True Patriot Fondness

Well, it worked, didn't it? Something like 15 words inserted into the Throne Speech got the nation not talking about the, er, Throne Speech. Not to mention the whimsical 3-month suspension of our parliament.

The subject of those 15 words was, of course, the National Anthem. And the swapping out of the words "In all our son's command" for "Thou dost must needs a merkin". Or something. But, as of Friday afternoon, the issue is dead. No changes to our hallowed patriot dirge. Where the anthem is concerned, we stand on guard. "The people have spoken". The government wasted no time asserting that they had heard the vox populi.

Interestingly, some of the most vociferous in opposing said changes were the government benches. Though it sounded as if they were barking in - possibly - hastily scripted outrage. And when the reversal was fully, completely done, others twittered in admiration.

So we have a dead news cycle for 48 hours and nobody is talking about the budget - an adobe castle built on sand in an earthquake zone - or the infantile, symbol laden throne speech.

The whole thing was a brilliant, calculated set-up. A distraction to get the wide-eyed populace blabbing about something, anything, other than the indefensible emptiness, gimmicks and hollow rhetoric that marked the sitting minority government's reluctant return to the parliament they seem to loathe.

That they floated it after the waxen, miraculously-coiffed Prime Minister of our one-man democracy was seen mouthing the existing, hallowed lyrics countless times over the course of Swaggerfest - er, the Winter Olympics - is the height of irony. Recalibrating, indeed.

This, of course was followed by the unseemly presentation by our finance minister - a former car crash and slip n' fall (Personal Injury) kinda litigator - of a grab bag of fantasy arithmetic that borders on innumeracy at best, bald-faced and disingenuous optimism at worst.

Meanwhile, the justice minister - who in Canada is also in charge of policing himself - seems to have taken a one-way ticket out of reality. He has punted other worrisome bothers into the able hands of an esteemed and able ex-jurist. Not that he's going to make a ruling or anything. It is, after all, a review. Justice Iacobucci will render an opinion that has all the legal force of a ton of feathers in the wind. If the government does not favour it, they'll likely kick the nettlesome issue of parliamentary supremacy into the Supreme Court. A very troublesome development that would be. But at least it will get them through the next election (Unless, in light of recent reports, that contempt motion is tabled).

In the background, the ample Minister of Citizenship and Immigration is caught red-handed in an act of what one can only assume is self-loathing and projection. Huzzah! History is now revised! Any reference to the hard-won rights of gays has been effectively scrubbed from a citizenship guide. A guide for the new, presumably homophobic, Canadians whose hearts he hopes to win. When confronted by the prying press, he flees, skittering out on his tiny trotters.

And, of course, there was that incident involving the Minister of State for the Status of Women in the shit-hole she calls PEI. Shoes were thrown. Fits were hissied. Hapless airline staff harangued. You'd think she was forced to go through one of John Baird's Strip-o-Matic full body scanners.

All of this, while the ideological purification of Rights and Democracy proceeds apace with the appointment to the helm of an erstwhile party hack. As Elvis Costello once wrote, "I used to be disgusted, but now I'm just amused."

This truly may appear like the gang that can't shoot straight unless the target is their own feet. The anthem thing was, well, the motives are perhaps entirely obscure. However, it is not beyond the realm of the plausible that it was floated as a too-clever-by-half distraction aimed squarely aimed at the 'jes' folks' jawing crullers at Timmies.

It was - almost - a cunning coax to look not at the substance of this government's performance or lack thereof, but at the shiny thing over there. Oooh, it sparkles.

Ah, chess!

Baird Naked Ladies

It's an horrid pun, I know. But it's an equally horrid move on the part of our currently and conveniently-prorogued government-in-absence.

I'm talking about rushing 44 full body scanners into the nation's major airports at 250k per. All without having to dilly-dally with that trivial pack of jackals called 'Parliament'. A massive, $11 Million intrusion into our trousers all because of The Adventures of Captain Underpants on Christmas Day.

This is overreaction in the extreme. Captain Underpants, aka Junior Jihadi, was obviously a singularly screwed up individual with apocalyptic delusions of grandeur. The fact that he even imagined that the materiel he was transporting wouldn't be compromised by his own foul taint-sweat over the course of a five-hour flight is itself laughable.

Yet, the 'Free World' now has its knickers in a knot. So we're collectively ready to wade through former head of U.S. Homeland Security - now lobbyist/security consultant - Michael Chertoff's clients' 'radio-wave' technology because it's supposed to make us all feel a little bit better? I wonder how 'pliant and servile' looks in one of those things.

This seems like a shoddy, ill-thought out, purely reactionary move by the gov't in absence, i.e., 'We need to be seen to be doing Something. Anything'.

Would that it were. In fact, it would be more reassuring if it were. Unfortunately, from what news reports suggest, it seems like this has been in the works for a while. Cap'n Underpants is a just a convenient entree to the New New Reality.

The brutal totalitarians in the East used to keep people cowered with fear of the all-pervasive state. Our Pols just use the fear of dusky-hued dweebs with powder in their gonch. In other words, whoever 'ran' Cap'n Underpants won.

It's pathetic. This culture has to (apologies for the gender bias, but it's just an expression) 'man-up'

Kinda like those pro-active folks who took out Underpants on that plane did.

...

Body scanners amount to little more than 'security theater'. Terrorists will always find a way around our futile gestures. Wanna beat the metal detector? Go to Staples and buy a few utility knives (had anyone heard the term 'box-cutter' prior to 9/11?) If they're on to those, move to shoes. Now that you have everyone taking their Crocs off prior to departure, move to something even more innocuous - Water.

And now, underwear bombs.

You're far more likely to perish in an aviation related disaster from mechanical causes. The odds of dying in a car crash are far, far, far greater than dying in a terrorist attack. Hey, with 75,000 people dying every year in North America from falls, maybe we can declare a War on Gravity.

It would be more effective than the absurdity that is airport security. And now that lines snake for miles around our terminals, one can just imagine determined terrorists hitting those, and foregoing the increasingly impossible burden of air travel altogether.

Who knows, maybe some intrepid legalist will mount a charter challenge to these Rube Goldberg devices. The case may go nowhere, but at least the government will have to explain why they made this little maneuver while Parliament was dark.

Until then, the government wants to look at your junk.

Left, Right, Centre

Or should that be 'Center'?

It seems to me, one of the new talking points a person encounters reading, watching or scrolling the news these days is this:

"Yes, Obama may be in, but you must remember that the Democratic Party in the U.S.A. is to the right of our Conservative party."

That's nonsense. It may have been somewhat true when we had a party called the Progressive Conservatives, of which I would happily, at one time, self-identify. Mind you, I would do so from what we once called the 'Red Tory' faction. (Those individuals have been purged - it's not too strong a word - from the current Conservative party, dominated as it is by a turnip truck full of Pitchfork Prairie Populists, Social Conservative loons and Calgary School Friedman-ites.)

To claim this current bunch is to the left of the American Democratic Party is hokum. And, as a talking point, I can't see the political utility, other than to suggest that our current government has more in common with the 'New Hope-y Coloured Dawn' Obama-crats then not. But that ignores a whole bunch of facts.

That American Democrats are big tent is a hoary cliche. But, it's true. Within the Donkey Camp, you'll find everything from LGBT Activists to Big Labour to Blue Dogs who, many in the party would complain, vote in lockstep with their colleagues on the other side of aisle. It's a complex gaggle of competing interests who often self-flagellate themselves in a herd to the mushy middle. And thus, somehow, manage to govern.

Red Tories would probably feel a degree of kinship with the right of the Democratic Party. After all, Red Tory meant 'fiscally conservative and socially progressive'. This is ideological real estate that I believe most people in Canada inhabit. The Red Tory saw things through a lens of 'Spend wisely, tax less and leave everyone the hell alone. Especially in their bedrooms and their businesses.'

But our current Krop of Konservatives have, heretofore, swooned in the ether of their own ideological flatulence.

Which brings us to the budget. Was it not just 60 days ago that the Finance Minister stood up in the House and, straining all credulity, claimed we were headed for a surplus? And that "Our stewardship has ensured that The Fundamentals are Sound®". Oh, and, we're taking away the public funding for your parties.

A sennet, a flourish of middle fingers and Exuent Stage Right.

Straight into pro-rogue. For a month-and-a-half. When they returned, that promised small surplus had become a $64 Billion deficit, quite possibly structural. Are they fibbers? Incompetent? Incompetent fibbers? WTF?

The reading of the budget felt like watching boy scouts who, encountering an elderly woman who needs a hand across the busy street, is picked up, flung and crash lands into a Canada Post box. "See", say the Scouts, "We helped her across the F'ing street." The budget version was, "Stimulus? Here's your GD stimulus. Gentlemen, ready your shovels. We're gonna save our previously 'fundamentally sound' economy with nail-guns and roofing tar for hockey rinks. Oh, and screw science." Then, it's back to the bar and high-fives, boo-yaa chest-bumps and triples all-around. "Hoo-hah. We saved our hides!"

A sennet, a strained flourish of tugged forelocks and a Keystone Kops-esque melee in all directions.

And that was perfectly okay with the opposition Liberals who, whether for strategic or altruistic reasons will move to support this dadaist collage of a budget. Lord help us all.

So, as a result of this fiscal Frankenstein, I will be building a fourth bathroom for my Liquor n' Ammo shop ('Shotz') . I will also construct a luxury pen for my dogs. Then I will do one victory lap at the newly-roofed rink. A cure for Cancer be damned!

Meanwhile, down in Washington, it seems they actually do want to invest in a 21st Century Economy. Naturally, there will be vocal obstructionism from the Limbaugh wing, pointless filibusters and much wringing of old white hands with mottely brown spots. But after all the flapping, a very simple conclusion seems to have been reached:

Left wing. Right wing, It takes both to fly straight.

Fear, Uncertainty, Doubt (1)

Anyone who has taken a look at the posts in this tiny, insignificant outpost of the digi-sphere may have noticed posts tagged with 'FUD'. Allow me to explain.

Aside from my semi-regular brain dumps here, the real intention of this space is to accumulate notes. Those notes, when sufficiently accumulated, will be compiled in a 'text' of some sort. Its ultimate form is, as yet, undetermined.

See what I'm saying? There's an insane, possibly futile mission here, a larger project. It's not as ambitious as, say, wiping the Liberal Party of Canada from the political landscape in latter day re-creation of the Punic Wars. But it does have its own humble scope. I'm just figuring it out as I go.

So the intention is to have these bigger themes - kind of chapter heads - and little subsets therein. For instance, 'RGB', 'ABC' and 'Mother, Virgin, Whore (MVW, for short)' are chapter heads. The fact that secret-ish, shadowy organizations like CIA, KGB and NSA have nice, little, three-initial names is a subset of 'ABC'.

'Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt' - or FUD - is one of those bigger themes.

FUD is used in both marketing and politics. And especially when the two come together. For the marketer, it could be as simple as the suggestion that the wrong toothpaste can lead to diminished social status. For the politician, it's usually grimmer: "Vote for my opponent and the terrorists will win." The purpose of its employ is always to keep your citizens - or consumers - on their heels such that every purchase or voting decision is filtered through a cloud of FUD.

Come Monday, when our pro-rogued parliament returns, the FUD will come fast and thick. It's already out there in the form of puerile radio ads brought to you by your friendly government. And in the wake of 'Regime Change' down south, those on the losing end have re-fueled their own FUD machine and sallied forth.

So, here at TTCIT, FUD is part of the Magic Number Way of Seeing the World®. And , as Bill O'Reilly might say in his vaguely menacing, McCarth-ese "We'll be watching".

Avenge me, son.

So, the Simpsons went 'Into the Wild' in a half-assed RV. Needless to say, this inevitably leads to Homer being pin-cushioned with trank darts. Before he drifts into dreamland, his last words are that ever-trope of mythology:

"Avenge me, son."

Whether fodder for crack comedy writers or bible-scale tragedians, those three words have launched countless tales. Happily, we are currently at the end of one.

The minty-fresh President of the United States signed a president-type paper today. It gives notice to that weird American outpost in Cuba. All the desperate orange-y men will have to leave chain-link-0-land and go elsewhere. One can only hope it's to a more humane place. Crawford, Texas, maybe? They can help clear the...sage...or whatever the hell it was that 43 was pushing around down there.

The other president-y thing signed today was that declaration of 'No More Torture, Thanks.' Bill O'Reilly's head may explode. He LOVED that 'enhanced interrogation' stuff. At least, when I could get through the spittle aimed at the camera as he blew hard, that's what it looked and sounded like. But whaddya expect from that guy?

Nah, you can't blame Bill. He's not really a journalist. And it's those punks that have some questions to answer. For instance, in the course of eight blighty years, not one of their number, to my knowledge, raised the following:

"Why would you authorize a practice that your own father, the Hero Pilot, might have been subjected to in WWII?"

After all, waterboarding has been recognized as torture for some time. As such it's been repudiated in the strongest language possible and further, prosecuted against. Yet...

The mythological pull of filial vengeance was stronger. And the will to persevere towards its icky conclusions - wherein senior and otherwise respected lawyers can put a primature on crushing the testicles of a child if 'The President says so'.

Nice work, fellas.

Conditions were created - and seemingly encouraged - such that low-hanging fruit - a few bad apples, if you will - can claim to be simply following orders and ably take the fall. Hannah Arendt - not that she was much for fun - would have a field day with that one.

The epic fail is over, thank the seven sisters. The era of stupid Roman vengeance is passed. And now that it is, Homer wakes up from his traqui-delic stupor.

"Thanks for the vengeance, son".

Yes, we can.

So, I don't want to be a wet blamket on the eve of 'The Day of Global Catharsis'®. And I totally get why there's a lot of excitement. I wish I shared the 'Hope'. But I think it's way too much to throw on the shoulders of this one guy. Of course, a lot of the elation has to do with the end of the 'All hat, no cattle' era. And I'm like the vast bulk of the world in that regard.

Still, much as one might like to think that eight years of of complete ass-hattery are just going to go *poof* are as deluded as the thankfully outgoing Commanduh in Chief. There's too much leftover crap. And to think that President Obama is going to put on his wellys, roll up his sleeves and muck out the sty on his own-some ought to reflect on the most memorable slogan of the campaign past.

'Yes, we can.', from an advertising perspective was pretty good. Break it down and it means 'Positive, collective ability.' Plus, I think it's essentially empty (A good thing in advertising sometimes). It's something to feel good about, but it doesn't really contain anything resembling a promise, a unique selling proposition, or a strong branding element. It's not, ''Yes, I can', or 'Yes, I will.'

What it does have is a signal of faith in the resilience of the American people to muck the thing out together . In other words, it's the Nike version of 'Ask not what your country can do for you...". It is, at its heart, a call to service, a happy face call to action on behalf of the ailing 'Greatest Nation Evah!®'.

And that's as it should be. As John Ibbitson noted in his dispatch to today's Globe, tomorrow's the celebration. After that, though, it's time to get busy.

With what? Well, positive, collective ability, one hopes.

Elitist, socialist, seperatist.

I hate talking points.

You can smell them a mile away. It's this heady whiff of sulphur, ignorance and complicity. The sulphur comes from the stale, fetid air in the bunker from which they issue. The ignorance is due to the gas emanating from the duped and dutiful sheeple who regurgitate them on talk radio, newspaper comment boards and letters to the editor. Complicity? Well that's the perfumed scent of self-importance wafting from lazy journos who are only too glad to have some kind of 'inside track' that they can breathlessly sputter from their waning pedestals.

I kind of hate politics, too. Though I confess to being a bit of a junkie for the stuff. And, having worked on advertising for one or more of the major Canadian political parties, I've met a few of the purveyors of the sinister art of political communication. And over the last couple of months, since the prorogue-ation of our parliament, the talking points have been fast, thick and especially odious. The first out of the gate after our Prime Minister hid behind the robes of the Queen - our nominal head of state - in order to avoid a confidence vote which would have toppled the government were as predictable as they were loud.

Seeing that a governing coalition might be formed between the lefty NDP, the blandly centrist Liberals with the co-operation of the region-centric Bloc Quebecois, the government sent their very vocal supporters throughout the land, over the airwaves and into the web. Their message was as simple as it was false: This was a coup, It was a cabal. It was a gang of ELITISTS, SOCIALISTS AND SEPERATISTS.

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

The argument may have been semi-valid had it been reasonably and calmly articulated, but it was shrieked with such hysterical, scripted vigour that it was soon exposed for what it was: self-serving bullsh*t and nonsense. The louder it was bellowed, the more Canadians had to look into it. And then, people started to talk. Soon enough, most sensible people had given themselves a little education in parliamentary democracy and probably came to the conclusion that, well, we may not like it, but it's perfectly legal under our system.

So the talking points from master to minion shifted. Now, it was a collective yawp of indignation from the sitting-around-waiting-to-be-told-what-to-be-outraged-about set. The new script, readily download-able from some place like 'MyCampaign.ca' was: "Undemocratic. Traitorous! Put this coalition thingy to vote!" This notwithstanding the fact that everywhere else in the civilized world, representative legislatures reach accords and form coalitions amongst themselves all the time. After the vote. Nobody, anywhere, votes for coalitions. They just happen .

And so with parliament set to resume in, oh, ten days, it's sad to note that a new set of talking points has lumbered upon the land. They're not as vile as those directed at the previous leader of the opposition, who was photoshopped into a grim facsimile of an autistic eel, quoted out of context and ridiculed as 'Celine'. However, this new script is no less vapid.

You see, the minty-fresh leader of the opposition comes from a prominent - aristocratic, even - family of eastern European descent, Since coming to Canada, the family has been distinguished by diplomatic and other national service. This new leader, Michael Ignatieff, is a writer, professor and television personality who, since leaving Canada after university, has done very well for himself in The USA and Great Britain. He was essentially acclaimed by his caucus after, erm, 'Celine', stepped down.

So the new talking points? Mark my words, Ignatieff will be demonized as a *gasp* foreigner. Not only that but he's...oh, my...an elitist. And Russian! And he's....sputter... unelected - he was...appointed! To really hit the ball out of the park let's call him, repeatedly and disdainfully....Count! And let's do it in a way that ambiguously suggests Dracula, the guy from Monte Christo and some Romanoff-esque consort of Rasputin. As usual, the ploy is to let him be defined by the unholy trinity of sulphur, ignorance and complicity before the Foreign, Elitist, Russian, Un-democratic Count has chance to define himself.

So, yeah, I hate talking points. Preferred script is a lousy substitute for healthy debate. Especially when said script advances nothing but the political interests of a particular party. Worse, the message in the script may even be counter to the best interests of the engaged partisans who disseminate it. However, if one is waiting to be told what to say, it's those very interests that ultimately become devalued and debased.