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.

One week down...

Ah yes, I am relaxing at home with my signature scotch in hand, just taking the whole sitch in. This week was, on balance, a really great start to my (mis) adventures in Pleasant Valley.

Not much to say tonight, except it's THE WEEKEND, and supposed to be gorgeous. I intend to make good use of the weather and GET OUT THERE.

More hijinks will surely follow as my friend Diana makes a whirlwind tour into the valley - I have her booked for an eve of debauch tomorrow. She is one of my urban ambassadors, and I will surely enjoy catching up on all things Toronto, before devolving into all things alcoholic. No, I'm not that bad, really. ;)

But I did pick a good time for my self-imposed exile, since the TTC (Toronto Transit Commission for the uninitiated), will be walking out on Monday. I've never been happier to ride OC Transpo in my life.

C'est tout pour l'instant, car je dois finir mon scotch et aller au lit. Je dois me preparer pour mon weekend plein d'aventure!

(You see, this French thing is already starting to pay off!).

Oh, and of course there was the Pope's funeral today, which I watched on low volume so I could better focus on the gorgeous architecture and the sheer scale of the spectacle. It was an incredibly beautiful sight, no matter what your faith happens to be. Quite inspiring. This one will be a tough act to follow - I feel sorry for the next guy in line for the job.

TGIF - Talk Good In French

The week is almost over dear friends, and this valley doll is getting anxious for the weekend. I have nearly finished my first full week of gainful employment in Pleasant Valley, and must say I feel pretty great, but am still itching for my weekend. All in all the work situation has been very positive - I know, good news doesn't sell, but what can I say? - and the only stress I carry is from my ongoing efforts to become a fully bilingual member of the Pleasant Valley public service. I was enrolled in French Immersion from the tender age of 4, but after years of living the unilingual life of an Anglophone in the Southern Ontario monoculture ("what do you mean there are two solitudes?"), it's back to basics for me.

Let's see, what do I remember of my years of studious French training? "Bye bye mon cowboy"; "Voulez vous couchez avec..." Okay, it's really not that bad, but my head's developing stretch marks as it tries to accommodate both an Anglo and Franco neurotic train of thought. And believe me, learning French isn't all baguettes, red wine and aged cheese. It's a lot of bloody hard work, and involves a near cult-like subscription to all things Radio-Canada (the French version of CBC for those who've never crossed the great divide), re-reading my old school books, once again accepting the Becherelle as an indispensable belonging (don't leave la maison without it), and rehearsing little conversational scenarios in my head whilst trying to cobble together sentences that don't sound like they're being uttered by an underachieving grade-school French drop-out. Oy vey.

I'm told the watershed of becoming truly bilingual is when you start to dream in French. I guess I'd better start practicing...

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi çe soir?."

Antoine de Saint Exupery was a wise man

S'il vous plâit...dessine moi un mouton.

Ever since a twenty-something birthday, years ago, when I was gifted the above image in ready-to-hang, hard-backed laminated form, it's never lived far from where I write. I think most people are familiar with Le Petit Prince, but his story is something I always come back to, especially at times when my life is most without definition. He is a child who talks to adults because they appear so lost in the world and confused about what's important, and yet who is himself so full of questions.

As my life unfolds in Pleasant Valley I feel at times that I've found myself on alien soil. The brash and dirty, but overwhelmingly full and attractive urban milieu of Toronto became the norm, and was in a lot of ways where I grew up and formed the most important parts of myself. I understand Subway etiquette inside out - don't look at anyone, don't smile unless smiled to, don't worry about the crazy people, do wear headphones - and the breakneck pace of pedestrians, the way everyone looks "busy," like they're late for something far too important to be explained, and the unqualified existence of artists, profiteers, street people, students, old monied families, social activists, politicians and the incredible multicultural cross-sections: these things are normal.

In Pleasant Valley things are slower, to be sure. But there is something else that tugs at my thoughts.

Le Petit Prince spends most of his life alone on an asteroid, with only a rose to care for, and ashy volcanoes to clean. Because the rose is his only companion he loves her as a person loves the thing that is most precious and unique in their life. It is only after his travels, when he stumbles upon a bush of roses, that he realizes the truth: the object of his deepest and truest, complete and unending love is not unique. The rose, playing up her status as his only love, is cruel to her child-keeper, making him feel beneath her, while appeasing him with her beauty. She is prone to fits of jelousy, and when the Prince leaves she makes a sad plea for him to stay, telling him of all the dangers that would surely be her demise were he ever to go. Her last confused love is fanned by guilt - to keep him she must hurt him. But finally, when it is clear he means to leave, she weakly wishes him to go and "be happy." As he is carried away by a passing flock of birds she quietly turns away so he cannot see her tears.

It is in this way that the Prince begins his journey, following a path shaped like a question mark, having left his first love behind in search of something else.

His first lesson in love, and in the measure of other people, is that that deeds, not words, mean something. So I, in my voyage back to Pleasant Valley, am trying to take this lesson to heart. Doing things, not simply watching them, will make this place my new normal. I'm not saying Toronto is a rose, or anything so hokey and obvious. But something in the story of Le Petit Prince points to a feeling much harder to put into words, or at least to say better than Saint Exupery has already done.

Maybe all this rose-fixation comes from the evening's still lingering aftertaste of Spring's first flush. Tonight I feel more deeply moved by my new surroundings, prone to contemplation, and full of anticipation for...

Pope Pap and other stories

My first weekend in Pleasant Valley: An inauspicious start to my adventures?

The above is the frontpage of last Saturday's edition of the Ottawa Citizen, which marked the start of my first weekend in town. I'm trying not to take it as some kind of portent or ill omen that my arrival in Ottawa marked the departure of the Pope from earth... I must keep reminding myself: "it isn't all about me."

A good friend forwarded to me a link to an article in response to the Pope's passing, written by "dissident theologian" Hans Küng. It's titled The Pope's Contradictions, and is a welcome antidote to the "rose-tinted glasses" pap being offered up by almost all of the mainstream media. I'm not a Catholic, in fact I'm not much of anything these days when it comes to religion, but any intelligent commentary on the state of the Catholic Church is worthwhile, especially considering that almost half the population of Canada identifies as Catholic -- so this stuff matters to us all. A must read.

In other news...Todd from Coronation Street isn't faring too well -- no surprises there. I cannot believe how hooked I've become on Corrie, a show I would have made old lady jokes about not even one year ago. I owe my irrational love of all things Corrie to my friend and former roommate Emelie, or more exactly to her mother Veronica with the Bell ExpressVu satellite that first beamed me onto the soggy street that stole my heart and has definitely killed at least a few previously respectable brain cells. And to correct an error in my last post, you can catch Coronation Street at 7pm on CBC if you find yourself in the EST belt. Ah well...

It gets late and I must now sleep so as to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for whatever Pleasant Valley has to offer up tomorrow.

Queers on Coronation Street

TODD CAME OUT TO SARAH ON CORRIE STREET!!

For those who don't wake up perversely early on a Sunday morning to breathe in the sudsy airs of those scheming and scurrilous, football loving, pint drinkin' folks of Coronation Street, you may not be up on the latest and greatest controversy to hit "Corrie" in quite some time: Todd, who has been leading a double life behind the back of his pregnant fiancée Sarah, has finally come out to her. This is the opening scene in the first of the new and improved hour-long episodes now airing weeknights at 8pm on CBC (except for Thursday, when all good blokes go down the pub). But this whole mess Todd's now in seems unbelievably brutal. His pregnant fiancée is asking the killer questions: "When did you know you were gay?"; "How much did you do with him?"; "Why did you get me pregnant?"; “Why did you want to marry me?” And those are just the opening volleys…

Watching this unfold is like watching the aftermath of a stone through a hornet's nest. Coronation is a soap through and through, so everybody buzzes around any dirt that hits the street. It’s all tears, and shouts and meaningful eye close-ups of glares that bore a hole in your trashy soap watching soul. Of course there are catfights too.

As would be expected from the "mainstreaming" of this kind of storyline, it has to be over the top, dramatic and end in streetfighting mothers for people to bite. This is Coronation Street after all. What I find so excellent is how the whole thing really turns gay marriage on its head. Think about it: a closeted gay man finds a girl he loves (it may be shocking to some people to learn that gay men love women too), moves in with her, they have sex (probably his first time), and he thinks, "yah, this could work, maybe I can be normal after all." Suddenly he realizes that marriage - the unthinkable for most gay people in this world - could be his. Just to firm up his new-found normality he pressures his girlfriend turned fiancée to get pregnant and have his baby (remember that her first child, a girl, is from her last boyfriend), so they can be the picture-perfect image of 2.5 children, white-picket-fence (or whatever the equivalent on Corrie is), heterosexual in-the-eyes-of-God marriage. Mind you Todd was a bit queasy about getting hitched in a church, perhaps afraid that he'd explode into flames and sequins the second after he said "I do" - it’s possible there's no closet dark enough to hide your queer self from the penetrating eyes of God. Anyway, the whole thing sounded really nice, and probably felt pretty alright to Todd, until Karl the "male nurse" showed up (because gay men on TV are nurses not doctors), and started luring young Todd away from his heterosexual Arcadia, teasing him slowly out of his invisible closet and into the world of the pervert (the word used by Sarah's really pissed off mother after she learned the sordid truth). What everyone can’t get over is that Todd brought Karl back to the apartment he shares with Sarah while she was gone and shagged his backdoor lover in his matrimonial bed. Intense, no?

Actually, long before any of this happened Todd did kiss Sarah's brother Nick... He managed to smooth that one over somehow. Where there’s a will there is often a way, but how long it takes before you stray again is a matter of opinion.

Okay, so back to the village...or rather, the street.

The episode culminates in an explosive showdown in the middle of, yup, Coronation Street. Sarah's really red in the face furious mother (who is a meddler to begin with), and Todd's more down-to-earth but no less meddlesome mom go at it! What’s super convenient is that these two powerhouse mothers live right across the road from each other. Only on Corrie…

Long story short: Sarah's mother screams and beats at Todd's mom while Sarah stands dumbfounded and 7 months pregnant just metres away, and Todd cowers tearfully behind his mom's couch. This goes on for a bit until an over-the-top cat fight breaks out, and as would be expected all proverbial hell breaks loose. Todd races outside to face his accuser in person at which point every single character on the show has gathered round to hear Sarah's mother rip Todd out of the closet in the most degrading spiteful and humiliating way possible. And the response of these onlookers?...Much like mine: shocked but glued to the better-than-a-trainwreck-because-the-only-victim-is-that- perverted-gayboy event. Maybe I wasn’t so happy about that part on principle, but it makes for damned fine drama.

And so it ends with Todd's brother turning on his heel and disowning his bro, Sarah's mother walking back home victorious after the public defeat of her chief foe (Todd’s mom), Todd's mom looking wide-eyed and shocked, but pulling back to home turf to regroup, all onlookers muttering little snippy quips under their cockneyed breaths, until finally the street clears leaving Todd alone in agony, tears now visible, left to deal with his experiment in "gay marriage" gone horribly wrong.

I think it's too early to draw definitive conclusions, especially considering the experiment was conducted on Coronation Street, but certainly those on the opposition side of gay marriage would do well to heed the timely lessons Corrie has to offer: saying no to gay marriage is saying yes to living a lie, which as Todd has learned today, hurts everybody but most of all the last gay man standing on Coronation Street with tears in his eyes.

Now I ask: Could Stephen Harper say no to a face like this? How about two of them?

Hello, hello...

My good girlfriend Diana has been poking and prodding me to start a blog for a very long time now. I've just spent the last 2 weeks psychologically preparing for a move from my beloved adoptive home of Toronto (downtown, thank you very much), to my ACTUAL home of Ottawa (or, err, Nepean actually...), and now that I'm kind of settled I thought: "what the hell, I'll start a blog!"

So here it begins...

Having spent all of my usable energy setting up this thing, I've decided I'm going to go to sleep now and dream long and hard about what I really mean to do with this new and scary "my-life-as-an-open-book" technology.

Diana baby, I finally did it. Now we find out what I'll actually DO with it.