words, words, words...

You stand still for three days

for a piece of wisdom

and everything falls to the right place

or wrong place

You speak

don’t know whether

seraph or bitch

flutters at your heart

and look through windows

for cue cards

blazing in the sky.

The solution.

This last year I was sure

I was going to die

Michael Ondaatje, Secular Love

wednesday is the new friday...

Since I'm currently filling two positions in my office (ah the joys of being overqualified -- they keep giving you more work!), and have found myself increasingly worn-down by the never-ending bureaucratic paper-chase (multiplied by two!), I made the executive decision yesterday that I would take Thursday off, which when added to the four-day Easter long weekend, gives me a wonderful FIVE days of rest!

I won't lie, it's been a stressful few weeks, both on the work front (two jobs!), and on the personal front as I find myself increasingly on the defensive when faced with certain difficult situations. My horoscope told me there'd be days like this...but a five day weekend should provide at least temporary relief from the mania for a little space of time. It's now official: Wednesday is the new Friday.

To kick-off my expanded weekend, I'd like to offer up a touch of L. Cohen (his 'Book of Mercy' has been my meditative companion as I've navigated the recent rough waters...):

I heard my soul singing behind a leaf, plucked the leaf, but then I heard it singing behind a veil. I tore the veil, but then I heard it singing behind a wall. I broke the wall, and I heard my soul singing against me. I built up the wall, mended the curtain, but I could not put back the leaf. I held it in my hand and I heard my soul singing mightily against me. This is what it's lilke to study without a friend.

Couldn't have put it better myself...

a point of contemplation for a monday evening...

Some insightful words written by Thomas Merton, from his collection of essays Contemplation in a World of Action (p. 109-110):

“…man has a responsibility to find himself where he is, namely in his own proper time and in his place, in the history to which he belongs and to which he must inevitably contribute either his responses or his evasions, either truth and act or slogan and gesture. Even his gestures of evasion and withdrawal may unfortunately be decisive contributions to a void in which history can take on a demonic orientation.”

where is sheila when you need her??

This morning I found a tidbit about Canada in the Guardian Unlimited's "Books/Review" section, and was more than a little stunned to learn of our waning cultural standing in the world in such a 'cyber-accidental' way. I'm not sure if this is the work of our new political masters, or if this was a quiet backroom decision by the last regime in its dying days, but either way it's proof positive that the government continues to discount the value of culture both at home and (especially now) abroad. Sigh...where is Sheila Copps when you need her??

Say what you will about the former grand dame of all things CanCon, but she got results and was able to keep culture much more front and centre in a political climate that has in recent years come to favour the technocratic over the creative. Why is it that our government now seems to view culture as a luxury to be championed when economically useful or good for our image abroad, but to be cut at the first available opportunity once its short-term usefulness has passed? You'll note that the Brits have eyes to see the problem, and yet I don't think any Canadian news outlet has reported on this, or likely will. Not a good sign at all...

From the Guardian Website (bold emphasis is mine):

Canada has for a long time considered culture a third pillar of foreign policy. In the UK particularly it has put its money where its mouth is, hiring officers specialising in literature, performing arts, film, TV and visual arts. From a literary point of view, the past decade has seen a massive increase in interest in Canadian writers in this country; three of the six 2002 Booker nominees were Canadian (and a Canadian - Yann Martel - won). Recently an aboriginal writer called Sky Dancer has read in British schools and libraries and been sent on a tour, and at last year's Edinburgh festival there were 17 Canadian authors, including Margaret Atwood, John Ralston Saul, Romeo Dallaire and performance poet Shane Koyczan (who was such a hit he is now going to the Hay festival). Many were brought over with the aid of government money, and as Catherine Lockerbie, director of the Edinburgh international book festival, noted this week, they were writers she would not necessarily have heard of if she hadn't been taken to Canada, and been introduced to them. But the Canadian government seems to have lost faith: this week the four cultural officers, who have more than 50 years of specialist experience between them, were made redundant, to be replaced by two cultural relations officers.

St. Francis was no fool...

I'm posting, unedited, a text a good friend forwarded to me this afternoon. It's from the website Living Compassion, and is a message I find deeply resonant especially at a time in our global reality when it seems nothing but chaos remains to be looked forward to in the years to come.

On the morning after the United States 2004 national elections, Cheri Huber sent these thoughts on peace to the worldwide email list of Living Compassion:

“It is time to reconcile all beings in the world.
Peace is no longer just a good idea, a dream without any real belief.
We can no longer hope that war and violence can defend and protect.
We must choose peace if we are to survive.
We must make a radical turn from the right, and a radical turn from the left.
We must make our way back to center. Not a political center, but the center of our being.
We must become a good friend to those who agree with us and those who do not.
We must invite everyone to the table; we must sit together, share, learn, listen, open our hearts, and, together, move to the place that is the most compassionate to all.”

That radical center, that center of our being, is a place that is not against anything. That is perhaps what is most radical about it. Many of us who are committed to peace, passionate about peace, activists for peace, conduct our quest for peace from a conviction that we are against an adversary, and we know who that adversary is. We wage war for peace, and peace eludes us.

St. Francis said, “Do not try to change the World. Change worlds.” He did not mean escape, write off the world and walk away. He spent most of his life walking into the world, talking with people, engaging them. He did not try to wrench the people or the world into some shape he was convinced they should take. Rather, he greeted all with “Pace e bene”: Peace and Good. He simply lived in a world in which he and everyone else belonged.

T.S. Eliot describes: “A condition of complete simplicity, costing not less than everything.” The radical center. The place lived from by Francis, by Clare, by Gandhi, by Martin Luther King, Jr. Costing us our identity, our righteousness, our separateness, our against-ness. Costing us all the mean victories.

Yet it creates a universe of possibility, generosity and freedom. A woman in Kenya sees the devastating result of deforestation and begins to plant trees. A mother in Washington, DC, befriends the young man who killed her son. Communities around the world rally to support local organic farmers and establish farmers’ markets. Indigenous people in Ecuador seek partners in the United States to save the rainforest that is their home. A group of Zen monks learns that children in an African slum need food, and they say, “We can help.”

To be sure, even when the path of peace seems clear, the work can be demanding and challenging. It takes practice. Peace is a practice. And, it is exciting, rewarding and the most fun a human being can have. We choose peace; it is a matter of survival. We invite you to join Living Compassion at the table of peace.

finally, a comic that reflects the deep truths of my life...

god is an american

It was evident from yesterday's Speech from the Throne that the new Conservative government will make a warming of Canada-US relations a top priority. Below is a list (thank god for anonymous email forwards) that serves to remind us all what we stand to gain by chumming up to the Bush administration and it's ideological base...if you're easily offended by 'tongue-in-cheek' anti-American rhetoric, please click here instead.

Things you have to believe to be a Republican today:

• Jesus loves you, and shares your hatred of homosexuals and Hillary Clinton.

• Saddam was a good guy when Reagan armed him, a bad guy when Bush's daddy made war on him, a good guy when Cheney did business with him, and a bad guy when Bush needed a "we can't find Bin Laden" diversion.

• Trade with Cuba is wrong because the country is Communist, but trade with China and Vietnam is vital to a spirit of international harmony.

• The United States should get out of the United Nations, and our highest national priority is enforcing U.N. resolutions against Iraq.

• A woman can't be trusted with decisions about her own body, but multi-national corporations can make decisions affecting all mankind without regulation.

• The best way to improve military morale is to praise the troops in speeches, while slashing veterans'benefits and combat pay.

• If condoms are kept out of schools, adolescents won't have sex.

• A good way to fight terrorism is to belittle our long-time allies, then demand their cooperation and money.

• Providing health care to all Iraqis is sound policy, but providing health care to all Americans is socialism. HMOs and insurance companies have the best interests of the public at heart.

• Global warming and tobacco's link to cancer are junk science, but creationism should be taught in schools.

• A president lying about an extramarital affair is an impeachable offense, but a president lying to enlist support for a war in which thousands die is solid defense policy.

• Government should limit itself to the powers named in the Constitution, which include banning gay marriages and censoring the Internet.

• The public has a right to know about Hillary's cattle trades, but George Bush's driving record is none of our business.

• Being a drug addict is a moral failing and a crime, unless you're a conservative radio host. Then it's an illness and you need our prayers for your recovery.

• You support states' rights, but the Attorney General can tell states what local voter initiatives they have the right to adopt.

• What Bill Clinton did in the 1960s is of vital national interest, but what Bush did in the '80s is irrelevant.

a friend's notes from the frontlines of human possibility...

Below, unedited, are notes taken by a close friend who attended a lecture given by the incomparable Karen Armstrong. I will let her account speak for itself:

Karen Armstrong

St. Barnabas Anglican Church, Toronto
Friday, March 31, 2006

Karen Armstrong gave a 45-minute lecture on her latest book, The Great Transformation, and answered three questions. These are my notes. jk

• The great transformation took place between 900 and 200 BCE, a period known as the Axial Age. (A second great transformation began about 400 years ago and is still in progress.)

• The chief characteristic of the Axial Age was getting rid of religiosity. Theological speculation is a waste of time, it said. A teacher is like a raft: you use it to cross water to get where you want to go but, once there, you do not carry the raft around with you on your back; you get rid of it.

• The Buddha refused to speak about God. He said that silence is the only true response to any divine reality one might experience.
  

• The key to experience of the divine is getting rid of the ego, a reaching into the unconscious world. God is at the opposite pole of ego.

• The WAY to get rid of ego is to cultivate COMPASSION. In this effort, Confucius stands out. He was the first to teach utter altruism or, the golden rule; i.e., do nothing to another which you would not wish to have done to you. All religions insist on this way of encountering the divine. “Love the stranger in your land.”
  

• Love (in the scriptures) was not an emotional term, but a legal one. You didn’t have to like the stranger, but you had to wish the same for her as you wished for yourself.

• The Greeks made a great contribution to this kind of love through their tragic dramas. One of the purposes of a play such as The Persians by Aeschylus was to make the spectators weep out of compassion for their enemies. The catalyst for this kind of drama was revulsion at violence and wars. (It was nothing like the violence that exists in our own times, but it was significant.)

• The development of YOGA was another way out of violence. It was the first attitude to adopt. It gave space for compassion to develop. It brought joy.

• “Religious” people, then and now, prefer to be RIGHT rather than COMPASSIONATE. This, of course, is EGO, whether one is speaking of religious or of secular opinions.

• So, the Axial Age tried to mitigate violence.

• We live in a time of enormous danger. The challenge of the 21^st century is to learn to live together, to have concern for EVERYBODY. We must see other nations as we see ourselves. We already KNOW this, so we do not need great prophets and sages to explain it to us.

Questions and Answers

Question 1: What do you think about “intelligent design”?

Answer: I think it is a red herring. Why does it matter who made the world? The way to live is to bless everybody. As for me, personally, I don’t share in any religious belief but, if it helps someone else to be kind, I think it’s okay. Be wary of strong opinions, be they religious or secular. They are egotistical.

Question 2: Do you have a team of researchers to help you write your books?

Answer: No! Research is the good part, the best part, of writing a book. For me, it’s a kind of prayer.

Question 3: How do you see the future of Christianity?

Answer: ALL religions now have to adapt. The future must lie in a greater pluralism. The scriptures are abused today. We must think about how we use difficult scriptural texts, i.e., ones that glorify war. Christianity must be compassionate to survive. And don’t rely too much on our leaders to show the way!

more dispatches from the random files:

"Jo Jo Melons" has a lot to answer for. This is nothing but unadulterated nightmare-fodder. And honestly, who in their right mind buys melons from a clown??

I stumbled across this and many other vintage melon labels while conducting some google-based research too ridiculous to explain...you can find the fruits of my labours by clicking here.

And, in the news today:

Boy's pancake breakfast delayed the end of WWII

This is 100% true, and truly random! And really, how often do you get the chance to write both "pancake breakfast" and World War II in a headline? Fabulous...

springtime...in my secret life

Thursday early evening, am just settling in and listening to the recurring soundtrack of my recent life: "Leonard Cohen: Ten New Songs".

This was a marvellous gift from a close friend, and I must admit it's been a fixture in my CD player ever since. Cohen's smoke-stained and soulful music (how he makes the synthesizer sound sexy is still beyond me), speaks to my present state of mind. His play of stale-mated passions, occasional moments of communion and constant searching after the nature of love create a perfect storm for my love-fatigued navel gazing...apparently.

Not that I'm so far gone, but when the world begins to thaw and blossom into the full flush of the springtime, our thoughts are suppose to turn to love and all that romantic blah, blah, blah. And because I'm terribly suspicious of that kind of "romantic blah, blah, blah" I need to fortify my defences, and build up some kind of provisional safeguards against being swept away by the season. So I turn to Cohen. He reminds anyone with ears to hear that love is a paradox, a rich contradiction, and that failed love is not defeat if you refuse an easy denial and instead embrace the ending with an equal force of love. Okay, so I've had a few things on my mind...

But to share a little with those who may not be familiar with Cohen, a supremely gifted poet (if not the most classically adept singer), here are the lyrics from my perennial favorite, Alexandra Leaving:

Suddenly the night has grown colder.
The God of love preparing to depart.
Alexandra hoisted on his shoulder,
They slip between the sentries of the heart.

Upheld by the simplicities of pleasure,
They gain the light, they formlessly entwine;
And radiant beyond your widest measure
They fall among the voices and the wine.

It’s not a trick, your senses all deceiving,
A fitful dream, the morning will exhaust
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Even though she sleeps upon your satin;
Even though she wakes you with a kiss.
Do not say the moment was imagined;
Do not stoop to strategies like this.

As someone long prepared for this to happen,
Go firmly to the window. drink it in.
Exquisite music. Alexandra laughing.
Your firm commitments tangible again.

And you who had the honor of her evening,
And by the honor had your own restored
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving;
Alexandra leaving with her lord.

Even though she sleeps upon your satin;
Even though she wakes you with a kiss.
Do not say the moment was imagined;
Do not stoop to strategies like this.

As someone long prepared for the occasion;
In full command of every plan you wrecked
Do not choose a coward’s explanation
That hides behind the cause and the effect.

And you who were bewildered by a meaning;
Whose code was broken, crucifix uncrossed
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

And so there you have it...a small taste of the state of things in the springtime of "my secret life"...

shall i call this retox?

Ah yes, the detox is now over. Farewell penicillin, it was fun while it lasted...

(en)forced detox; willpower optional or, 'how i learned to stop worrying and love the pills'

A farewell to wines, liquors, malts and spirits of all kinds for at least the next few days. This past week has been an enforced detox, thanks in no small part to the temporary residency of a small colony of bacteria in my throat (prime real estate), and the subsequent prescription of antibiotics to evict said unwanted residents. So, my St. Patty's day involved nothing more ambitious than a walk in the windy downtown of Pleasant Valley, followed by the screening of my latest French & Saunders acquisition. Actually, on balance it was a really enjoyable and hugely relaxing night. I may be happily relishing my detox more than is typical or even healthy for a young twenty-something habitually prone to answering the "last call". I think the down-time was much needed, and my body may have invited the unpleasant bacterial guests as a way of forcing me to slow down and take a bit of time to take stock of recent weeks. Man, it's been 'existentially dense' in the 'valley' to say the least...

Did I mention the Prime Minister is becoming a power-hungry tyrant? Okay, I'll admit that sentence was perhaps a mild exaggeration, but the recent consolidation of power in the PMO and the subtle changes to government procedure (think Supreme Court nominees), and policy (there are ONLY 5 important things we must do, as spelled out in the CPC election-winning platform) have got me nervous. Politics in Pleasant Valley used to be fun, dramatic, somewhat foolish, but generally benign. It's been a while since gravitas has weighed down the political scene, and made Canadians aware of the real (not simply latent) power invested in the PM and his Ministers. Now the PM must approve ALL official communications by the Ministers and high-level bureaucrats, and the press shall henceforth be kept at a comfortable arms-length from the halls of power -- it's inconvenient to have to answer questions so soon after major national decisions have been taken behind closed doors, apparently. Sigh. This is a "wait and watch" situation for now. I've just finished reading A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry, so my opinions and impressions are quite deeply influenced by the example of other nations where power consolidation in the name of national security and stability is never a path to social prosperity, but more typically the first stage in the unmaking of democracy.

I'm sorry Mr. Harper (Rt. Hon), but democracy is a little messier than you may have suspected, and in some instances may even require DIALOGUE. Oh, and sometimes dissent creeps into the workings of government too. Just an FYI...

from the "random files"...

This made me laugh today...

a picture's worth a thousand protests

I remain beyond stunned at the continuing outcry against, and simultaneous staunch defense of, the caricatures of the prophet Mohammed published across Europe, in Jordan, and most recently in Calgary (a rare alliance of geography, I admit). About a week ago, I wrote to a friend that I felt deeply that a "critical mass" was about to be reached in global politics, and that I couldn't yet fathom what would be unleashed upon the world when this line was crossed. Last Friday my French instructor, a Muslim, raised this controversy as part of a conversation portion of the lesson and stated in a very plain manner that as a Muslim he felt equal frustration with both pro and con sides of this conflict, and felt quite honestly that the loss of countless thousands of jobs in the North American automotive industry warranted greater attention than this tantrum between the twin toddlers of reactionary politics and extremist religion. It was, I think, a marvelously Canadian moment, to be engaged in Government of Canada paid for French lessons with an African-Canadian Muslim instructor and discussing the cartoon controversy only to bring up the automotive industry. Maybe there is hope yet...

But, I'd like to share with anyone who cares to read this page, an interesting take on the matter by Timothy Comeau, the brainchild behind "goodreads" -- a topical email list serve -- who had these words to share on the matter:

Last week saw a lot of coverage in mainstream media about the protests over some stupid drawings. In the Saturday (11 Feb) Globe and Mail, the editor-in-chief Edward Greenspon argued that they weren't showing them because they didn't feel they added anything important to the story, while justifying the occasional photo of bombed bodies on Israeli buses. (In that case I'm thinking of a 2003 front page). He wrote:

'As one cartoonist said earlier this week, this is not a matter of self-censorship. It is a question of editing. Every day we are faced with similar decisions, particularly in choosing photos. Do we show a naked woman? Do we show a dead baby? Do we show bodies blown apart by a suicide bomber or other samples of the carnage that come our way regularly? Most often the answer is we do not. Only when we feel an offensive photo is absolutely necessary to the understanding of the story do we loosen our restraints.'

'This point makes no sense, given that a full understanding of protests about drawings should require that one see them for oneself. I could take the mainstream media's self-righteousness seriously if this were not the age of the internet and Google. You want to see 'em, go ahead and see them. The same goes for pictures of naked women (naked men aren't offensive?) dead babies, and carnage (orgish.com?). The media has used arguments of self-censorship and editing to draw us a picture of their own obsolesce.

I've been wondering about how many people have actually seen the images on the net. As that's part of what Goodreads is about, I almost sent the link a week ago but on the other hand, I didn't want to be part of the game of offending people. I've been wishing this story would just go away like they always do. Remember two years ago when Mel Gibson was supposedly an anti-semite?

Yet I can relate to being offended by images. In 2002 John Paul II came to Toronto for the World Youth Day and I went and saw him give Mass, since I grew up a Catholic and had seen his photograph at my grandmother's house for as long as I could remember, in addition to it being very popular in the area. There was a feeling of obligation, mixed with nostalgia I suppose. The night before the Mass, I went to an opening at Art System, the Ontario College of Art and Design student run gallery. Their show was about the Pope, and extended to Catholicism in general. As you can imagine, there were plenty of images of priests and popes sodomizing young boys. For one of the few times in my life, I was offended, but I knew where it was coming from (the rebellious young influenced by the scandals in the news) and having grown up in an open and tolerant society, felt no need to staple a placard to a stick and lead a protest, considering it was all just stupid and immature.

Now, one of the arguments with these Muhammed cartoons is that the editors of the newspaper should have known better. These Muslims are rioting and protesting because they feel insulted. I find it all kind of crazy that some people can get all upset over drawings, but as a visual artist I suppose I'm supposed to get all excited by the power of the medium and jump on the iconographic bandwagon, or get on the side of the cartoonists and talk about freedom of expression and denounce this iconoclasm. But I feel I have better things to do. The World has better things to do.

The editors of newspapers in North America would know better than to publish the images I saw at OCAD. They would be able to see how unfair they were. I'm not sure if that's censorship, as much as it's a respect for context. I can well imagine the images published elsewhere - in a show catalogue, in some article critiquing or analyzing the Church's pederast scandals, in some art history book. The show didn't warrant getting shut down by the cops, which still happens sometimes. There were no protests.

In this case, the cartoons violate Islam's prohibition against images, and especially the prohibition in depicting the Prophet. Worse, the arguments made against the images by Muslim spokespeople are that they stereotype Muslims as terrorists. The image by Claus Seidel seems aimed to offend by merely representing Muhammed, whereas the image by Erik Sorensen seems to be as juvenile and ignorant as the shit I saw that night at OCAD.

Further, I have a recent example of being offended by an image. And the image in question is that of an ad featuring Ann Coulter and Robert Novak, featured prominently next to the cartoons here. This webpage thus manages to offend not only Muslims, but secular liberals. And, when I ask myself, 'why do they keep protesting?' I'm reminded by Coulter, who recently referred to them as 'ragheads'.

The best explanation for what's happened over the past week (advanced by Rick Salutin and reported by Simon Tudiver in Maisonneuve's Mediascout) is that Muslims are pissed off for always being stereotyped and caricatured as terrorists, from these stupid cartoons to Hollywood's blockbusters. Tudivier's headline, by the way, 'Protesting the cartoon professor' refers to Peter March, who posted the images on the door of his office at Saint Mary's University. Peter March was a professor of mine in 1998. After Tudivier raises the Salutin article, he adds, 'Had Professor March offered up such an idea, MediaScout would have applauded his contribution. We should be looking to our academics to elevate the debate, not debase it by merely inciting an angry mob.' What's unclear in the reportage about Prof. March was that he teaches philosophy, and I think it's fair to suggest that, instead of merely trying to incite an angry mob (as he waded into a protest on campus last week), he was trying to engage in Socratic debate.

Which should help remind us that all of these easy explanations cheapen us all, and I'm going to go back to wishing the world had something better to talk about (like poverty, aids, hunger, global warming, etc). The way the religious keep hijacking the agenda of human betterment seems to me the best advertisement for agnostic secularism, which is why I'm rather happy to live in a Canada, where that's pretty much the way it is, although we end watching the world's news for entertainment rather than dealing with our own social agenda. A week ago I wanted to send out the link to the Colbert Report video below, under the headline, 'why I'm glad I'm not American' but truth be told, inasmuch as it critiques the American economy, it's true here as well. This type of thing warrants a lot more discussion than drawings, or 'turncoat politicians'. - Timothy

---------------------------------------------------------------------


'Thank You' | The Colbert Report
http://www.crooksandliars.com/2006/02/04.html#a7008


Protesting the Cartoon Professor | Simon Tudvier
http://urlx.org/maisonneuve.org/896e


The Cartoons
http://www.humaneventsonline.com/sarticle.php?id=12146


Jyllands-Posten Muhammad cartoons controversy | Wikipedia
http://urlx.org/en.wikipedia.org/b352

Face of Muhammed
http://face-of-muhammed.blogspot.com/
A blog about the cartoons


And so it goes...and increasingly as I walk the peaceful streets of Pleasant Valley I wonder how much longer our bubble of peace will last. It seems an embarrassing richness to live life in such an easy way, without the fear that marks the lives of so many, and drives them to the extremism that has come to characterize Islam (and Christianity for that matter) across the globe as the rule not the exception.

But that is a false image, promoted by media more interested in firing the emotions than engaging the more sober (and difficult) intelligence. I've gone back to reading Karen Armstrong's fine book A History of God, and would highly recommend it to any and all who need some perspective on the current state of latent holy war; a good antidote to the typical mainstream media coverage that relentlessly numbs us with daily contextless soundbytes. Armstrong's book is a dense work, but well worth the trouble if only to add the dimension of history to what feels like an on-going and virtually a-historical struggle for supremacy of the moment, whenever and whatever that may be defined as in the instant the image flickers past us.

finally i have returned...but will Harper drive me to the drink?

Yes, yes, yes it has been a LONG time since I've added words to these pages, and for that I apologize to those at home and abroad (I'm looking at you Taiwan) who've been wondering where my insightful and witty missives have gone. Well, there have been a few changes over here in Pleasant Valley: I've moved to more urban environs (still pleasant, but now with 100% more concrete); I've had a few more scattered adventures in my former home of Toronto (on the Government tab no less!); and a brand new Conservative government has found itself in the halls of power, something of a "wait and see" situation to say the least. Sigh.

For the time being I'm hoping to find good fodder in the unfolding story of our strange new experiment in government, and will otherwise weigh in on the incidental happenings as I find them news and noteworthy.

In the meantime, because I'm still getting my bearings again, I'll ask for patience if the postings are at first sporadic, but promise I'm back and will be much less negligent of my little corner of cyberspace in the weeks and months to come.

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).