It's amazing what the Globe and Mail can find room for when they don't give half the opinion section over to that self-aggrandising American harpy, Sarah Kendzior. Today's Sarah-free paper featured thoughtful and timely opinion pieces by a couple of Canadians instead.
Iconic Canadian architect Jack Diamond offers a scathing critique of Toronto's descent into dystopian uninhabitability. We're not there yet, but that's our general direction. He's clearly talking to the two mayoral candidates and the current preem, but it's a good read for anyone interested in the future of what could still be a great liveable city.
Just a few pages away you can find an advert for two-bedroom plus den condos starting at a mere $710,000... oh, wait a minute; this two-bed plus den measures out at 764 square feet!
WTF? How do you get two bedrooms and a den out of 764 feet? Well, the "den" is 5' by 6'4" for starters. Back in the day, when Toronto's first wave of highrises were going up at ten bucks a foot, 764 would have been considered a roomy one bedroom apartment. Fifty years later it's a two-bedroom + den condo that clocks in at a whisker under a thousand bucks a foot.
We're clearly trending in the wrong direction!
Elsewhere in the Opinion section, Canadian academic Marcel O'Gorman offers up a timely analysis of our tech enslavement. We even get a shout-out to the great Canadian obfuscator Marshall McLuhan! Marcel seems to be a little wary of our brave new tech-obsessed world, and who can blame him? You can fill your two-bedroom plus den 764 foot condo with all the tech gadgets you want; it ain't gonna get any bigger.
Those two articles alone were worth the price of admission (still $6.30 at the Korean extortionist).
Saturday, October 20, 2018
More accolades for Chystia Freeland
If you heard Chrystia Freeland's interview on the CBC this morning, you may have cringed just a little when you heard her boasting about her buddy "Bob" Lighthizer coming to her Toronto home for dinner. Clearly, Freeland is quite impressed with herself, and is pleased to consider Bob a personal friend.
Others are not quite as impressed.
"She's way out of her league," quoth Zekelman Industries boss Barry Zekelman in a CBC story the other day.
And today we've got Konrad Yakabuski's assessment in the Globe and Mail; "We were out-negotiated, almost humiliatingly so."
I'm guessing neither Yakabuski or Zekelman will be getting dinner invites to Chrystia's house anytime soon.
Others are not quite as impressed.
"She's way out of her league," quoth Zekelman Industries boss Barry Zekelman in a CBC story the other day.
And today we've got Konrad Yakabuski's assessment in the Globe and Mail; "We were out-negotiated, almost humiliatingly so."
I'm guessing neither Yakabuski or Zekelman will be getting dinner invites to Chrystia's house anytime soon.
Jeffrey Sachs goes full commie
The good Professor has an op-ed in the Globe today, which for the first eleven paragraphs I took to be a sly and subtle piece of PR fluff for the Donkey Party.
But then Sachs rips off the mask and reveals his true agenda; class warfare!
America's almost 160 year long civil war, he tells us, "will not end until working-class Americans of all regions, races and ethnicities join forces to demand higher taxes and greater accountability of the rich corporate elite."
While that's not quite the same as the proletariat seizing the means of production, it's way out there, and seems at odds with the first eleven paragraphs. After all, the Democratic Party of Clinton and Pelosi is every bit as much the plaything of the "rich corporate elite" as is the GOP.
Which is why that working-class solidarity will never ever happen within either of the establishment parties in America.
But then Sachs rips off the mask and reveals his true agenda; class warfare!
America's almost 160 year long civil war, he tells us, "will not end until working-class Americans of all regions, races and ethnicities join forces to demand higher taxes and greater accountability of the rich corporate elite."
While that's not quite the same as the proletariat seizing the means of production, it's way out there, and seems at odds with the first eleven paragraphs. After all, the Democratic Party of Clinton and Pelosi is every bit as much the plaything of the "rich corporate elite" as is the GOP.
Which is why that working-class solidarity will never ever happen within either of the establishment parties in America.
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Keeping an eye on the Arabs
This Khashoggi drama sure raises a few interesting questions.
Since when does Erdogan, or Trump for that matter, give a shit about the welfare of journos?
Since about the time Khashoggi walked into that Saudi embassy, as far as I can tell.
The Khashoggi name is quite prominent in Saudi circles. My understanding is they're a clan accustomed to being close to power, and found themselves out of the ruling circle only with the ascent of MBS. That explains why they've developed a sudden interest in a free press.
America's interest in human rights is equally recent. Dave Lindorff has a story on view at Counterpunch today contrasting the US reaction to the Khashoggi murder to their reaction to the murder of Furkan Dogan by the IDF.
While I was flat on my back and hoping for the best the other day, it occurred to me that the profession of eye-doctor seems to be particularly prestigious in the Arab world. I remember reading, just as the German refugee crisis was building up a good head of steam, an interview with the daughter of Albert Speer, who had happily acquiesced to putting up a couple of Syrian refugees in her Berlin home.
They were ophthalmologists. And they were also great house guests, according to Frau Speer, the message being "hey, open your hearts and your homes, fellow Squareheads! Nothing to fear from these Syrians we've been bombing to ratshit!"
And isn't the evil Assad an ophthalmologist too?... do you see a pattern here? Maybe everybody in Syria aims for an eye-doctor career. The top grads get to bunk with Frau Speer or come to Canada to do eye surgery on the likes of me.
The guys who don't make the grade get to gouge out eyeballs in Syria's secret torture prisons, like the one Canada sent Maher Arar to for the kind of proper interrogation we can't do ourselves.
For obvious reasons.
Since when does Erdogan, or Trump for that matter, give a shit about the welfare of journos?
Since about the time Khashoggi walked into that Saudi embassy, as far as I can tell.
The Khashoggi name is quite prominent in Saudi circles. My understanding is they're a clan accustomed to being close to power, and found themselves out of the ruling circle only with the ascent of MBS. That explains why they've developed a sudden interest in a free press.
America's interest in human rights is equally recent. Dave Lindorff has a story on view at Counterpunch today contrasting the US reaction to the Khashoggi murder to their reaction to the murder of Furkan Dogan by the IDF.
While I was flat on my back and hoping for the best the other day, it occurred to me that the profession of eye-doctor seems to be particularly prestigious in the Arab world. I remember reading, just as the German refugee crisis was building up a good head of steam, an interview with the daughter of Albert Speer, who had happily acquiesced to putting up a couple of Syrian refugees in her Berlin home.
They were ophthalmologists. And they were also great house guests, according to Frau Speer, the message being "hey, open your hearts and your homes, fellow Squareheads! Nothing to fear from these Syrians we've been bombing to ratshit!"
And isn't the evil Assad an ophthalmologist too?... do you see a pattern here? Maybe everybody in Syria aims for an eye-doctor career. The top grads get to bunk with Frau Speer or come to Canada to do eye surgery on the likes of me.
The guys who don't make the grade get to gouge out eyeballs in Syria's secret torture prisons, like the one Canada sent Maher Arar to for the kind of proper interrogation we can't do ourselves.
For obvious reasons.
Monday, October 15, 2018
I'm flat on my back and a Muslim immigrant is sticking pointy objects in my eye
Yup, and God bless him!
Had the long anticipated cataract surgery today. It's amazing what they can do these days. In and out in under three hours. And when you're lying there, flat on your back, and you can feel and even see the tools the surgeon has stuck into your eyeball, you don't care if he's a Muslim or a Christian or a Jew.
You just hope whatever God he believes in will bless him with steady hands.
Had the long anticipated cataract surgery today. It's amazing what they can do these days. In and out in under three hours. And when you're lying there, flat on your back, and you can feel and even see the tools the surgeon has stuck into your eyeball, you don't care if he's a Muslim or a Christian or a Jew.
You just hope whatever God he believes in will bless him with steady hands.
Saturday, October 13, 2018
You know you're a hillbilly when...
The last time my dear step-daughter Hanna was here, she cooked up some spaghetti, and was of course obliged to toss a piece at the wall to see if it was ready.
Hanna being Hanna, she left it there.
Me being me, it took about a month for me to notice. But then I couldn't bring myself to take it off the wall. Instead, I stuck a couple of googly eyes over it from the dollar store.
After all, Hanna works in a food truck called the "Moustache." That's run by an Iranian guy, and my Jewish step-daughter is his key employee. The other side of the story is that his most valued employee sports a four year honours degree in "Social Equity and Human Rights" from York University. The best you can do with that degree is work in a food truck, apparently.
These are tough times for kids with useless university degrees and big student loans. Hanna's doubling down on education by going back for a MSW. At least when she's done she'll be able to get a job. Pity she didn't think ahead when she signed up for that social justice and human equity jazz.
My dear son Jake, on the other hand, doesn't have to worry about student loan payments. When he was fifteen he was on a mission to read everything Eric Blair ever wrote. Unfortunately, he was never on any mission to attend classes at the GCVI, and therefore student loans for post-secondary were never an issue.
Instead, being a brilliant but as yet undiscovered musician, he was forced to do what every other undiscovered musician does in our society; get a job at a restaurant. In three years he's gone from dish-washer to being the guy who fixes your calamari!
But at least he doesn't have student loans!
Friday, October 12, 2018
Empathy for the luckless
I was still in my teens when I found myself on a Greyhound making its final approach into the Kenora bus station. Local folks were standing up at that point, knowing we were ready for touchdown, and I heard a guy say, as he was gazing out the window... "there's a lotta dogs out tonight."
I took that as a generic reference to the folks visibly impaired when you looked out the window. I got off the bus, and facing a two hour layover, found time to buy a loaf of bread and a sixpack nearby. Sat down by the railroad tracks for my own personal picnic.
This old geezer wobbles up and sits down. I offer him a piece of my loaf and 1/6 of my sixpack to wash it down.
He tended towards the taciturn, but once we got to a couple more hunks of that loaf and 2/6 of my sixpack, he let out that he was from the White Dog Nation.
I had one of those learning moments that you sometimes hear about but seldom experience firsthand.
Dogs... White Dog Nation... everything suddenly fell into place!
The "dogs" were the down and out from the local res. I've never forgotten what I learned that day at the Kenora International Bus Stop.
Of course you don't have to be First Nations to be luckless, although there can be no doubt that it helps.
A lot.
I used to tour up to Grand Valley now and then to meet up with the local game warden, who managed a huge wilderness area nearby. We'd get together over pitchers of beer and a basket of wings at the local. One night there's a local at the next table recounting the following horror story;
"...so I was commin' home from a visit with my lawyer, who's gonna do my impaired charge, and I was like two driveways away from my place, and a fuckin' deer runs out in fronta me. I know you gotta report this, so I leave my car there, walk ten minutes home, and call the cops. Then I have a beer.
So I have a couple beer and the cops finally show up, and I tell them about the deer. Yup, my car's still out there. I didn't want to disturb any evidence, so I walked home and called you guys...
Well, long story short, they fucking charge me with impaired driving again!
I didn't even have the heart to tell my lawyer..."
Now THAT's luckless!
Game Warden guy, on the other hand, was having quite a run of good luck going at the time. I remember being at his place when he pulls out a big green garbage bag stuffed full.
Stuffed full of weed!
"Hey, is this shit any good?"
It was decent enough. How do you get a gig like that? The taxpayer funds your digs, you're encouraged to own guns, and you can grow fifty pounds of weed on the wilderness reserve without anybody even noticing?
How do you get a gig like that? Fleming College might be the place for you.
But a run of luck only lasts so long. If you've been enjoying a run of good luck, brace yourself; it's about to turn.
If, on the other hand, you've been in the shithouse of karma for the past twenty years, cheer up!
That's about to turn too!
I took that as a generic reference to the folks visibly impaired when you looked out the window. I got off the bus, and facing a two hour layover, found time to buy a loaf of bread and a sixpack nearby. Sat down by the railroad tracks for my own personal picnic.
This old geezer wobbles up and sits down. I offer him a piece of my loaf and 1/6 of my sixpack to wash it down.
He tended towards the taciturn, but once we got to a couple more hunks of that loaf and 2/6 of my sixpack, he let out that he was from the White Dog Nation.
I had one of those learning moments that you sometimes hear about but seldom experience firsthand.
Dogs... White Dog Nation... everything suddenly fell into place!
The "dogs" were the down and out from the local res. I've never forgotten what I learned that day at the Kenora International Bus Stop.
Of course you don't have to be First Nations to be luckless, although there can be no doubt that it helps.
A lot.
I used to tour up to Grand Valley now and then to meet up with the local game warden, who managed a huge wilderness area nearby. We'd get together over pitchers of beer and a basket of wings at the local. One night there's a local at the next table recounting the following horror story;
"...so I was commin' home from a visit with my lawyer, who's gonna do my impaired charge, and I was like two driveways away from my place, and a fuckin' deer runs out in fronta me. I know you gotta report this, so I leave my car there, walk ten minutes home, and call the cops. Then I have a beer.
So I have a couple beer and the cops finally show up, and I tell them about the deer. Yup, my car's still out there. I didn't want to disturb any evidence, so I walked home and called you guys...
Well, long story short, they fucking charge me with impaired driving again!
I didn't even have the heart to tell my lawyer..."
Now THAT's luckless!
Game Warden guy, on the other hand, was having quite a run of good luck going at the time. I remember being at his place when he pulls out a big green garbage bag stuffed full.
Stuffed full of weed!
"Hey, is this shit any good?"
It was decent enough. How do you get a gig like that? The taxpayer funds your digs, you're encouraged to own guns, and you can grow fifty pounds of weed on the wilderness reserve without anybody even noticing?
How do you get a gig like that? Fleming College might be the place for you.
But a run of luck only lasts so long. If you've been enjoying a run of good luck, brace yourself; it's about to turn.
If, on the other hand, you've been in the shithouse of karma for the past twenty years, cheer up!
That's about to turn too!
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