Category Archives: Social Constructs

Duffy, Wallin and Harper


We’re going to go there.  Unfortunately, there also has to be translations for our non-Canadian readers.  If you do remember your Canadian civics class, you can skip through the first few ‘graphs.

Canada has a Senate, a chamber of sober second thought that reviews what is passed by the House of Commons and votes for or against it, with the resulting mess being given Royal Assent and whatever madness that results, later becomes Law.  With a few exceptions, the Senate is a rubber stamp operation up here, as compared to the US.  Other exceptions are also notable:  Our Senators are appointed by the Governor-General on behalf of the Queen, on the recommendation of the Prime Minister.  They’re not elected.  Use that yellow highlighter marker you have there and highlight not elected.  Ooops, sorry about that.  

It used to be that a Senate appointment was for life, but that’s been scaled back to 75 years of age with a pension that is freakin’ amazing.  About all they don’t get is a lotion boy.  Technically the 105 Senators are appointed from each of the territories and provinces to provide a cross-Canada representation of seats, as well as experiences, backgrounds and expertise.  In reality, a Senate appointment is a payback for party hacks, flacks and clingons who have kissed so much ass that their noses aren’t merely discoloured; they’ve got a brown ring around their necks that show their Depth of Commitment.   

Canadian Readers can pick up here:

Three Senators, Mike Duffy, Pamela Wallin and Patrick Brazeau have been in the news with revelations that they have been playing either fast and loose with the expenses or have been victims of rules that are at best confusing.  Rumour has it, retired Senator Dr. Wilburt Keon, an internationally renown heart surgeon and medical researcher, with degrees out the wazoo (Harvard, McGill) and brains from here to Moncton took one look at the expense rules and said “Fooked if I know!”  We suspect the story is apocryphal.  (Disclosure:  I’ve met Duffy several times (he’s an ex-television reporter) and have shared breakfast more than once with Wallin when she hosted Canada AM at CJOH in Ottawa, in that toxic cafeteria at 1500 Merivale, 800 years ago.  Brazeau, we wouldn’t know from a knothole in a fence board).

Senators are allowed a housing and travel allowance if their residence is more than 100 kilometers from Ottawa, but here’s where it gets murky.  Is it your full-time residence or a residence of convenience to say you are representing a particular region or province?  Duffy said he lived in PEI and did in fact have property there, but didn’t have a PEI Driver’s License or health card, the presence of which would suppose actual residency.  Wallin said Wadena, Saskatchewan was home and she does own a joint there.  Brazeau lives up past Maniwaki, PQ and that meets the 100 km rule.

Being Senators and clever, they made sure they also have digs in Ottawa for when they’re in town, as nobody wants to live on borrowed sofas or shady guest rooms on an Ikea futon.  Four Senators, (let us not forget Mac Harb claiming a garden shed up in Eganville, ON as his permanent residence) got rousted by the Board of Internal Economy for fascinating travel and housing claims.  Duffy was on the hook for $90,000 worth and a few months ago paid it back, thanks to a timely loan from the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff at the time, Nigel Wright who bucked up the $90,000 as Duffy didn’t have the coin immediately to hand.  Wallin has paid back most of what she got dinged for out of her own pocket.

Except the story doesn’t end there. Wallin and Duffy were both journalists of long standing with many friends and acquaintances in the Fourth Estate as well as the Opposition party.  Many hundreds of very pointed questions were asked of Stephen “Call Me The Right Honourable Prime Minister Stephen Harper” Harper to the point that Harper prorogued Parliament this summer in the hopes that no media coverage and the black flies would make the very pointed questions go away.  The questions are really only three:

1) Did the PMO give the $90,000 to Duffy to shut up the Board of Internal Economy and the investigation of just how fast and loose everyone plays with the expenses?  The RCMP is already looking into just how sloppy everyone there plays with the rules and a real RCMP investigation would reveal so much mud that the Conservatives would be doomed politically for an eternity up in the nosebleeds on the wrong side of the House.

2) Did the Prime Minister broker the deal, holding a figurative gun to Duffy’s head (and by implication Wallin and Brazeau) with a simple, “Pay it all back, sit down, shut the fcuk up, play the way we say and don’t ever contradict the PMO again” ultimatum.  Considering how hard the PMO bullies the House members, it takes about four milliseconds to assume that they do the same to anyone on the Hill and that includes Senators appointed by Harper.  You play by the PMO rules, or you’re dead to the PMO, forever. 

3) Is our Prime Minister a lying sack of ordure who will do anything short of actually gunning people down, to get the uncomfortable questions to stop?  Well, the Opposition won’t let up now that the House is back on the job and the PMO has demanded that Wallin, Duffy and Brazeau be suspended without pay or privileges right now.  That means being booted out of the Senate.

Monday, Duffy stood up in the Senate and essentially said he was jobbed by the Prime Minister’s Office (PMO) and the PM was in the room with Duffy and his Chief of Staff when Duffy was read the riot act.  Harper has always said that the loan was on his Chief of Staff’s own bat and he didn’t know about it.  (See Question 3) 

Wallin, yesterday. demanded to know why she was being railroaded with the PMO acting as judge, jury and executioner before any charges have been laid, or any proof of malfeasance has been brought forward and proven.  There was also an interesting sidelight about another Senator, Marjory LeBreton essentially being Harper’s consigliore in the Senate, who lead the charge to have Wallin s-canned.  LeBreton is the Leader of Government in the Senate which means she is the PMO’s enforcer: She packs serious heat and if she says so, then be assured Stephen says so.  LeBreton  is the Senator who brought the motion to the Senate.  (Disclosure:  We have dined with Senator LeBreton a couple of times back in the mid-90’s)

On the face of it, knowing some of the players at least a little bit, the PMO is doing everything short of producing a private porno of the Senators rolling naked in a pile of money, to make Duffy and Wallin go away, to stop the embarrassing questions from the Opposition in the House. 

The PMO wants the questions to stop because it is coming to light that what was only whispered about for the last nine years:  The PMO and the Prime Minster are desperate to gain and keep power as long as possible.  If that means being the biggest and baddest bullies on the Hill, then so be it: Grandma is going to get her hip broken.  They’re terrified that it will come out that the PMO couldn’t run a vending machine without their business buddies telling them how to stick a quarter in it. 

And they’re terrified that it will come out that the Conservative party is little more than an unelected oligarchy running the PMO, determined to manipulate our country into some kind of Reform Party masturbatory fantasy from 1953 where the “proper” people rule by fiat, the women wear slips, hats, white gloves and makeup while the children are all required to go to Sunday school every week.  And the rest of you had best shut up and be thankful we let you exist.

Oil Scorecard


We have some energy issues up here in Canada that we’re trying to sort out and get to the point of actually making decisions.  It’s difficult to understand the ramifications of all the potential decisions, so we’ve devised a rudimentary scorecard to help you get your head around it.

There are several issues.  One, our Oil Sands (or tar sands) contain the largest potential reserves of crude oil outside of Saudi Arabia.  Except the crude is mixed with mud, clay and sand in a bituminous mess that looks like, well, tar and sand.  We have managed to figure out reasonably effective ways of getting the oil out of the sand and making the crude usable for refining. 

There is an environmental cost, yes and it’s a steep one, but we also cannot uninvent petroleum products from our planet.  Too much of everyone’s life depends on oil, regardless of what the off-the-grid folks say.  That ASA tablet you took last night for your headache came from the petrochemical industry, so let’s agree that we need oil and will for the next several dozen generations.  The less we use, the better, is also agreed. 

Having oil, which Canada does, means we have two decisions to make.  First, who gets to turn the crude into things?  The KeystoneXL pipeline wants to move Canadian crude to Houston to refine it into things we need, essentially selling our stuff back to us at a monstrous profit.  There is significant blowback in the US about where the route will go. 

Line 9 is an older pipeline owned by Enbridge that runs more or less from Western Canada, eventually winding up in New Brunswick at a refinery there.  Enbridge wants to reverse the nearly 40 year old pipeline to work from the west to the east, instead of the other way round.  The line was engineered to do this and actually has been reversed once before, with no issues.  But Line 9 is nearly 40 years old and there is a risk of things going badly wrong.

Meanwhile a CN freight near Edmonton has derailed and thirteen oil and Liquefied Natural Gas (LNG) cars are now burning themselves out:  The fire department can’t safely get close enough to put the wet stuff on the red stuff.  We’ve been down that road earlier this year with the Lac Megantic derailment that destroyed the heart of the town and put the focus of safety on moving flammable goods by rail.

To simplify:  Moving crude by rail is not as safe as moving crude by pipeline.  Yes, Enbridge did have a pipeline break earlier this year in Kalamazoo that dumped a crapload of crude into the Kalamazoo River, which is also not good.  However, pipeline breaks tend not to explode and kill 47 people like Lac Megantic. 

The scorecard so far:  Move crude by pipeline is better than moving it by rail.  Both have an environmental cost, to be sure, but the first measure is safety for the majority of us.  Pipeline wins.

Now, where to move it to?  We’re very much in favour of not sending our raw materials out to be sold back to us.  Canada has been doing that for nearly 200 years and it has never worked to our advantage.

In a magic wand kind of way, we would punch two pipelines across Canada one going that way and the other going that way that Canada could use for their own interests.  This would lead to a handful of brand new Canadian refineries with the most modern technology and the smallest environmental footprint possible. 

Unfortunately, this is not going to happen.  Refineries have a seven to ten year lead time to engineer and build.  Pipelines, about a three to five year lead time, so we have to work with the infrastructure we have, which means Line 9 and a refinery in New Brunswick.  Not great, but not horrible either.

Getting our crude to a refinery in Canada means we make the gas, diesel, chemicals and goods out of it and sell it to the rest of the world at a significant profit.  We earn that profit by taking the risk of transporting it, refining it, selling it and taking the environmental hits that come from extracting the crude, using older pipelines and doing the grunt work to get the crude to the refinery with the infrastructure we have now. 

So here’s the scorecard now:

Still need oil

Pipeline safer than Rail

Line 9 better than KeystoneXL.

From the environmental perspective, only Line 9 can generate profits that can be used to improve and ensure the smallest possible environmental impact on the planet, including the extraction of the crude in the first place. 

Now, here’s the kicker:  Only government can put the conditions necessary in place to force the hand of private industry.  Private industry is not interested in funds being taken off the top to fund a clean-up of the oil sands. Private industry is not interested in building a new pair of pipelines with the most modern safety and environmental standards, to brand new refineries with the smallest environmental footprint.  Private industry is not interested in merely making offensive amounts of profit; they want grotesque, obscene amounts of profit.  And environmentalists hung from lamp posts.

Which is why government should step in..  Legislate the snot out of Line 9, as it is the most beneficial to the country as a whole, but also take 10% vig right off the top to fund the environmental clean-up of the oil sands and to ensure that the technology used in the next five to ten years is as safe and comprehensively monitored as possible.  Then take another 10% off the bottom to fund our own, new, safe, environmentally sane infrastructure to use Canadian resources for Canadian benefit. 

What this strategy means is we get the benefit of our oil and we dramatically increase the funding to fixing the environmental impact of the oil sands.  Both sides win.

Which is why it will never happen.

Doing A Canadian Dream IV


We finish up the trip. And yes, we have posted a selection of photos from the trip, they’re here.

Toronto has a love-hate-loath affair with the rest of Canada.  It’s our biggest city and the seat of All Things Great in Canada, if you ask someone from Toronto.  The 416 is the Center of the Universe and the 905 is only marginally tolerated.  Beyond that is wasteland where no one of importance ever travels.  The city is big and to quote the old trope, for those not from Toronto, it’s the size of Atlanta, GA, but run by the Swiss.  We had a four-hour layover at Union Station until our train to Ottawa departed. 

St. Lawrence Market is two blocks from Union Station and is so grand they even have two Wikipedia entries, one for the North and one for the South.  Even National Geographic calls it really damn impressive.  We went for three reasons, first, to see if the Pyrogy lady was there and she wasn’t, dammit.  Secondly, to see what was available and there was plenty.  Third and perhaps more importantly after there being no Pyrogy lady, was a Canadian icon meal.  Back Bacon On A Bun.

In the day only a few years ago, there were several places at St. Lawrence Market to get Back Bacon On A Bun, but now there are only two.  We chose the older one, as we had their wares many times before.  For the uninitiated, what many call “Canadian Bacon” has nothing to do with Canada, or for that matter, bacon.  What we call bacon is the same smoked pork belly that is also known as rasher or sliced bacon that you would have a couple of fifteen slices with your eggs and toast on Saturday morning. 

Back Bacon, or Peameal Bacon is something else entirely.  Take the whole tenderloin from the pig, brine it for a couple of days, then roll it in cornmeal.  There is barely a fat cap on the primal cut, so brining is essential and the cornmeal is a holdover from the old days.  Sliced thick, (like pinkie finger thick) to medium doneness on a flat top.  Three to five slices are placed on a soft Kaiser roll.  Wrapped in foil and given to you in exchange for modest amounts of money, it is simply delightful.  There are those who insist that one must add mayo, or lettuce or tomato to a Back Bacon on a Bun.  These people are to be shunned as they are not worthy of your contempt.  This is the Law, the rest is commentary.    

Walking around St. Lawrence Market we both remarked on our respective gaits.  After four nights and five days on the train we both had a case of Train Legs.  We both felt we were wobbling around like we were about five rounds into a 30-round tequila bender, feeling the sidewalks buck uncontrollably, which meant the occasional stop to rest and reorient the inner ear was required.

We headed back to Union Station and boarded our ride back to Ottawa, this time a regular Via Rail run up to Ottawa.  This section of Via is higher-speed, hitting 160 kilometers per hour in stretches and you could feel the engineer getting on the throttle where it was possible to let things fly.  It being Via One, you do get served a meal and the bar is gratis.  We dozed for a bit then pulled into Ottawa Station, our nice niece Lindsay there to pick us up and return us to our home.

Here’s where we do the deep, intellectual wrap-up of Doing A Canadian Dream.

There are several Canadian Dreams.  One is to own a brothel over top of a Tim Horton’s, next to a bar that has $5 a jug Tuesdays, adjacent to the snowmobile trails.  The second is to see the Toronto Maple Leafs win another Stanley Cup before this generation of fans die off from old age. 

The third one, a little more approachable, is to see a lot of Canada, up close, from the train, to take in the expanse of our country in a civilized way.  It’s a big country Canada.  There’s a lot to see and a lot of room left over to observe, think, enjoy, reflect and ponder. 

Getting to share all of that and those moments with your partner means you have thousands more mental snapshot memories between you, in that emotional photo album called life.

It doesn’t get any better than that.

Ottawa Bus Crash


Monday morning a double-decker city transit bus collided with a passenger train in Ottawa.  Six killed and about 30 injured in one of those horrific things that happen in the world, in this case a little too close to home.  We’re going to overlook the tragedy for the time being and focus on what were the potential contributing factors as the Transportation Safety Board (TSB) sifts through several months worth of investigation.  By the way, the TSB is very thorough:  If there is a golden nugget, they’ll find it.

The OCTranspo bus, here, weighs in at 52,911 pounds, about 26 tons.  A passenger train weighs in around 60 tons per car, with the engine weighing around 268,800 pounds, or 134 tons.  Easy math, the bus will lose.  So will people walking on the tracks, or a car, or a tractor trailer full of steel beams.  The train is bigger, weighs more and can’t stop nearly as well as any bus, truck, snowmobile, ATV, hiker, moose, or scooter puke on a Vespa listening to Juice Newton bootlegs on his iPod with the volume up at 11. 

Train versus any thing usually ends poorly for the other thing.

A major contributing factor in Ottawa is what is called a grade crossing or a level crossing.  There are more than 40,000 of them in Canada, most of the white cross-buck warning, without lights, bells or barricades.  The vast majority are rural, off the beaten path and the locals know enough to stop, look and listen.  In urban areas, we get the full lights, bells and barricades treatment to keep us from being complete idiots.  Even then, there are idiots out there that this link gives you enough examples of just how dumb humans can be.

The fix is to keep trains away from vehicles.  Underpasses or overpasses cost money, but they work well at keeping the two apart.  High speed rail, by definition has no, or almost no level crossings to keep a 300 kilometer per hour passenger train away from everyone else.  They almost always have their own dedicated tracks to keep them away from other trains too, the engineering of complete separation ensuring more potential for safety.  Not safety as an absolute, but the potential for safety.  Barcelona is an example of the human overriding the potential for safety in high-speed rail accidents. 

Canada flirted with high-speed rail in the mid-60’s with the CN Turbo Train.  On its maiden trip, the Turbo clobbered truck at a level crossing near Kingston, ON, essentially pulling the plug on high-speed rail in Canada.  The costs were prohibitive to give the Turbo Train a dedicated, safe, right of way in the Quebec City-Windsor corridor.  Move the calendar to 2013 and the problem is still with us.  Land, bridges, overpasses, underpasses and infrastructure all cost a lot of money for very little visible return, except for that nebulous concept of safety.

Like pilots, train engineers and bus drivers, those people are always first at the accident and have a vested interest in things being as safe as we can make them.

The cheapest and fastest fix today is to legislate that any vehicle that carries more than 10 people or weighs more than 10 tons must come to a full stop at any railroad crossing, lights or not and only proceed when the way is clear.  It’s a simple, cheap fix the Provincial and Federal governments can put in place in a dozen phone calls, some emails and a couple of weeks work. 

Which is why it won’t be done.  Stop.  Look.  Listen.

Twelve Years Later


A dozen years after 9/11 and it is still weird seeing that date on the calendar.  There is a smaller psychic wobble now as we’ve moved on from 2001, not really healed, but at least being able to cope with how we feel about things.

Like most, we remember where we were when it happened, in our case on a flight to San Francisco from Ottawa, to start building out some Hands-On Labs for that little company called Microsoft.  The flight got as far as Lake Ontario, when it was told to turn around, go back to YOW, land, get the pax off and shut it down to await further instructions.  That’s all the flight crew knew.  I called home to a tearful spouse who told me the rest of the story:  A plane had crashed into the WTC in New York.  I passed that data to the other passengers and the flight attendant nearby, who passed it on to the crew.

Landing and disembarking, we were confronted with 3,000 deadly quiet others in the Ottawa Airport, staring open-mouthed at the TV screens, not making a sound, not comprehending what they were seeing as the second plane had just punched a hole in our collective innocence.  I got the bags and met Marylou at the curb.  We hustled home and parked on the sofa for the next two days, unbelieving, uncomprehending and confused.

To this day those scenes are burned into our minds as they should be.  They caused a ripple of hurt, anger and confusion as there was no valid reason for this to happen to us.  Or so we thought. 

We haven’t fixed any of it.  Some would say that the military-industrial-security complex that suddenly popped up made sure we would never feel safe again.  A fearful populace is a compliant populace who will pay for and demand every possible protection and agree to every possible intrusion on our privacy as long as the government promises to never let that happen again.  As long as we didn’t have to see a tower turn into powder and fall to the ground, we bent over.

A dozen years on now, we should revisit how we reacted and what has been done in our name to ‘protect’ us from that hurt. I’m not saying it was all good, nor all bad:  Like all humans making decisions on the fly we may have made mistakes that we should go back and look at again.

And at the same time, remember those who lost so much on September 11, 2001.

New Additions


There has been much ruckus in the RoadDave Household lately that has precluded some of the writing efforts.  Submitted for your approval, the reason why.

Marylou and I are neither cat people, nor dog people.  We have had both, all together, in a long line of disreputable companion animals, mostly shelter rescues of both cats and dogs.  There was the Fish Period, with tropical fish inhabiting two largish aquariums, much to the amusement of the cats who saw the aquarium inhabitants as 4K Dolby 5.1 HD video in a size that would upscale to 24 foot diagonal if it were human-sized. 

After Joseph Arthur Lonley passed before Christmas last year, we went down to one cat, no dogs, no fish.  A couple of months ago, after Marylou came back from a business trip, we hotfooted over the Ottawa Human Society to add to our brood. 

Our approach to household animals is simple enough:  They must be from the Humane Society, as we don’t do puppy or cat mills, and, the animal must have some kind of quirk that speaks to us both.  There has to be that je ne sais quai component that leads to some truly remarkable personality lurking beneath the surface as most of our friends will attest:  Our pets are all unique personalities.

After rambling through the areas at the OHS it came down to three, Tommy a 4-year old neutered male “wallflower” who had been in the care of the OHS for a few months, then Gus and Charlie, found strays, litter mates, about 4 months old, also neutered males.

In talking with the adoption folks at the Humane Society, they assured us Tommy would find a home shortly, as more mature cats tended to be adopted sooner.  Litter-mate kittens like Charlie and Gus took longer.  We decided to keep the litter mates together and brought Gus and Charlie home, much to the annoyance of our incumbent, Bella, a ten-year old spayed female, who is very much the Queen of Her Domain.  Her motto is “Apres Moi, le Deluge”

The usual madness ensued of introducing two high-energy kittens to the comfortable lifestyle of Bella.  There were the occasional issues of hearing very bad language late at night as one or the other would attempt things they should not have.  I still have some healing scratches where Charlie decided that climbing Daddy’s leg, while Daddy was wearing nothing more than a housecoat, is acceptable behaviour.  We will not speak of the occasion whereby one of the new family took a look at me in bed and decided “Oooh!  Nipples!”  That has healed, more or less, but the emotional trauma will linger for several more months.  Charlie has forgotten it, but I still shake from time to time.

Earlier this week we needed more cat food for the kids and rather than going to the nearby purveyor, combined some domestic tasks and headed to a store in the west end.  Since the cat food at PetSmart is near the adoption cages, we naturally dropped by to see who was around, if only to give the adoptees a few minutes attention from some humans.

A grey and white lump was sleeping in his cage.  He had been moved from the Humane Society and as PetSmart has a very good working relationship as satellite adoption centers for the Humane Society, we asked about him.  It was the same cat, a “wallflower” 4 year old, who had spent the preceding several months in the system, named Tommy.  The OHS transferred him to the high-traffic PetSmart to find him his Forever Home. 

Call it Kismet, the Planets Aligning, the Hand of God, Curious Circumstance or whatever, but the decision was made, instantly feeling absolutely, perfectly, Right.

Tommy’s new Forever Home is here, with Gus, Charlie and Bella. 

It means we have heard more swearing, the occasional sound of something crashing to the floor in the kitchen and endured requests for massive quantities of food at hours of the night usually reserved for shift workers and sex trade professionals. We don’t care.  Tommy, Gus, Charlie and Bella all share their forever home with us now. 

There have been antics of course, some so sweet as to require insulin and others that make Marylou and I laugh uncontrollably for hours, but we’re not the kind of people to bore others with the stories.  Everyone is adjusting well enough, not perfectly yet, but well enough that we’re expecting to capture that visual meme of four cats, all sleeping, piled up together in a Gordian knot of feline contentment, in a discarded cardboard box.  When we do, we will post it. 

Cats, shelter adoptions, forever home, crazy cat people whatever meta tags you want to apply, feel free.  They’re happy, we’re happy.  The next chapter awaits. 

Karma Time


There are so many different ways to describe karma that we could easily spend the next thousand words plucking it into submission and still wind up with nothing more than used WordPress server space and another post.  We’ll keep it simple this time.

I managed to misplace my electronic pass and transit pass somewhere yesterday.  It seems small enough a hazard of modern life to be unremarkable, but it can be annoying to get another work pass, another photo, then off to the bus company, another photo another pass, standing in lines, explaining to the drones why you need a replacement and, naturally, the paperwork involved.

Of course I looked all over the house, cars and yard for it in a frantic flurry early this morning, but to no avail.  At work today I wore the Badge of Shame, the dreaded T pass, Turkey pass or ‘Tard pass, depending on your preference and tolerance for political incorrectness.  Coming home, I had mentally planned to all but disassemble my car, assuming it had slipped off my belt and fallen in the millimetre slot between seat and console.  Upon arriving home I happened to look up at the windshield of my car, passenger side and there was my pass, placed there by a kind soul who had found it, probably at the end of the driveway and knew that it was important.

There was no note, or explanation scribbled with it:  Just the small rectangular holder, belt clip and passes, under the windshield wiper waiting for me to be in the right frame of mind, at the right place in the right time to see it.  After a small, but grateful thank you to the Karmic deities, I have it back. 

Thank you, kind stranger.  May you get your reward of positive karma when you need it, to brighten your day, as you have illuminated mine.

Snow


As a Canadian living in the snowy part of the country, we have snow:  Lots of snow.  Unlike the urban folklore, we do not have 200 words to describe snow.  Nor do the Inuit, (whom some of you refer to as “Eskimos”) in their extensive oral tradition.  We limit ourselves to only a few terms and a bit over a thousand words to explain it all. 

Fluffy Snow: This is the kind that gives downhill ski folk a case of the hot n’ bothereds. Cross-country skiers like it too. Shovelling it is like trying to push a pallet-load of loose cotton balls with a tractor: It goes everywhere and always falls back into the place you’re trying to push it out of, like the driveway.

Wet Snow: Heavy, wet and sticky, a simple shovel-full weighs 80 pounds and if you don’t move it now, it will solidify into a mass that will not be moved until April. We also know it as Heart-Attack Snow, which our hospitals and ER’s dread. Every day a few dozen are rolled in, clutching their chests, hooked up to an AED by the paramedics.  This is because sedentary men try to shovel it out and their primary occupation is listed as “Analyst” or “Bureaucratic Drone”, not “Stoker”,  “Navvy” or “Farm Hand”. 

Snowman Snow:  Kids love it as it is moist and sticky and rolls up perfect, dense globes of snow perfect for the application of a carrot nose, small rocks for eyes and no hat.  Usually happens early in the season when the air is warmer.  It is also the ideal snow for snowballs, which have been banned by Health and Safety for fear someone could have their feelings hurt or their self-esteem bruised.  Snowman Snow always results in a pile of wringing-wet woollen mittens, scarves and toques over the hot air vent in the kitchen.  

Squeaky Snow:  After a few days that fluffy powder coalesces into a solid that squeaks like Styrofoam underfoot.  It also means the outside temperature is –10 C or lower.  The only way to move it is with heavy equipment, air compressor powered chisels, or shaped charges.

Slop/Slush:  In my corner of Ontario, we salt our roads and streets, which turns the snow and ice into slop about the consistency of loose oatmeal or cornbread batter that can’t freeze because the salinity is twice that of the Dead Sea.  Eventually slush will freeze, but not until –40 C or so.  At that temperature it freezes into sharp ridges and boot prints.  If you slip and fall down on the sidewalk, the likelihood of puncturing a lung is high.  Jumping onto a pile of bricks headfirst hurts less.

Snow bank Snow:  In order to exist, we have to put the snow somewhere out of the parking spaces, driveways, roads and sidewalks, so we can move about in our daily activities.  Snow banks are a compressed amalgamation of snow, slush, salt, road grime and the occasional mitten or hat, comingled with the usual crud that lives on the sidewalk.  Think basalt, or exotic kitchen counter stone that has a little bit of everything in it including fossils, unaddressed third-class mail, lightly chopped advertising flyer mulch and that door to door guy who tried to sell you a hot water heater in December. 

Drift Snow:  You can slice this stuff into blocks and build a house with it.  If you drive into this stuff on the highway, expect the air bags to go off.  It is also the best snow anywhere for making snow forts with and for children.  Grownups use it to fill the ice bucket to chill down the champagne, stepping out the back door for a few seconds to grab a pail full from the deck.  In a glass with a little grenadine or crème de menthe poured over it, you have a grownup sno-cone, assuming the snow is clean.  You could use that ancient bottle of Galliano (left over from your notorious Harvey Wallbanger party in June 1983) hiding in the back of the kitchen cupboard to make your own ‘Yellow Snow”    

Yellow Snow:  Just like the little bag of silica crystals in the packaging for the blender says, “Do Not Eat”  Especially if it is found in the middle of the park.

Freezing Rain:  Glaze the neighbourhood in a centimeter-thick layer of ice, everywhere, then drop the temperature to –40 C.  In Ottawa this is called “February” and is usually followed by a blizzard of fluffy snow that sits on the ice as a disguise.  Imagine walking on ball-bearings on a Teflon pan that has been oiled with 5W-50.  You will fall down and with any luck, not face plant into a tree or a brick building.  Invariably two days later, the temperature goes above freezing and all the sheets of ice fall off the buildings downtown, usually decapitating some poor unfortunate who gets whisked up by a sidewalk plow.  We find them around the last week of March.

Corn Snow:  Often produced by snow guns on ski hills, it is the skin equivalent of 20-grit sandpaper when you slide on it.  Who needs dermabrasion treatments to look younger?  Go tobogganing on corn snow for an afternoon.

Effing Snow:  What we get in the first two weeks of March.  Every day for two weeks, just enough to call out the plows and salt trucks to tangle the streets into a morass of front-end loaders, slush and swearing because we’ve had enough of winter.  It is also the time of year when you see able-bodied people standing on eight-foot high snow banks trying to find somewhere within shovel-range to throw snow from the driveway.

Gottdamn Plow Snow:  After you have spent two hours shovelling out the drift from the driveway, unearthed the car and found the approximate location of the front walkway, the City plow or grader comes by.  It is piloted by a grinning sadist wearing an aloha shirt over flannels, ski-doo boots and quilted snow pants, with a battered Leafs toque and a pair of silvered sunglasses that cost more than your car payment.  He proceeds to fill the end of your driveway waist-deep with everything that has landed in the 613 area code for you to dig out by hand, including an ice floe that is cousin to the one that did in the Titanic.

There, a thousand words on snow. 

Christmas Greetings To Our Readers


We’re doing Christmas a bit differently this year.  No, we haven’t gone Aztec, or decided to celebrate the Winter solstice with gory offerings to unusual deities (The Single-Malt God demands we offer a Welsh virgin!  Insert your own joke here) – instead we decided to change it up a bit.

We swap Christmas dinner with another couple and a few other folks, taking it in turns to do all the work and of course swap presents.  We’re all at that point in our lives where the things we want for Christmas are in the four-figure range, like a new kitchen, or six months in Costa Rica being hand-fed peeled grapes and rum-based drinks with paper umbrellas.  The other potential gifts would be under the heading of cute, stuff, tchotchkes or clutter, depending on your point of view.

Instead, we took the money set aside for gifts and repurposed it for others.  Plan Canada offers matched giving for charitable gifts for people who actually need our help in less developed areas of our little planet.  We’ve bought a couple of goats, some chicks, peanuts, clean water and maternity supplies, which, with funds matching has increased the actual dollar amount a few times over.  Gifts under the tree are limited by prior agreement to very few, silly and cheap.

Of course, in less than an hour, CBC will be running Alan Maitland reading The Shepherd.  We will stop all our preparations and sit quietly listening, Frederic Forsythe’s words turning from the solid to the gaseous state without passing through the liquid state, becoming magic, as they fly through the air.

No matter how you celebrate your holiday season, please do it with generosity of spirit, kindness and warmth.  Our very best wishes and a Merry Christmas to all.

Newtown II


We’re  not a fan of stirring up stuff but with the previous post Newtown, we think we hit a nerve.  Fair enough we hit a nerve and by way of acknowledgement, we’ve published the responses as they stand.  Not agreeing is perfectly acceptable behaviour in our books as well as vociferously backing up your argument with as many facts as is reasonable.  Being able to dish it out, means being able to take it and we accept that as part of genteel discourse.

Now, is America the problem?  By our judgement, yes and here come some facts that we left out of the published version for editorial reasons and we’ll take that criticism as given.

Population adjusted per 1,000 citizens, the Seventh United Nations Survey of Crime Trends and Operations of Criminal Justice systems during 1998 to 2000, (the most recent figures readily available) lists Murders with firearms per capita, by country thusly:

#1 South Africa – 0.719782 per 1000 people

#2 Columbia – 0.509801 per 1000 people

#3 Thailand – 0.312092 per 1000 people…

Skipping Zimbabwe, Mexico and Belarus here..

#7 Costa Rica – 0.0313745 per 1000 people

#8 United States – 0.0279271 per 1000 people

#9 Uruguay – 0.0245902 per 1000 people

Skipping a bunch more…

#19 Switzerland – 0.00596718 per 1000 people

#20 Canada – 0.050297 per 1000 people

#21 Germany – 0.00465844 per 1000 people.

Our source is here if you want to look it up and feel free to.  We don’t mind being fact-checked.  We encourage it.

Some other facts. Number of guns per capita by country, 2007

#1 United States – 88.8 per 100 residents

#2 Serbia – 58.2 per 100 residents

#3 Yemen – 54.8 per 100 residents

#4 Switzerland – 45.7 per 100 residents

#5 Cyprus – 36.4 per 100 residents…

Skipping a few here…

#13 Canada – 30.8 per 100 residents

#14 Austria – 30.4 per 100 residents

#15 Germany – 30.3 per 100 residents

Interesting how Switzerland has the 4th highest number of firearms per 100 people and yet ranks only 19th in Murders with firearms.  Switzerland has mandatory military service and citizens who serve are expected to keep their weapons and ammunition at home, ready to go on two hours’ notice, which explains why they have such a high ranking in number of guns, but not their low ranking in the number of murders with firearms.  It proves that sensible, secure, trained gun ownership is not the issue.

As for rampant stereotyping, we’ll buy some of the critique, but hear us out.  It is no more stereotypical than saying the Swiss are neat and fiscally prudent, Italians passionate, or that all Scottish cuisine is based on a drunken dare at a slaughterhouse.  We’ll partially apologize and try to do better going forward.

Exceptions don’t prove the rule and the millions of sensible, safe, concerned and sane gun owners are not all ready to run amok at the slightest provocation.  If you’re interpreting our remarks that way, give you head a shake and go read our post again.     

Crazies exist, which is why we noted Anders Brevik from Norway, as a crazy, who in possibly the best, most progressive health care system in the world, was not identified beforehand as a loon.  Health care can’t do that job, no matter where.  If we tripled American mental health spending tomorrow, we still can’t identify individuals who are likely to flip out and kill people.  Health care is not the issue.  

It was and is American media that stuffed a microphone in the face of the kids who survived the shooting and had the unadulterated gall to ask a child what they felt and heard during the shooting, parental permission or not.  This link from twitchy.com lists several of the comments from others regarding the media vultures who have wrapped themselves around this story.  Read some of the links and be embarrassed for your country rewarding that kind of corporate media behaviour.  Bloodthirsty and sensationalistic are the terms that come to mind. 

This doesn’t mean the UK, or Canadian media are any less culpable in our own back yards, or somehow ‘better’:  It means the US media as a whole needs to stop and think a moment or two and ask the hard question:  Is this the right thing to do, now, or can it wait?  We’d love to hear their argument as why they didn’t and we bet it comes down to Freedom of the Press as the reason and a Competitive Marketplace as the excuse. 

Using that same logic we expect to soon see Bill O’Reilly violating a giraffe, live, because Piers Morgan molested a mule and pulled a 12 share last night that beat Fox with a measly 4 share with O’Reilly talking to a vending machine about foreign policy.  “Dammit Bill, we need that 12 share to make our numbers for the quarter!”

To close the loop, as others have noted, it is the need for a discussion about National US Firearms laws to end the knobby melange of contradictory laws and standards that have mutated across the US, pushed and pulled by lobby groups and think tanks with more disparate agendas that Carter has little pills.

We’ve stood on the firearm platform before.  We’ve got no issue with firearm weapons more than 18 inches long, with a mag that holds no more than 8 rounds (or so) and can fire semi-auto.  Anything else you want, apply, wait for the background check and probably the firm, but polite ‘no’ from the authorities.  We are in favour of extensive, mandatory training of anyone who wants to have a firearm weapon so they can operate them in a prudent, safe and responsible manner.  Military re-enactors?  Apply, your reason is good enough (to us anyways) assuming you pass the background check and you have passed a firearms safety course.  Do expect to be audited once in a while, but not onerously so.   

We’ve also promulgated a societal and legal change using something called a “Double Double” meaning. committing a crime with a firearm weapon doubles the sentence.  Discharging the firearm doubles it again. No time off for good behaviour or parole.  You serve the full sentence.  The concept being to discourage the criminal use of firearm weapons as harshly as possible.  It will take a generation to get that to sink in, much like it has taken a generation to curtail cigarette smoking, drinking and driving, having a martini to cure morning sickness or using seatbelts in your car.  It is time consuming and is not an instant fix.

Which is what all the nattering is really about.  Everyone wants an instant fix to prevent a copycat, or another loon from going off and finding the readily available tools, cheap-jack rationale and attendant media coverage to slaughter innocent people.  Most have glommed onto “Gun Control” as the Instant Fix, but that’s not the whole story or even half of the fix. 

Where the blame lies is in the inability of America to have a peaceable, dignified, sane, learned, fact-based discussion about how they want the citizens of their country to behave with each other.  There is too much sensationalism, knee-jerk reactions and political axe-grinding in the media to have anything but sensationalism, knee-jerk reactions and political axe-grinding by their citizens.  It has to stop and you have to fix it.

Goddammit, you’re Americans, you know better, you’re smarter than most and you have the will to take back your own media from the cretins.  Open a dialogue, in all directions, come to a consensus, make the decisions and get on with life where you aren’t being manipulated every 12 seconds by the circus you call a media telling you what you think and how to react.  Ignore the political manipulations from the Right and the Left and make up your own minds. 

Get this fixed.  You deserve better.