Canadian Politics Explained: A Remedial Lesson

Okay, so, like, Hamas DIDN'T win the Canadian elections and thank you to everyone who pointed that out to me. Stephen Harper or Harper Stephen (god, don't you hate those names that can go either way?) won and this is not a picture of him.

But this IS the picture that was on the front page of the Globe and Mail the day I went to check the election results, so like, DUH, what would you think if you had seen it?

And I know it was a week after the Canadian elections, but I figured Canadians would still be talking about them. I mean, nobody else even CARES, right?

So, to repeat, Hamas didn't win the Canadian elections. Some conservative guy did and now he's going to become, like, all best friends with Bush and everyone's going to buy a gun and pay for health care and only do things they think Jesus would do. 

Canadian Politcs Explained

Ohmygod! I like, TOTALLY forgot to tell you about how the Canadian elections turned out, didn't I? And that is SO crazy because, dudes, HAMAS WON!!!

Yeah, I know, I didn't know they were fielding candidates either!

I'm not sure WHAT this will mean for the Middle East Peace process. I mean, Canadians are supposed to be good peacekeepers, so it could work and all. Maybe the Palestinians could have New Brunswick for their homeland. I wouldn't mind.

I'm kind of afraid it will make relations with the US a little sticky, but hey, it can't always be the Canadian Prime Minister and his US counterpart singing "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" can it? And really, who'd want it to be? That song makes me want to PUKE (and watch it freeze).

EVERYONE was all "Canadians are ready for a change" and I guess it was true, so we shouldn't be acting surprised.

I just hope they don't try and like, make Shania Twain wear one of those bed sheets while she sings -- or like, put them on all the girls in the Cirque de Soleil, because that would TOTALLY suck. 

'Tis the season...

...to whoof your cookies and watch 'em freeze! Yes, friends FROZEN PUKE SEASON is here! I know, because last night when I got home I had to step over what, at first glance, I took to be a relief map of Chile in my doorway.

But no! It wasn't a map at all! It was somebody's dinner -- and, if I'm any judge, his lunch too!

I've been taking note of all the frozen puke I've encountered since the temperature dropped below 0 celcius, and I realize that people employ widely different puking techniques. Some achieve a Jackson Pollock splatter effect, while others create something close to those papier machee volcanoes everyone made in junior high school (or maybe grade school. I get those two mixed up -- junior high is the zits and grade school is people singing "Campbell's soup/makes you poop/down your leg/and in your boot, right?)

If I had a digital camera I might be able to get a nice photo essay out of this. Perhaps I'll attempt a thumb-nail sketch.

I'd better get started soon, though -- the sun just came out.

Culture, Italian-style

On Sunday evening, braving the cold like a latterday Robert F. Scott (I've abandoned the whole Thoreau thing, by the way) I traveled to frosty Zizkov, lured by the twin beacons of Italian culture and cheap beer. (Not that I'm suggesting Scott's trip to the Antarctic was inspired by either of these things, we all know Scott went to the Antarctic to see those adorable penguins).

I did get a beer, but the Italian culture component of the evening proved problematic.

The idea was to watch "Il Partigiano Johnny" ("Johnny the Partisan") on the bar's flat screen televisions. The visuals were fine (and for one glorious moment, having caught the scent of tomato sauce, I was convinced the flim was being presented in smell-o-rama, but it turned out the woman next to me had ordered a plate of spaghetti which she was eating in the dark, which I like to think is typical of Italian movie theaters).

The audio was the problem -- we were treated to the director's commentary. In Italian. As the friend I was with said (when he could stop saying, "I'm so glad I didn't bring a date.") is there anything crazier than giving an Italian a microphone and asking him to talk at length about his own film? We were convinced there was probably a bonus disc, containing no footage at all, just more commentary.

Despite the director (who would NOT shut up), the film kept us interested for the entire first section, "Autumn." Then a menu popped up giving the viewer the option to click to the next section. Instead, some unseen projectionist clicked back to "Autumn," and the film began all over again -- this time without the director's commentary (amen) but also without the English subtitles.

And that's when we left for the bar behind the big church at Jiriho z Podrebrad where they have even cheaper beer and although they don't offer Italian cinema, they do have pole dancers, herna machines, and televized snooker. Sometimes, that's almost as good.

Down to Business

A friend (who shall remain nameless, at least for another couple of sentences, at which point, I'll name her) and I are starting a business together and are in the process of choosing a logo. Actually, we've chosen one already and this particular one wasn't even in the running, but Stepan suggested it and I think it has potential:



Mary&Martha
Editing&Shit

I'd superimpose this over the above image , but such are the limits of my medium -- Microsoft Paintbox -- I can't.

The Thoreau and the Pity

Sometimes, having had a surfeit of human society and gossip, and worn out all my village friends, I rambled still farther westward than I habitually dwell, into yet more unfrequented parts of the town.

Oh, okay, whatever, that's not me describing my latest excursion to Zizkov -- that's Henry David Thoreau. But we have a lot in common, as I've just been thinking. We both lived by bodies of water -- he by Walden Pond, me by the Vltava.

He withdrew from society to live a simple, healthy, contemplative life.

I didn't get dressed until, like, NOON yesterday and on Tuesday, I didn't talk to anyone all day except on ICQ.

He lived in a house he'd built himself.

I live in a ground floor apartment, and when anything breaks I just call the landlords, who live on the third floor. There may be a parallel to be drawn here, but it escapes me just now.

I think this stretch of the Vltava is probably something like Thoreau's pond: people do fish in it, (although I don't think the fishermen of 1840's Massachusetts were catching carp), at the moment, the banks are covered in a light dusting of snow, and even in the relative cold now prevailing, the occasional rower glides by.

Give or take an arched bridge, a steady stream of traffic, the largest stadium in Central Europe, and the number 17 tram, the view from my window was probably something like the view from his door.

Or not.

Actually, I think this whole attempt to cast myself as a latterday Thoreau was really misguided. Tune in tomorrow when I'll have another bash at it.

The Urban Traveler

We all know the feeling: winter blues are getting you down, but outstanding warrants make international travel problematic! What to do? Throw a few things in your backpack and head for:

PRAGUE 2!

Start your visit at Paleckeho namesti. Or Karlovo namesti. Or somewhere around that big church with the crypt where Hitler shot himself. I really don’t care. Just start. Wait, I know, start your visit in the Karlovo namesti metro station. Take a few moments to shop – buy a new mobile phone cover, a pastry, some metro tickets (call them ‘fahrkarten!’ Say they’re all the rage in Berlin!).

Upon exiting, you’ll find Prague 2 pretty much everywhere you look. Check out Karlovo namesti itself. It’s one of the biggest squares in the city and I think it may be one of the biggest in Central Europe and if it’s not it should be.

Watch out for that dog crap!

Catch a tram, if the spirit moves you, but keep in mind you’ll soon be out of Prague 2 and this article will be useless.

Go down by the river. Have a look at the Dancing Building, designed by an internationally-renowned architect whose name escapes me now but who did a real bang-up job. Feed the swans. Fish for carp. Stand on a bridge and spit on the tourists on the decks of the river boats. Live it up.

And when you’re done, go home.

Canadiana

In keeping with my long-established tradition of force-feeding foreigners information about my home and native land, I've decided to introduce a new feature.

Each week, I will provide you with the name of one famous person who is actually Canadian, one fascinating tidbit of Canadian history, and one Canadian word. I will probably run out of Canadian words quite early on, at which point, I will simply drop that part of the feature hoping no one remembers.

Famous Canadian
Mary Pickford. She was a famous silent actress, which makes sense, because we Canadians are known for our silences. (I think she actually did talk on her own time, but I can't say for certain.) She married the swashbuckling Douglas Fairbanks Junior, famous, of course, for buckling swashes, which was apparently an impressive thing to do in the early part of the last century.

Fascinating Canadian Historical Tidbit
Faced with vast expanses of frozen water and lots of rocks, Canadians invented curling. No, really, there's no need to thank us. It was our pleasure.

Canadian Word
Poguey. Slang for Unemployment Insurance benefits. Actually, this only works on the East Coast of Canada. People in Alberta wouldn't know what you were talking about because they all earn their money by the sweat of their brows and they don't depend on government handouts like those lazy bastards on the East Coast. 

Up Close and Personal

I've just given my first interview about my new business venture and have rescued it from the depths of the "comments" section and posted it here for your edification.

Stepan: Why did you decide to locate in the Czech Republic? (investment incentives? proximity to Western Europe, cheap alcohol?)

ME: I have chosen to locate in the Czech Republic because that is where my old desk happpens to be situated.

Stepan:What level of investment do you plan this year?

ME: I'm thinking about buying a three-hole punch.

Stepan: How many new jobs do you expect Mary Inc. to create and will you be working with local subcontractors?

ME: Mary Inc envisions the creation of one job, but oh, what a job it will be.

Stepan: Do you foresee an IPO in the coming months?

ME: I would throw an IPO but I have nothing to wear.

Stepan: What is your favorite color and why?

ME: Green. The color of MONEY Stepan, MONEY. You know, that stuff you keep squandering on dog treats. (I'm considering abandoning my plan to become pretentious in 2006 in favor of becoming rich beyond the dreams of avarice.)

Best of 2005

I don't make "best of" lists myself because I know they'd be dominated by whatever came out in the final two weeks of any given year.

My friend KTC in Toronto has no such qualms, however, so I'm going to borrow his best-of music list and print it as my own, even though I am not familiar with two of the three albums on it. Cheeky? You bet.

1. Green Day - American Idiot. one of the best rock records ever made. seriously. can stand next to ( & maybe above) sticky fingers or london calling or never mind the bollocks here's the sex pistols or patti smith's horses or exile in guyville. seriously. if u don't own it already u r nuts.

2. My Chemical Romance - 3 Cheers 4 Sweet Revenge. because i said so.

3. Fall Out Boy - From Under the Cork Tree. because i said so. & because 'dance, dance' is the best song ever. and i love him.

Independence

Here I am, at my desk, about to begin life as a freelancer. It's a big step, and I'm sure I'd be much more nervous about it if the desk wasn't my old desk and if I weren't working on my old computer and if I weren't still sharing office space with my old colleagues.

I tell you, this is the best way to ease into self-employment. I've carefully taped off the area around my desk and I've hung a hand-lettered sign on the wall behind me making it very clear that I am, in fact, employed by Mary Inc, not by The People's News Agency.

I've instructed Stepan to speak to me only if absolutely necessary, and to do so by telephone or email. (I should add fax to that list, I do love a fax.)

And now, to work...