There are two celebrations that happen this time of year. There is Christmas™ and there is christmas.
Most of the world is familiar with Christmas™. It is that time of year when we string lights on our homes, install a pine trees in our living room and get up a 4 AM to stand in line for the big pre-Christmas™ sale bargains. It is presents and wrapping paper and gifts that people don't really need. It is television specials about Santa Claus, Rudolph, Frosty and The Grinch. It is Jingle Bells, Let It Snow and We Need A Little Christmas played over and over again. It is overspending, overeating and overindulging in everything else. It is stress and frustration and wondering if it will all get done in time. It is worrying if everyone will be happy and wondering why we are not.
Every year we say the same thing, 'Christmas™ is getting to be too much.' Yet every year the sales start earlier, the expectations grow larger and the pressure to have the perfect holiday increases.
We are somewhat less enamoured with that other celebration, christmas. In some ways this story is the polar opposite of Christmas™. Its central characters, Mary and Joseph, are poor refugees from a foreign land with few resources, facing a dangerous and uncertain future.
It takes place in a time when people believed in angels and visions. So much so that the words of prophets and messengers in dreams were treated as fact.
The young couple have come to a town called Bethlehem, the birthplace of Joseph. A census had been ordered by the region's dictatorial leader, a man called Herod the Great. It was required of all citizens that they must register in the city of their birth or face a harsh punishment. To compound matters, Herod had been informed by his advisers, the prophets, that a great leader was to be born in the region. One who may one day have the power to overthrow his regime. Herod was as vindictive as he was paranoid. On hearing this prophecy he immediately ordered the execution of any child under the age of two.
Mary was pregnant. She and Joseph knew of the decree. They also knew of Mary's strange dream in which a messenger of God proclaimed that their child would become the leader that was prophesied. They were terrified.
The census registry meant Bethlehem was overrun with people, all clambering for places to stay. Everyone wanted to make sure they were not left out in the cold. When Mary and Joseph arrived, it was already too late. There were no places to stay, not even for a young expectant mother. An innkeeper flippantly offered the couple his only remaining shelter, a dark, damp cave where he kept a few pack animals and sheep. To his surprise the couple accepted.
Later that night, Mary gave birth to her son on the floor of a dingy stable as the animals looked on with blank stares. The air was rank with the stench of manure and must. She named the child Jesus, just as the messenger in her dream had instructed. Despite what her beliefs had told her, she feared for this fragile infant. A wave of exhaustion swept over her weary frame as her eyes met with Joseph. They shared their fears without words and from somewhere deep within, hope.
This is christmas.
The lower case 'c' is not meant as an affront to the Christian faith but rather to make a point. This story needs to be told in terms that everyone can understand. It doesn't belong exclusively to a religion or a culture or a society.
Extract the angels and the star and choruses of Silent Night and you have a human story, our story. One with a simple and powerful message.
You don't have to be a Christian or even a person of faith to know that Jesus was a transformational figure in history. His words challenged the secular authorities as well as the religious ones. He spoke of humility, equity among people and that lasting peace comes from the courage to forgive. Despite his renown, he was not born into power and privilege, nor did he aspire to such things. Given the circumstances of his birth, it was remarkable he survived at all.
Christmas™ may seem the polar opposite of christmas, but there is one similarity. Like the people of Bethlehem, Christmas™ finds us focused on our own needs and desires. We are too busy to think about the world around us, and quietly hope that the needs of others won't interfere with our plans. Yet to truly celebrate christmas we are asked to do the opposite. To revisit a place that we would rather not, to befriend poor strangers with nothing to offer. To look into the cold darkness and find hope.
Who will arrive in the midst Christmas™ chaos?
Where will they stay?
Are we prepared to welcome them into our homes?
We don't really Need a Little Christmas™. All we need is a little christmas.
May your celebrations begin with hope.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Dust Bunnies on The Brain
The other day my wife said to me: "I need to get those pictures off the camera so I can get them developed."
I looked at her like she had three heads and said, "Developed? Who gets pictures developed any more?"
In response, she offered an appropriate phrase which I cannot reproduce here because there might be children reading.
Our language is full all sorts of antiquated terminology lurking at the fringes of our collective vernacular. The older we get, the more there is. That's not to say that my wife is ... that is to say ... we're both at an age when ... okay, you may insert your appropriate phrase here.
Every once in a while I find myself saying things that cause anyone under the age of twenty to stare at me with a blank look. The problem is language, as a form of communication, is in constant flux. Ever evolving with the latest trend, technology or pop culture reference. These things just collect, like dust bunnies under the sofa, every now and then popping out with embarrassing results.
The ones I particularly resent are those that I had to learn in order to sound somewhat saavy about a particular technology, only to have them jettisoned with the newest innovation. Things like:
Zip drive
Syquest
Floppy disc
In case you hadn't already figured it out, the first two, like that latter, were all forms of digital storage. Long before USB keys were invented, if we're still using those.
Then there are those terms that once related to a specific type of technology:
Ceramic or magnetic cartridge
Rumble or hum
Direct or belt drive
If you're old enough, you'll know what I'm talking about.
I can remember when Dolby technology meant cassette tapes that didn't have a hissing sound. An innovation that I always thought rather dubious. Just press a button and that annoying hissing sound goes away, as well as all of the top end frequencies. But heck, it sounded cool so we bought into it anyway. These days Dolby sound technology is so advanced it actually blows what's left of the hair off my head.
Probably the worst of these verbal dinosaurs are the pop culture references. Those nasty little blurbs crop up all the time, despite all efforts to quell them. Who the hell says:
'10-4, good buddy.'
'Up your nose with a rubber hose.'
'Gag me with a spoon.'
Or those Jurassic descriptors:
Freaky-deaky!
Neat!
Cool-o!
Nobody under twenty, I can guarantee you.
There ought to be a warehouse somewhere in our brains where we can keep these things locked up until needed, like say a retro party. Instead they just loiter around our heads waiting for the right moment to stumble into conversations instantly rendering our credibility moot and leaving the listener wondering if we've suddenly started speaking in tongues.
The problem for me is that unlike normal people, who employ their grey matter to store useful information, my brain is a vast repository of trivial pop-culture references. I remember lines from movies that are older than most kids in college. Song lyrics are probably the worst. I have a dear friend who, at the risk of receiving another appropriate phrase, has more life experience than I. She would frequently quote lyrics from songs that were *ahem* before my time. No matter what subject was discussed, she could produce a lyric that fit. My friends and I used to wonder aloud if there must be a song for everything. To which she would reply "If you're around long enough kid, you'll realize there is."
Dammit, she's right.
These days I can barely get through a conversation without the words of some obscure song from a distant era popping up like a whack-a-mole in my frontal lobe. Be it 60s protest band, 70s rock band, 80s hair band, 90s grunge band or 00s teen-angst-punk band, I got 'em all.
Every once in a while though, when one of those archaic phrases pops out of my mouth someone else's eyes will light up. They got it! Like some kind of secret code has been unlocked, an instant connection is made and a flood of memories are released.
I suppose it's not so bad to have stored up all of those seemingly useless tidbits of data. In some ways that tacky, hodge-podge collection is a sort of trophy case of life's experiences. Without which we would not be who we are.
And that's no jive.
I looked at her like she had three heads and said, "Developed? Who gets pictures developed any more?"
In response, she offered an appropriate phrase which I cannot reproduce here because there might be children reading.
Our language is full all sorts of antiquated terminology lurking at the fringes of our collective vernacular. The older we get, the more there is. That's not to say that my wife is ... that is to say ... we're both at an age when ... okay, you may insert your appropriate phrase here.
Every once in a while I find myself saying things that cause anyone under the age of twenty to stare at me with a blank look. The problem is language, as a form of communication, is in constant flux. Ever evolving with the latest trend, technology or pop culture reference. These things just collect, like dust bunnies under the sofa, every now and then popping out with embarrassing results.
The ones I particularly resent are those that I had to learn in order to sound somewhat saavy about a particular technology, only to have them jettisoned with the newest innovation. Things like:
Zip drive
Syquest
Floppy disc
In case you hadn't already figured it out, the first two, like that latter, were all forms of digital storage. Long before USB keys were invented, if we're still using those.
Then there are those terms that once related to a specific type of technology:
Ceramic or magnetic cartridge
Rumble or hum
Direct or belt drive
If you're old enough, you'll know what I'm talking about.
I can remember when Dolby technology meant cassette tapes that didn't have a hissing sound. An innovation that I always thought rather dubious. Just press a button and that annoying hissing sound goes away, as well as all of the top end frequencies. But heck, it sounded cool so we bought into it anyway. These days Dolby sound technology is so advanced it actually blows what's left of the hair off my head.
Probably the worst of these verbal dinosaurs are the pop culture references. Those nasty little blurbs crop up all the time, despite all efforts to quell them. Who the hell says:
'10-4, good buddy.'
'Up your nose with a rubber hose.'
'Gag me with a spoon.'
Or those Jurassic descriptors:
Freaky-deaky!
Neat!
Cool-o!
Nobody under twenty, I can guarantee you.
There ought to be a warehouse somewhere in our brains where we can keep these things locked up until needed, like say a retro party. Instead they just loiter around our heads waiting for the right moment to stumble into conversations instantly rendering our credibility moot and leaving the listener wondering if we've suddenly started speaking in tongues.
The problem for me is that unlike normal people, who employ their grey matter to store useful information, my brain is a vast repository of trivial pop-culture references. I remember lines from movies that are older than most kids in college. Song lyrics are probably the worst. I have a dear friend who, at the risk of receiving another appropriate phrase, has more life experience than I. She would frequently quote lyrics from songs that were *ahem* before my time. No matter what subject was discussed, she could produce a lyric that fit. My friends and I used to wonder aloud if there must be a song for everything. To which she would reply "If you're around long enough kid, you'll realize there is."
Dammit, she's right.
These days I can barely get through a conversation without the words of some obscure song from a distant era popping up like a whack-a-mole in my frontal lobe. Be it 60s protest band, 70s rock band, 80s hair band, 90s grunge band or 00s teen-angst-punk band, I got 'em all.
Every once in a while though, when one of those archaic phrases pops out of my mouth someone else's eyes will light up. They got it! Like some kind of secret code has been unlocked, an instant connection is made and a flood of memories are released.
I suppose it's not so bad to have stored up all of those seemingly useless tidbits of data. In some ways that tacky, hodge-podge collection is a sort of trophy case of life's experiences. Without which we would not be who we are.
And that's no jive.
Friday, December 17, 2010
The Friday Time Waster Surpeme: Headless Kings and Brainless Coaches Edition
Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but this blog is so ... well okay, it is what it is. Just over a week left to find that perfect gift for you loved ones, lest they be disappointed on Christmas morn and resent you for the rest of the year. At least that's what the stores would like you to think. For the rest of us, we're just happy to have an excuse to party. With that in mind, here is yet another Friday Time Waster to put you in a festive mood for the holidays.
Return of The King, At Least Part of Him...
A crack team of scientists say they have positively identified the embalmed head of King Henri IV of France. The head vanished after revolutionaries robbed the graves of French kings in the royal basilica of Saint-Denis near Paris in 1793 during the French revolution. The head had apparently been passed down by generations of private collectors.
Known as "the good King Henry" and as "the green gallant," because of his attractiveness to women, Henri IV was one of the most popular French kings. That is until he was assassinated in Paris by a fanatic.
While it may be a great historical find, I'm still having a bit of an issue with private collectors trading this guys head for nearly three centuries.
Overheard at the French private collector's club: "I hear Pierre is on death's door, I wonder who gets the head?"
***
It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like ... uh, What Time Is It?
A recent EKOS poll revealed that Canadian voters are not impressed with either of the major parties, or their leaders. Indifference might be the better word. On the one hand we've got Michael Ignatieff either changing his mind, shooting off a toe or generally blending into the wallpaper of Canadian politics, on the the other is Prime Minister Stephen Harper who despite Iggy's follies appears unable to convince voters to give his party a majority.
As if to confirm both leaders are out of step with the country, and perhaps reality, Harper's Holiday card features him and his family sitting on the front lawn of 24 Sussex in what looks to be autumn. Iggy's holiday photo features him and his wife at a BBQ sometime around mid-summer.
Maybe we should abandon these two yahoos at the side of the 401 in a snowstorm to see if they can get a handle on what Canadians want.
***
Kloon
Listen carefully. Hear that sound? That is the sound of Brad Marchand's bones still resonating from Subban's hit last night. Ouch.
***
Tell Me Where It Hurts, Scotty
Speaking of the Habs, a tip of the hat to Scott Gomez who addressed the local media concerning his recent 'lower body injury.' The latter term is used by coaching staff to divert the press, and presumably opposing players, from revealing the location of the actual injury.
Gomez began his press scrum on Tuesday by admitting how difficult it was to recover from a broken toe. He went on to tell the next reporter of the difficulty in recovering from a strained calf muscle, before wrapping up his charade by detailing his struggle with an injury to his arse.
Well if the hockey thing doesn't work out, at least he's got comedy. He might want to work on his elocution.
***
Prochaine Arrêt, Parthenais...
If you're a frequent Metro rider you probably already know this. Police have identified the Green Line as having the highest number of crimes in the system, 541 in 2009. Not surprising considering it covers some of the highest traffic areas in the network. The police are refusing to specify which stations have the highest crime incidences of criminal acts, although they did acknowledge increased police presence at the problem areas.
The number of thefts in the Metro system appears to be on the rise, 210 were reported so far this year compared to a total of 175 for all of 2009. Nonetheless, the cops have refused to release further data for fear that it might tip off criminals to police strategy. Looking at the numbers, I think they may be on to you.
***
Future Hall of Shame Coach
A scandal is abrew for the National Football League's New York Jets. You might have heard about this pinhead Sal Alosi the team's strength and conditioning coach. While on the sideline during a game, Alosi stuck out his knee to trip Miami Dolphin's Nolan Carroll during a punt return. Alosi was fined $25K by the league and suspended for the remainder of the year.
Now comes word that Alosi may have invited inactive players to form a blocking line to force Carroll into the path of the impending trip, which makes the transgression appear premeditated. Rumours are swirling in the press that the trip might have been part of a larger plot concocted by the team's coaching staff. According to the league it is the head coach's responsibility to make sure his staff and players are kept back from the sidelines during plays.
The Jets staff are in damage control, adding the words 'indefinite ban' to Alosi's suspension.
Meanwhile the press have dubbed the scandal 'Tripgate' prompting this appropriate tirade from my buddy Johnny Bertolo on Facebook:
Watergate, Spygate, Tripgate?! Could you f**king journalists use some Godd**n f**king imagination? For f**k's sake!
How's that anger management working for you Johnny?
Have a great weekend. Stay out of the malls if you can.
Return of The King, At Least Part of Him...
A crack team of scientists say they have positively identified the embalmed head of King Henri IV of France. The head vanished after revolutionaries robbed the graves of French kings in the royal basilica of Saint-Denis near Paris in 1793 during the French revolution. The head had apparently been passed down by generations of private collectors.
Known as "the good King Henry" and as "the green gallant," because of his attractiveness to women, Henri IV was one of the most popular French kings. That is until he was assassinated in Paris by a fanatic.
While it may be a great historical find, I'm still having a bit of an issue with private collectors trading this guys head for nearly three centuries.
Overheard at the French private collector's club: "I hear Pierre is on death's door, I wonder who gets the head?"
***
It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like ... uh, What Time Is It?
A recent EKOS poll revealed that Canadian voters are not impressed with either of the major parties, or their leaders. Indifference might be the better word. On the one hand we've got Michael Ignatieff either changing his mind, shooting off a toe or generally blending into the wallpaper of Canadian politics, on the the other is Prime Minister Stephen Harper who despite Iggy's follies appears unable to convince voters to give his party a majority.
As if to confirm both leaders are out of step with the country, and perhaps reality, Harper's Holiday card features him and his family sitting on the front lawn of 24 Sussex in what looks to be autumn. Iggy's holiday photo features him and his wife at a BBQ sometime around mid-summer.
Maybe we should abandon these two yahoos at the side of the 401 in a snowstorm to see if they can get a handle on what Canadians want.
***
Kloon
Listen carefully. Hear that sound? That is the sound of Brad Marchand's bones still resonating from Subban's hit last night. Ouch.
***
Tell Me Where It Hurts, Scotty
Speaking of the Habs, a tip of the hat to Scott Gomez who addressed the local media concerning his recent 'lower body injury.' The latter term is used by coaching staff to divert the press, and presumably opposing players, from revealing the location of the actual injury.
Gomez began his press scrum on Tuesday by admitting how difficult it was to recover from a broken toe. He went on to tell the next reporter of the difficulty in recovering from a strained calf muscle, before wrapping up his charade by detailing his struggle with an injury to his arse.
Well if the hockey thing doesn't work out, at least he's got comedy. He might want to work on his elocution.
***
Prochaine Arrêt, Parthenais...
If you're a frequent Metro rider you probably already know this. Police have identified the Green Line as having the highest number of crimes in the system, 541 in 2009. Not surprising considering it covers some of the highest traffic areas in the network. The police are refusing to specify which stations have the highest crime incidences of criminal acts, although they did acknowledge increased police presence at the problem areas.
The number of thefts in the Metro system appears to be on the rise, 210 were reported so far this year compared to a total of 175 for all of 2009. Nonetheless, the cops have refused to release further data for fear that it might tip off criminals to police strategy. Looking at the numbers, I think they may be on to you.
***
Future Hall of Shame Coach
A scandal is abrew for the National Football League's New York Jets. You might have heard about this pinhead Sal Alosi the team's strength and conditioning coach. While on the sideline during a game, Alosi stuck out his knee to trip Miami Dolphin's Nolan Carroll during a punt return. Alosi was fined $25K by the league and suspended for the remainder of the year.
Now comes word that Alosi may have invited inactive players to form a blocking line to force Carroll into the path of the impending trip, which makes the transgression appear premeditated. Rumours are swirling in the press that the trip might have been part of a larger plot concocted by the team's coaching staff. According to the league it is the head coach's responsibility to make sure his staff and players are kept back from the sidelines during plays.
The Jets staff are in damage control, adding the words 'indefinite ban' to Alosi's suspension.
Meanwhile the press have dubbed the scandal 'Tripgate' prompting this appropriate tirade from my buddy Johnny Bertolo on Facebook:
Watergate, Spygate, Tripgate?! Could you f**king journalists use some Godd**n f**king imagination? For f**k's sake!
How's that anger management working for you Johnny?
Have a great weekend. Stay out of the malls if you can.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Penny Lame
If you were feeling cynical about the state of politics and governance in Ottawa, recent news out of the nation's capital will likely improve your opinion.
Lower taxes? Improved healthcare? Karaoke night with Stephen Harper?
No, no and thank God, no.
The Senate national finance committee is making a recommendation that Canada abolish the penny. This is enough to make economists stand up and take notice, after all who better to analyze issues related to the country's finances than a gaggle of overpaid political brown-nosers with a guaranteed, obscenely cushy, public-service-job-for-life.
Nonetheless, the issue does bear some consideration. The lowly one-cent coin costs the Royal Canadian Mint 1.5 cents to produce and distribute. The mint produces about 1.2 billion of the copper coins each year. Do the math. According to economists, the penny has lost 95% of its value since 1908. This statistic has been splattered all over news articles about the coin. No one can tell me why they picked 1908 when in fact the first Canadian cents was introduced in 1858, but hey I don't run the news ticker.
I think you would be hard pressed (pardon the pun) to find anyone in the country who would miss the coin. As currency goes, the Canadian penny has fallen on seriously hard times. Most people find them useless and annoying. Even the lowest denomination of Canadian Tire Money has more value than a penny. It isn't even made of copper any more. Most of the metal is steel, the copper is just a coating. That's just sad.
Unless you are a numismatic (go ahead Google it ... I'll wait), the end of the penny won't bring much fanfare. As it turns out, Canada is not the first nation to jettison the penny. Australia and New Zealand have already done so. As consumers, we might wonder what will happen at the cash register. Nations who already canned the penny addressed this issue by asking merchants to round up cash purchases to the nearest nickel. Presumably this rounding up calculation would generate a small benefit to vendors, and perhaps a nightmare for accountants, but thus far this has not proven to be the case.
Of course the one cent denomination would not completely disappear from the economy. The tiny little digit would still be necessary to ensure that accounts balance properly. Credit card and debit purchases would not be rounded up.
There was a time that a penny could actually buy you something. When I was a kid you could get a gumball or some other treat from one of those little shops with aisles of glass containers filled with all sorts of cavity inducing confection. For 25 cents you could fill a small paper bag full of brightly coloured, hardened or chewy, sugary treats. I have fond memories of those days ... so does my dentist. That was several Prime Ministers ago. Today 25 cents won't even get you a call at a payphone (it's 50 cents if you were wondering, the price magically jumps to a dollar if you use a credit card).
A penny-less society would also be left with phrases and idioms that have suddenly lost meaning and relevance in popular culture, like: penny wise, pound foolish or a penny for your thoughts or a penny saved is a penny earned. Well, let's not put the cart before the horse.
Admittedly I feel a tinge of nostalgia for the little coin. It does give one pause to think that they lived long enough to see currency transition from having some value to virtually none. Then again rampant devaluation has been de rigueur from Wall Street to Bay Street in the past couple of years.
So, it looks like it's farewell for our little copper friend. Not sure what to do with my old pennies. Presumably the government and banks will honour the coins value until they have all been cashed in. The upside in cutting off penny production is that it could generate significant savings for the government, and if we're lucky, the taxpayers ...
... ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ... ah, I had ya going there, didn't I?
In the end, perhaps we owe a debt of gratitude to the Senate. Who knew that they could actually identify something more useless and costly than themselves?
Give yourselves a raise and take the rest of the year off.
Lower taxes? Improved healthcare? Karaoke night with Stephen Harper?
No, no and thank God, no.
The Senate national finance committee is making a recommendation that Canada abolish the penny. This is enough to make economists stand up and take notice, after all who better to analyze issues related to the country's finances than a gaggle of overpaid political brown-nosers with a guaranteed, obscenely cushy, public-service-job-for-life.
Nonetheless, the issue does bear some consideration. The lowly one-cent coin costs the Royal Canadian Mint 1.5 cents to produce and distribute. The mint produces about 1.2 billion of the copper coins each year. Do the math. According to economists, the penny has lost 95% of its value since 1908. This statistic has been splattered all over news articles about the coin. No one can tell me why they picked 1908 when in fact the first Canadian cents was introduced in 1858, but hey I don't run the news ticker.
I think you would be hard pressed (pardon the pun) to find anyone in the country who would miss the coin. As currency goes, the Canadian penny has fallen on seriously hard times. Most people find them useless and annoying. Even the lowest denomination of Canadian Tire Money has more value than a penny. It isn't even made of copper any more. Most of the metal is steel, the copper is just a coating. That's just sad.
Unless you are a numismatic (go ahead Google it ... I'll wait), the end of the penny won't bring much fanfare. As it turns out, Canada is not the first nation to jettison the penny. Australia and New Zealand have already done so. As consumers, we might wonder what will happen at the cash register. Nations who already canned the penny addressed this issue by asking merchants to round up cash purchases to the nearest nickel. Presumably this rounding up calculation would generate a small benefit to vendors, and perhaps a nightmare for accountants, but thus far this has not proven to be the case.
Of course the one cent denomination would not completely disappear from the economy. The tiny little digit would still be necessary to ensure that accounts balance properly. Credit card and debit purchases would not be rounded up.
There was a time that a penny could actually buy you something. When I was a kid you could get a gumball or some other treat from one of those little shops with aisles of glass containers filled with all sorts of cavity inducing confection. For 25 cents you could fill a small paper bag full of brightly coloured, hardened or chewy, sugary treats. I have fond memories of those days ... so does my dentist. That was several Prime Ministers ago. Today 25 cents won't even get you a call at a payphone (it's 50 cents if you were wondering, the price magically jumps to a dollar if you use a credit card).
A penny-less society would also be left with phrases and idioms that have suddenly lost meaning and relevance in popular culture, like: penny wise, pound foolish or a penny for your thoughts or a penny saved is a penny earned. Well, let's not put the cart before the horse.
Admittedly I feel a tinge of nostalgia for the little coin. It does give one pause to think that they lived long enough to see currency transition from having some value to virtually none. Then again rampant devaluation has been de rigueur from Wall Street to Bay Street in the past couple of years.
So, it looks like it's farewell for our little copper friend. Not sure what to do with my old pennies. Presumably the government and banks will honour the coins value until they have all been cashed in. The upside in cutting off penny production is that it could generate significant savings for the government, and if we're lucky, the taxpayers ...
... ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ... ah, I had ya going there, didn't I?
In the end, perhaps we owe a debt of gratitude to the Senate. Who knew that they could actually identify something more useless and costly than themselves?
Give yourselves a raise and take the rest of the year off.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Shelter From Our Storm
If you really want to know something about a society, you don't need to look at the upper echelons of power, nor its media, art or economy. To truly gauge what makes a society tick, look no further than its least privileged. Those that are marginalized by society can tell us much about its worst qualities such as apathy, avarice and neglect, but also about its capacity for care and compassion.
It is at this time of year that we who are privileged enough to enjoy relative wealth and stability feel most compelled to reach out to those in need. You can be cynical about this spurt of generosity and ascribe it to an attempt to assuage our feelings of guilt for our excess. You can criticize this giving as being too much of an event rather than an ongoing effort. While there is truth in both statements, in the eyes of charitable organizations, who must always see the glass as half full, this giving is an essential part of their service to our community. It may not be perfect, but there is hope in the knowledge that our society still believes in taking care of its own.
A rung or two below human suffering are animals. Specifically those that humanity has domesticated for its personal needs. For centuries we have bred certain qualities in our pets by singling out those that best suited us and discarding those we deemed dysfunctional. Often these were the qualities that best equipped these animals to survive in the wild. As a result, many of these creatures have become increasingly dependent on humans for their basic survival.
There are exceptions of course. Some stray dogs and cats cope rather well on the streets of our cities. But how would they fare in a true wilderness, where food is scarce and the competition fierce? The instincts that remain among domestic pets are likely insufficient to ensure survival.
When we examine the state of animal treatment in our society, the picture is very ugly. Abandonment is all too common, as is abuse and neglect that often borders on the sadistic. We are a society of consumers, impatiently waiting to purchase the latest shiny new thing and tossing aside yesterday's trend when it no longer suits our need or fashion. Sadly, many people do the same with animals. Quick to acquire them when they are cute and cuddly, then ignoring, mistreating or abandoning them when they mature, requiring more commitment than their owners anticipated.
Animals raised by breeders driven by profit has led to a scourge of puppy mills rife with unsanitary, cruel and abhorrent conditions. Shelters and rescue agencies regularly see animals who are victims of random abuse and outright cruelty.
Centuries of breeding and domestication have made these pets an intrinsic part of the human community, but by no means are they treated as our equals. Their greatest disadvantage is that they are unable to express their needs in words. They also lack the power or means to adequately defend themselves against tools of human cruelty. As a result, animals often bear witness to the absolute worst of humanity. Incredibly, they also see our capacity for caring and compassion.
Our family recently adopted a cat from a local animal shelter. To be honest, it wasn't planned, but something about this particular animal connected with us. As we were happy to discover, our instincts, and perhaps his, were absolutely right.
The more profound discovery came in meeting some of the dedicated volunteers who give their time ensuring that abandoned animals find safe shelter and a new home. It was also refreshing to have the agency ask critical questions of us as prospective owners, to be certain the animal would be kept in a safe and caring environment by competent and responsible pet owners.
The sad reality is that many animals taken in by shelters face a grim future. Looking into the eyes of the many dogs and cats whose lives have become a steel cage, very little is needed to interpret their feelings.
The cause of this problem rests squarely on human society, and so too the burden of responsibility. At a time of year when the need among people is great it is easy to ignore those creatures that we have abandoned. If it is true that the least powerful among us see society for what it is, then what message are we sending?
Anyone who has ever shared their lives with a pet will attest to a profound emotional bond. Animals demonstrate a level of unconditional love and trust that can be far deeper than what we experience even among our fellow humans. It is why we often see dogs and cats used for therapy, their affection and calming presence can have a powerful healing effect. They are loyal, forgiving and want for little else than a safe home and affectionate care.
These animals deserve our respect and protection. The government must be more vigilant in dealing with profit hungry breeders, puppy mills and pet stores. Potential pet owners must be properly educated and willing to commit to ownership. We can all do our part, either through pet adoption, volunteering or simply a donation to local shelters. Even the simplest of gestures can make a difference.
For those that have become the least among us it is after all, the least we can do.
It is at this time of year that we who are privileged enough to enjoy relative wealth and stability feel most compelled to reach out to those in need. You can be cynical about this spurt of generosity and ascribe it to an attempt to assuage our feelings of guilt for our excess. You can criticize this giving as being too much of an event rather than an ongoing effort. While there is truth in both statements, in the eyes of charitable organizations, who must always see the glass as half full, this giving is an essential part of their service to our community. It may not be perfect, but there is hope in the knowledge that our society still believes in taking care of its own.
A rung or two below human suffering are animals. Specifically those that humanity has domesticated for its personal needs. For centuries we have bred certain qualities in our pets by singling out those that best suited us and discarding those we deemed dysfunctional. Often these were the qualities that best equipped these animals to survive in the wild. As a result, many of these creatures have become increasingly dependent on humans for their basic survival.
There are exceptions of course. Some stray dogs and cats cope rather well on the streets of our cities. But how would they fare in a true wilderness, where food is scarce and the competition fierce? The instincts that remain among domestic pets are likely insufficient to ensure survival.
When we examine the state of animal treatment in our society, the picture is very ugly. Abandonment is all too common, as is abuse and neglect that often borders on the sadistic. We are a society of consumers, impatiently waiting to purchase the latest shiny new thing and tossing aside yesterday's trend when it no longer suits our need or fashion. Sadly, many people do the same with animals. Quick to acquire them when they are cute and cuddly, then ignoring, mistreating or abandoning them when they mature, requiring more commitment than their owners anticipated.
Animals raised by breeders driven by profit has led to a scourge of puppy mills rife with unsanitary, cruel and abhorrent conditions. Shelters and rescue agencies regularly see animals who are victims of random abuse and outright cruelty.
Centuries of breeding and domestication have made these pets an intrinsic part of the human community, but by no means are they treated as our equals. Their greatest disadvantage is that they are unable to express their needs in words. They also lack the power or means to adequately defend themselves against tools of human cruelty. As a result, animals often bear witness to the absolute worst of humanity. Incredibly, they also see our capacity for caring and compassion.
Our family recently adopted a cat from a local animal shelter. To be honest, it wasn't planned, but something about this particular animal connected with us. As we were happy to discover, our instincts, and perhaps his, were absolutely right.
The more profound discovery came in meeting some of the dedicated volunteers who give their time ensuring that abandoned animals find safe shelter and a new home. It was also refreshing to have the agency ask critical questions of us as prospective owners, to be certain the animal would be kept in a safe and caring environment by competent and responsible pet owners.
The sad reality is that many animals taken in by shelters face a grim future. Looking into the eyes of the many dogs and cats whose lives have become a steel cage, very little is needed to interpret their feelings.
The cause of this problem rests squarely on human society, and so too the burden of responsibility. At a time of year when the need among people is great it is easy to ignore those creatures that we have abandoned. If it is true that the least powerful among us see society for what it is, then what message are we sending?
Anyone who has ever shared their lives with a pet will attest to a profound emotional bond. Animals demonstrate a level of unconditional love and trust that can be far deeper than what we experience even among our fellow humans. It is why we often see dogs and cats used for therapy, their affection and calming presence can have a powerful healing effect. They are loyal, forgiving and want for little else than a safe home and affectionate care.
These animals deserve our respect and protection. The government must be more vigilant in dealing with profit hungry breeders, puppy mills and pet stores. Potential pet owners must be properly educated and willing to commit to ownership. We can all do our part, either through pet adoption, volunteering or simply a donation to local shelters. Even the simplest of gestures can make a difference.
For those that have become the least among us it is after all, the least we can do.
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Friday Time Waster Supreme: The Sex and Saints Edition
We've reached the end of a snowy and chilly winter's week ... and it's not even officially winter yet. Welcome to Canada. To warm your cockles and prepare you for two days of relaxation and merriment (read: trapped in your car in a mall parking lot on the verge of tears) here is yet another Friday Time Waster Supreme.
Oh, Christmas tree...
Canadian researchers, always on the cutting edge of vital scientific research, have discovered what causes Christmas trees to shed their needles. The white coat crowd from Nova Scotia Agricultural College and Université de Laval, said ethylene is the culprit behind balsam fir trees shedding their needles on your living room carpet. The ethylene is released naturally by the trees when under stress and is also part of their natural decaying process. Scientists believe that some sort of mutant chemical compound could be developed to block the ethylene release which would significantly extend the life of the average yule tree.
I'm no university researcher, but I'm fairly certain the best and least toxic way to keep the needles from falling off is to not cut down the tree.
***
Gunning for Ron Hextall
Spotted by Dave Stubbs of The Gazette recently, Carey Price taking ice-length shots at an empty net at the Habs' practice facility in Brossard. Price told Stubbs he and buddy Josh Gorges were just clowning around.
Mark my words, it will happen this season. Bets anyone?
***
Killing Off Another Toronto Power Play
Speaking of Price ... it seems the morons in charge of the NHL have been busy watching other sports lately. It's the only explanation as to why four Maple Leafs players made it on this year's All-Star Game fan ballot, compared to only three players from the Canadiens, you know that team that went all the way to last year's Eastern Conference finals while the Laffs were three-putting their way around the GTA. Price was one of the more notable Habs left off the ballot.
Fortunately, Price is leading the write-in portion of the balloting for goaltenders and should be in the lineup for the 2011 All-Star game in Raleigh, North Carolina. Did I also mention that Tomas Plekanec isn't on the ballot? Well he isn't, but is also among the leaders in write-in votes, well ahead of Phil Kessel who was on the ballot. Nice try Toronto, even when you try to fix the vote you still suck.
***
I know John Lennon was all about peace and love, but seeing Stephen Harper perform Imagine on the news this week made me want to vomit.
***
Robbing Banks Not Thrilling Enough for You?
A 31-year-old woman was arrested for attempting to rob a police station in St. Laurent. The woman allegedly showed up at the station after it had closed and convinced a city employee outside that she was a police officer who had forgotten something. The employee opened the door for her, and she entered the station alone.
Minutes later, two real cops showed up and discovered the woman inside.
"She was unable to explain her presence there," a police spokesperson later said. "She tried to tell them the same thing ... that she was a police officer."
The officers searched the woman's bag and found an official police jacket. They proceeded to search the rest of the building but did not find anything else missing. The woman was arrested then and there.
One the one hand, that woman needs to find a better vocation than theft, and on the other isn't it good to know our police stations are protected by Slacky the Swivel Servant?
***
Hard-Earned Tax Dollars?
It had to happen eventually. Like many cities in these hard economic times, the city of Dortmund, Germany is faced with mounting deficit. In response to this problem the city has launched a new "pleasure tax."
What is a "pleasure tax" you ask?
Well, if you didn't already know, prostitution is legal in Germany, so the town of Dortmand came up with a scheme that requires prostitutes to purchase a 6 euro "day ticket" for every day they work, or face a potential fine. The city estimates that the new tax will generate about 750,000 euros a year.
Wouldn't it have been easier to just deduct that amount from all the male city councillors?
***
Unmentionable Holiday Humour
Overheard on the Team 990's drive show with Mitch Melnick. Three men arrive at the gates of heaven on Christmas eve. Saint Peter greets them, holding a clip board which he suddenly tosses aside.
"You know what?" he says, "it's Christmas eve. So I'm going to forget about the standard questions and just ask you for one thing. I want each one of you to reach into you pockets and show me a symbol, any symbol, of Christmas."
The men look at each other, then one suddenly digs into his pants pocket, pulls out a lighter and fires it up.
"What is that supposed to be?" St. Peter asks.
"A candle." The man answers confidently.
"Good one," St. Peters says, "you can go ahead."
The next man starts rifling through his coat pocket, pulls out a set of keys and proceeds to rattle them. St. Peter eyes the keys sceptically, "And those are ...?"
"Bells." The man replies.
St. Peter smiles. "Well done, you can go ahead."
The last man has been staring at the tops of his shoes the entire time, unable to make eye contact. St. Peter prods him, "Well?"
After a long awkward pause, the man suddenly looks up, his eyes wide with excitement. He digs deep into his pocket. His hand emerges holding a pair of women's underwear.
St. Peter frowns at the frilly panties, then looks at the man with a raised eyebrow.
"What exactly are those supposed to be?"
The man grins. "Why, these are Carol's of course.
Have a great weekend everyone.
Oh, Christmas tree...
Canadian researchers, always on the cutting edge of vital scientific research, have discovered what causes Christmas trees to shed their needles. The white coat crowd from Nova Scotia Agricultural College and Université de Laval, said ethylene is the culprit behind balsam fir trees shedding their needles on your living room carpet. The ethylene is released naturally by the trees when under stress and is also part of their natural decaying process. Scientists believe that some sort of mutant chemical compound could be developed to block the ethylene release which would significantly extend the life of the average yule tree.
I'm no university researcher, but I'm fairly certain the best and least toxic way to keep the needles from falling off is to not cut down the tree.
***
Gunning for Ron Hextall
Spotted by Dave Stubbs of The Gazette recently, Carey Price taking ice-length shots at an empty net at the Habs' practice facility in Brossard. Price told Stubbs he and buddy Josh Gorges were just clowning around.
Mark my words, it will happen this season. Bets anyone?
***
Killing Off Another Toronto Power Play
Speaking of Price ... it seems the morons in charge of the NHL have been busy watching other sports lately. It's the only explanation as to why four Maple Leafs players made it on this year's All-Star Game fan ballot, compared to only three players from the Canadiens, you know that team that went all the way to last year's Eastern Conference finals while the Laffs were three-putting their way around the GTA. Price was one of the more notable Habs left off the ballot.
Fortunately, Price is leading the write-in portion of the balloting for goaltenders and should be in the lineup for the 2011 All-Star game in Raleigh, North Carolina. Did I also mention that Tomas Plekanec isn't on the ballot? Well he isn't, but is also among the leaders in write-in votes, well ahead of Phil Kessel who was on the ballot. Nice try Toronto, even when you try to fix the vote you still suck.
***
I know John Lennon was all about peace and love, but seeing Stephen Harper perform Imagine on the news this week made me want to vomit.
***
Robbing Banks Not Thrilling Enough for You?
A 31-year-old woman was arrested for attempting to rob a police station in St. Laurent. The woman allegedly showed up at the station after it had closed and convinced a city employee outside that she was a police officer who had forgotten something. The employee opened the door for her, and she entered the station alone.
Minutes later, two real cops showed up and discovered the woman inside.
"She was unable to explain her presence there," a police spokesperson later said. "She tried to tell them the same thing ... that she was a police officer."
The officers searched the woman's bag and found an official police jacket. They proceeded to search the rest of the building but did not find anything else missing. The woman was arrested then and there.
One the one hand, that woman needs to find a better vocation than theft, and on the other isn't it good to know our police stations are protected by Slacky the Swivel Servant?
***
Hard-Earned Tax Dollars?
It had to happen eventually. Like many cities in these hard economic times, the city of Dortmund, Germany is faced with mounting deficit. In response to this problem the city has launched a new "pleasure tax."
What is a "pleasure tax" you ask?
Well, if you didn't already know, prostitution is legal in Germany, so the town of Dortmand came up with a scheme that requires prostitutes to purchase a 6 euro "day ticket" for every day they work, or face a potential fine. The city estimates that the new tax will generate about 750,000 euros a year.
Wouldn't it have been easier to just deduct that amount from all the male city councillors?
***
Unmentionable Holiday Humour
Overheard on the Team 990's drive show with Mitch Melnick. Three men arrive at the gates of heaven on Christmas eve. Saint Peter greets them, holding a clip board which he suddenly tosses aside.
"You know what?" he says, "it's Christmas eve. So I'm going to forget about the standard questions and just ask you for one thing. I want each one of you to reach into you pockets and show me a symbol, any symbol, of Christmas."
The men look at each other, then one suddenly digs into his pants pocket, pulls out a lighter and fires it up.
"What is that supposed to be?" St. Peter asks.
"A candle." The man answers confidently.
"Good one," St. Peters says, "you can go ahead."
The next man starts rifling through his coat pocket, pulls out a set of keys and proceeds to rattle them. St. Peter eyes the keys sceptically, "And those are ...?"
"Bells." The man replies.
St. Peter smiles. "Well done, you can go ahead."
The last man has been staring at the tops of his shoes the entire time, unable to make eye contact. St. Peter prods him, "Well?"
After a long awkward pause, the man suddenly looks up, his eyes wide with excitement. He digs deep into his pocket. His hand emerges holding a pair of women's underwear.
St. Peter frowns at the frilly panties, then looks at the man with a raised eyebrow.
"What exactly are those supposed to be?"
The man grins. "Why, these are Carol's of course.
Have a great weekend everyone.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
If We Want It...
I remember the night. I was just 15. I lay in my bed listening to a voice crackling through a cheap clock radio, at a time when I probably should have been asleep.
"Former Beatle John Lennon is dead."
The news was incomprehensible. It is still incomprehensible.
We come around this anniversary every December still feeling that sense of emptiness. Wondering what might have been, what should have been, had Lennon not been taken away so soon.
Lennon's legacy is often discussed among popular media this time of year mostly from the perspective of his ideals of peace and love. His iconic song Imagine, with its simple tune and lyrics, communicate a deeply profound and thoughtful message. We are reminded once again of his efforts to change society's view of war, the famous bed-in and his defiance against the establishment.
As with all great figures in history, we tend to overlook the negatives. Lennon himself admitted that in his early years he was prone to jealousy and fits of anger. He later looked upon himself as a chauvinist. His relationship with his first wife Cynthia and son Julian took a distant back seat to his career. It eventually ended in a bitter divorce. He lost custody of Julian, who for many years Lennon all but ignored. Lennon's relationship with Beatles manager Brian Epstien is well documented. He frequently made fun of the former manager's homosexuality and his Jewish heritage, with oft times cruel and derisive language. There are many other accounts of Lennon's bad behaviour and poor judgement which I need not get into here.
The point is, Lennon was human. The iconic rock star, musical genius and the embodiment of peace and love are creations of our own perceptions, and perhaps to an extent, his own desire to shape our impressions of him. His journey was unique in that it was one lived out in the unforgiving light of the public eye, with the absurd expectations and pressure of fame.
In many ways, Lennon's life story is a far more powerful message than his greatest words or music. His is a story of youthful arrogance, failure, redemption, discovery, humility, excess and finally peace.
There will be much talk about Lennon's legacy on this day. Among those who admired and revered him, there is a growing sense that the ideals he put forth in his music and actions, died on that horrible night in the streets of New York city.
While many will gather with candles and impromptu song to remember the life of John Lennon, I wonder if perhaps we have missed something.
There is a scene in the documentary film Imagine: John Lennon in which a dishevelled young man is found wandering the grounds of Lennon's Tittenhurst Park estate in Berkshire, England. The man wants to meet Lennon because he sees him as something of a prophet, offering guidance through his music. Lennon tells the man:
"Don't confuse the songs with your own life. I mean, they might have relevance to your own life, you know, but a lot of things do. And so we've met, you know? I'm just a guy, man, who writes songs."
It was a revealing insight into what must have been an ongoing internal conflict. On the one hand an international celebrity, on the other, a regular person with dreams, fears, passions and doubts.
We might feel otherwise about Lennon, but it seems that over time he came to understand that success didn't define who he was, though it did provide a powerful platform. Nonetheless he certainly didn't think he had all the answers.
What he did know, by virtue perhaps of his own fallibility, was that each of us regardless of status are called to much greater things than can be found in fame or fortune. The words to Imagine spell out this revelation in plain yet poetic language. Before you can change the world, first you have to change your mind.
"War is over," Lennon wrote, "if we want it."
What if we could look beyond the artist, the icon, the revolutionary, and just consider those words? What if on this anniversary we pay tribute instead to the many unknown heroes among us who demonstrate compassion, acceptance and peace? What if we could find more of those qualities in ourselves?
Imagine letting go of the man who was John Lennon and make his ideals a reality instead.
I wonder if we can.
"Former Beatle John Lennon is dead."
The news was incomprehensible. It is still incomprehensible.
We come around this anniversary every December still feeling that sense of emptiness. Wondering what might have been, what should have been, had Lennon not been taken away so soon.
Lennon's legacy is often discussed among popular media this time of year mostly from the perspective of his ideals of peace and love. His iconic song Imagine, with its simple tune and lyrics, communicate a deeply profound and thoughtful message. We are reminded once again of his efforts to change society's view of war, the famous bed-in and his defiance against the establishment.
As with all great figures in history, we tend to overlook the negatives. Lennon himself admitted that in his early years he was prone to jealousy and fits of anger. He later looked upon himself as a chauvinist. His relationship with his first wife Cynthia and son Julian took a distant back seat to his career. It eventually ended in a bitter divorce. He lost custody of Julian, who for many years Lennon all but ignored. Lennon's relationship with Beatles manager Brian Epstien is well documented. He frequently made fun of the former manager's homosexuality and his Jewish heritage, with oft times cruel and derisive language. There are many other accounts of Lennon's bad behaviour and poor judgement which I need not get into here.
The point is, Lennon was human. The iconic rock star, musical genius and the embodiment of peace and love are creations of our own perceptions, and perhaps to an extent, his own desire to shape our impressions of him. His journey was unique in that it was one lived out in the unforgiving light of the public eye, with the absurd expectations and pressure of fame.
In many ways, Lennon's life story is a far more powerful message than his greatest words or music. His is a story of youthful arrogance, failure, redemption, discovery, humility, excess and finally peace.
There will be much talk about Lennon's legacy on this day. Among those who admired and revered him, there is a growing sense that the ideals he put forth in his music and actions, died on that horrible night in the streets of New York city.
While many will gather with candles and impromptu song to remember the life of John Lennon, I wonder if perhaps we have missed something.
There is a scene in the documentary film Imagine: John Lennon in which a dishevelled young man is found wandering the grounds of Lennon's Tittenhurst Park estate in Berkshire, England. The man wants to meet Lennon because he sees him as something of a prophet, offering guidance through his music. Lennon tells the man:
"Don't confuse the songs with your own life. I mean, they might have relevance to your own life, you know, but a lot of things do. And so we've met, you know? I'm just a guy, man, who writes songs."
It was a revealing insight into what must have been an ongoing internal conflict. On the one hand an international celebrity, on the other, a regular person with dreams, fears, passions and doubts.
We might feel otherwise about Lennon, but it seems that over time he came to understand that success didn't define who he was, though it did provide a powerful platform. Nonetheless he certainly didn't think he had all the answers.
What he did know, by virtue perhaps of his own fallibility, was that each of us regardless of status are called to much greater things than can be found in fame or fortune. The words to Imagine spell out this revelation in plain yet poetic language. Before you can change the world, first you have to change your mind.
"War is over," Lennon wrote, "if we want it."
What if we could look beyond the artist, the icon, the revolutionary, and just consider those words? What if on this anniversary we pay tribute instead to the many unknown heroes among us who demonstrate compassion, acceptance and peace? What if we could find more of those qualities in ourselves?
Imagine letting go of the man who was John Lennon and make his ideals a reality instead.
I wonder if we can.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Bob The Builder
What a difference a year makes.
There is perhaps no better example of this truism than the 2010-2011 Montreal Canadiens. The team currently sits atop the Northeast division at 17-8-2, five points ahead of second place Boston. The once maligned Carey Price is enjoying a league-leading .935 save percentage, with 4 shoutouts, and has already surpassed his total number of wins from last year.
Of course, it didn't quite start out that way. The preseason debut of the post-Halak era Habs played out with the spotlight firmly and perhaps unfairly glaring into the face-mask of Price. The shadow he cast that night was less than stellar. What came next proved to be an appalling display of classlessness and derision on behalf of a few disgruntled Canadiens fans. It was cruel and ignorant behaviour and frankly an embarrassment to this city.
Price's response? A cool and measured chill out everybody, it's just the preseason.
For a fan base still smarting from the loss of Halak, a player with whom many had come to expect miracles, the notion of chilling out didn't sit too well. But then, how could they know?
Indeed, the expectations on the young Price were ponderous. Tapped as the team's goalie of the future and thrust into that role while still very fresh in the league, Price has shouldered far more adversity than virtually anyone on the team. P.K. Subban, by contrast, emerged from his time in the Hab's farm team, the Hamilton Bulldogs, seemingly inheriting the role of fan favourite. To his credit, Subban has delivered, proving to be every bit the skilled, competitive defenceman we were told about and hoped for.
That is until his overly stylish play put him squarely (although not officially) in the team's doghouse. One might have thought that banishing arguably the best rookie defenceman in the league to the press box was a bit of a risk. Particularly considering that the team is once again without its number one defenceman in Andrei Markov, but that is not how the puck is bouncing this year for the Habs.
Both Yaroslav Spacek and Roman Hamrlik have somehow turned back the clock on their veteran years. Then there has been the surprisingly solid play of two other rookie defencemen in Yannick Weber and Alexandre Picard. Picard is more the veteran at 25, but still, the two are playing far beyond their billing. All of this has resulted in one of the best controversies the team has had to face in years. Too many good players and not enough room on the roster. Reinserting Subban into the lineup means either Weber, Picard or possibly Mathieu Darche would be forced upstairs. Too bad it couldn't be Scott Gomez, but that's another can-o-worms.
Even coach Jacques Martin is being viewed in a new and refreshing light. No longer considered by fans and the media as a one dimensional, puck-possession coach, Martin is showing a remarkable strategic vision. The program, whatever it is, has been bought heart and soul by the team, and thus far it has produced impressive results.
All of this is nice. Nice for the fans, nice for the players, nice for the organization. Even the normally raucous debates on L'Antichambre seem tempered by the team's success.
Unfortunately, the person to whom the fans and organization owe most of the credit is no longer at the helm. Make no mistake, with very few exceptions, the true architect of this team is Bob Gainey. You can be as critical as you like of the former general manager, but take a good hard look at the decisions he has made, particularly towards the end of his tenure, to reshape this team virtually from the ground up. Was he perfect? No. Were his decisions always the right ones? No. But forget the negatives for the moment and consider what has gone right. Moreover, contrast Gainey's success in hockey crazy Montreal versus Brian Burke's success in hockey obsessed Toronto.
Yes, it took time. Yes, there were setbacks. Building, and then rebuilding a team is no easy task. It takes lots of time, lots of patience, and the occasional gamble. To be successful at this process means looking much further down the road than the impatient fans and media are willing to embrace. It also means enduring an insane amount of criticism from people who really have no idea of the challenges most GMs face, or even a good understanding of the process of team building.
Regardless, from my spot in the bleachers there is really only one person who deserves long overdue recognition for the team's success, and without reservation do I give Gainey full credit. It's a shame he no longer holds the position of general manager to enjoy the fruits of his hard work and vision. Knowing Gainey, he's sitting back and enjoying the peace and quiet outside of the spotlight with the satisfaction of knowing he did what he always did best for the Canadiens, whatever it takes to win.
There is perhaps no better example of this truism than the 2010-2011 Montreal Canadiens. The team currently sits atop the Northeast division at 17-8-2, five points ahead of second place Boston. The once maligned Carey Price is enjoying a league-leading .935 save percentage, with 4 shoutouts, and has already surpassed his total number of wins from last year.
Of course, it didn't quite start out that way. The preseason debut of the post-Halak era Habs played out with the spotlight firmly and perhaps unfairly glaring into the face-mask of Price. The shadow he cast that night was less than stellar. What came next proved to be an appalling display of classlessness and derision on behalf of a few disgruntled Canadiens fans. It was cruel and ignorant behaviour and frankly an embarrassment to this city.
Price's response? A cool and measured chill out everybody, it's just the preseason.
For a fan base still smarting from the loss of Halak, a player with whom many had come to expect miracles, the notion of chilling out didn't sit too well. But then, how could they know?
Indeed, the expectations on the young Price were ponderous. Tapped as the team's goalie of the future and thrust into that role while still very fresh in the league, Price has shouldered far more adversity than virtually anyone on the team. P.K. Subban, by contrast, emerged from his time in the Hab's farm team, the Hamilton Bulldogs, seemingly inheriting the role of fan favourite. To his credit, Subban has delivered, proving to be every bit the skilled, competitive defenceman we were told about and hoped for.
That is until his overly stylish play put him squarely (although not officially) in the team's doghouse. One might have thought that banishing arguably the best rookie defenceman in the league to the press box was a bit of a risk. Particularly considering that the team is once again without its number one defenceman in Andrei Markov, but that is not how the puck is bouncing this year for the Habs.
Both Yaroslav Spacek and Roman Hamrlik have somehow turned back the clock on their veteran years. Then there has been the surprisingly solid play of two other rookie defencemen in Yannick Weber and Alexandre Picard. Picard is more the veteran at 25, but still, the two are playing far beyond their billing. All of this has resulted in one of the best controversies the team has had to face in years. Too many good players and not enough room on the roster. Reinserting Subban into the lineup means either Weber, Picard or possibly Mathieu Darche would be forced upstairs. Too bad it couldn't be Scott Gomez, but that's another can-o-worms.
Even coach Jacques Martin is being viewed in a new and refreshing light. No longer considered by fans and the media as a one dimensional, puck-possession coach, Martin is showing a remarkable strategic vision. The program, whatever it is, has been bought heart and soul by the team, and thus far it has produced impressive results.
All of this is nice. Nice for the fans, nice for the players, nice for the organization. Even the normally raucous debates on L'Antichambre seem tempered by the team's success.
Unfortunately, the person to whom the fans and organization owe most of the credit is no longer at the helm. Make no mistake, with very few exceptions, the true architect of this team is Bob Gainey. You can be as critical as you like of the former general manager, but take a good hard look at the decisions he has made, particularly towards the end of his tenure, to reshape this team virtually from the ground up. Was he perfect? No. Were his decisions always the right ones? No. But forget the negatives for the moment and consider what has gone right. Moreover, contrast Gainey's success in hockey crazy Montreal versus Brian Burke's success in hockey obsessed Toronto.
Yes, it took time. Yes, there were setbacks. Building, and then rebuilding a team is no easy task. It takes lots of time, lots of patience, and the occasional gamble. To be successful at this process means looking much further down the road than the impatient fans and media are willing to embrace. It also means enduring an insane amount of criticism from people who really have no idea of the challenges most GMs face, or even a good understanding of the process of team building.
Regardless, from my spot in the bleachers there is really only one person who deserves long overdue recognition for the team's success, and without reservation do I give Gainey full credit. It's a shame he no longer holds the position of general manager to enjoy the fruits of his hard work and vision. Knowing Gainey, he's sitting back and enjoying the peace and quiet outside of the spotlight with the satisfaction of knowing he did what he always did best for the Canadiens, whatever it takes to win.
December 6th, 1989
In the life of this city there are few anniversaries that are as difficult and painful as December 6th. It was on this day that 25 year-old Marc Lépine walked through the doors of École Polytechnique de Montréal carrying a semi-automatic rifle and proceeded to murder 14 young women before taking his own life. His motive, as declared in a suicide note, was to seek vengeance against the "feminists who ruined his life."
That was twenty-one years ago.
For most Montrealers, as much as we are still horrified by this event, we have moved beyond the question of how it could happen here. It did, and very little we can do or think will change that. We still feel wounded and angry by the events of that day, and perhaps even a modicum of shame.
For the media, today will be an opportunity to revisit this story, searching for a new angle, a tidbit of information that perhaps the public didn't know. They will stir up issues surrounding gun control, violence against women and gender equality. They will send reporters to École Polytechnique to cover events taking place to mark the anniversary. They will try to secure a sound-bite from those who witnessed the event and the parents who lost their child on that tragic day.
For the politicians it will be a time to align themselves on the right side of the related issues. To stand with family members and parents who lost their children. To make speeches and promises and perhaps steal a positive photo-op. For those politicians who oppose legislation created in the wake of those murders, they will skulk through the shadows of power, offering their sympathies when cornered, but little in the way of contrition. They will lay low, hoping that the next 24 hours will pass without having to offer a substantive explanation of their position.
Long after the reporters have moved on to their next story. The cameras no longer flash, the television crews have packed up their equipment. The politicians have returned to Ottawa, Quebec or City Hall to games of polemics and endless debate. When the candles have long since burned out, and the flowered wreaths lie beneath a thin layer of snow on a cold and dark winters night, one indelible fact will remain.
Mothers and fathers will awake to another day when their child is no longer there. The child they once held in their arms, nurtured, protected, loved. They will live yet another day faced with the hollow reality that every parent fears most, they have outlived their child. To know that their most precious gift was wrenched from their lives in an act devoid of reason, or justification, or compassion.
There is no right way to mark this occasion. That we commemorate it with what has become at times a predictable, almost routine order of events seems a terrible injustice, and yet what else can we do? We owe at least a moment of our time this day to consider the pain of those affected by this tragedy. Not to pontificate, to ask questions, to assign blame, to make promises we cannot keep. Simply to hold them in our hearts, to carry the weight of their grief upon our shoulders, to mourn and remember their children as if they were our own. For that is what they have become.
Geneviève Bergeron
Hélène Colgan
Nathalie Croteau
Barbara Daigneault
Anne-Marie Edward
Maud Haviernick
Maryse Laganière
Maryse Leclair
Anne-Marie Lemay
Sonia Pelletier
Michèle Richard
Annie St-Arneault
Annie Turcotte
Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz
That was twenty-one years ago.
For most Montrealers, as much as we are still horrified by this event, we have moved beyond the question of how it could happen here. It did, and very little we can do or think will change that. We still feel wounded and angry by the events of that day, and perhaps even a modicum of shame.
For the media, today will be an opportunity to revisit this story, searching for a new angle, a tidbit of information that perhaps the public didn't know. They will stir up issues surrounding gun control, violence against women and gender equality. They will send reporters to École Polytechnique to cover events taking place to mark the anniversary. They will try to secure a sound-bite from those who witnessed the event and the parents who lost their child on that tragic day.
For the politicians it will be a time to align themselves on the right side of the related issues. To stand with family members and parents who lost their children. To make speeches and promises and perhaps steal a positive photo-op. For those politicians who oppose legislation created in the wake of those murders, they will skulk through the shadows of power, offering their sympathies when cornered, but little in the way of contrition. They will lay low, hoping that the next 24 hours will pass without having to offer a substantive explanation of their position.
Long after the reporters have moved on to their next story. The cameras no longer flash, the television crews have packed up their equipment. The politicians have returned to Ottawa, Quebec or City Hall to games of polemics and endless debate. When the candles have long since burned out, and the flowered wreaths lie beneath a thin layer of snow on a cold and dark winters night, one indelible fact will remain.
Mothers and fathers will awake to another day when their child is no longer there. The child they once held in their arms, nurtured, protected, loved. They will live yet another day faced with the hollow reality that every parent fears most, they have outlived their child. To know that their most precious gift was wrenched from their lives in an act devoid of reason, or justification, or compassion.
There is no right way to mark this occasion. That we commemorate it with what has become at times a predictable, almost routine order of events seems a terrible injustice, and yet what else can we do? We owe at least a moment of our time this day to consider the pain of those affected by this tragedy. Not to pontificate, to ask questions, to assign blame, to make promises we cannot keep. Simply to hold them in our hearts, to carry the weight of their grief upon our shoulders, to mourn and remember their children as if they were our own. For that is what they have become.
Geneviève Bergeron
Hélène Colgan
Nathalie Croteau
Barbara Daigneault
Anne-Marie Edward
Maud Haviernick
Maryse Laganière
Maryse Leclair
Anne-Marie Lemay
Sonia Pelletier
Michèle Richard
Annie St-Arneault
Annie Turcotte
Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Friday Time Waster Supreme: Holiday Eels and Happy Penguins Edition
It's the end of yet another busy week ... busy celebrating a Grey Cup that is. With so much revelry, I hardly had time to write anything substantive, or at least worth publishing. I usually save those dregs for today. Did I say dregs? I meant insightful and witty commentary on the issues of the day... naw it's the dregs. Who cares? It's Friday, so let's kill some time before punching the clock.
Sorry, my bad
Kudos to rookie P.K. Subban for admitting to multiple brain cramps in Wednesday's overtime loss to the Edmonton Oilers. A surprising lemon to veteran Mike Cammalleri for not admitting to at least one.
***
Congratulations, it's a ... penguin
The Montreal Biodome is looking like a nursery these days as officials announced the recent hatching of two gentoo penguin chicks. They are one of four new chicks to hatch in recent weeks. The Biodome has been closed for renovations for several months as workers installed new interactive displays, improved access for visitors and better lighting.
Now you know what penguins get up to when the lights are out.
***
Overheard in the hallways of hell
"What? Some guy stole a bunch of Pat Burn's stuff from his widow's car?"
"Man, is he in shit."
***
Oh Those Wacky Japanese
An aquarium in Japan has found a weird yet eco-friendly solution for the holidays. The aquarium located in Kamakura, just south of Tokyo, uses an electric eel to illuminate its Christmas tree. Every time the eel moves some sort of high tech gadget collects the electricity to light up the tree.
Of course it wouldn't be a true Japanese display unless it involved a robot. This year the aquarium has added a Santa droid that sings and dances using kinetic energy collected from visitors stomping on a pad.
While the display is an interesting example of eco-energy innovation, I'm not sure a tank of electric eels is necessarily the best way to run my dishwasher. I do like the idea of the stomping pad, though. If we could convince our six year-old to use it every time he has a tantrum we'd be off-the-grid in no time.
***
A Kick in The Grass...
England recently lost its bid to host the 2018 World Cup (of soccer, if you have to ask). The announcement came just days after a BBC program called Panorama aired a news report accusing football's (that is soccer's) governing board FIFA, of rampant corruption. England not only lost the 2018 World Cup, they also failed to get a shot at the 2022 World Cup, which went to the oil rich nation of Qatar where the midsummer temperature hovers around 400º Celsius.
Thankfully, FIFA dispelled any suggestion of corruption and favouritism by selecting Russia for 2018 ... ya, that should do it.
***
Well, I guess the cat is out of the bag. I confess, in grade five I cheated on my math quiz by copying answers from Billy Thompson when the teacher wasn't looking. Damn you Wikileaks!
***
Chew on that...
In the days leading up to the CFL Eastern Conference final between the Toronto Argonauts and the Alouettes, Argos defensive lineman Adriano Belli proclaimed to the media: “This team does two things well — kick ass and chew bubble gum, and we’re out of bubble gum.”
The Als trounced the Argos 48 - 17 on their way to their second Grey Cup.
Now that the confetti has settled I think it's fair to say the Alouettes do two things well - and the other one involves a parade.
Enjoy your weekend.
Sorry, my bad
Kudos to rookie P.K. Subban for admitting to multiple brain cramps in Wednesday's overtime loss to the Edmonton Oilers. A surprising lemon to veteran Mike Cammalleri for not admitting to at least one.
***
Congratulations, it's a ... penguin
The Montreal Biodome is looking like a nursery these days as officials announced the recent hatching of two gentoo penguin chicks. They are one of four new chicks to hatch in recent weeks. The Biodome has been closed for renovations for several months as workers installed new interactive displays, improved access for visitors and better lighting.
Now you know what penguins get up to when the lights are out.
***
Overheard in the hallways of hell
"What? Some guy stole a bunch of Pat Burn's stuff from his widow's car?"
"Man, is he in shit."
***
Oh Those Wacky Japanese
An aquarium in Japan has found a weird yet eco-friendly solution for the holidays. The aquarium located in Kamakura, just south of Tokyo, uses an electric eel to illuminate its Christmas tree. Every time the eel moves some sort of high tech gadget collects the electricity to light up the tree.
Of course it wouldn't be a true Japanese display unless it involved a robot. This year the aquarium has added a Santa droid that sings and dances using kinetic energy collected from visitors stomping on a pad.
While the display is an interesting example of eco-energy innovation, I'm not sure a tank of electric eels is necessarily the best way to run my dishwasher. I do like the idea of the stomping pad, though. If we could convince our six year-old to use it every time he has a tantrum we'd be off-the-grid in no time.
***
A Kick in The Grass...
England recently lost its bid to host the 2018 World Cup (of soccer, if you have to ask). The announcement came just days after a BBC program called Panorama aired a news report accusing football's (that is soccer's) governing board FIFA, of rampant corruption. England not only lost the 2018 World Cup, they also failed to get a shot at the 2022 World Cup, which went to the oil rich nation of Qatar where the midsummer temperature hovers around 400º Celsius.
Thankfully, FIFA dispelled any suggestion of corruption and favouritism by selecting Russia for 2018 ... ya, that should do it.
***
Well, I guess the cat is out of the bag. I confess, in grade five I cheated on my math quiz by copying answers from Billy Thompson when the teacher wasn't looking. Damn you Wikileaks!
***
Chew on that...
In the days leading up to the CFL Eastern Conference final between the Toronto Argonauts and the Alouettes, Argos defensive lineman Adriano Belli proclaimed to the media: “This team does two things well — kick ass and chew bubble gum, and we’re out of bubble gum.”
The Als trounced the Argos 48 - 17 on their way to their second Grey Cup.
Now that the confetti has settled I think it's fair to say the Alouettes do two things well - and the other one involves a parade.
Enjoy your weekend.
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