October 2. Today’s tally from John Hopkins University is thirty-four million four hundred seventy-one thousand two hundred and four confirmed cases global. 7,328,273 United States. 164,359 Canada. 1,025,815 deaths global, 208,642 United States. 9,430 Canada. British Columbia today has a reported 162 new confirmed cases, up markedly from numbers in July and August. That is also of course partly due to much increased testing of individuals.
Today the great and much loved president of the United States himself came down with a dose. He is much despised even in his own party, such as it is now, but he got the power, man, and we got the power with him so we stayin cause is all about the power, you know? The power is everything. Power, man. It’s power. The sweet man this afternoon was choppered over to Walter Reed Hospital in DC from the Casa Blanca as a “precaution” and is going to be lying low a few days unless it’s forever. There are a great many who wouldn’t miss him. He could be the most despised guy on the planet. Others love him although few if any can understand it beginning with the lovers. He’s a dark enigma and now he has a slight temperature. Hang in there, prez! The hate’ll keep ya goin!
October 4. “The writer duly notes that I am about the same age as the editors of the paper but that I have obviously done myself in by not having gone to college. In a sense, for a conventional writer the reviewer was right. It is probably a good thing that the dwindling company of twentieth century readers and the hugely expanding company of writers share the same syllabus. Although the voluntary reader will have read many books that schoolteachers will never have heard of, he may not know all of their required reading. Required reading! I have noticed over the years that those who go on to become teachers or critics—or even novelists or poets of a hyphenate kind—tend, as time passes, to dislike, even resent all literature. But then the secret worm in their brazen apples is careerism, which kills off the amateur or the dilettante, the very best sort of reader, if not writer.” –Gore Vidal. “Palimpsest”. 1995.
Been saying the same thing for years. That must make me smart. There’s an absurd number of writers in stark contrast to the scarcity of readers. And careerism, in an overwhelming number of cases, is the end of any real literary interest. Bubblicious creative writing mills. Cue the outrage.
It’s moving with the times. It’s going with the flow. It’s staying in your lane and playing your position. As always, it’s a bit of an experiment. It’s First Nations summer. New concept, same comfortable old clothes. Cue the spirit bears. This block editor as it’s called is a bit different but different is good. We can do different. It’s called being flexible. Do the rhyme do the time. Translation pending.
The site took rare advantage of an opportunity to re-visit the University Women’s Club of Vancouver in my old Shaughnessy hood on McRae there at “Hycroft”, courtesy of an invite from the Liberal Party of Canada. The Member of Parliament for the federal riding of Vancouver Granville was taking a meet and greet with constituents in the lower ballroom of the venerable old institution, site of many weddings over the years.
The last time I’d been here was some years ago to attend a wedding. It was a fine wedding with all the pomp you’d expect of a wedding at Hycroft and the marriage lasted one year.
Many are the memories of me tricycling around “The Crescent” when we lived close by before Dad had to go to jail and our family became destitute. The Crecsent was lined with cars tonight but we found a spot not far from the venue and eased in our beautiful old car.
We’d thought first to walk up from our residence down the hill several blocks but with the threat of rain, a threat we took seriously, the car it was. I had my own, personal reasons for coming to a thing like this. Not only had I voted for Jody Wilson-Raybould in the last federal election but I had never been to anything like this before in my life and I was curious. And it was Hycroft. In my old Shaughnessy.
I’d had invitations before to functions like this because I’m a pretty important person to the Liberal party. I give and no donation is too small, which is a good attitude. In a fit of reverie one lost night I’d thrown the party a fiver in hopes they’d call off their dogs and stop hectoring me for a donation. It didn’t work but I guess that’s politics.
And politics can be good in minute doses infrequently, and in my case, very infrequently. And this was a case of that. And she was with me. My consort had attended that old Hycroft wedding and had also voted for Jody Wilson-Raybould in the last federal election.
It must be admitted we were also here because our MP was a pretty important person and one who had also recently experienced some pretty intense, career-altering events. These events, as everyone knows, have been all over the news all over the country. Jody Wilson-Raybould, until recently, was Minister of Justice and Attorney General of Canada and the reason she was no longer in that fine position, to a lot of people, had some unseemliness attached to it. A lot of controversy had erupted and, you guessed it, politics.
So it sounded like fun and we both had the evening off and it would be an opportunity to be in close proximity to the very public person of The Honourable Jody Wilson-Raybould, P.C., Q.C., Member of Parliament for Vancouver Granville.
Even though the event is more than two weeks ago the Honourable Member’s saga won’t die. It wasn’t dying before the event either.
It was a good-sized crowd. There was wine and beer at the bar by donation and most people from what I could see were donating a fiver. I didn’t see what brand of beer was on offer but the only wine label I could see was “Oculus”, a retail $135 a bottle red Bordeaux-style from Mission Hill in the Okanagan. Everybody knows that. We took two modestly filled glasses from the barkeep for a fiver each and were well pleased with our adventure.
Occupying seats against the wall near the grazing table it was scant minutes before a nice gentleman in his mid-forties, impeccably dressed in business caj and sitting to the right of my partner initiated conversation with her. I wasn’t close enough to hear exactly what he was saying above the hubbub prior to the start of the show but it turned out he must have surveyed the cut of my Kitten’s jib and deemed her harmless and was sharing a few jokes with her. Something about lobsters and surfing or something.
He was most pleasant, a largish white guy with french cuffs, monogrammed, and nice looking links on his sharp, blue stripe shirt under the dark blue jacket below which, right again, were blue jeans. He’d introduced himself and we’d done the same but his name blew right past me and I didn’t catch it.
It developed that he was a member of the legal profession, had worked in Ottawa but was now back home working downtown. I gathered he’d been a supporter of the federal Liberal Party for some time, but then, in reality, so had we with the one difference that up until tonight we had pretty much been closet liberals but not our jovial friend.
I always wonder in a crowd if I’m going to run into somebody I know. It happens, right? So it was gratifying to see Leslie Hurtig happen by. Leslie and I are old friends and contacts from the book business. These days she’s doing an excellent job as artistic director of the Vancouver Writers Festival. We chatted a second, joking about marriages at Hycroft and other stuff.
The constituency president came to the podium and said a few words then a middle aged gentleman in a light grey suit took over and introduced Jody Wilson-Raybould to the assembled multitude to enthusiastic applause. But not before mentioning that the event was being held on the land and traditional territories of the Squamish, Musqueam and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations.
She looks just like she does on TV and in the newspaper. Exactly the same and her visage, as above, has been splashed all over everywhere these weeks. Jody Wilson-Raybould comes across as a very solid, down-to-earth person but no less a polished professional at ease at centre stage. She was relaxed. One of the first things she said was the acknowledgment that we were on traditional territories meant a lot to her hearing it.
That revised my opinion somewhat that this statement regarding First Nations “traditional territories” heard at the beginning of just about any event of any sort now was already in a state of tiresome cliché with barnacles of political correctness all over it. The Honourable Member is First Nations herself. I already knew that and that she’d done a lot of growing up here but she brought the message home somehow.
She said she’d been in politics five years and had been drawn to the idea of doing politics differently, which, as everyone knows, was a campaign concept from 2015. Jody added that she was also drawn to an idea of, “non-partisanship to grapple with the serious problems we face.” And that, “The last five weeks have been hard on me and my family.”
I don’t know why, but I felt myself choking up slightly because with those words Jody Wilson-Raybould got choked up just very slightly herself for an instant. I know it’s difficult to believe the hard-assed administrator of samoyeddogs.net has feelings but I was thinking here is a human being. This is the person, not the TV and newspaper packaged semi-cardboard cut-out for consumption.
The member for Vancouver Granville said she’d been very proud to be the minister of justice and attorney general and proud to be the minister of veteran’s affairs. There were a few more words.
And that was more or less it. We strode purposefully up the stairs and out into classic grey month of March twi-nite Vancouver rain.
Sarah Huckabee Sanders bitching about how America has been nice to Canada over the years. How entertaining. With the implication that it’s no more Mr. Nice Guy for you, effing Canada. The bully boy’s on the block now and you’re going to pay. It’s pay-back time.
So what does the great country of America really hope to gain by beating up on Canada? Answer: We’re doing it because we can, dumbass Canadians. You’re dealing with great Americans now. We ain’t taking it on the chin anymore from you bastards up there.
What can we, as Canadians, do when we’re being insulted like this? Answer: Enjoy it while you can. We know that America is the greatest country in the universe, that they won “World War II” and “The Great War” and “The Civil War” and “The American War” and “The Cold War” and are tough, mean and ready to kill you with a bad deal.
We know Americans have paid the price in blood and we know about accountability, that countries are responsible for their own well-being and that America has contributed to peace, prosperity and progress all over the world in defence of freedom and democracy out of all proportion to what they needed to and just because they could. If that’s all over welcome to mean times, America.
We’re as tired of you being taken advantage of as you are. Just like America we’ve had it! We’re sick of America taking the hit. That’s why we’re tariff-ing up. We’re here to help.
If there’s one thing we can’t stand it’s when things ain’t fair when you’ve been nice. It’s bad manners and we hate that because we’re polite. We’re with you, great America. It sticks in our craw.
It’s disgraceful to see a bunch of Canadians being so ungrateful. We despise ourselves too if that’s the way you want it. Nothing is going to stand in our way about that. We know there’s no chance of ever being up to your standard in niceness and the effrontery, we agree, is galling. We better watch out.
And that’s what we’re doing. We’re taking a long hard look at ourselves. Everybody on the planet should do it. It’s refreshing. No more illusions. We know we can never be as great or as nice as America and we don’t want to be. That’s your job.
We have no intention of trying to take that away from you. That’s no fun. We’re sticking with what we know. So thank you, Sarah, for pointing out what a hard job it is to be nice to us. We’re with you every step of the way.