24 Sussex – The Reno – Follow up


Maureen McTeer, wife of PM Joe Clark (1979-1980) was on the wireless today, talking about 24 Sussex Drive, the Prime Minister’s Residence, now that PM-Designate Justin Trudeau has decided to hang his toothbrush at Rideau Cottage instead of 24 Sussex. Maureen is also the author of Residences: Homes of Canada’s Leaders, 1982.  McTeer knows the place better than we ever will.

The short form of her comments; burn the friggin joint to the ground and start over. There’s asbestos throughout and most of the systems are beyond redemption.  It was gutted after the Feds took it over in 1946 and left to rot until Louis St. Laurent moved in, in 1951, so it doesn’t have any historical architectural significance according to McTeer.  The site is impressive, but the house isn’t.  One would think that the house should reflect how we view our Prime Minister and our country, especially when other Heads of State visit; the face we show to the world, so to speak.  It’s a heritage designated building, so a burn-down is going to be very, very difficult.

One point that stood out, although there is an element of heritage to the site, the RCMP has to be able to protect the occupant and their family in a secure accommodation that is also a place where they can actually live.

Several callers have also paralleled our original idea: Get our home-grown reno and decorating experts to fix the joint and generate six or seven hours of good television out of it.  McTeer also noted that having some real transparency and openness regarding our PM’s residence would be great.  It would also scare the crap out of the NCC that works like a bureaucratic Star Chamber most of the time and terrifying bureaucrats is always a good thing.

An HVAC contractor caller also mentioned that he had a job where a couple with an 1890’s vintage home that they wanted to modernize. It saved them 15 to 20% by tearing down the original and replacing it with a duplicate, but with modern methods, engineering and systems.  Also a very good idea.

On another side, we’ve sent a link to the blog posting to the production companies involved in the shows noted in the post and HGTV. It would seem others have too.  This is just wacky enough to actually work.

24 Sussex – The Reno


A half joking meme that was started online has us thinking. For those who don’t know, 24 Sussex Drive in Ottawa, is the Prime Minister’s Residence.  10 Downing Street, or the White House are very much the seat of power, being the residence of the head of government and set up very much as the seat of government.  24 Sussex is a residence, that once in a blue moon might host some foreign dignitary.  Usually Rideau Hall, the home of the Governor-General, conveniently across the street, is used for official receptions, like when Queen Betty the Deuce comes to town, or the Lord High Bisboth of Absurdistan makes an official visit.  Rideau Hall is set up for that kind of party, 24 Sussex is not really built for it.

The real work of the PM is done downtown in the Langevin Block, right across the street from Parliament, and is called the PMO: 24 Sussex is where the Prime Minister hangs his or her housecoat and where the offspring run rampant.  With the impending installation of our new Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, who played in the trees and rooms of 24 Sussex as a kid when his Dad, Pierre Trudeau, ran the country, there is discussion about the state of 24 Sussex.

The joint sits on 4 acres (1.6 hectares) of the most beautiful land in Ottawa, overlooking the Ottawa River. Next door is the French Embassy and across the street is Rideau Hall.  A condo developer would sell his extended family into slavery in North Korea to get his (or her) mitts on this parcel of land.  The view is incredible, but the house is a shit hole.

Originally opened in 1868, it was built for lumber baron and Member of Parliament J. M. Currier. In 1943 the Feds expropriated 24 Sussex, divesting the owner at the time, Gordon Evans, also a lumber baron and MP, of his ownership.  The Feds wanted to own as much land as possible around Rideau Hall and along the shoreline of the Ottawa River as they could.  Evans was eventually awarded $140,000, but got even by dying in the place in 1946.  24 Sussex sat dormant for a few years and since 1951, every Prime Minister since Louis St, Laurent (except Kim Campbell) has lived at 24 Sussex Drive during their mandate.  Justin Trudeau has just announced he won’t be moving into 24 Sussex when he is sworn in next week.  He’s going to put his toothbrush into Rideau Cottage on the grounds of Rideau Hall.

How much of a shit hole is 24 Sussex? The last time we were allowed to ask, there is no central air conditioning, the heat works often, the roof looks like it saw its’ best day 1995 and probably leaks, the rooms are chopped up and are decorated with all the skill of bureaucrats at the National Capitol Commission on acid.  There is probably asbestos in the walls.  The wiring may date from 1920, so when the PM turns on the bathroom lights, the doorbell rings and the RCMP radios stop working.  Want WiFi?  Take your Prime Ministerial Blackberry over to the French Embassy next door and see if you can get some bars.  There are security cameras galore and probably a safe room since Jean Chretien’s wife found an intruder in 24 Sussex at some ungodly hour in 1995.  Aline Chretien talked the guy down, while the PM, Jean Chretien, armed himself with a Innuit sculpture to brain the intruder, Andre Dallaire.

The Auditor General determined, in 2008 (that’s seven years ago, or in Government Time, before the Birth of Christ) that 24 Sussex needs about $10 million worth of work.

To which we reply thusly. Hell yeah!  No, seriously, Hell YEAH!  Take our share of the tax dollars and give our PM a residence that is appropriate to the office.

But we want to do it differently. The CBC and Home and Garden Television (HGTV) Canada have stables of very well-known renovation, restoration and decoration personalities that do very good work.  Do a deal with the CBC and HGTV and tape the whole thing.  First off, Mike Holmes (Holmes Inspection) could do a reality check on the joint, then his crew would gut it out to the door knobs.  Steve Grimes up on the roof, ripping off shingles, Sherry Holmes punching a sledge hammer through some plaster and lath in the master ensuite, while Mike Jr. and Carl Pavlovic try to fit a steel beam into the basement to keep the floors up.  Then Brian Baumler comes in to de-screw the room layouts while Frank Cozzolino re-wires the place.  Outside, Paul Lafrance and his crew of saw jockeys rebuild the decks and common spaces.  As the walls go up, Steven Sabados (of Steven and Chris on CBC) goes back into harness with a few historical mooks from the NCC to furnish and decorate the public and private spaces with taste and the right mix of modern with historically appropriate.

Now, how long could this go on? The Auditor General guesstimates that it would take a year.  Sounds about right, but with the delays that television production causes, call it a year and a half.  That could easily be six hour-long shows, with a near-100% Canadian content in products, services and personalities.  You could even wedge in some historical background and teaching moments.  Would it be a good reno?  Considering the A-G figures it would cost $10 million to do it on the government dime, which is about twice what it would cost if it was private money, we’d get value for the money.  The worst that could happen is the NCC will talk to “This Old House” and convince Kevin and The Boys to come up to Canada for a year.  Which would be horrible from a national pride point of view, but fascinating to see Tom Silva fighting with a real poutine over at Ti-Gus’ in Gatineau.

Is this just messed up enough to work? You know, it might be.

Catching Up


It has been a while, hasn’t it?  Yes, yes, I know, but sometimes life intrudes.  Let’s play catch-up.

Harper Shit-Canned:  Our Federal election, which our former PM, The Right Honourable Stephen (Call me the Right Honourable Stephen Harper) Harper managed to devolve into a fear-mongering contest of mean-spirited backroom media manipulation and party faithful bludgeoning, was fired by the electorate on Monday.  The Liberals, under Justin Trudeau swept the table with a majority of Canadians in a record turn-out, repudiating the mean-spirited, micro-managing and message massaging of the Harper and his back-room goons.

Fortunately Harper bought a piece of land  in Alberta and will soon retire there to slowly drown in his bitter tears of defeat.  Harper was responsible for the gutting of the Progressive Conservative Party and the very conscious rooting out of Progressive Conservatives anywhere in the ranks.  You might be allowed to stick around if you immediately erected a shrine to Preston Manning on your desk and said very unpleasant things about immigrants, minorities and how poorly treated the top 1% of the population have been oppressed.

Another Trudeau:  Justin’s got some big promises to live up to.  Yes, he’s young, inclusive and has some new ideas, but he is also inheriting an economy that has been gutted, sun-dried and parceled off to Harper’s biggest contributors.  Change will come in the bureaucracy, but only if Trudeau summarily dismisses the top 10% of deputy ministers and senior bureaucrats who only know how to bow towards the Langevin Block as the source of all wisdom and words that can be used.

A word to Justin?  Your ministers will want to change things and quickly, but ADM’s and DM’s are the stumbling block.  They’ll tie any real change up in knots for the next four years by studying the hair off it.  Clean drinking water for First Nations reserves?  There is no need to study it for more than a week.  But your ministerial bureaucrats will examine the H2 and O under a microscope for years if you let them.  Don’t let them.  Give them simple orders and a deadline and a reminder that at a certain level, Deputy Ministers are employed at the discretion of the Crown, which can be revoked on the recommendation of the Minister.  That takes about one phone call, so get those bureaucrats in line now, or you won’t be able to do jack.  They respond well to threats and do truly deserve a good boxing about the ears for their behavior.

Obama:  He’s a lame-duck now and frankly the US has devolved into a freak show of racists, gun-nuts and the economically marginalized.  The whipped topping is fake, the cake is stale and the filling has more chemicals than a Sarnia Saturday Night.  Entire states have disintegrated into pockets of third-word poverty but with a social media presence to make it look respectable.  California is out of water, but the Kardashians can still keep their lawns beautiful.

The US has become a nation of peep-hole masturbators who can never be rich or successful, but sure do want to watch it happen to others.  A telling survey is that of children in early elementary school grades, when asked what they want to be when the grow up answer “A Celebrity”.  Not a fireman, or a doctor, or a teacher, but the most useless percentage of society possible who should be loaded onto the B-Ark and sent to a distant planet.

Why, because the entire media setup in the US is designed to glorify the stupid but pretty and to make sure you’re scared shitless, twice a night, with the 6 pm news and the 11 pm news.  Donald Trump as a serious candidate for the Republican Party leadership is the QED.  The other supporting documentation is that the vast majority of US readers will have no clue what QED means, why we used it in this context, or even where to possibly find information to lead them to the answer.  The few that will find it, will then post that we’re being elitist and liberal, two of the dirtiest words in the American lexicon of sane and reasoned discourse.  By the way, will the last person to leave Detroit please turn off the lights after you tag the walls of City Hall with your gang affiliation or some other pithy comment.

We keep on keepin’ on.

The Duffy Show By The Numbers


Into Day 32 or so of the Mike Duffy trial, we have reached the impasse.  After dozens of revelations that other Senators, Liberal, Conservative and Other have issues with the way Senate expenses are adjudicated, Duffy is now seen as someone who committed the worst crime:  Getting Caught.

The Auditor General, Michael Ferguson, performed a two-year probe of Senate expenses and basically said the inmates were running the asylum.  Nine files on specific Senators have been referred to the RCMP for possible criminal investigation, including two sitting senators.  Another seventeen senators have said they will fight the AG’s findings.  The big hits are for residency. 

Technically, Senators are supposed to represent the region they were appointed from and maintain a primary residency in that region.  Meaning, Mike Duffy, at least on the face of it, representing Prince Edward Island, should have a permanent, primary residency in PEI.  At that point then the Senate will pay expenses for his Ottawa joint.  The Senate does not pay for the PEI crib and naturally the Senate would pay for travel from PEI to Ottawa, or other travel the Senator may undertake on behalf of the Senate of Canada and the duties therein.

Fair enough rules, correct?  You can prove your residency a couple of ways:  Having a drivers license and health card from that particular province would be a simple one, or documents that say you pay a mortgage or property taxes on a joint in the province would be lesser ones.  Again, fairly simple, on the face of it, you can say that, yep, I live primarily in PEI and represent PEI in the Senate.  Except that if all your plane tickets are from Ottawa to wherever and practically none of them are from Charlottetown to Ottawa and back, that tells us someone is full of shit.  QED, your expenses for the Ottawa joint are not allowed as it is your primary residence, which is not in the region you’re supposed to be representing. 

There is always going to be some grey space in that calculation.  If said Senator spent 183 nights in PEI residing in their primary residence, then hey, that’s more than half the time, barely, but we’ll let it go, if only because it passes some kind of rudimentary sniff test.  There should be plenty of airline tickets on AC467 YOW-YYZ, then AC8818 YYZ-YYG showing up in the expenses.  (You can’t actually fly direct from the Nation’s Capital to Charlottetown.  You get to sit on your ass in the Maple Leaf Lounge in YUL or YYZ no matter what.  Have the cheese and crackers and the self-serve Dorkachino that tastes almost exactly not like coffee)

The AG busting the nine Senators was not exactly the toughest task they had this year, but it did cost us $23.6 million for the audit to find $997,917 in questionable expenses.  That works out to $207,017.54 per page for the 114-page AG report.  Not exactly value for the money, but audits rarely are.  We’d do the audit over coffee with each Senator in a half-hour, essentially two weeks worth of work, for, oh, half that tab. 

Despite the lack of value for money, where the real fun lies is in watching us regular citizens finally seeing the Senate for what it is:  A playpen for party hacks and bagmen with no rules, no controls and no actual responsibility to do anything except roll around in piles of our money. 

The fat sense of entitlement from our Senate is the most galling, distasteful, amoral display of raw power we have short of the Prime Ministers Office.

Which is where the story can become truly fun.  Duffy wasn’t doing anything more wrong than many of the 105 Senators in the Red Chamber.  What did Duffy do that was so wrong that the PMO threw him under the bus, then tried to back the bus over him?  What exactly does Duffy know about the inner workings of the PMO that would make him a target that big?

Answer those questions and you’ll find out the real story.  We do have a Federal Election coming up in October and Duffy’s trial should wind up in a few more weeks, perhaps just in time for revelations from the trial to punch gaping holes in the Conservative’s campaign to anoint Stephen (Call me The Right Honourable Stephen Harper) Harper as the next PM.

We await the fun.

FHRITP Script Flip Public Service Announcement


We like to flip the script from time to time and Shauna Hunt from CITY-TV did exactly that, beautifully.  She is a reporter with CITY-TV in Toronto and was doing a live stand-up outside a Toronto FC event when an idiot leaned into the microphone and entered the Pantheon of Idiocy.  Here’s the clip from CBC as part of their coverage.

There are two constants in our universe:  Hydrogen and Stupidity.  This means a reporter expects there to be idiots in the background, or sometimes in the foreground when the camera is live.  The normal idiot remark when on camera at a live stand-up is something along the lines of “Hi Mom” or “Toronto FC Rocks!” along with pseudo gang signs or a half-drunk rock-on-devil-horns.  Yelling ‘Fuck Her Right In The Pussy!” at Shauna Hunt, cost Shawn Simoes his job at Hydro One as a well-paid IT engineer and has probably cost him his whole career for a few moments of exceptional stupidity.  Good.  He deserves it and there is not a lot of sympathy from this quarter.

However, we are inclusive in our world-view and the stupid will always be among us, usually showing up in the background on live hits from any event possible. 

As a Public Service, here are some things idiots can and perhaps should say when on camera:

“Good Reportage”, preferably in a semi-posh accent, a dead-straight face and a single curt nod at the end

“Do you have any Grey Poupon?”  You should be holding a sausage smog-dog to truly carry this one off

“Jello for Everyone!”  Penn Gillette may still do this, although Penn and Teller don’t tour much anymore.  The gag is they would buy a Jello dessert for everyone in a restaurant.  It might cost $30, but getting a free Jello dessert at a diner, late at night, is too cool for words.  Gillette would often add “Work for World Peace” to the end of it.  Your choice.

“Can I take a selfie with you?”, perhaps better done by a hysterical 14 year old girl in the lineup for a concert by some interchangeable boy band

“Ars Gratia Pecunia!”  This will take some memorization, but it is low-rent Latin for Art for Money, loosely based on the MGM Ars Gratia Artis – Art for Art’s Sake.  (No it isn’t perfect Latin conjugation as it should be Committendi artis pecuniam, but if it was good enough for Louis B. Mayer, we can live with it)

“Spay and Neuter your Pets!”  Bob Barker would like this one

“I’m continent!”  Saucy, but bladder-positive if nothing else

“Nice Shoes!”  This is quite dirty as the backstory explains the setup and you are only delivering the setup, not the whole line.  An acquaintance was once hit on by a guy who showed exactly how much game he had by reducing his seduction time to “Nice shoes, wanna fuck?”  It didn’t work, but one could always use statistical rules to try it 100 times and see how many times it succeeds.  Odds are 2/100 but that’s better than 0/100

“Free Falun Gong, Win Valuable Prizes!”  So it isn’t fully positive and politically correct, but there has to be some leeway in public stupidity on camera

“Thanks for being here!”  This will mess with the reporter’s head, especially if you’re sincere and only modestly enthusiastic, instead of over-the-top crazy

And the always appropriate..

“Hi Mom!” Even if you’re looting a big screen TV from a store in the US during a riot, this always works.

You’re welcome.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      

The Duffy Show–Budget Motivations


The Senator Mike Duffy trial continues, exposing more of the compost heap.  For those not fully apprised of the contents of the testimony so far, here’s a reasonable recap

If you’re too lazy this Saturday morning to click a link, this is the short form:  Duffy as a Senator gets a budget to about $150,000 a year for the office and research.  Like all Parliamentary budgets, it’s on the basis of use it or lose it, meaning come March 31 any money left gets pulled and you start April 1 with a new pile of money for the office and research.  So if you’ve had a lazy year and spent most of it making puppies, there is this budget number that seems to demand you spend it. 

In the simplest of fiddles, you order a bunch of stuff and make sure the invoices all say March 31.  The budget used up, everyone goes on their merry way and some buddies get cash for oh, communications consulting? 

Having been on the vendor side more than a few times, we used to call it March Madness.  There were stories about companies that would ship boxes of phone books or bare chassis computers to the client that would arrive, be received and the appropriate weight duly entered into the books.  Since it was on the government shipping dock by March 31, it was deemed delivered, the invoice duly paid and as long as nobody looked to hard, life went on.  Speechwriting and research contracts?  As long as someone in the office said they got the document, the invoice was paid.  Long after March 31 would some kind of actual item truly arrive, but as long as there was something in their hands by March 31, the appropriate dollars were allocated from the appropriate year’s budget.

This speaks to exactly how people are motivated by budgets.  If you don’t use what was allocated to you by intelligent, sensible mandarins who know better than you ever will, then you obviously don’t know your job, so they reduce your budget the next year, usually by the amount you didn’t spend the year previously.  (/sarcasm on) After all, the wise and brilliant above you would never over-estimate what was needed, as they are intelligent, skilled, diligent guardians of the public purse, who have their fingers on the pulse of all public spending, with extensive systems, checks, balances and audit reports from consultants that back up every dollar allocated. (/sarcasm off)

Or, if you’re in the Senate, you take the unused portion of your budget and write up a contract to your buddy for a report called “The Age Wave” and have it paid for through another company, say Maple Ridge Media or Ottawa ICF, who got the lion’s share of the budget and also probably charges a fee to the Senator for ‘editorial services’ or ‘contract management’, takes their percentage over and above, then strokes you a cheque, not from the Senate, but from a private company. 

On the Hill, this is perfectly normal.  In private industry, this is called a ‘fuzz job’ as the source of the money and the reason for the money being spent is made as fuzzy as possible, preferably through several layers of companies.  Or, you could call it money laundering, but that has such a distasteful connotation doesn’t it? 

Which is why Duffy’s fitness trainer, Mike Croskery was on the stand in Ottawa last week.

Now, we do know some of the players in this game.  Gerry Donohue used to be the NABET (National Association of Broadcast Employees and Technicians) regional union rep at a joint called CJOH-TV.  He was the lead negotiator on the NABET contract and in the late 80’s/early 90’s just a negotiations were starting up, was amazingly and remarkably hired by the company to be their Human Resources guy.  So you had the situation of the previous union rep sitting across the table, as the company rep, during a contract negotiation. 

If this strikes you as a conflict of interest, then you don’t know Gerry Donohue. 

Needless to say CJOH-TV no longer exists, having been absorbed into Bell Media, gutted, populated with interns and turned into a low-rent cable access channel with tower space on the array at Camp Fortune.  Duffy used to work out of CJOH-TV back in the day and that’s most likely how he met Donohue.

Which is also why this trial for Expense Fraud and General Assholery is so much fun to watch. 

Duffy is being hung out to dry because there is no real expense oversight in the Senate.  As long as you don’t try to put your Miniature Weimaraner on the payroll, everything else, is fine. 

The rot starts at the budget office, with the negative implications of actually saving the taxpayers some money off the various budgets.  To turn it upside down and make saving budget a positive incentive, herewith our solution.

If you as a budget manager use smart thinking, creative use of suppliers, shrewd negotiations in keeping with the general Federal guidelines, act fairly and ethically, and manage to come in under budget, you personally get a cash bonus of 2% of the savings to divy up with your team.  The job still gets done, the things get procured under the usual standards and if you can save money, there is no implied penalty of having your budget slashed the next year. 

Budgets change every year, so if one year you didn’t need $100,000 worth of infrastructure improvements that were budgeted for and managed to safely stretch, maintain or otherwise do with what you had, instead of burning money because you could, you’d get a taste.  If the next year, you really needed to spend $150,000 to keep up, then no problem.  Over time, the government would come out ahead, spending when it needed to spend, based on the judgment of those who actually do the job, not on the uninformed esoteric guesstimates of bureaucrats and their consultants in their isolated silos of self-importance and business card title dick measuring. 

Duffy, having been duly briefed by the Senate Budget Office, as to what he can and cannot claim, does what any punk would do, looks for the loopholes.  He goes looking for the very specifics that say You cannot do X.  As soon as you see that they specify X, but not Y, bill for Y.  Which explains why Gerry Donohue became the defacto Royal Canadian Bank of Duffy to hide expenses under the general catchall of ‘communications and research’.

A good auditor, knowing that the Senate is populated by fart-catchers and bagmen for the party should be on high alert for exactly those kinds of fiddles, that in their former lives, the good Senators did as a matter of course, with no more moral baggage of ‘doing wrong’ than loading up on bacon at the breakfast buffet.

The wise betting line is that the Right Honourable Stephen (Call me Stephen) Harper will let this show trial play out, as a sterling example of how totally screwed the Senate is, and fortuitously add a plank to his fall campaign to remove the Senate, using Duffy as the poster child for what is wrong with the Senate and why it should be s-canned.

With any luck, it will distract the public from the real mess, Bill C-51 or the Ministry of Finance’s three-card montie trick of a balanced budget by deferring all spending to 2017.

Charleston and Duffy


We’ve got a bit of a two-fer today, as both events are causing us great vexation. 

First off Walter Scott being gunned down in North Charleston, SC.  If you haven’t seen the video of Walter Scott being shot by a police officer, here it is.  Aside from the obvious attempt of the officer to plant something and the fact they officer was charged not with manslaughter, or self-defense, but straight up murder, and the racial stink that permeates the whole thing, there is one more vexatious point:  How can a trained police officer fire eight rounds at a target moving away from him at no more than 30 feet and only hit the target once?  Where did the other seven rounds go?  The Projectile Fairy didn’t capture them and put them under the officer’s pillow that night, of that we’re fairly certain. 

Which tells me the North Charleston Police couldn’t train a goose to shit, let alone teach their officers how to use the spectrum of force and when to increase the amount of force used with a subject.  That’s Policing 101, usually about Day 2 of rookie orientation.  For those who don’t know about the spectrum of force, here’s a good discussion

From our perspective as a citizen it’s simple enough to follow.  Simple presence of the uniformed officer, a commanding voice and attitude, hand control, active restraint, or baton, then chemical (OC spray, or Mace) electrical discharge weapons like a Taser or a Beanbag Shotgun, then the firearm.  Notice the escalation, from simple, loud, commands (“Stay in your car and drop the keys out the window”) to pulling the sidearm and everything in between.

There are exceptions of course, based on the situation.  If you pull over a guy and he gets out of the car with a shotgun and brings it up, you tell them drop the weapon and get your firearm ready to go, as the suspect has escalated things (Suspects don’t necessarily care about escalation of force protocols) and you have to react appropriately, immediately.  We’ve got no problem with that, at all. 

The Walter Scott shooting is another thing.  That went from an out of shape 50 year old with no obvious weapon or threat to the officer, running away, to an officer planting evidence after firing a clip at the suspect.  Had it played out sensibly, the officer would have got back in his car and followed Walter Scott for another 200 yards until he ran out of run and collapsed on his own.  Cuffs, backup, done with minimal paperwork and less fuss. 

Was Walter Scott in fear for his life?  We don’t know, but the dashcam footage showed a reasonable traffic stop and a compliant citizen who panicked in front of a cop with less experience with spectrum of force than my dog.  At least the dog has the smarts to back off when the cats give that low, rumbling hiss that translates across species into “Eff Off!”  We would also strongly recommend that every officer in North Charleston go back to the range and prove they can actually hit targets, center of mass at 10, 20, and 50 feet.  We don’t need idiots sending rounds all over the neighbourhood because they can’t shoot straight and that includes the police.

Senator Mike Duffy’s trial for Expense Fraud and charges of General Assholery is in its first week.  Up here our Federal Senate is populated by appointment of the Prime Minister.  It’s a reward for being a fart-catcher with rules that are looser than Amish sphincters after a binge-eat at the All You Can Eat Burrito Bar at Applebee’s.  Hiring a convicted serial rapist as your personal assistant is considered bad form, but that’s about it.  The caveat with this kind of demented-emperor oversight is that you say good things about the government and every program they bring forward is simply wonderful for all Canadians. 

Did Duffy go jowls-deep in the feed trough?  Sure he did; all the Conservative appointees do, just like all the Liberal appointees did when the Liberals were in power.  Up to the elbow in free trips, expense fiddles, hiring cousins with no work experience, or the easy fiddles of simply not showing up for work for two years at a stretch, but someone managing to cash the paycheque from your cushy digs in Mexico.  No committee work, no endless bladder-crippling meetings, no Question Period, nothing more exhausting than flying to Vancouver to do a 20 minute speech about how a government program is simply wonderful, words pre-written by the PMO and delivered with the standard half-hearted enthusiasm of a long-time party hack who has been phoning it in since 1988.  Then there is the crippling stress of having your assistant file the expense claims, which can only be relieved by flying to a foreign climate to rest and recuperate, on the taxpayer’s dime.

To be frank, our Senate is a joke beyond redemption that costs us millions of dollars every year for the members of the chamber of Sober Second Thought to roll around in the trough.  We get more value for money from the Dominion Carillonneur when she plays K’naan’s Wavin’ Flag on the Parliament Hill bells.  At least you can walk by the Hill and go, “What the heck is that song, holy crap, it’s that World Cup thing!  Kewl!”

With luck the Duffy Show will play out as expected just before our upcoming Federal Election in October.  The Harper Government will be painted accurately as mean-spirited micromanaging bullies.  Then the voting citizens will be confronted with a choice of None Of The Above on our ballots.

 

 

                   

Tough Week–Some Thoughts


It’s been a tough week in our world.  Not tough in a geopolitical sense, but in an emotional sense.  Tough weeks are things that one goes through in life, as they are a part of life.  There is no perfectly smooth, effortless glide through this world, with rainbows and Skittles for everyone.  That’s not the deal we get from Life. 

At best, life is a gift we get every morning when we get up.  How we make the most of that gift, every day, is how we define a life.  Little joy nuggets and little sorrow droplets amongst the compost of phone calls, interactions, bumping into furniture, email, lunch and the occasional coffee with the insistent, grinding background screech of what we call our society and our civilization. 

Finding those little nuggets of joy and happiness are what makes life worthwhile. 

Unfortunately, sometime the droplets of sorrow outnumber the joys and make for a tough week.  We lost four people this week, none of whom were especially close family or friends.  Two were colleagues from the workplace, one from long ago in television, one from the IT career.  Knew them both well enough to share a coffee with, knew a bit about them as people, not just anonymous faces on the floor.  Neither were ill, that I knew of, they just died.  The third was an aunt, in a far away city, whom I remember fondly, who passed at a ripe old age.  The fourth was the wife of a close colleague, who had been ill for a number of years, bravely battling and finally losing her fight with cancer. 

Where it becomes a tough week is how you feel.  There was a quote long ago that I can’t find the attribution for. 

The quote is this:  It is not for the dead that I grieve, but for the living that I bereave.

It sums up how one might approach this very touchy subject of death.  Those who have died are beyond our care now, those left behind are the ones that deserve our sympathy and what comfort we can offer them.  About all one can say to someone is that you are sorry for their loss.  There are no magical words that can help take away the sorrow for those left behind. 

I can’t make it better right now for the families and close friends of Michel, Billy, Joyce and Chantal, but I can offer them this observation. 

Those that are gone are still in your memories and your heart and it’s very sad now.  Eventually, you get up, embrace the gift you have and go hunting for the nuggets of joy.  You’ll find them.

International Women’s Day–An Ancient Reprint


Before the turn of the millennium a friend and I wrote for a website called whatthefuck.com.  Yes, the formal URL was whatthefuck.com and we were impressed that they could actually register a domain name with an obscenity as well as offer an email address of name@whatthefuck.com .  We had to write for them, so we did.  This of course was in days before Perl:  You had to code html yourself, or if you were leading edge, use an ancient plugin to Word that would generate half-assed semi-formed html as a starting point, then shine the turd from there. There was no WordPress, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or whatever the hell is this hour’s hot app.

Our first missive was a little blotchy, but we did a few more.  By the time June 2000 rolled around we found our voice.  Imagine Kim Carnes with Joe Cocker’s larynx after she had been punched in the throat and was speaking through a corrugated metal dryer vent was our approximation.  Eventually this morphed into roaddave, which you can read about here

When we got up this morning, we noticed it was International Women’s Day, a United Nations sanctioned day to honour and celebrate 51% of the population.  Being that rare and delicate outlier subset of Men, (meaning white, middle-class, employed, intelligent, evolved and heterosexual) we considered writing something profound and important to mark IWD.  We struggled trying to find the right tone, the right sensitivity, the right sense of apologia and yet positive encouragement to the other half of the population, regardless of their socioeconomic and geopolitical status. 

Then we said, screw it.  It’s Sunday morning and the “Spring Ahead” time change has us mentally rowing with one oar around Lake Stupid in an under-inflated rubber dinghy with no keel.  Herewith, originally from whatthefuck.com, with Rob S, is 25 Things We Like About Women    

Since Cosmopolitan Magazine can do articles like “25 things your Man should do” we decided to return the favour. Some of them are mutually exclusive and some are either contradictory or just plain silly. We don’t care. We’ re going to catch shit from all directions on this, but we have no fear, so here we go:

25 Things We like about Women:

1: Curves. Kate Moss would be a terrible boink. If I wanted a bruised pelvis, I’d hump a garden shed. Women were designed to have a little extra padding. Nature said so. Don’t starve yourself to look like a twelve-year-old boy: Women are supposed to have curves.

2: Brains. Most women outrank men in this department anyway, but so few of them show it. Ladies, don’t be afraid to speak up when your man is trying to see into the gas tank with a lighter. We rely on you to keep us from being really, really stupid.

3: Class. There is nothing as wonderful as a woman in The Perfect Little Black Dress gliding down a flight of stairs. Hair done, makeup, tiny little purse and she wants to go out with YOU.

4: No Class. There is nothing as wonderful as a woman with a mouth on her like a trucker with Tourette’s Syndrome who could cuss the paint off your car at forty paces and she dares you to go out with HER.

5: Singing. The contented sound of a woman, humming or singing to herself while she works. Even if she couldn’t carry a tune in a box with a string handle, a woman idly singing for her own pleasure is a joy.

6: Strength. We don’t mean the ability to bench press 300 lbs., although that’s fine. We mean the ability to grab ahold of an ugly job and just plain do it. Moving 10 cubic yards of topsoil around with you in the yard, or taking the base of the ladder while you climb up to fix the burnt out light bulb in the foyer. The pale, frond-like beauty of Victorian times has no place in the year 2000.

7: Sparkle. This is so hard to define, but here we go. If your friends are envious of you because your significant other is just so damn much fun to be around, then she’s got sparkle.

8: Balls. Not in the literal sense, as that could be a bit off-putting. But if she takes no crap from anyone. An example: Her car breaks down and the mechanic tries to talk her into a complete overhaul of everything except the cigarette lighter and the antenna. If she says: “Oh, OK, whatever you say, Mister Mechanic.” she ain’t got balls.

Watch how she complains to a government department, or a counter person. If the phrase “I’ll cut off your head and shit down your neck.” comes out of her mouth, she’s got a big set and they rumble when she walks.

9: Demureness. If she blushes when you compliment her on how nice she looks (see #3) then she’s got the right amount of demureness. This is good. Making a woman blush is the first stage to winning her heart.

10: Cleavage. Be it bosomy cleavage in that blouse that is cut just right, wearing the lucky bra that hold Thelma and Louise just so, or at the top of the crack of her ass when she wears that bathing suit, cleavage is old fashioned and wonderfully erotic.

11: Common Sense. “Hon, if you have a snake tattoo on your face and more piercings that a voodoo doll, you are kinda restricting your career options, aren’t you?”

12: No Sense At All. “Let’s go skinny dipping in the neighbour’s pool at 3 am!”

13: Romantic. If she buys YOU flowers, or gives YOU an engagement ring.

14: Forgiveness. You come home at 3 a.m. from a buddy’s going away party, smelling like a brewery and have a stripper’s g-string around your neck, she simply asks if you had a good time with no heat or sense of “I’m going to kill you.” If you do this more than once a year, you should see the second paragraph of #8. Expect your life to be threatened. And you will deserve it.

15: Waxing/Shaving. Women should not have more pit hair than their man. Same goes for legs and upper lips. And Ladies, please do some weeding and pruning of your Secret Garden. A well-trimmed plot is a delight and occasionally going bald south of the equator is a saucy surprise. Going to the dentist for a shave is not enjoyable, nor is that “aaaaccccccck” sound we make when we cough up a hairball.

16: Smell. Women smell nice. There is something indefinably intoxicating about that soft tang of a woman’s natural scent on a hot day. We can’t explain it. To quote Garrison Keillor: “There’s nothing like the smell of a hot woman when some of the sweat on her, is yours.”

17: Perfume. Find a perfume that you like, use it sparingly and strategically. Drenching yourself with Eau Du Civet just makes you smell like the perfume counter at Woolworth’s, or that stripper from #14.

18: Passion. Believe in something. It doesn’t have to be the same things that your man believes in. In fact, you get some good vibrant discussions going with your man by taking a contrary view and backing it up with sense, logic and a passion about the subject.

19: Horniness. Once in a while whisper something really lewd in his ear when you drive home from a party. Ask him to drive to Lover’s Lane RIGHT NOW so you can make out like minks in heat across the hood of the car. A quick, spontaneous knee-trembler is fun for all concerned.

20: Self-Esteem. To quote Roy Blount Jr., “This is what I got, I can shake it, I can bake it. If you don’t like lookin’ at it, who asked you?” If you whine about your lack to this, or too big that, it just makes you look weak.

21: Humour. No, ladies, you don’t have to like The Three Stooges (most women don’t anyway) but if you can tell a joke, or laugh at one your man has told before, then you get points.

22: Snuggling. Men will never admit it, but most of us do like to snuggle. Be it spoon-style or butt to butt. Doesn’t matter how, just the close physical connectedness of being near is comforting.

23: Affection. So many people don’t show affection toward each other. A gentle caress, or a squeeze of the hand means a lot. Most men could be tortured for weeks by the Iraqi Secret Police and would never confess, but we will. Knowing you are on our side means the world to us.

24: Trashiness. If you go to a costume party with your man, dress up as Sister Roxanne, the Slutty Nun, who smokes, drinks and carries on like a whore in a habit. That’s fun trashiness. So are five-inch Fuck Me Pumps once in a while, or those stockings with the seam up the back and no panties.

25: Understanding. The Battle of the Sexes is over. Women won a long time ago, but the rules keep changing. Men try and keep up as best we can. We’ re not perfect and we occasionally forget the difference between the G, H, I, and J spots. Let us know and let us make up for it in our own way.

Paint A Target On The Board Of Directors


For those of us above the 49th, watching Target stores go down the porcelain facility was an exercise in schadenfreude, taking pleasure in the misfortunes of others.  Target bought up a lot of the old Zellers real estate, changed the livery to the ubiquitous red and white splat then sat back to wait for the drooling parka-clad throngs to bust down the doors screaming “Shut Up, and Take My Money!”.

It didn’t quite work out that way.

Target Canada came off as a “special” cousin to Zeller’s or maybe K-Mart’s addle-minded Uncle Gordie.  Target drooled a little, smelled funny and didn’t have actual stock in the stores that people wanted to buy and prices that were competitive.  Canadian consumers tried Target once, perhaps twice, then vowed never to go back.  By January 15th, Target Canada announced the closure of all 133 stores, tossing about 17,000 employees into the ditch with a hearty “Thanks for working at Target!”

Now coming to light are a couple of outrages that are being perpetrated on the cadaver.  Former CEO Gregg Steinhafer got a golden parachute that was bigger than the severance issued to the now-former employees of Target Canada.  Steinhafer was fired by the way, not ‘resigning to pursue other opportunities’ or ‘spending time with family’:  He was s-canned, but like most CEO’s had negotiated a deal with the Target Board that unless he was found on the Washington Mall at noon hour, drunk, disheveled and engaging in an unnatural act with a live penguin, he’d get his piece of pie.

The second outrage is one of insolvency jiggery-pokery.  A Toronto-based market research firm was told to switch its invoice for $232,328 from Target USA, who hired them, to Target Canada, a few days before Target Canada pulled the yellow handle.  When Target Canada did the deed, that invoice, now residing with an insolvent company might be worth $50,000, maybe, maybe not.  Essentially, Target knew they were going under and tried to bury as much as they could in Canada, to maximize their going-out-of-business profits through the liquidation process. 

We’ve got two beefs here.  By definition a Board of Directors is charged with ensuring the company is being run in a way that is prudent and profitable for shareholders and to provide a group of savvy multi-disciplinary advisors to the corporation to ensure prudence and profitability to the shareholders:  Not the employees, not the suppliers, not the kid who collects the shopping carts after school every afternoon.  Fine, that’s the capitalist system we work under.  It sucks sometimes, but that’s what we’ve got as rules of engagement. 

Where most Board of Directors fall over is in their sheep-like mentality of not questioning anything.  A well-suited, pricey-per-diem Compensation Consultant tells the Board that the CEO must be paid a grotesque amount of money “to attract the right candidates” for the position.  Yes, CEO is a good-paying gig and most CEO’s don’t last long, so the candidates negotiate big money and big perks up front.  The candidate is not incentivized to play the long game, as all the goodies come home on Day 1, not Day 995 of their gig.  The Board nods sagely dazzled by the haircut and the cufflinks and the CEO gets his or her payday, so even if caught up to the bristles in a penguin, the CEO still gets a mammoth payout.

The second beef is boning the suppliers.  Businesses of any kind run on third-party companies that provide things to the business to conduct their operations.  The amount of credit from a supplier is a conscious wager by the supplier that the company is going to be paid for what they’re providing.  It does not matter if it’s 40 footer full of green garden hoses, or the contract for the guy to push the floor cleaning machine around the store, the supplier is trusting the company to pay their bills on time, in full, for services or goods provided.  Those suppliers need that money to pay the minimum wage to the guy behind the floor cleaner, or the Xiolang Tractor Painting and Garden Hose Manufacturing Cooperative #22 in Baoding, China, who shipped over the container full of garden hoses.  And the shipping company and the trucking company and the warehouse people and the printers and packagers and so on down the line.  Everyone gets boned.

What the Board isn’t doing is making sure that the company is doing what is the Right Thing to Do.

Henry Ford, the noted rapacious capitalist and owner of the Ford Motor Company back in the day, did it very simply.  He paid his people very well for the time, and priced his goods at such a point that his employees could actually afford the products they were making on the earliest assembly lines.  This is called Enlightened Self-Interest.  Ford knew that his folks on the line would bust their guts to do the best possible work, for a really good wage, so they could buy a car.  That created an instant market of 12,000 employees who were potential customers. 

Ford also played the capitalist card well.  When the Steel Combine in the US decided to up the prices on the raw material for the cars that Ford was making, Ford essentially said “Screw you, I’ll make my own damn steel”  Then he did it.  The River Rouge Complex in Detroit was the result.  Ford brought in the ore on his own ships, to his own steel mill, to make his own steel that they smelted, forged and stamped on site to make the cars coming off the other end of the assembly line.  Our long-lamented 1987 5.0 Mustang was made at the Dearborn Assembly Plant with copious amounts of River Rouge steel and glass.

So what about the Board of Target?  They’re getting theirs, collecting their per-diems and ‘creating value for shareholders’ at least as measured by this month.  Are the doing the Right Thing?  Not by a long shot.  The Board, like most Boards, are sheep.  Nobody is rocking the boat, asking pointed questions like “What the hell are we paying this clown for?”, “How will this be good for us in two/three/five years?” or “Is this the Right Thing To Do?”

For that, they should be ashamed.