my right honourable former schoolmate

I went to high school with Canada's new Minister of Natural Resources!

Can you believe it?

We were in the debating club together! We honed the same rhetorical and oratorical skills. She used hers to get elected to parliament and appointed to Cabinet. I use mine to try and convince Americans that Thomas Jefferson was born in New Brunswick. She left her job as CEO of the Toronto Port Authority to run for office. I recently discovered I actually like port. The similarities are almost eerie. I could have been the new Minister of Natural Resources -- EXCEPT THAT I'M NOT A BATSHIT, RIGHT-WING, FEAR-MONGERING HATER OF DEMOCRACY!

Gentle readers, she ran for the CONSERVATIVES. She's part of STEPHEN "I think there are probably some gains to be made in the stock market" HARPER'S government. He HAND-PICKED her to run in her Ontario riding because he didn't trust the riding association to come up with someone who basically owes him her first-born child (or perhaps her second, she has two -- another similarity, I have two cats) and will have to support him in all he does.

Well, I just want you to know, I had nothing to do with this. As president of the debating club (did I mention, I was PRESIDENT of the debating club? I'm not entirely a stranger to high office myself) I always tried to set a good example by NOT being a PROGRESSIVE CONSERVATIVE.

Sadly, my efforts seem to have been in vain. Although actually, it would be worse to have her cite you as an "inspiration," as she did poor Alexa McDonough, one of the highest profile women in Canadian politics (stop yawning!) and the former leader of the New Democrats (those are our "socialists," the zanies who want to "spread the wealth").

I heard the now Minister of Natural Resources interviewed about the dearth of women running in the last Canadian elections (11% of the PC candidates, 19% of the Liberals) and she pointed out that she was from Nova Scotia and had been inspired by Alexa McDonough -- so inspired, she accepted a Cabinet nomination from a man of whom McDonough once said:

"We have a Prime Minister who alone in the world still considers George Bush his political hero."

Ladies and gentlemen, I rest my case...

i can't believe i haven't posted this before

This is a "friend's" interpretation of my home life. In case you can't read the dialog, my cat Seamus and I (that's me with the Canadian flag where my head should be) are having the following discussion:

Flaghead: What would you like for dinner, Seamus?
Seamus: Scotch!
Flaghead: But that's my scotch, you little devil, and I don't think that's very healthy for cats.
Seamus: Scotch!
Flaghead: (thinking) I wonder if Seamus has a drinking problem?
Seamus: (thinking) When did Mary become such a moralizing bitch?

he is charlotte simmons

I've spent by far the greater part of my adult life with "my nose in a book," as my father once put it (probably while trying to get my nose out of the book and into one of his duct tape-based home renovation projects) , so it occurs to me that the occasional entry reviewing something I've just read could be a valid form of blogging, provided it doesn't become a habit, and I don't turn into some low-rent - albeit kinder - Michiko Kakutani.*

The book I just read is I am Charlotte Simmons, by Tom (Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test) Wolfe. I've avoided reading it until now (it was published in 2004) because I read a bunch of bad reviews when it came out including, if I remember correctly, one by Kakutani.

Mostly, though, I avoided it because I couldn't bear the mental picture of Tom Wolfe, in all his peculiar, personal, sartorial glory (i.e., wearing a blindingly white three-piece suit, with a pastel-colored, high-colored shirt and SPATS) hanging out on North American university campuses taking the pulse of modern collegiate life.

I decided to give it a chance, however, when it was recommended to me by my cousin, whose taste in books has always been excellent (read: very similar to my own).

It's 672-pages long and I read it in three days. I don't know if he truly captured the feel of a modern American university campus, but he captured a few feelings I remember from my first year at university, although my university was to the "Dupont" university of this novel as Pee Wee Herman's Playhouse is to Versailles.

I really can't be bothered to summarize the plot and I'm not going to recommend you read it because the LAST thing I want is somebody saying, "You said that book was good and it SUCKED and I want my money back." (Which, in passing, is probably one of the reasons Michiko Kakutani is so negative - she doesn't want to deal with that nonsense either).

So, I am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe - read or don't, I really don't care.

Man, this book reviewing gig is a breeze.

[Pictured above: Tom Wolfe on his way to a pre-game tailgate party.]


*The New York Times' cranky book reviewer - I'm tossing in a mention to establish myself as sufficiently literary to review books, and yes, I had to look up the spelling.

you've come a long way, baby...

...in which, your intrepid, if Canadian, political analyst, compares and contrasts the bios of the only two female vice-presidential candidates to represent major political parties in the United States.

Geraldine Ferraro (GF):

Born in 1935, attended Marymount Academy on full scholarship and graduated at 16, having skipped two grades. Honor society member, active in clubs and sports, voted most likely to succeed.

Sarah Palin (SP):

Born in 1964, attended Wasilla High School in Wasilla, Alaska. Headed Fellowship of Christian Athletes, was point guard and captain of basketball team, helped team win Alaska small-school basketball championship in 1982, hitting critical free throw despite ankle stress fracture. Would sometimes go moose-hunting with father before school.

GF:

Attended Marymount Manhattan College with scholarship, sometimes holding down two or three jobs. Served as editor of school newspaper. Also attended education classes at Hunter College. Received BA in 1956.

SP:

Attended Hawaii Pacific College, North Idaho College, University of Idaho, and Matanuska-Susitna College, before returning to University of Idaho where she received BSC in communications-journalism in 1987.

GF:

Taught English in New York City public school system while attending Fordham University Law School at night. Received law degree in 1960.

SP:

Worked as a sports reporter for KTUU-TV in Anchorage Alaska while helping in husband's commercial fishing business.

GF:

Practiced law and worked in husband's real estate office from 1961 to 1974. Appointed Assistant District Attorney for Queen's County in 1974. Created Special Victims Bureau and Confidential Unit while in this post. As chief of these units, specialized in cases involving sex crimes, crimes against elderly, family violence, and child abuse.

SP:

Biography does not actually say what she did between 1988 and 1995.

GF:

Elected to Congress in 1978, representing New York's 9th Congressional District. Re-elected in 1980 and 1982. Focused much of her efforts on equal wages, pensions, and pension plans for women.

SP:

Elected Mayor of Wasilla Alaska in 1996 and served two terms. Tried to fire town librarian. Built multifunctional arena. Appointed to Alaska Oil and Gas Commission in 2003. Resigned in 2004. From 2003 to June 2005, served as one of three directors of Ted Stevens Excellence in Public Service, Inc. In 2006, elected first female governor of Alaska.

GF:

In 1984, was chosen by Democratic presidential nominee Walter F. Mondale as his running mate.


SP:

In 2008, was chosen by Republican presidential nominee John McCain as his running mate.

GF:

Quote: "... no matter how concerned I am about spending, I have seen first hand what poverty can do to people's lives and I just can't, in good conscience, not do something about it."

SP:

Quote: "I am pro-life and I believe that marriage should only be between a man and a woman."

Shall I say it again?

We sure have come a long way, baby.






(Above: The Virginia Slims lady - not only has she come a long way, she did it in that skirt.)

feed a fever?

I just read about a movie called "House Bunny." It's about a Playboy Bunny who runs away from Hef's mansion and takes shelter in a ... sorority.

It started me thinking up ideas for surefire Hollywood Blockbusters. (You will note it did NOT start me thinking I could get into Hef's mansion OR join a sorority. It's true, I'm suffering from a mild case of cat scratch fever - thanks to a house cat who shall remain nameless except that his name SOUNDS like "nameless" and it wasn't Francois - but it hasn't made me completely batshit.)

So, how about a movie about...a sorority sister who runs away from her sorority (Phi Kappa Boob) and takes shelter in a...BROTHEL? We could call it...BROTHEL SISTER!

Or no, wait, I've got it. How about a HOOKER who runs away from a brothel and takes shelter in the PLAYBOY MANSION? We could call it...MANSION HOOKER.

Or how about a movie about PLAYBOY BUNNY who runs away from the brothel where she took shelter in Part I, and takes shelter in a HOT TUB?! TUB BUNNY.

Wait, maybe I AM batshit...

And another thing: can you really use the same word - "movie" - to describe "The Sorrow and the Pity," "Citizen Kane," "Anything with Meryl Streep in it Except 'Mamma Mia''" and "House Bunny?" Should people (and by people, I mean other people) be required to make a distinction between "movies" and "films?" It seems that perhaps they should be, just out of respect for real cinema, but how can I MAKE them?

How about a movie where a CAT scratches a PLAYBOY BUNNY and gives her cat scratch fever so bad that when she runs away to look for shelter she ends up with the AMISH and she LIKES IT? We could call it "AMISH BUNNY," or "WITNESS."

Are the Amish even allowed to watch movies? I mean, regularly, not during their "batshit year" where they can do anything and probably wouldn't waste it just watching a movie unless they were mainlining heroin and sporting a coat with 18 zippers at the same time. (Somehow, I've always been fascinated with the idea that they're not allowed to use zippers - it's all toggle, all the time with those people. Imagine.)

I think it's time to reapply my topical antibiotic cream.

It's been nice talking to you all.

[Pictured Above: A scene from the Hollywood Blockbuster "AMISH BUNNY," coming soon to a theater near you, unless you actually are Amish.]

go canada

Sometimes it's not easy being Canadian.

It's not easy being Canadian when you hear Terry Jacks singing, "Seasons in the Sun," for example.

I know it couldn't have been easy being Canadian when beaver hats fell out of fashion and our only national industry died.

And it sure must have been hard to be Canadian before there actually was a Canada, and the best you could be was "British North American" which must have sounded gay even then.

But the hardest time to be Canadian has got to be during the Summer Olympics.

I went to the paper today, hoping SOMEONE had won a medal of SOME color (yes, I know, "colour" in Canadian, but WIN A FRICKIN' MEDAL CANADA, AND THEN WE'LL TALK). What I discovered, under the headline, "What Canada did Tuesday," was that Christine Girard who finished "four kgs out of the bronze medal" in the Women's 63 kg was a STAR.

She'll be able to go back to the village and lord it all over the FIFTH-place men's slalom kayak dude, the SEVENTH-placed synchronized diving duo from Montreal, and the NINTH-placed 'eventing' team. I don't even know what 'eventing' is and I'm pissed.

But even these guys can feel superior to the one-person dinghy man, who is currently sitting pretty at 16th overall after the second of 10 races; the one-person dinghy woman, who is currently 24th, and the two-person dinghy team who have had four races and are now - be still my proud Canadian heart - TWENTY-EIGHTH.

I would like to go and give the whole team a pep talk. "DUDES!" I'd begin, "The ITALIANS have NINE MEDALS."

And that's where I'd end.

I did a little research (I googled "Canada Olympics Suck") and it seems Canada has a Summer Olympics STRATEGY. It's called the "Road to Excellence" campaign and it's the summer equivalent of the winter "Own the Podium" program (my prediction? the only way Canada is going to OWN a podium is if it buys one at IKEA).

The catch, however, is that the "Road to Excellence" heads directly to London, 2012, bypassing Beijing 2008 completely.

gay paree

I read articles about home renovations. They've sort of replaced the "Vows" section of the New York Times as my guilty pleasure. I sit in all my renter's glory and read about people who think nothing of buying two Manhattan apartments and converting them into one (the NYT doesn't tend to profile the people who buy one Manhattan apartment and convert it into two then rent one out to a Korean family looking to open a sawmill but I'd read that article if it existed - I'm no snob).

Anyway, yesterday, having been directed to the Toronto Globe and Mail by at least FOUR people who were kind enough to send me links to the story of the Greyhound bus beheading, I got to scanning the rest of the front page and found a home renovation story. This is the home:


It was built in 1842 for Charles Whitelaw, the first mayor of Paris, Ontario (just like the original Paris, except that it's totally not). Alexander Graham Bell used to visit. I like to imagine his reaction, were he to return to visit his dear friend Charles today, and get a gander at the front hallway:


I mean, it's possible that IS Alexander Graham Bell in the ladder painting although I seem to recall him having a beard, and I doubt the man with him his Paris' first mayor, but I can't swear to that either.

It turns out the present owner of the house is a gay icon in Toronto. Perhaps had there been some mention of this SOMEWHERE in the accompanying article, the photos would have been less jarring. But even knowing this, as I now do, the decor still gets me:



I mean, does he have to remind himself he's gay? I picture him wandering into the "lounge" thinking, "Man, I got me a six-pack of Molson and the game's on tonight and... DAMN! That's right! I'm GAY."


The same might happen at dinner (that's the dining room above). Maybe he gets a little too wrapped up in talk of small engine repair or boobs (or whatever straight guys talk about at dinner), then he looks to his left and sees the white guy getting it on with the purple guy while the weird, bearded man-monkey holds an umbrella over them and he thinks, "RIGHT! I'm GAY! Gay gay gay gay gay. God. You'd think I'd know that by now." Then he chuckles self-deprecatingly and changes the subject to waxing or Mamma Mia! or whatever gay people talk about at dinner.

I can only tell you for certain what I'll be talking about at dinner for the next few weeks - the Greyhound bus beheading. Be warned.