The River of De-Nial

It is sad - and instructional - to witness the public whimperings of PoCo Mayor Scott Young.

This is a case study in addiction denial.

"This is not the person I am known to be and that is certainly out of character."

Would somebody please expunge for all time the deceptive phrase "out of character?" Anything we do is in character. If we did it, it is us.

It may not be all of us all the time for all time, just as swimming (something I do occasionally) is not All David All the Time for All Time, but, as I do splash about in waters once or twice a year, apparently I am a swimmer.

And, yes, I OWN that ominous responsibility.

Which young Scott does not. He drinks, he breaks down doors, he hits people, but none of that is his "character."

Question. Whose character is it? Was someone wearing his clothes at the time?

Now, look at the first part of Young's sentence. "That is not the person I am known to be."

In other words, it is the narrative of my life, the fictive arc that really counts, not what I actually do or say. Life is all presentation. Really?

"Young denies allowing his addiction to affect his work as mayor," says The Sun report. Really? What does he call his present circumstance? Smooth sailing? Business as usual?

Denial in full flight. This is a text book entry on the subject.

"At the end of the day all our family are there for one another," says the Mayor. This is just after he explains how many members of his family are alcoholics.

News flash, Scott: Drunks are not there for anyone. In fact, one of the single best definitions of an addict is that he is never there for anyone, self included.

Please get this guy into A.A. asap.

There's nothing scarier that real self knowledge. And nothing more curative.

End of The Bush Trail/Trial

The last 2 days I've brought your attention to the Paul Wolfowitz scandal at the World Bank.

Over breakfast yesterday morning, my son and I were agreeing that it is truly a wondrous thing to see each of the president's men - Rumsfeld, Rove, The Wolf Man, AG Gonzales, hell, maybe even Cheney -falling by the weary wayside.

This morning, the New York Times in their wisdom has agreed with us. Check out their analysis of the bubbling background plots...here.

Streisand/Mathis - I Have A Love/One Hand, One Heart

Try singing along with this...
From Barbra's "Back to Boradway" album, she and Johnny Mathis blend 2 of Bernstein's great songs from "West Side Story." The result is electric. The video quality is not good, but just listen...

Johnny Mathis - Misty (1959)(full length)

An extraordinary classic. Saw him once at the QET and couldn't believe how finely tuned,how thoughtful, how accurate and inspired a singer he was.It's all about the words and the notes...imagine that for a concept!

Taj Mahal Diving Duck Blues

Here's a great contribution from a regular bloggster commentator. Hear it!

More on The Wolf Man

Here is the latest update from the New York Times on the woes - all self-inflicted - of one of the prime architects of the Iraq War.

Couldn't happen to a sweller fella.

Since You Asked

Pedro has asked my thoughts about Don Imus.

First thought - it's a non-subject.

Second - he's dork with way more success in life than he has deserved.

Third - some people make a career out of belligerently proving over and over again that they are not "politically correct." That's a cute gimmick as far as it goes, BUT...

Fourth - Don's comments were detestable and unfunny.

Do I think Imus will get more rich and more famous around this incident?

No. I think he will slink back onto his ranch and play dude cowboy for the rest of his life. Millions of Americans will feel sorry for him and slap him on the back when they run into his big sombrero at the local mall.

But most of us will forget him by next Wednesday.

That's show biz...

Pissing, again...

Yesterday's post about Pissing $80,000 down the hole for a hookers and johns website drew some terrific commentary.

In addition to the comments posted, check out our friend Robert's blog and his thoughts here.

Then, there is this marvelous letter from our friend, Victor, sent to Pete McMartin at The Sun, following below:

"Hi Pete:

Your column today strikes a reasonable chord. You don't want crack whores in your neighbourhood. Nor do you want to organize welcoming bake sales for the fat bald Johns ( sex addicts) who buy their favours.

So I'm puzzled at how you can suggest that Dunbar residents who don't want deranged meth addicts in their neighbourhood are guilty of nimbyism.

As a personal aside, the whole Nimby debate makes me smile. Back in the 80s I was chief PR flack for Canada's nuclear industry. Part of my job was to drag earnest scientists around Canada, trying to persuade communities to accept nuclear waste. Understandably, we were roundly rejected. The scientists would always trot out the NIMBY word. They would tell community groups that since nuclear energy was driving Canada's powerhouse, Ontario, all Canadians benefited from nuclear power, so all Canadians should accept part of the risk.

The community folks rightly told us to get stuffed. They were worried about their kids turning green and no amount of babbling blackmail would change their minds. Now the NIMBY word, once the trump card of nuclear advocates, has been adopted by woolly-headed enablers.

But then again, that crack whore might be from your neighbourhood originally and the fat bald John may be the guy down the street. Maybe the welcoming bake sale is the right thing to do. Inclusive, compassionate, non-judgmental. "

Kurt Again...

It was really wonderful to see how many comments were posted yesterday marking, with sadness and admiration, the passing of a true American Original, Kurt Vonnegut.

I know that in my early 20's I read every novel he wrote. In my 30's, I played the lead role in "Happy Birthday, Wanda June," a typically bizarre by KV. My son played my son. One of the actors was drunk a lot, and on some nights, the actors outnumbered the audience.

I have a friend in Venice, Italy who owns an oriental art gallery. Her husband is an artist. A few years ago, when in New York, for an exhibition of his very modern, very abstract paintings, my friend simply called up Vonnegut out of the blue. Vonnegut soon endorsed my friend's work and put his name to a rave review in the display book.

I know he had a difficult life, but wouldn't you just have loved to have a coffee with this guy? I bet you he would have been funny and charming.

Rest in Peace

Kurt Vonnegut died last night at the age of 84 in New York.

Read the New York Times account here.

Buy Kurt's books. Read them.

Pissing Your Money Down a Dark Hole

Pete McMartin has a terribly funny column in The Sun today.

I say, "terribly funny," because it is funny and dreadful in its heart-breaking accuracy.

Another Downtown East Side social service agency has been awarded more of your money to do less than nothing. In this case, $80,000 has been given to a group who have created a website for hookers and johns.

You can't write this kind of dark comedy. Only mandarins can come up with this kind of idiocy all on their own.

Of course, not one single hooker or john will ever see this website. Of course, the website you are now reading cost absolutely nothing (and is worth every penny, I might add!) and there were no committee meetings to get it going.

The Vancouver Agreement, the Vancouver Foundation and Vancity have all mistakenly contributed.

Madness, sheer madness. Lunacy. A living side show.

Sins of Omission

In yesterday's rant about ultrasound, I forgot to mention the obvious.

Clearly a business opportunity exists. One clinic, hundreds of huddled, anxious patients, waiting, waiting, waiting, being shuttled through strange doors to even stranger, little rooms. Why isn't the owner of this service, which is being funded by our health care system, opening a second and a third shop?

Why aren't you? Why don't I?

Open Arms by Journey

by request...

Alex in Wonderland

It had to happen, didn't it?

So far, I've been one of the lucky few (?) many (?) who have had nothing but marvelous service from our health care system.

Then, about 5 weeks ago, I developed a strange new ache in my right collarbone. Went to the doctor. He sent me for an x-ray. Inconclusive. Get an ultrasound.

Now the fun begins.

Guess how long I have to wait for an ultrasound? Three weeks. That's 3 weeks of pain and discomfort, expecially at night when I should be sleeping.

Now, look. I haven't lost my sight or the use of my legs and I'm not in unbearable pain and misery. Nevertheless...

I phone a dozen places. No way. This place doesn't do ultrasound. That place only does one shoulder a day. "What if you did 2?" I dare to ask. "Would our noses fall off? Would Lonsdale slip into the sea? Would American Idol show up on CPAC?"

This wait, I learn, is the norm.

Today, I finally realize my dream. Ultrasound Morning. One shop, 900,000 people pushing, shoving, sweating, breathing. Mostly women terrfied of breast cancer and lining up for their mammographies. Lovely.

The technician, a middle-aged, non-nonsense gal from eastern Europe, barks out her various orders to me. Please and Thank You are conspicuously absent. What should I care? Just get the procedure done. Right?

The examination room - the one with the $1.25 ultrasound machine that's been in use since the French revolution - is a closet. A cold, ugly closet. What Gulag are we in?

O.K. I haven't been left to croak on a gurney in emergency. Not yet. But still...nevertheless...

Yikes. Is this the best we can do?

Blue, Blue, True Blue

What is it about wearing a blue uniform that releases the Inner Caveman in some men?

The RCMP is being torn asunder by divisions in its ranks, including regular accusations of sexual harassment from female officers. The Richmond Fire Department has yet to explain what has being going on in their work environments in recent years that caused several female firefighters to resign and go public. Now a gay councillor in Pemberton is saying that homophobia is rampant at the local fire hall.

Now, we don't rightly know the veracity or extent of any of these alarm bells.

But there certainly appears to be a peculiar and sophomoric pattern at play here.

What is it exactly? Boys will be boys? Men in uniform just get flat silly?

And does being a homophobic, anti-woman dork mean you can't do a good job?

Whatever it is...Grow Up.

And So It Goes

Paul Wolfowitz is one of the original architects of "The Project for the New American Century." This is the utterly deranged and misguided vision that has been the blueprint for the Bush administration, worldwide.

Mr. W's current problem speaks volumes about where we all are today.

Mr. W. is, among other things, including former deputy Secretary of Defense, President of the World Bank. His girlfriend has risen quickly from being a lowly paid nebbish to being a very highly paid nebbish in the State Department.

He and she are under investigation.

Sarah Vaughan_My funny Valentine1983ITALY

Driving Us Crazy

I was muttering in my car again the other day.

There's always something. On this occasion, a Vancouver Police Car turned onto the street I was travelling on. The driver gave no signal whatsoever. That's usual for Vancouver drivers. So usual that it became one of my standard silly gags on the radio. "Vancouver cars are not sold with turn signals, " I'd declare, and god knows how many believers went along for the ride.

But a cop?

"If we can't expect you to play by the rules, " I fumed pointlessly, "how can we expect anyone else to?"

Now, comes the story of a Prince George RCMP officer, who is a member of the drug squad. The fellow takes out a patrol car to go to a private party. INFRACTION #1. He drinks we don't know how many beers and gets back behind the wheel of his police car. INFRACTION #2. He smashes into a parked car. INFRACTION #3. He leaves the scene of the accident. INFRACTION #4.

About an hour later, he asks a fellow officer for advice. HE NEEDS ADVICE???

He said he "was unsure what to do."

He is both a police man and a drunk driver who has left the scene of an accident and he needs advice? If he doesn't know the rules, who does?

Net result?

This petty criminal, this dangerous, out-of-control, alcoholic fool is docked 9 days pay. He is not fired. He is not charged with anything.

He is still a member in good standing of the RCMP's drug squad.

The most dangerous drug in the world, the drug that causes the most harm viewed from any point of departure, is alcohol.

But a drunk drug cop who smashes into some else's car and leaves the scene of the "accident" is still trusted with the task of enforcing Canadian drug laws.

And we wonder why so many citizens despair of the possibility of finding justice in Canada.

To Come...

The drunk driving drug squad cop story will follow later today...

Stay tuned.

War, at Any Cost

One of the great consistencies of history is the sound of politicians justifying war.

There is always, apparently, a good reason for your sons to die "honorably."

And there is always the ploy of confusing the criticism of the campaign with an implied criticism of the soldiers in the front. This is not only a blatantly false equation, it is ugly and detestable.

When I hear of 6 more Canadian soldiers dying in a completely mistaken and hopeless mission in Af-bloody-ghanistan, I do not find myself overtaken by a communal sense of "genuine, shared grief."

Rather, I am outraged.

While Vimy Ridge is being rightly memorialized, this stupid commitment to failure in Afghanistan continues.

The flags of democracy and other highly held western ideals are waved about, to be sure. But this is the customary sham.

As much as America should get out of Iraq as soon as possible, Canada should get out of Afghanistan even sooner.

Canadian soldiers dying for the ultimate furtherance of a heroin-based economy is a maddening obscenity.