Monday, December 3, 2007

Victor Discovers the real Meaning of a Sammy Christmas

Hi Mensche:

I am so deeply ashamed.

Like many, I heard about the coke addict who stole the Christmas presents from the room of a seriously ill girl in Children's' Hospital. I heard, from the Official On-duty Police Spokesperson (OOPs for short) that the thief was "known to police and had a rap sheet going back to 1987'.

Let's call him "The Grunge Who Mainlined Christmas"

At first, I was lulled into the media spin that this was some sort of Grinch story. You know. Bad guy and victim. A Christmas fable.

But then I looked in the heavens, to the Star of Sam and realized that the real victim was the coke-head.

Portraying the seriously ill girl as a victim was Holiday Season Hokey.

No. The Sam Star told me that Mr. 20-year Cokehead was a victim of all of us. In our greed, we soldiered on since 1987, ignoring his real cravings.

You see, what he really wants is a steady job, sensible shoes, membership in the Rotary Club, daily flossing, eating a balanced diet from all the major food groups.

He's simply been stealing and doing nose candy while working on his resume since Mulroney was Prime Monster.

But! There is hope for Mainline Grunge.

It is called the Sam Plan.

First, we give him a free apartment for two years. No rules.

During that time, we give him free substitute drugs.

This brings us to 2010.

Having lost his social skills, he may be lacking on pickup lines.

No Problem.

There will be Comfort Women in Vancouver in 2010. Sam is "open" to discussing the idea of legalized brothels for the Olympics.


In a city that has a 30 percent Chinese population, Parapathetic Sam thinks the invading hordes of tourists in 2010 should have the same options that the Japanese army had in Nanking.

Carole - Just Do It!

Of course, Carole Taylor would run - and win handily - as an independent candidate for City Mayor.

First, she would have to do that because of the incredible botch-up by the NPA. Almost every one of the NPA movers and shakers with whom I have spoken in recent months detest - yes, that's right, detest - Mr. Sullivan.
Like so many Vancouverites, they saw quickly through The Nutty One's sham presentation to his selfish core. They have found him to be an embarrassment and, as we say in Shakespeare, they wish him gone.

But being Back Room Boys, slithering amongst the shadows of the Mahogany Tables and Leather Divans, they lack the fibre to simply tell the poor fella to move on.

"Hey Sam, you've had fun and your day in the sun, now quietly go somewhere and make some money and let us find a real Mayor who actually knows how to work with people and accomplish real things for a real city."

No. That conversation is not going to happen, although this is the stuff the NPA Movers and Shakers dream of in their restless sleep.

Second, she will have no trouble distancing herself from His Pettiness and doing so gracefully.

Miro Cernetig tells us this morning that "For weeks, Taylor has avoided the mayor's entreaties for a meeting."

What's so surprising about that?

His own staff won't meet with him.

The mayor calls a meeting and key players refuse to show.


Because they know - and by now, you and I and all of Retro Vancouver knows - that the mayor is doctrinaire, frozen and incapable of communication and conciliation. He gets something passing for an idea in his head and there it sits, never to be lodged or even gently nudged to the right or left by any reasonable argument or consideration.

The wheelchair long ago lost its emotive power.

At a wedding last summer, a total stranger, a very, very, very successful realtor turned to me over dinner and said apropos of absolutely nothing, "I think Sam Sullivan is evil!" The table applauded.

At a fundraiser lunch at a swanky hotel last month, a total stranger, a very successful banker, turned to me as Sam was about to make another fatuous speech and said, "When this guy was first elected, I thought we could be proud as a city because we chose a guy in a wheelchair. But pretty soon I saw how self-involved he was and how it's All About Sam. He's useless."

The real tragedy here is that Sullivan is the head of the worst council in living memory.

If Carole Taylor were to mount a campaign called The New Slate and fill it with real candidates - people with some idea of how government works and what the city needs to get busy doing - she and they would win hands down and clean house entirely.

The NPA, Vision and Cope have all had their day and it is costing us mightily.

How much we ache for real councillors with smarts and knowledge and wit.

The Boob Show must go.

Brad's Not for Burning

Someday soon the tabs will get tired of Branjolina and move on to the next world-weary celebs.

In the meantime, we can marvel a bit at a Brad Pitt with a brain and a social conscience.

Mr. Pitt has long had a love affair with the city of New Orleans. He is now repaying that debt in smart fashion.

"Brad Pitt Commissions Designs for New Orleans"

Read this piece and you can't help but be impressed by what the man is doing and the way he is doing it.

We Are Not Alone

And all this time I thought Tranclunk was the only system in the world dumb enough to not have turnstiles, gates and ticket exits.

I was wrong.

Top of the We Trust You list has been Los Angeles, which, as it turns out, is not so angelic after all.

"The Los Angeles County Metropolitan Transportation Authority board voted last week to take the first step toward installing 275 ticket gates on the entire 17.4-mile subway and at many light-rail stations."

The NY Times story is called "An End to the Free Ride on Trains in Los Angeles," and it can be read in its entirety here.

Retro Vancouver leaders take note.

Miles and 'Trane