see, it was worth it!), a quote by world-acclaimed British theatre director Peter Brook that went something like: "every day I begin anew, and must start with all the hard and often confidence-shaking questions before the work begins; it is a vulnerable position, but a necessary one if the work is to succeed." I'll try to track down the actual quote, but you get the gist. I have, in a very real sense, lived by those words as best I can, and so far I think they've served me well.

Anyways, I always enjoy reading the perspective from the Globe as it helps its readership figure out their children, but in this case, at times, I felt my back get up a bit; but maybe that’s what 5 years of “liberal arts” does to a person. Or maybe I'm just in too deep to see my own blossoming quaterlife crisis...

Political pollution

Dark clouds are gathering in the skies over Pleasant Valley, as the political machinery goes into overdrive and we all practice our emergency exit plan just in case...At this rate I may find myself in exile in Europe to escape the political waste-land in the "lost continent" of North America. Same-sex marriage legislation has just barely escaped the Conservative shredder, and will now continue to a second reading in the currently crumbling House of Commons, having survived by a narrow margin of 32 votes.

All I can say is, I hope to G-d that Stephen Harper's never handed the keys to 24 Sussex...

Alright, alright, I know I'm being a total drama queen, and just a little bit apocalyptic too, but I'm really frightened that an outraged and overly reactionary Canadian public will, in the heat of the moment, make a decision that we'll all regret once hot tempers have cooled.

I think of the American electorate's reaction to the Clinton sex-scandal that got 'Dubya into the White House (mind you, Al Gore was a bit of a Mr. Dithers himself...), and we all know how well that's turned out. What about the apoplexy brought on by the Harris (and then Eve) Tories in Ontario that brought to power the great "Fiberals" led by the Dithering Dalton McGuinty. Okay, okay, I know we've already got a Mr. Dithers at 24 Sussex, but he happens to be a reasonably harmless one - for now - and is being kept in check by his dithering minority status, not to mention the daily lambastes over all things Gomery, so he and his fellow "Reds" are not about to get up to anything too terrible.

How much public money was lost as a result of the sponsorship scandal? How much would an election cost? If that second figure even approaches the first then the Canadian public should be just as outraged if the poll-watching politicos surrounding Stephen Harper make the plunge, take a real risk and call an election that may end up costing Canadians more than the collected kick-backs of all the corrupt ad-men in Quebec combined.

As we hear "holier-than-thou" speeches coming from the opposition side, we should remember: the only thing politicians care about is politicians. In other words, they will say and do anything and everything if they think it will translate into numbers at the ballot box. And make no mistake, the other unquestionable truth of politics is: all politicians are self-interested opportunists.

Whether it's a Stephen Harper, Paul Martin, Gilles Duceppe, or Jack Layton, all politicians work from the same strategic playbook, and right now there is just too much emotion involved in the issues to trust any of the intellect working in the backrooms of Ottawa.

But such is the political machinery in Pleasant Valley. Those dark clouds may yet loom from quite some time...

Pleasant Valley mall-based trauma...

I now know why I spend so little time in malls - they are mazes designed for maximum confusion as well as maximum impulse spending resulting from said confusion. My mission was simple: after work I was off to our biggest "downtown" mall in Pleasant Valley, namely the Rideau Centre, to buy the last part of my sister's birthday gift (tomorrow is her b-day!). After picking up a conversational Spanish book at Chapters in about 10 seconds I was off for the second leg of my journey, into the bowels of malldom. All Christine wanted was a gift certificate from a store called "Warrens," simple enough I thought. Bah simple!

I wandered hither and thither in search of a mall directory - the place isn't huge, but three floors each with diverging floorplans (no easy stacking here), and I was up and down and side-to-side. What kept pulling my attention from the task at hand was the realization that so many people around me had DRESSED UP TO GO TO THE MALL. I swear, it was like one of those Bay commercials where all the women and men are sporting the latest Spring colours, their hair billowing behind them in pseudo-slo-mo, stupid smiles plastered across they're ruddy faces, no less than 3 big shopping bags in hand. It was all too much for this ex-Queen West junkie! I felt like the children of the corn had grown up and been issued credit cards!

Shaking off the eerie feeling that something just wasn't right I zig-zagged back and forth across floors, finding maps with big colour coded chunks, labeled with large single letters that denoted "shopping sections" in which I might find my elusive Warren, wherever he may be.

So finally after one misreading of the map - my fault - and one directional misstep - the horrible mall layouts fault - I got to "Warrens" and, huffing and puffing from my strenuous journey, approached the glossy-lipped sixteen-something behind the counter: "Do you sell gift certificates?" I earnestly asked. "Uhh...I dunno...umm...nobody ever asked me before. I gotta get someone..."

I almost walked out right then and there. But no, I decided I didn't want to disappoint my darling sister and so stayed the course, to then be served by a much more, err, "retail-capable" sixteen-something who clucked her tongue at her idiot coworker, effortlessly reached below the counter and, flashing a warm smile asked: "will that be $25 or $50?"

And it was done.

I all but ran from Warren's, retracing my steps to find myself once more at the bus platform on the Mackenzie King Bridge that would take me from this terrible place and back into the nearly exurban Greenbelt, to my parent's home and to a place far away from these consumption-drunk material-bots of mall culture.

Sigh. Pleasant Valley can be a tough nut to crack when you're used to a downtown that tends to purge the suburbanite mallrats at dusk. Give me the skateboard kids, the Queen West art brats, the condo-puppies or even the Bay Street suits any day over the mallrats of Pleasant Valley that don't know a gift certificate from a cinched gap khaki.

Happy Birthday Chris. I hope you like your gift, because next year I'm skipping the mall and making it myself.

"It's such a perfect day...

A perfect day?

...I'm glad I spent it with you."

Lou Reed was definitely on to something. The word "perfect" isn't to be used lightly, but I can't think of a better way to describe my yesterday. Diana arrived earlier than expected, just in time for lunch and the third re-broadcast of the Royal Wedding, and she didn't leave until midnight!

The weather in Pleasant Valley was melting Springtime sunshine, "perfect" for tees, shorts and sandals (NOTE: although I myself don't believe in shorts, I still respect those who do and can appreciate the excitement for what is typically characterized as "shorts weather"). Diana and I went out for a walk across the "heath" behind my home, through mushy grass, across gravel paths and under newly budding trees. The late afternoon circuit was gorgeous.

Arriving back home we were treated to yet another round of post-wedding commentary. I was fine with this, since weddings are what? A twice in a lifetime affair...they deserve attention if they're well done. And my informal polling suggests that most of my nearest and dearest approve of this particular wedding - and in no small part due to the music.

Note to those soon to be married: MUSIC IS IMPORTANT. I've had more than one conversation about the remarkable performance by Ekaterina Semenchuk, the Russian vocalist whose performance was presented as a wedding present by the Marinsky Theatre Trust of St. Petersburg, of which Prince Charles is the patron. Now I know that realistically we can't all expect such lavish spectacles at our simple "commoner" weddings, but please, oh please, can we put an end to playing banal pop ballads on our "special days" (I'm looking at you Amanda Marshall), and go in for the more classical, dare I say traditional fare that was so integral to making this latest Royal spectacle spectacular??

Back to my perfect day...

So D and I had lunch, went for the above mentioned walk, and then took in hours of Newsworld coverage of all things Royal, regal or just plain ridiculous. After the Royal commentary had run its course, CBC ran an interview with my new hero, Louise Arbour, the new head of the UN Commission on Human Rights, whose 2005 Lafontaine-Baldwin Lecture I urge all to scan. Not quite in the same league, what followed next was Mitsou (of "Bye Bye Mon Cowboy" fame) who now has her own show about Quebec pop culture and contemporary politics called Au Courant. Can anybody guess what they were talking about yesterday...? I'll give you a clue: rhymes with Bombery Tradition. Yup, that's right: GOMERY COMMISSION! So D and I took in all the dirt, and then decided a little escapism was in order, so after a dance across the million channels of digital cable we settled into a fluffy-hilarious queer positive movie playing on the Independent Film Channel called But I'm a Cheerleader. I highly recommend this movie as an antidote to the residual feelings of nausea induced by Stephen Harper's appearance at the big anti-gay-marriage rally in Ottawa on Saturday (a bummer on an otherwise perfect day).

To complement our big gay movie we made a big gay meal - okay, there was nothing intrinsically "gay" about it, but it was pink and beautifully presented. Salmon rolls with cream cheese and red onion, steamed broccoli in lemon juice with pepper, and an exquisite Greekish salad, accompanied by a glass of Scotch (for me) and Diet Pepsi (for Diana). Yummy!

At this point, having lived in perfection for nearly 7 hours, things got a bit shaky as we ricocheted off a variety of eclectic fare: the first 20 minutes of Swimfan (NEVER AGAIN!); the first 30 minutes of The Hebrew Hammer (Don't know what the F@%K to say about this one...very VERY unusual film); the first 15 minutes of Elizabeth Rex (one of my fav's but too intense a follow-up to But I'm a Cheerleader - nonetheless I HIGHLY recommend this one); and FINALLY a WHOLE EPISODE of Law and Order: Criminal Intent (you can ALWAYS count on Law and Order to be good!).

I have to mention that throughout this entire eve vegging in front of TV, at times conversing, at times just taking it all in, we had the endlessly entertaining company of the biggest suck-for-love of a cat you can imagine, only increasing the enjoyment of our perfect day....

...and then the clock struck twelve. We were both exhausted but satisfied from our great experiment in Saturday perfection, and decided to call it a night. I gave D a big hug, saw her out the door, and then turned out the lights because after such a perfect day there was nothing to do but go to sleep.