09SEP01: “Once upon a time in Esquimalt, British Columbia”

The place where I woke up one Tuesday Morning in 2001

I was never a fan of mornings.
I knew that Tuesday morning would be no more different than Monday morning, except that it was one day closer to the weekend that I used to crave. Once with booze, tunes, women, girls, and more booze.
Given the type of person I was back in the day, I usually wound up with more booze. And there were times that I had to pay for the women.
But this was a Tuesday morning in September, as grey as the ship on which I served, tied up alongside at Canadian Forces Base Esquimalt, located just outside Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. And it was a day that was no different from the Monday that preceded it, nor should it be from the following Wednesday. Come to think of it: back then, nothing mattered but the weekend from a Tuesday point of view. I was there to get paid. And hopefully to get laid. Which, in my case, I had to pay for that privilege.
The only thing I had to do first was answer that alarm clock. She was an unforgiving bitch with a snooze button effective for only 3 minutes until she got vindictive with a louder blast. So I decided, “Fuck it. I’m up” and struggled to sit upright on my bed. I grabbed my pack of smokes and took out the first stick of the day, a ritual that was costly since a 20-pack of anything would run up to 10 to 11 dollars in BC at the time. But I was jonesing bad for that nicotine fix, because I knew that the day would be another crashing bore of training, teaching, training, dills, more training. I really didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, nor did I really cared about giving a fuck, but it paid for the smokes and the booze. And that was good enough for me.
It didn’t make matters any better that I was also a senior naval combat information operator on that boat. The naval reserve maintains 12 maritime coastal defence vessels, 6 per coast. Of the 6 in Esquimalt, 1 is set aside for refit and alongside training. My job consisted of ensuring that the kids under my control get familiarised with the equipment in the operations room and to get ready for work at sea. Honestly, I had no clue what I was doing, everything seemed a little over my head and I preferred to delegate the dirtiest of dirty works to my 2 senior Leading Seamen. Even though I was their boss, I always wound up partying with them on weekends, trying desperately to behave more sober than the minions. The end result , of course, was major fail.
After I lit up the first stick, I turned on the radio. The Victoria radio scene reflected the Zeitgeist of the 21^st century "Naughts" - either all poppy or all crusty. It reflected the city’s attitude which was that of the “nearly-wed or the nearly-dead”, reflecting on those who were close to being married, yet were eventually condemned to an unfulfilling existence, and those who were close to meeting their respective makers, yet were eventually condemned to an unfulfilling existence. A no-win situation if you were stuck on an island. Rather than deal with the vapid blathering of the morning pop-radio deejays, I opted for the tried-and-true CBC Radio 1.
Normally, on this station, there would be talk about politics, world events, local events, more politics and fluff pieces on home and garden care in the morning, with more of the same in the afternoon and in the evening. No matter where you are in Canada, there is always a CBC Radio 1 for news and talk and a CBC Radio 2 for arts and talk, all more or less homogeneous in content and ideology. In fact, the only thing that kept me from being a complete fan of Radio 1 was because their “unbiased” dial seemed to be turned  all the way to Loony-Left. Not that there was anything wrong with dippy hippy philosophy, but when someone would host a “serious” current events show, the last thing the the listener would want is an indoctrination. At least the news coverage was good.
Something was really wrong on that day. The news was centred around a couple of plane crashes, one in New York City, another one in Washington, DC, yet another in Pennsylvania. The first thing that came to my mind was that either some poor soul lost control of the craft then all shit happened, or that some idiot was trying to make some warped socio-political statement by ruining someone else’s day. The President of the United States at the time, George W. Bush, was ranting on how these people should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. He was either over-reacting or off his meds – back then, I thought he was a bit too unstable to be a world leader, but then I had bought into the previous Clinton Camelot spirit that consumed most of the 1990s. “Whatever”, I grumbled to myself on my way to take a much needed shower to shake off whatever cobwebs accumulated in my sleep.
When I returned to my room, the same news was still going on, but took on a surreal, yet disturbing tone. The Twin Towers of the World Trade Center were no more, and hundreds, maybe thousands of people were either dead or missing. More people had perished at the Pentagon in DC as well as in Pennsylvania. “What the fuck”, I grumbled to myself as soon as I went over to work onboard HMCS Brandon, the designated training ship at the time.
As soon as I stepped on aboard Brandon, I looked around. Normally, there would be people hanging around the boatswain’s workshop located near the sweep-deck usually before 8 am (or 0800 in Canadian Forces speak). But on that morning, there was nobody there. I went in, got the operations room keys from the coxswain, looked around and went to the main cafeteria to grab a coffee and steal a toast. Maybe there would be people in there watching the news and explain to me what was going on in the world.
As soon as I went into the cafeteria, I simply gave up on asking. 31 other people were asking the same questions, either to themselves, to each other or to me, ranging from the simple “Why?” to “Are we going to war?” Like a macabre broken record, the news channels showed one tower at the World Trade Center smouldering from the wound left by the incoming aircraft when a huge airliner drove into the second tower. Then a cut to the moment when the wounded Towers slowly went down like a house of cards. The first tower fell when I got up that morning, The second one fell minutes before I got aboard. And we were going insane. “This looks like fucking Hollywood”, I kept saying. “Master Seaman, are we at war?” “Dr.Dray, what’s gong to happen to us.” The only answer I could muster was “Standby. We’ll have something to do.”
One man, a boatswain Leading Seaman, didn’t share the same feeling of anger, confusion and fear. He was originally from Lebanon, and he made the cardinal sin of saying that the Americans finally had it coming. The ship’s electrician, a fellow Master Seaman, threatened to fill him in – a polite way of saying that he was about to beat the tar out of the guy. I had to step in an break it up. It turned out that the boatswain spent some time in refugee camps back in the day, hence his beef with the US as well as Israel. I explained to him that as long as he was wearing the uniform of a Canadian sailor, he was Canadian, and he had to tone down the rhetoric for everyone’s sake, including his own.
As I was watching the highlights and aftermath of this unspeakable act (the word “tragedy” is not strong enough to describe it), I tried to figure out who would be behind it. Gaddafi? Saddam Hussein? The Michigan Militia? Endless fingers were being pointed. Back then, the name Osama bin Laden didn't create that much of a wave. After all, he was just one of many semi-Messianic terrorist warlords who resorted to hit-and-run attacks on unprotected military assets worldwide. All I knew that these were simply brazen attacks on the most visible symbols of American power, even though nobody had figured out the Pennsylvania crash until later.
All of us lower-deck people sat glued to the television until 0930 when the coxswain reluctantly ordered us back to work. Up in the ops room, we struggled to get back to what was considered as “normal” – delegating, drilling, teaching, ad infinitum. But we were also talking about whether or not we would be the next in line. In one of the rarest moment of clarity, I explained to the kids that we were targets, that any lunatic with a boat could take out the West Coast Navy in one shot. In a matter of hours, we got mustered, briefed and told what was going to happen, which essentially meant that the base was going into lockdown mode. Everyone had to be searched going to and from the base, extra watches were to be conducted along the jetties to discourage sabotage of any kind, and we were to refrain from bringing in civvy guests for the next little while.
The events took me by surprise. I thought that the US was vigilant enough to avert incidents like what happed on that Tuesday morning. So did everyone. But the people who flew these planes never got the memo. Meanwhile, all the laissez-faire that we had taken for granted seemed to have disappeared. Someone was trying to kill us just because they could if they worked and trained hard enough. The reality of the “world’s longest undefended border” quickly faded into history and cross-border travel quickly became regimented, scrutinised and dissected, all because of Osama bin Laden and his band of merry, soulless Jihadists.
In the days following the event, I called up my parents, sister, friends, letting them know that I was alright. I was relieved that my relatives living Stateside were doing well. But I was on edge for the next couple of months mainly because I thought that things would devolve from bad to worse to utterly abysmal. Some people handled it better then others, I just wanted to get my drink back on.
But I never forgave bin Laden, nor his enablers, nor his followers, nor the apparent sight of Muslims cheering this “heroic” act of 9/11. I never forgave them for upsetting everyone’s expectations that the 21^st century would bring in peace in our time. Given the petty wars and pissing matches amongst nation-states and tribes alike, I doubt that there ever was a peace at the start: only respites, ceasefires and stalemates, punctuated by bouts of revolts, cold wars, jihads, coup d'états, assassinations and ethnic cleansings. The walls that we thought were broken down started to reassemble. There had been talk of Crusades and Great Awakenings, yet we as humans failed to realize that as a species that sit at the very summit of what is commonly known as the food chain, we are pretty much capable of driving each other to extinction based on petty differences.
It’s just to easy to say that we had all brought all this down on ourselves because of complacency, greed and pettiness, but it takes one individual with command of language and ideology to create a condition poised for an apocalyptic showdown. Osama bin Laden may or may not have been the mastermind of these tragedies, but as the bankroller of many successful terrorist undertakings, he was clearly the one who should've been held totally responsible for the deeds and their subsequent results and repercussions. Iraq, Afghan, Libya, Gaza and the West Bank… the list goes on.
So many other things happened on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. The cleanup at Ground Zero, where the Twin Towers once stood, may be close to being complete, but nobody can, nor ever will eradicate the scars.
All I can remember afterwards was that life, for me, went on, business as usual, on the following Wednesday. Under all normal circumstances, it would’ve been a day no different from the Tuesday preceding it.

The Occasional Rant: As True As It Is Now As It Was Then

Over 2 years ago I posted this ranting on a CBC forum. I believe that it still makes a lot of sense.

So here we go...

On any given day, you can ask any Canadian celebrity on what Canada and being Canadian means. Almost all of them were reading from the same book of peace, love, diversity and socialized medicare.

But all of them miss the point.

This country started out as a cash cow for the ancient tribal empires until more people moved in and slowly displaced the First Nations who were there since Day One.

We did have a bloody history. We had slavery. We had our spats with the ingrates to the South. Had we been more tenacious, the Alamo would be flying the Maple Leaf (or maybe the Fleur-de-lys).

But we prefer our wide open spaces, the freedom to roam and the ability to invent - and re-invent - ourselves.

Sadly, I would hear people take pride in what we're not, as in "We're not as cold-hearted as Americans" or "We have a better health system, not like the Americans". Because for the most part, we have descended from Americans - United Empire Loyalists who believed that Mad King George had the better idea than George Washington or Ben Franklin.

But let's not nitpick over technicalities. Canada is still a young nation... in fact, more of a concept rather than a nation. Canadian is a state of mind, rather than a nationality. The land, like its contemporary society, is a mosaic. Each province and territory is a nation in its own right. We work, create, procreate and sometimes deviate in our own way.

But most of all, we live.

We are humans living in a land that that was cultivated by the First Peoples and bound by Celtic ferocity and tenacity, Gallic pride and joie-de-vivre, Anglo-Saxon resolve and good old American know-how.

Collectively, we can be the mouse that roars, the gentle giant, the silent beacon of hope.

Yet we are not perfect. Our medicare costs money. Some people carry ancient grudges and use our freedom to stoke their fires. And our politicians try to be everything to everyone, satisfying no-one.

But as long as the human species remains flawed and the polar icecaps keep melting, I am and shall always be a Canadian.

I'd like to hear one of our celebrities come up with something better.

Even to this day, I never hyphenate myself: there's no point or logic to hyphenation. A man is either this or that, black or white, alive or dead.

In the end, being a Canadian means simply being, in the here-and-now, in Canada.

Happy Canada Day, Romantic Haters.

CHARLIE SHEEN, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SUCK MY DICK!

Fuck that Charlie Sheen.

Fuck him up his stupid ass.

That whiny, self-centred, sanctimonious, spiteful little bitch is everywhere.

That overpaid twat shouldn’t bother me, but he does.

I am sick of his name.

I am sick of his face.

I am sick of his voice.

I am sick of his backpedalling, backstabbing, backbiting, hand-biting and bridge-burning every time he turds out a Tweet.

He thinks that he may be funny. He thinks that he’s still cool. He thinks that he can be a hit with all the ladies. He assumes that everyone will empathise and sympathise with his perceived plight.

He believes that he is owed an apology. He believes that he’s entitled to damages.

I don’t know about you, but he’s at least entitled to a foot up his backside.

When someone has talent and a good thing on the go, a rational mind would force that person to work hard on keeping them. I would call that the art of maintaining a personal status quo: whatever works, don’t fix; whatever is doable, do it right; whatever good is sown, reap and share the bounty.

If I had followed the blueprint set by my parents, I would’ve had Charlie Sheen’s job – or at least something resembling it.

I would’ve had the lovely talented wife, the beautiful children, lots of spending money, a roof over my head, a steady, guaranteed job surrounded by good people…

At this point, I’m happy with the last 2. I’ll be damned to let them slip away.

But all this money must’ve woken up a winning monster inside that Estevez kid.

Back in the day I would’ve love to dance with Al and Coco, and maybe bring Tina, Mary and Harry along for the ride, if Sid and Stacy didn’t mind. For some reason, I chose Al and Mary, then simply stuck with Al. Now I prefer Nico’s company – no Homo.

But old Carlos would rather dance with the thin white duchess and fuck everyone over in the process. What a winner.

He would take up a skanky pr0n h0 and tie and beat her senseless.

He has lost the confidence of his bosses, his wife, his kids, his mind and eventually his job.

All his interviews will not save his scrawny ass. All his Tweets will not redeem his tarnished soul.

For Sanity’s sake, Charlie Sheen must be destroyed.

He should be bound to a mountain face by heavy chains where raptors can feed off a pound of his flesh – only to be regenerated to be eaten again.

He should be prodded mercilessly by pitchforks wielded by enraged denizens of Chuck Lorre’s ancestral shtetl.

He should be fed to the tigers from which he stole their blood so he could live his winning lifestyle.

He should be set upon by trannies in whatever jail to which he may be sent.

He should be bound to a chair in a metal shack deep in the heart of Death Valley in the middle of summer and be forced to watch ALL his movies and TV shows.

He should be crucified to a burning cross.

He should be guillotined with a blunt, rusty blade.

He should be rolled in powdered sugar and then be left at the mercy of ravenous ants. Preferably in a remote part of the Amazonian rain forest.

He be sent on the next NASA probe heading to the Sun.

He should be sealed in Davey Jones’s locker.

He should be dressed as a pig, then air-dropped into the middle of Mecca. During Ramadan. Or maybe the Hajj. Same diff.

He should be burned alive.

He should be frozen alive.

He should be hanged, drawn and quartered, then have the remains in remand, then put back together. Repeat.

He should be fed to a volcano.

He should be fed to the Kraken.

He should be shot.

But most of all, he should just shut up, walk away and not come back until he can fix himself up and learn to live in the human race.

I hope he does that, because if he doesn’t…

I’m just going to ignore him.

John Lennon. 30 Years On and Beyond.(Or: "Okay. And so?")

I wrote this as a little response to an article made by blogger Debbie Sclussel. Take it with a grain of salt - but I stand by it.

DISCLOSURE: I was born around the time the Beatles broke.

I took their music for granted because it was there.

I never thought they were ever great because of their talent - only George Harrison (bless his soul) appeared to me the most professional of the lot - but because of the marketing savvy of Brian Epstein.

(BTW - He was to Lennon what Mr. Herbert was to Chris Griffin in the "Family Guy". Think about it, eh?)

All of Lennon's songs in his solo carreer sucked except for "Whatever Gets You Through The Night" (muchas gracias, Elton).

I (figuratively) shed more tears for George Harrison, the 9-11 victims, my ex's mom and my father (Of Blessed Memory. Amen) than I did for Lennon (to whom I shed a couple as a sign of respect).

Mark David Chapman now represents more of a threat to himself than to anyone with a pulse and synapses. Back then I thought he should fry - murder is murder, anyway - but then I don't care.

I wouldn't blame Lennon for destroying Western Civilization as We Know It - the post-WWII/-"Cold" War complacency of the constantly satiated masses took care of that - but he deserves neither beatification nor deification.

Lennon was just a man with a guitar, attitude and ideals, chained to a wife with Lady MacBeth ambitions, who managed to make a lot of money for what he did and what he became.

Nothing special. Nothing terrible. The rest of us will just keep living.

Rest In Peace, Eggman.

The Occasional Rant:Sorry, Prince. The Internet is All Over.

Adapt or die. Go with the flow. Sink or swim.

These are some of the examples explaining the basic tenets of evolution.

When I first got online way back in the early 90s, I was convinced that this invention was going to be big. As early as 1986, I had a feeling that eventually everything that we need for communication and entertainment will be reduced to 1 box, 1 screen, 1 user.

I'm quite sure that everyone would want to have this 1 box to talk to others, order some chow mein, take in a concert or a movie, get an education and simply frag some poor sucker to kingdom come in WOW.

Not to mention having a box to groove to some tunes.

So I am quite surprised that Prince (the artist formally known as Prince Rogers Nelson) would reject the internet that he once embraced as a medium for his insane creativity.

In an "exclusive" interview by Mirror journo Peter Miller, Prince proclaimed...

"The internet's completely over. I don't see why I should give my new music to iTunes or anyone else. They won't pay me an advance for it and then they get angry when they can't get it.
"The internet's like MTV. At one time MTV was hip and suddenly it became outdated. Anyway, all these computers and digital gadgets are no good.
"They just fill your head with numbers and that can't be good for you."

The Mirror article was mainly about Prince's upcoming release "20TEN", his views on his current life and his eccentric creative processes, but it was this one quote that caused this storm of controversy throughout the web and the traditional media - you do remember newspapers, tv and radio, right?

Whether Price had a point or was simply shooting from the lip at the time is irrelevant. What started me to think was the revolution that started at around the same time I discovered the internet.

This revolution is called streaming media.

To reiterate the basics of the internet, information in forms of pictures and words get broken down to bits - ones and zeroes - then get reconstituted at the end-user's machine of choice. Back in the 80s, the compact disk format was starting to take off, and my assumption at that time was that sooner or later television, radio and stand-alone music players would be rendered redundant, if not obsolete, by this new medium. All this thanks to a roomie's Commodore 64.

Fast-forward to the here-and-now and we see iTunes, Hulu and YouTube getting into the public consciousness. We have media players such as the granddaddies of them all, RealPlayer and Quicktime, and it's bastard offspring Winamp, Windows Media Player and the iTunes player. Kids - and adults run amok with their iPads and its rivals and variants. And don't get me started with the iPhone, the iPad, smartphones, laptops and netbooks. I suspect that my vision is slowly coming true, that for some reason the proliferation of the web into the public consciousness is starting to worry Prince.

Understandably so, since the availability of more bandwidth, affordable computers and more user-friendly software and hardware has made the once wild, wild web into something more mundane, more accessible, more democratised.

We've seen various iterations of peer-to-peer file-sharing software come and gone: Napster, Gnutella, LimeWire, Kazaa, BitTorrent, etc. The traditional media, stuck in the quagmire of their own paradigms, struggle to comprehend why they are losing their shirts while at the same time working to apprehend, stifle and even eliminate what they see as the threat to their survival and relevance. Metallica's Lars Ulrich may have crippled Napster, but those who have the access to better bandwidth and software will always barter files ripped from the medium that was legally bought, And the video streaming sites that started up as simple entities have become monsters.

We the masses have the capability to share ideas with a larger audience, Social networking sites have forced the world to shrink. Independent, unsigned artists now have an audience of millions to receive the fruits of their labours, whether in form of movies or music. If you want the news that fit your views, there's bound to be a site somewhere. People are making the web into the image that they want to see in any way necessary, at any time as required, even if it means writing silly blog posts or doing the Numa Numa tune to death.

And then there's Prince.

With all respect to someone who has proven himself to be prolific, rebellious, talented and so prosperous that he could write his own paycheques, Prince may have been felling a little threatened by the scores of upstarts taking advantage of the web's democratisation. Maybe he's become aware that all that technology that was once solely belonged to studios like Paramount, MGM, Abbey Road and Paisley Park have now fallen into the hands of the great unwashed proletariat determined to unseat the aristocracy of the Old Guard from their collective throne. The monoliths and conglomerates are no longer alone as content providers: those of us with talent, tool and bandwidth have hopped into their electronic, digitised hot-tub.

So what is left for the Purple Prince to do to be considered a revolutionary, an iconoclast, an individual?

He simply shut down all his websites, packed up his bags and started to give away his new cd for free. Through the Mirror, no less.

Back to basics. Back to the streets. Back to plastic hardcopy. Whatever floats the Purple boat is fine. He has already made his mark, regardless of medium and is entitled to his opinions and work ethic. Blood sweat and tears indeed.

And life goes on.

For Prince, the internet may be over. For many, it's here to stay.

For me, it's just evolution.

Go with the flow.

The Occasional Rant: I am convinced that my country is now run by idiots.

I admit it... I voted Conservative in the last federal election. I expected positive change, responsible and accountable leadership, and a general betterment of our national well-being.

What I didn't expect was the following:

1. The failure to get a majority in the last election.
   
   Whoever ran their campaign was either asleep, complacent or hopelessly dumb. Never did I see an ad that said what the Conservative Party of Canada could do for this country. Hell, none of the other parties ran similar ads. Only the New Democrats had some sense of providing a platform, but most Canadians who previously experienced provincial NDP rule knew better than to vote for more taxes and Federally-sanctioned political correctness.
   
   It appears in order to win an election in the 21^st century©, the political ads should be saying variations of "You suck", "Suck it", "STFU" or "ESAD" to their respective rivals. "Promises be damned: I'm-a pwn yo' ass!"
   
   The Conservatives simply got a second chance at power because the fibbing Liberal alternative was unacceptable at the time. After all, who wanted to be ruled by Céline Dion? The problem was, and is, that the Conservatives are giving Canadians no other good reason why they should deserve another mandate, other than the fact that we have been free from any attacks by Islamofascist militias, and that Québec is still part of Confederation (all for the sake of telling the Yankx - "Here's why we're not you").
   
   Maybe Hell is starting to get a cold front. Maybe we might get a Prime Minister named Jack.
   
   Maybe I should get to the next point;
   
   
2. Kanada's Kandahar Kuagmire. (Unfortunate choice of lettering, but who am I to impress?)
   
   Right about now my brothers and sisters are in one of the most dangerous places in Central Asia. We may be doing right, getting right and making right, but something is wrong.
   
   We're simply not getting the love.
   
   To be fair, this mission was a holdover from the previous Liberal Chretien/Martin (WHO? LOL!) regime. We wanted to show the world what we could to against terrorists, fanatics and the corrupt cesspools that spawned them. After jumping in wearing forest-green combats (imagine a dab of relish on hummus - YUCK!), we got our act together, got proper camo, had our highs and lows, made a few people happy...
   
   And still... NOTHING WAS DONE!
   
   Material, logistical and political shortfalls notwithstanding, with a little help from our friends the Canucks did the job right. It's just that a) the impotent Afghan "government" couldn't get its act together enough to catch up and step up to alleviate the workload unertaken by an already overworked Canadian Forces (+ "allies") presence; b) our "allies" (read: "NATO") promised more personnel, yet all the countries, save the UK and the Netherlands, were reluctant to give a hand.
   
   At least, for once, we should get some of our new partners from the former Warsaw Pact to help us out. Not only would it make life easier for the World's Hardest Working Armed Forces, but also it could give our Forces a chance to take some much r'n'r'n'r'n'r (rest, recreation, recovery, re-arming), because in spite of being a big country, we have a small population.
   
   Small population equals small tax base.
   
   Small tax base equals relatively small military.
   
   It doesn't take an economist or a general, let alone a DND official, to figure that out.
   
   Too bad it had to take several rotations and over 100 lives for the government to say "Time-out".
   
   Not really anyone's fault, except for those who we tried to help, and whose help we needed WAY BACK WHEN.
   
   As for the third point;
   
   
3. Too hostile - too friendly. But nothing in between.
   
   Back in the day when we were living in a Trudeaucracy under the annointed Jean Chretien, we told W in no uncertain terms that we would not take part in Iraq nor the missile shield programon the grounds that we want everyone to like us.
   
   Then when Steve-O came to power, it was huggy huggy kiss kiss kiss. Still no Iraq, "but we're sticking with you, W." It may not have been a bad thing but by then people realised that the US Military was doing the "War by Playstation" shtick - by ousting tyrant Saddam Hussein, the US may have won the war but they are now trying to win the peace, piece-by-piece. But that analysis is best left with someone more qualified in doing theoretical autopsies.
   
   When the Great White Hope Barack Obama came to power and visited Canada, guess what happened?
   
   Huggy huggy kiss kiss kiss.
   
   I don't mind having having great relations with our neighbours to the South - we got stuff, they got cash, more money and jobs for us, eh? - there there should always be a time for Canadian politicians to say "We like you, but not in that way."
   
   In other words, being honest can hurt. Having an honest friend can be very painful, but you have a better chance at survival than having a dishonest sycophant.
   
   Not to be outdone;
   
   
4. The justice system still sucks!
   
   What's up with "time served"?
   
   You know - the "two-fer-one" deals made to the condemned once they're sentenced.
   
   Case in point: some kid who got himself entangled with a Toronto-based Islamofascist cell was sentenced to over 2 years at Club Fed.
   
   Then he got released.
   
   Why?
   
   Because he already spent that same amount of time in remand.
   
   Go figure. If you do the crime, then you should do the time. No ifs, ands or buts. You got remand? Boo-hoo-hoo - that's your problem.
   
   That's the point of punishment: you knock enough sense into someone who did the offence so that person doesn't do it again.
   
   But we are a society that cares for the poor misbegotten individuals caught up in a world of larceny and vice, hoping that these wretched weeds bloom into the beautiful, fragrant flowers to which they were meant to be.
   
   Sadly, reality states that once someone is in that life, it's a long hard road to recovery.
   
   The power, the thrill, the danger - that's why some people become gangsters.
   
   Forget poverty, racism, class-ism, ageism. Desperate people are everywhere, at times susceptible to the bug of evil. That is why there is a justice system.
   
   Of course, we did vote in a party dedicated to restoring some proper law and order.
   
   So where is it? We're still waiting. Hello?
   

So... when will the Tories take charge, eh? Libs, NDP-ers and Greens need not answer nor speculate.

And why is the Bloc still around in Parliament? Just wondering.

The Occasional Rant - Millions of Dollars Spent, Hundreds of Lives Sacrificed, and This Is the M-F’ing Thanks We Get?

Sung to the tune of "Oh, Canada"...

Oh, Kandahar!
Our home in ‘ghanistan.
True patriot love,
We spread throughout the land.

But with aching hearts we see the rise
Of some obscenity.
From far and wide, oh Canada
Feels pretty damn betrayed!

Thanks, Hamid Karzai, for making idiots out of martyrs and good Samaritans.

Legalising “marital rape” is sick, obscene and must be repealed NOW!

Compared to this, the diss from Greg Gutfeld and Doug Benson (cut these shmoes some slacl, eh?) means nothing!

NEXT…

I would've told Greg Gutfeld to SMMFD,but I decided to do this instead...

There are many ways to say "F--- You" to someone.

This is one of them.

Hello Greg, Bill, et al...

First off: I used to watch your show, which was in my opinion very funny. Of course, I couldn't afford to stay up late or take an hour off my life watching a group of talking heads carrying on like a booze-soaked house-party. But I digress.

You may not realise this, but Canada has roughly 1/10th the population of the United States, hence the relatively small military that you see today.

Previous Liberal governments made it even smaller and at this time the current Conservative government is struggling to rebuild it.

You probably didn't know that at one time, Canada had the 3rd largest navy during WW2. (ref: http://www.civilization.ca/cwm/explore/military-history-research-centre/democracy-at-war/canadawar/democracy-at-war-royal-canadian-navy-rcn-canada-and-the-war)

You probably didn't even know that Canadians had made sacrifices liberating Holland and holding back enemies during the Korean War. (ref: http://archives.cbc.ca/war_conflict/korean_war/topics/112)

Right about now, 116 of my brothers and sisters have given their lives in the name of freedom and social justice in Afghanistan. (ref: http://cnews.canoe.ca/CNEWS/Canada/2009/03/20/8829441-cp.html) At the same time, resources have been stretched due to low manpower, the cost of fuel and equipment - the same problems that plague any operational military force. Yet when the Federal government had asked all the other members of the coalition operating there to help out, they received little support. Thus you have our head of the Army, Gen. Leslie, telling one of your Senate subcommittees that our soldiers needed at least a little break from the war.

And let's not get started on the local rulers: each one has an agenda that more likely doesn't include liberal democracy.

I know that you were trying to make light of a situation by implying that the meanest sons-of-bitches were softies at heart. But you did it wrong, and the timing couldn't have been any worse.

(I doubt that you actually air this show live at 3 a.m. - if you had recorded it in the daytime before the 4 soldiers got killed, I forgive you. Once. Never again.)

I hope you appreciate the sacrifices we Canadians made for YOUR freedom.

Yes, our previous government policies and the demeanor of some of our more liberal citizens may make the French seem butch in comparison, but as someone who has served in the military, a sacrifice is never taken lightly. And as much as we love to joke with each other about our shortcomings and psychoses, there are time at which we have to step back, take a deep breath and stand down.

You may have realised that you have created a storm among those Canadians who stand by their troops and the cause. If you still have problems understanding this, why not spend a week with our brothers and sisters in Kandahar, working through diesel fumes and dust, going out on patrols not knowing if IEDs may be lurking in any given stretch of road and know what trouble we have to face in order to complete a mission.

And if you ask politely, we might get together and sing "Kumbaya" before retiring for the night.

Don't ever let it happen again.

Respect.

Jacques Dray
Dartmouth, NS, Canada

And you wonder why some conservatives hate Fox News?

Meh. NEXT...

The Occasional Rant - The Mornings-After

So... what's next, eh?


Obama Win Causes Obsessive Supporters To Realize How Empty Their Lives Are
So... there you go.

TRUDEAU - oops... OBAMA WINS!(G-d help us all - Barack included...)

Who thought they didn't see it coming?

When a candidate works hard to woo the middle, s/he would eventually be crowned.

Truth be told - everybody lost.

McCain lost because he refused to back up his policies with a sense of resolve and urgency. He never gotten around, let alone bothered, to explain why the policies proposed by Obama were doomed either to failure or to severe scrutiny. Nor did he ever explain why his policies were better and more cost-effective in the simplest, least technical, terms. He failed the middle.

Barack lost because right about now he'll have to fugure out how to pay for all the goodies promised to the electorate. Sure... he looks great in a suit. He talks smooth. Yet he is beholden to the ideals of the modern day Democratic Party and the new-age "Liberals" from which he draws his insprations. Now, he beholden to the masses who cast their votes for and against him. Worse, he will be forced to walk the tighrope above those ravenous for results in order for him to deliver the agenda that he worked so hard to sell. For a bill still to be compiled and calculated, he failed the middle.

It's too easy to blame the "mainstream" media for the good/bad/ugly/fugly that permeated the campaigns. Many saw Barack to be the "Funky President" envisioned by the Godfater of Soul himself. Yes, Virginia... there is a difference between being funky, getting funky and smelling funky. And the sheeple who come to the trough, eat it up and take the innuendoes as gospel may yet grow to appreciate it in due time. Even the tabloid came to the attack when Palin (Sarah, not Michael) came on the scene, creating an outburst of PMS (Palin Malignment Syndrome), exposing the slightest of gaffes and simplest of shortcomings.

To their credit, Palin should've stepped up to the plate with more than a heartbeat and a smile. Most Americans were asking "Where's the beef" and she should've delivered. Yet when she failed to do so to the masses' satisfaction, the "mainstream" press would crucify her. It's easy to praise an unproven Messiah than respect a wisened Maverick, while the Rolling Stone was quick to crown the upstart the same way that Napoleon was quick to crown himself. The "mainstream" failed the middle.

In the end, when the dust has settled, there will be work to be done. As soon as it's done, the costs will be tallied, the cheques will be written, and the man who would be king will have a lot on his plate to divvy amongst those to which he would have to delegate, some of who have created crises that the previous ruler had to resolve, sometimes with pleasant results, sometimes with hideous outcomes. Eventually, it will be the novice's turn to work with the leftovers to create somthing that may appear palatable, yet distubingly familiar.

If he were to succeed and make things right, the middle may have won.

If he were to fail and create more new crises, then it would not be him who failed the middle.

It would be the middle themselves.

A question to Canadians about Barack Obama

Please... feel free to comment.

I've already been told to suck a dig (an archaeologial dig?) on YouTube, but's that YouTube for you, eh?

Maybe you could put in your own 2-cents on the matter.

As usual... just wondering.

The Occasional Rant - Just Watch The Damn Video

Sometimes, even the bad guys need a break.


'No Values Voters' Looking To Support Most Evil Candidate

The Occasional Rant:Polite Country, Aren't We?

We're so polite no-one would ever think about messing with us, eh?

Otherwise, someone might wind up losing his head.

Literally.

By now, the whole world knows that Canada is a great country to live in.

A safe place full of peace loving peoples and knife wielding psychos.

Because where else can you feel safe riding a bus anywhere, let alone drive one in any given city?

Consider the fact that our crime rates are always falling.

Even the fictional Ministry of Truth in Orwell's "1984" (a very prophetic book, IMO) couldn't come up with anything sunnier than what StatsCan™ would cook up on any given day.

Yes, kids - this is shaping up to be one HELL of a summer here in the Great White North.

Thank fuck.

The shortest distance between 2 points is not always connected by a straight line.

Two years sober and counting.

Two years without gambling... okay - so I relapsed a couple of times but I'm doing fine.

Two years without a hangup, sexual, social, political or otherwise.

The problem about living post-addiction is that there always seem to be a tempting aftertaste of the drug of choice taken.

I miss the sharp sweetness of a double vodka and diet coke, the way it would hit the back of the throat and burn its way down the esophagus to the stomach. I miss the eventual buzz that it would induce, and the loosening of inhibitions and morals at any given party.

I miss the rush obtained by rolling two dice at the craps table at Casino Nova Scotia. The noise, the chaos, the anticipation that the right number would come up at the right time - would it be a deuce, double deuce or midnight? I miss the ritual and suspense involved with the roll, the many eyes of fellow desperate beings staring at me, praying that I wouldn't seven-out them of whatever hard-earned money that they would put on the table.

I miss all the orgasms that I have obtained, regardless of means, both legit and illicit. The adventure, the danger, the thrill of witnessing, ravishing and obtaining human flesh so that for one fleeting moment, the pain of reality would go away.

It takes but one taste to get you hooked. And that taste will never leave you.

The taste can redefine the way you look at the world, treat the people, spend the money and even read these worlds.

People would lie, cheat, steal and kill for its effects, its rush, its power and the illusion of empowerment.

I lived for the taste. I wanted more of it. I wanted to re-live the feeling of the initial rush every time I took it.

I spent a lot of money pursuing that first rush. I wanted that high to be more intense, more empowering.

Yet with every high, there is a crash, each one being worse, bloodier and more costly than the last.

In pursuit of the taste I had dug a hole so deep that the only way to get out is to keep digging in the faint hope that I could see light at the other end.

Even though I am enjoying sobriety, the reality of my life and the things surrounding it is no less easier. All the things that I had put off due to my drinking, gambling and whoring ways have returned to haunt me. Negligence has its price. Looking back becomes a habit, a sick perverse obsession. A part of me wants to reinvent the wheel when it comes to taking stock of what led me to my current situation.

I thought I could save the world. I thought I could change it. I thought I could be king in a short time.

But after years of living like a god, I started to realise that soon, I'll die like a man and be buried like everyone else, because I am no longer the wild and crazy kid that I thought I was - at least in my own fevered mind. With all the excesses and the resulting mayhem, in the wake of what seemed to be an endless storm fueled by want of immediate gratification, I emerged battered, bloodied, naked and in pain.

But I am not dead.

Not that I really wanted to live forever - I'm just too scared to die before achieving my full potential. There are too many things to do and accomplish for me to toss in the proverbial towel and cash out of this mortal coil.

Life is full of unexpected experiences, both good and bad. No matter what could happen on any given day, I am still standing.

Because of my sobriety and my willingness to pursue and healthier, more fulfilling life, I consider every day to be a birthday.

I don't miss the stupidity, silliness and hangovers.

I don't miss the losses and disappointments.

I don't miss the guilt and embarrassment and shame of the morning-after and the ensuing ruination of lives.

But most of all, I don't miss the taste, even though it will in my body, mind and soul until I take my final breath.

I have done enough sinning in my life. I have gorged enough forbidden fruit to make the vilest of men sick. I have bitten off more that I could chew and burnt so many bridges that I might as well take a deep breath and move forward.

My name is Jacques. I was, I am and always will be an addict, pervert, scoundrel, jealous bastard, wanton lover and romantic hater.

And I am still alive.

And these days, I never could have felt this great.

Thank G-d for the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

Oh... and by the way - I still love to create.

The Occasional Rant: Anything but THAT!

Dr. Henry Morgentaler may be an influential person.

He may have pushed the boundaries in the medical profession.

He may have given women the power to control their bodies and their lives.

He may have influenced changes in society and attitudes towards reproductive rights.

He may have succeeded in lifting the taboo off abortion.

But he does not, nor ever will, deserve the Order of Canada.

First... I don't mind a woman's right to choose. If she feels that she does not want this pregnancy, that all avenues that would help relieve her of the burden of raising a child have been exhausted, or that this pregnancy might endanger her life, then she is entitled to that right.

That being said, abortion is wrong. Period.

I'm not talking about the X-tian notion of the sanctity of life, although I do believe that life begins at conception. This isn't even about meddling with nature, although the concept of man playing God has irked me in more ways than one (see: bin Ladin, Hitler, Stalin, et al).

This is about dereliction of responsibility, the cheapening of morality and the abdication of accountability, and its effect on the collective mindset at the closing of the previous century.

If anyone had given any thought about their actions with regards to the sex act, if anyone were learned on the responsibilities involved, we wouldn't have to worry about abortions.

By carrying out the abortion, the woman who requested it has abdicated responsibility and accountability: it will always be "someone else's fault", "a mistake", "a decision that had to be made in one's own interests".

Just call me a pro-lifer for choice - abortion is wrong, plays God and messes with nature, but let the woman make the final call.

Dr. Morgentaler is not a villain. He is not a monster. He isn't even the Antichrist, let alone an anarchist. He is a doctor attending to a patient's needs.

But what has he done for all Canadians? What has he done for me?

Far from being humble, Dr. Morgentaler said this...

"I think it's a sign of recognition for all the work that I've done over the years and the sacrifices I've borne and the unjust sentence of imprisonment that I suffered," he said.

"I hope that Canada has set an example and that internationally, people in governments will respond to it."

Joyce Arthur of the Abortion Rights Coalition of Canada was just as modest...

"There's always going to be some division and controversy about him. Canada is the only democratic country in the world that has no law on abortion," she said.

"We set a good example for the rest of the world, and this Order of Canada further sets a good example because it sends a strong message that our society officially supports abortion rights and women's rights and we're not afraid to say it out loud."

Sadly, I don't see any point why Dr. Morgentaler should get this honour, at least at this time.

If this is Canada's way of saying that we are a progressive country, then something has gone FUBAR. The Order of Canada is not for Henry Morgentaler.

So there you go.

Tim Russert has his work cut out for him in Heaven.

Some people say the real cowboys die with their boots on.

Some people think that dying on the fields of battle is more than heroic - it's an honourable death.

Others say that work can kill you, and they may be right.

But by any standards, Tim Russert died too young, his work on this mortal plain unfinished.

Then again, life and death happens, and with the rash of politicians lining up in front of the proverbial Pearly Gates growing longer, it's only fair that G-d of our Understanding would call Tim up.

Whether you love him, loathe him or both, Tim almost always put on a good show in "meet the Press". He deserves some major props for daring others to follow his lead, his flow, his style.

Now Sundays, for the armchair statesmen and pundits, will become crappy.

Now I hope the Duffster doesn't follow Russert too soon, because this will doubly suck.

The Occasional Rant: The CBC fucks up... yet again!

May I have your attention, please?

For the past week, Canada's other anthem - one might even say that it's the most sacred Saturday night hymn - was at the centre of controversy.

The dispute centred on the theme song to the CBC's "Hockey Night in Canada" (a.k.a. "HNIC").

Ask any Canuck about HNIC and s/he will tell you that it's one of the best shows to watch on a Saturday night in wintertime, showcasing the good, bad and ugly of the best game you can name.

Considering that hockey is Canada's unofficial state religion, any tinkering with rules, uniforms and even rituals would be considered worse than blasphemous. Even radical Islamofascism has some boundaries - as long as you don't insult the Prophet (PBUH), they're cool. Mess with anything that has to do with hockey, and you'll have one big fat Canadian fatwah (and Don Cherry) on your sorry hairy arse.

I've grown to accept the HNIC theme as part of the landscape and that of the CBC, who insinuated itself into the Hoser psyche as the purveyor of the game on ice.

Sadly, the theme's composer wanted to get paid a little more because of its popularity.

Considering that we are the amongst most taxed people in the history of Western Civilisation©, we thought that the CBC, a Crown Corporation, would be able to settle this affair accordingly. Right?

Sadly, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation has long been a victim of its own paradigm paralysis - even though it sees itself as the protector of Canadian Culture™, the Powers That Be have no clue how to improve it's management and profitability. In its dispute with the composer's estate, it cried poverty. Towards the end of the week, the CBC decided to hold a competition on a possible replacement. Pathetic.

Enter the CTV, CBC's rival.

Right about now, this company pwns a goodly chunk of Canadian pop culture, from its own stable of radio and tv stations to specialty channels such as TSN, MuchMusic and franchises such as the Discovery Channel and MTV. (Yes... that eMpTy-V!) There was no doubt that one day, it might come to eclipse the so-called Mother Corp.

And earlier today, it did just that.

So what does that mean for the CBC? What does it say about the erstwhile, self-proclaimed guardian of Canadian Culture™?

Well... it's another great example on how a once-respected institution could get so bloated on it own sanctimonious arrogance and delusion that it could succeed in sabotaging its own attempt at retaining and maintaining the respect of its core audiences.

You might say that the CBC had committed a little social and public-relations suicide.

But that would involve competency, and in the end, it was the CTV that wound up pulling the trigger to finish the job.

And so, there you go.

Reverend Wright may be right...(but at least he should've worded it better...)

I'm not too much of a fan of American politics nowadays, mainly because the people that are running things - people of MY generation - may have lost the fine art of leadership.

This lack of leadership, and the confusion that it can create, is apparent when the Reverend Wright issued his "God damn America" sermon.

True - it has offended the conservative sphere is such a way that some are calling for his head to be served (examples here, here, and here).

Right about now - at the risk of permanently alienating conservatives, right-libertarians and anti-idiotarians everywhere even further, here is Rev. Wright's sermon (courtesy of the "Huffington Post")...



In context of this sermon, Wright has good reason why politics can alienate groups of people due to the whims of various leaders. In that context, people should have the right to rage against the machine.

Having said all that, Wright is still crying "Victim" in this sermon. As someone who is not a X-tian, this would upset God quite a bit.

Obsessing about the past can be a dangerous thing. Many people overcompensate their shortcomings or their trespasses by either starting wars (yes - even this current war!), engaging in addictions <puts hand up> or becoming an emasculated shadow of one's self. Continuous self reflection isolates you from the mainstream, prevents you from seeing the big picture and may even exacerbate the failures and errors that you have committed in the past.

If Reverend Wright wants to help the people, he shouldn't promote self-defeatism by laying blame solely on the oppressors - past, present, future. Playing the victim card politically, socially or racially can backfire and harm even the people you're trying to save.

The people are the engineers of their own successes and failures. By forever demanding entitlement, concessions and payback on the basis of victimhood, Reverend Dr. Jeremiah Wright may be cheapening the whole concept. That's the real crime of this sermon - not anti-Americanism, but constant self-victimisation.

Amen. Next...

The Occasional Rant - Jeff Healy / I stand corrected on Ellen Page / A tale of 2 Steve-O's

My work sucked donkeys Monday night.

Maybe because it was the first Monday of the month, where the mundane became weird and the weird became completely obnoxious.

If I had a dollar for every single company store cock-up, I wouldn't be blogging: I'd be banking, partying and sit around in South Beach sipping vodka sours and watching the thongs pass by.

The suck-ass weather didn't help matters much either. My sinuses went Jihadi and forced me to knock back the last sinus care caplet with my morning tea.

It was one of the worst of times to be on my best behaviour. And even that it getting tested beyond its breaking point.

Enough of my life. Here we go...

1. Angel eyes on Jeff. Back in the day, Jeff Healy could rock the blues and funk the jazz out of his Strat. Like the other Jeff (Jeff Beck), he could bend the fuck out of his notes while the single coils transmit the sonic fire to the masses.
   Most of all, Jeff Healy was a gentleman, a Mensch, a sonic entrepreneur who parleyed his talents to different avenues such as his own hot jazz/blues club in the T-dot.
   But, for those who know better, Jeff was a fighter and a survivor. The cancer that stole his eyes didn't steal his love of music, nor did it still the hands that wrenched it out of any Fender that was lying around at any time.
   Last Sunday night, Jeff went down fighting.
   Charlie was too tenacious, too fast, too ingrained.
   Charlie didn't care who he took. Be it man, woman, child, Charlie was a glutton for flesh, tissue, organs and cells.
   But Charlie can never take souls. He failed to still Jeff's hunger for the perfect sound and stifle his dream of doing good for the love of music.
   Love. Music. Life. The God-blessed trinity that keep me alive fueled Jeff's life, right to the end.
   Our existence on this planet is always transient, yet the works and legacies that we create will outlive us for better, for worse, and for those willing to follow in our steps.
   Jeff was but one of many. Yet, at 41, he had lived and loved more than people twice his age, if only because his life, like ours, was transient.
   For me, 41 is too damn young. My sister's 41. I was once 41. And yet we all felt that there was more work to be done, more sights to see, more mountains to climb.
   We'll see you on the other side, Jeff Healy.
   My condolences, love and respect to those who loved him.
   
   
2. Gauging Page again. I swear that this will be the last time I take Ellen Page's name in vain again.
   A few posts ago, I've mentioned that Ellen may be this generation's Molly Ringwald.
   Then, while I was at work, something really hit me.
   Ellen is not- repeat, not - Molly.
   She's our Christina Ricci.
   Or maybe Winona Ryder.
   In fact, after watching "Juno" and "Hard Candy", I believe that Ellen has the versatility possessed by these 2 stars.
   Having said that, I should just go and get a life instead.
   Ellen is simply... Ellen. And I'll leave it at that.
   
   
3. A tale of 2 Steve-O's. As I'm getting next to comatose, I'll keep these 2 items short.
   a) Steve-O busted.
   b) Steve-O busted.
   Discuss amongst yourselves. Which one is more Jackass than the other?
   Can you see the difference?
   Maybe it's because one of them beat up something while the other one is getting beaten up from all sides.
   Who will survive? Stay tuned.
   

And so, there you go.

The Occasional Rant - Go, Leafs... oh... nevermind. Ellen Page - the new Molly Ringwald? Why Afghaninstan is not Canada's Iraq.

Just what the Doctor ordered. Open wide..

1. Giving it up for the Blue and White? Just give up. The big question nipping at the synapses of athletic gourmands is whether the Toronto Maple Leafs would turn around and surprise everyone with a resurrection of sorts.
   
   As a terminal Torontonian (my creds: born at Mount Sinai; treated for many ailments at Sick Kids; knows that Yonge and Dundas is not as bad or evil as it used to be; misses the yeasty malt waft from the old Molson brewery on the Lakesore as it hit HMCS York), I suffer every single season. I remember the last Stanley Cup parade - I was all of 3 years old when pandemonium hit downtown and my parents took me to experience the thrill of seeing the sacred Cup in the hands of the Chosen and Deserving. To me, everyone was all of 3 years of age at that point.
   
   But now, long after Harold Ballard had become nothing but dust, bone and shady memory, the Leafs have imploded. Not that they ever had any major success since 1967 - they've been frustrated bridesmaids many a time, but never holders of the battered Grail - but this year, the effects of that drought are starting to fray the nerves of even the newbiest of newbies. At last count, after getting pwned at home 8-0 Tuesday night by the Florida Panthers - based in a state where snow is what someone would rather snort than shovel - the once and future Kings of Carlton St. share the dank basement with the likes of Tampa, Chicago and LA. The former dynastic Islander powerhouse is now even a shadow of its former self, its fans no doubt intent on commiserating with their counterparts.
   
   But this is not about how to improve the team. This is a eulogy, a requiem for a throwaway season. This may sound defeatist, but there is a fine line between optimism and full-blown delusion. Rather than hope for a miraculous turnaround, rather than goad an already battered team into further oblivion, we should just show our love for the Blue and White, win or lose, and give up on the rest of the season.
   
   This isn't just for the good of the team. It's also for your own health. There's always next season. Consider this roster under construction and cut them enough slack to let them make mistakes from which they could learn. And come playoff time, learn to say this mantra with all your heart...
   
   GO, SENS, GO!
   
   Next...
   
   
2. Juno Pretty in Pink? I'm probably going to piss off a lot of fanboiz and fangrrlz by saying that there isn't anything special about Ellen Page.
   
   In a field over-saturated by wide-eyed ingenues and hyper-precocious twinks (hello, Hannah Montana?), Ellen may be seen as a hot, gawky woman with all the quirks associated with opinionated youth. Then again, having lived in the Halifax-Dartmouth area since 2002, there are many women like Ellen/Juno who posses these same qualities. Hell... one of my co-workers recently gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and she was just 17 when the bun was placed in her oven (big-up, congrats, mad-love and respect, Amanda). So, what's up about Juno and the hamburger phone, eh?
   
   To be fair, I have yet to see this movie, but I remember a similar hype with another ingenue who broke out on the scene via teen flicks - Molly Ringwald.
   
   Mmmmmm - how I loved her all-American gawkishness and her fiery red hair, and the way she scowled at Judd Nelson in "The Breakfast Club".
   
   There could be so many similarities between Ellen and Molly - both of them started out on television (Ellen: "Pit Pony", "Re-Genesis", "Trailer Park Boys"; Molly: "The Facts of Life"). Both of them went to interesting schools (Ellen: Shambhala School; Molly: Lycée Française School in Los Angeles). And most interestingly, they both appeared in movies about teen pregnancy (Ellen: y'know; Molly: "For Keeps?").
   
   Surprise, surprise. I think I've found a match. 20 years apart.
   
   It would be very interesting if both these ladies get together for some lunch, maybe at the Wooden Monkey in downtown Halifax, where they serve this chocolate walnut tofu cheesecake to kill for - yummy, muthafuckah! - and maybe do a film together. Think of this as passing the torch from one gen to another.
   
   For now, Ellen Page is a work in progress. While she does have some career mileage, she really has to do something that would make everyone shout "What the f---!" rather than say "What the f---", "Hard Candy" and "The Tracey Fragments" notwithstanding. The upcoming adaptation of "The Stone Angel" might just do the trick. In the meantime, for patriotic purposes, Ellen (along with Wintersleep, Classified, Buck 65 and John Dunsworth, among many in the Maritimes) has been declared Jacques Approved™!
   
   Having said that, I still believe that she'll win the Oscar some other time.
   
   Next...
   
   
3. Quagmire is Peter Griffin's Neighbour! Stéphane Dion's heart may go on, but in the here-and-now, the Gritmeister is in a quandary.
   
   His party, many moons ago, volunteered this country to go into Afghanistan to rebuild and keep the Taliban and al-Qaeda zealots at bay, if not six feet under. Current Prime Minister Stephen Harper ensured that the boys and girls - my brothers and sisters - take advantage of this mandate to ensure the freedom, dignity and respect for the many disparate tribes that make the Afghan nation.
   
   As everyone should know by now, this had been easier said than done - every tribe has one form of beef or another, and most deaths amongst the local populace could be attributed to longstanding vendettas dating way before the Mullahs or Comrade Ivan ran things. All things considered, the Canucks have gone above and beyond the call of duty to keep the masses on their watch from killing each other.
   
   The problem that Dion has right now is that he wanted to remove the troops or at least limit their commitment after Feb 2009. Harper wanted to maintain the status quo beyond that date, provided that NATO would do more to help out in the region around Kandahar.
   
   Granted - Afghanistan is not Quebec, and multiculturalism there is more of the "You suck" - "You suck even more than your momma" variety. And in this region of the world, our concept of liberal democracy is as strange to them as female circumcision is to us. To those people who believe that we should stick to peacekeeping, think about this problem - remember Yugoslavia? Rwanda? If we have kept the peace there, why are there still more unmarked graves turning up? Peace, love and flowers, and a "Star Trek" solution are not the answers - in order to have peace, you have to create it, and as much as you hate the thought, a loaded weapon with the safety off does a better job than hugs and "Kumbaya". You have to make it to keep it, and our people over there are doing just that - policing the peace.
   
   The real big issue is that in spite of all our best efforts, we're still not feeling the love from our NATO "partners". Ignoring the need for more resources in this volatile region will make more Canadians resent the commitment to carry out the task. And an emasculated central government doesn't help the cause any better. As much as Hamid Karzai can talk a great talk, he still has to learn the baby steps to walk the walk, one step at a time.
   
   Whether Dion, Layton and that guy from the Bloc Québec-wha'? realise the big picture as much as Steve-O remains to be seen. I'm not holding my breath - neither should anyone who cares about the security of others as well as ourselves. And to be fair, if you need to commit, you need the love, and Steve-O should step up more often to ensure that our "partners" send more of it over. And soon. Or else.
   

And BTW - I'm working on my first proper YouTube posting. The first true post - a test-run - really sucks donkeys, but it's a start. All that's really needed are better lighting and a script.

And so... there you go.