My Favourite Tweets from Municipal Election

Some of my favourite tweets from election night 2010 in the Big Smoke.

• From flyguyPR: Calgary meet traditional Toronto politics (Mr. Nenshi). Toronto meet traditional Calgary politics (Mr. Ford)
• From moongoddess: Next time, Vote Quimby!...oh wait, you already did... sigh 
• From livinginthepost: if you voted Ford, you no longer have any right to make fun of the Tea Party in the US.
• From torontocranks: Wonder how things would have been different if Giambrone had managed to keep his pants on?
• From JasonJHughes: Rob Ford is the Nickelback of Mayors. All the votes, yet no one admits to voting for him
• From JayGoldman: To those of you who voted for Rob Ford: Congrats! you have just George Bushed our city. Thanks
• From AntoniaZ: Dunno what's scarier. Rob Ford as mayor or Ben Mulroney on a political show
• From snotforprofit: The Penguin is the mayor of Gotham City!
• From LaurAlexisBanks: I've never ever been this discouraged by the democratic system. What a horrendous gong show. (Note: This is about the travesty of an election in Vaughn!!)

Twitter was the most entertaining part of the entire evening. I am without words myself, so I turned to the witticisms from the Twittersphere. Thanks guys.

****UPDATE!!! Lest those of you who reside in the City Above Toronto think I am generally unhappy with the election results, I am not. What does stun me, however is that the citizens of this town could return the former mayor to office as a regional councillor in spite of the fact that he is awaiting trial for election spending issues and the fact that he was in the pocket of the developers that have brought the city to near ruin.

Election Exhaustion Syndrome

Is anybody else suffering from Election Exhaustion Syndrome? (EES) I am truly politico-"ed" out! This year seems particularly bad. Not only do we here in the GTA have to endure the slings and ridiculous arrows from the miscreants running for municipal office, but given the strange timing of the election cycle, we are also being subjected hourly to the circus reality show also known as the United States midterms. Our close proximity to our southern neighbours provides us Canucks with numerous benefits, including NFL football, (GO RAMS!!) a reasonably priced three hour flight to sunshine and heat in the dead of the January winter, and Mad Men-just to mention a few necessities. But it also means that we are inundated daily with the idiots, imbeciles and fools who truly believe that they are the answer to all that ails our American cousins. Here are just a few examples of the obnoxious noise and acrid stench emanating from the south.

• There is the guy running for the GOP in Ohio's 9th district who staunchly claims that he isn't a Nazi sympathizer in spite of his hobby of dressing up like the SS. The spin from both sides of the argument has been migraine-inducing, but suffice it to say that it can't be good politics to dress up like one of Adolph's boys for fun.
• Then there is the less than-distinguished Senate majority leader who is in the fight of his political life in the desert. He is up against a woman who recently told a group of Hispanic high school students that they looked Asian to her. This gaffe wasn't her first or even her most egregious, but because the majority leader is so universally reviled in his home state, the race is too close to call. His answer to all of this noise has been to actually tell voters not to vote because Nevada has a none of the above option that will most likely help him win the race. OY!!! Believe me when I say that this election idiocy is cutting fairly across party lines. They are all morons!
• Delaware has become the national joke. Not only did the Republicans toss a sure Senate win into the toilet with the nomination of a boob, but said boob has become a media darling because of her boobiness. It is unbelievable to me that people actually give a rat's ass about somebody whose greatest contribution to the dialogue is that she makes the former governor of Alaska look like a Rhodes Scholar. 

And these are just a few of the lowlights. Canadians-stop that self-important smirking. We aren't that much better. We are currently witnessing a mayoral campaign in Toronto that is now all about holding one's nose when entering the polling booth. The "anybody but" campaign has gained steam, but it has become so unsavoury and so distasteful it is no wonder good and smart people avoid politics like the plague these days. It has come down to two candidates possessing equal amounts of squirm-factor, and the sad part is that nobody expects either man to actually solve any of the myriad of problems plaguing this really terrific city. In points west, north and east of the core, citizens are faced with choices that include a longstanding 90 year old mayor facing conflict of interest allegations, and a mayoral contest in the City Above Toronto featuring an incumbent under suspicion for spending violations (several councillors are also being investigated) and a council that tried to orchestrate a palace coup against her. Ain't it grand??

As if all of that weren't enough, I have been robo-called until my ears bleed, accosted by lawn sign wielding community anarchists, had my mailbox stuffed full of trash, and have endured hours of tv spots so slimy and sleazy that they make me ashamed for those running. It is almost enough to get me and thousands like me to swear off election day.

I think that I can safely speak for millions of others when I scream-UNCLE!! There was a time when politics had some air of respectability. No more. From where I sit it seems to be all about ego, power and money. Those of us suffering from EES are in desperate need of cure. Anybody?

Swedish Ingenuity Once Again Meets Canadian Idiots!

I hate Ikea. It isn't the merchandise, which is actually often amazingly cool and remarkably functional. It isn't the prices, which are stunningly competitive. It isn't even the ridiculous store layouts, which force the consumer into the kid's bedroom department before hopefully and mercifully stumbling upon office furniture. Nope! I hate Ikea because I have an innate inability to fit bolt A into slot B. I cannot for the life of me put their furniture together no matter how hard I try nor how many different projects I undertake. I have yet to master the art of the Allen key, and I have yet to comprehend the funky diagrams with odd-sounding Nordic names like Manstad or Solsta. For all I know these could be Swedish culinary delicacies instead of sofa beds. Instead, I thank God for giving me a man who views Ikea as Hillary did Everest. I honestly think that his testosterone level surges when he opens those cardboard cartons and counts out the hardware. There are beads of masculine sweat that dot his upper lip as he prepares his toolkit and gets down to work. And then, inevitably the shit hits the fan.

Ever since Older Son finalized his move from our house last year, we have been lackadaisical in doing something with his room. If he would have done me the service of leaving the bed behind, I would have simply repainted the walls and kept it as a guest room. But because he decided that sleeping on a mattress and box spring was preferable to a sleeping bag and the floor, we were left with an empty space and a redecorating project that neither of us was truly ready to undertake. After some discussion, The Husband and I decided to convert the room into a music office where I could store all of my instruments, guitar paraphernalia, sheet music and books, and some relevant Judaic CDs. The desktop computer with my full catalogue of Jewish music would find a permanent home in the room, and in order to allow Older Son a sleeping location when he visits, we would purchase a futon that could doubly function as a sofa. It sounded so simple I knew that it was doomed from the start.

While I spent some of last winter at the Southern home, The Husband took it upon himself to choose colours for the walls and trim, and he set to work painting the room as a surprise for my return. He called to tell me about the project.

The Husband: I am painting Older Son's room.

Me: Great. Are you happy with the colour?

The Husband: I am, but I think it looks far better on the walls then it does on the floor.

Me: You painted the floor? You do know that the floor is carpeted???


In spite of the false start and the difficult mess, the room actually came out looking fantastic. The next step in the process was mine. I was to source the appropriate futon. I scoured the GTA searching for just the right piece, the right price and the right fit. The search lasted almost 6 months until the fall Ikea catalogue arrived on our doorstep. There it was. Reasonably priced and the perfect length. The only problem was that it was from Ikea-the bane of my redecorating existence. I knew that it would all work out, though. The Husband is an Ikea-slayer!!

The futon arrived late yesterday afternoon in three cartons. The Husband, all swaggering and macho, grabbed his tools and started in on the puzzle. He was clicking on all cylinders. He had it configured within an hour and just needed a couple of extra hands to help with the mattress and cover. It took 2 university graduates and a university junior almost 45 minutes to figure out how to place the mattress and pad on the frame. 45 MINUTES!!!! We felt like absolute morons. There was no logic to the diagram and nothing seemed to fit. Squeezing the mattress into the cover was like attempting to put toothpaste back into a tube. Finally, Younger Son had a brainstorm and showed his idiot parents how the f@#*ing thing fit together. Thank God for the next generation. We were cleaning up the last remnants, when I decided to try it out. I sat down on my brand spanking new futon/couch and promptly went right through the slats with my ass on the floor. (I am not that heavy! That's my story and I'm sticking to it!!) The Husband looked crestfallen. It was like I challenged his manhood. After some quick observation, it became obvious that he had put the slats into the frame upside down. (See!! I told you that I wasn't that heavy.) He repaired the damage this morning and all is again right within his world.

The room is almost complete. I now have a comfortable space in which I can work and Older Son no longer has to crash on the basement couch when he stays over. (He was starting to feel like old storage material that we shove down there so that guests can't see our mess!) This is all solely due to The Husband and his mastery of Swedish diagrams, and Younger Son and his ability to recognize his parents as the idiots they most certainly are. I-I K-(k)need E-everything A-Assembled!!

What is it about Men and Illness?

I have spent the last 5 days playing nursemaid. No, I misspeak. What I should have said is that I have spent the last 5 days attempting to play nursemaid. The Husband, usually the most healthy of souls, has been struck down by a case of walking pneumonia. Now I should make it clear that I have been nagging and badgering him for about a month to get himself to the doctor to get his roiling chest cough checked out by a professional who won't placate him. Getting sick around here during the High Holidays is not an option that I can realistically hope to handle, (yes-I am a selfish bitch!!) hence the nagging and badgering. It was as much about self-preservation as concern for him and his "I never get sick so therefore I cannot be sick" ass.  I have heard it all.

Me: "You need to call the doctor."

Him: "I am fine."

Me: "You are not fine. You sound like your whole insides are coming up every time you expel a hack!"

Him: "I AM FINE!!"

Me: "You are NOT FINE!! Fine doesn't sound like an old man in a nursing home puking up last night's dinner!!"

Him: "F*&@-off!!! I AM FINE!!"

A month's worth of nagging and badgering must of worn him down, because unbeknownst to me he finally engaged the opinion of a professional. On Monday he came home armed with a diagnosis, a bucketful of antibiotics with names that are unpronounceable, and an acute inability to say "Yes, dear-You were right and I was wrong." It was truly amazing to watch this man who refuses to ever relent to illness, finally admit that maybe, just maybe, there was more to this phlegm-laden bark then just allergies. Unfortunately the diagnosis of pneumonia did nothing to slow him down. I attempted to get him to stay home for a couple of days. After 3 hours on day one, I thought that I might end up as a poster-girl on Dateline for having a suspiciously missing husband with no trace of his movements or remains. His boredom was palpable. Oprah, game shows and soaps are definitely not on his TV watch list, and he decided that it was the actual diagnosis of pneumonia that was making him feel so shitty. If I hadn't nagged and badgered him into going to the doctor, he would have continued to feel just fine. Isn't it amazing how his pneumonia suddenly became my fault?

I have been told by several friends that men, when faced with illness, seem to handle it in one of two ways. Either they revert to childhood and hope that their women will care for them like their mother's once did, or they stoically and with intense machismo deny all aspects of the illness so that they can carry on. My man has been stupidly choosing option 2. As I write this, he is at the office awaiting some delivery that probably could have waited out the weekend, but at this point in time is the single most important delivery ever to arrive at any office ever in the City Above Toronto.

The wild irony in all of this is that the Twin Son, not to be outdone or out-ailed, is currently recuperating at home with several broken and cracked ribs brought on by a Peter Pan induced delusion that he can still play hockey at his age without physical repercussions. He is, I am told, on some painkillers of mammoth proportions and can barely inhale without pain. It seems rather fitting that these two idiot split souls should both be suffering from breathing issues at the exact same moment in time.

I have lived long enough in a house full of men to realize that XY chromosomes and physical discomfort don't always mesh well. All I wanted was for him to acknowledge his illness and be proactive towards its cure. I have spent the better part of the week futilely attempting this feat. If anybody has any suggestions, I am open to them all.

Really, Toronto?

I must qualify this post right from the beginning. I do not live within the regional boundaries of Toronto that would provide me any say whatsoever in the upcoming mayoral election. That understood, I do live in the massive area known as the GTA where every decision, large or small, petty or important, made down at Nathan Phillips does carry significant impact for my neighbours and me, whether the denizens of the city choose to recognize it or not. Believe me when I say with no irony whatsoever, that we up here in the self-described "City Above Toronto" have our own municipal cesspool to deal with, so fixating on your election follies down there was not something I had anticipated, but I just have to ask-REALLY, TORONTO? What are you thinking?

I realize that the last 7 or so years have not been a bed of roses. The current office holder has been worse than anticipated no matter on which side of the political spectrum you sit. There have been tax increases, traffic bedlam, no truly cohesive transit strategy, bike lanes to nowhere, streetcar lanes from hell, a municipal strike that left garbage rotting in the summer heat, children without camp and parents without daycare. I get it. Toronto is ready for a change, but again I have to ask-REALLY, TORONTO? What are you thinking?

According to the latest poll, the residents of Canada's sixth largest economy are about to elect a loud, often boorish, and totally devoid of any cohesive platform other than save money on the paperclips at city hall, west end councillor as their new mayor. This man has spent more time over the last ten years being called on the carpet for his bad behaviour than a raunchy frat boy. Interviews with citizens around the city over the past few days have revealed a real distrust for politics as usual, and a willingness to try any new formula, no matter the history. They seem to like his in your face honesty and political incorrectness. They like that he supposedly speaks up for them and not for the interests of political machines. They like that he tells it as he sees it and they like that he goes from the gut, rather than studying it all to death. Where have we heard that before? W, anyone?

I would love a politician that is honest too. Believe me, I would. I would love for them to just get down to work and solve the real problems facing our society. I would love somebody-anybody-to actually say that having to pay taxes really sucks but having crappy sewers, gridlock, and potholes suck more. I would love for somebody to stand up to the union bosses and tell them the hard truths that job security is a thing of the past. I would love for somebody to stand up to developers and tell them that the free ride is over. I would love for somebody to push through a cohesive transit solution that isn't so parochial that it only takes into account the boundaries of the 416 area code and doesn't factor in those who actually NEED to drive their cars to work. I would love all of this, but again I have to ask-REALLY TORONTO? Is Mr. Etobicoke the answer? What are you thinking?

We currently find ourselves in a season of anti-establishment candidacies around the world. Chantal Hebert, a national columnist in The Toronto Star wrote just today about how governments from around the world are being turfed and forced into coalitions in order to function. One only has to turn on the TV these days to see the absolute bedlam occurring during these midterm elections in the United States. Voters are desperately searching for alternatives to the status quo and the citizens of Toronto are certainly no exception. But I urge all of you who do have a vote, to use it wisely. If Mr. Etobicoke is really the guy who you think will help address the serious issues facing our city, than who am I to tell you otherwise. But, if you are planning on entering the voting booth with the idea that he couldn't be worse, I urge you to rethink that position. REALLY, TORONTO? Start thinking!!

Jews, Baseball, and Yom Kippur

Every Jewish person I know, knows the Sandy Koufax/Kol Nidre story. It has become part our collective folklore and heritage. In 1965, Koufax refused to pitch Game 1 of the World Series because it fell onYom Kippur. The Dodgers started Don Drysdale instead of their ace and the results were less than pretty. The boys in blue fell 8-2 to the Minnesota Twins while Drysdale gave up 7 runs in 2 2/3 innings, famously remarking to manager Walter Alston , "I bet right now you wish I was Jewish too!"

Jews and baseball. Quite the conundrum. In 1934, Hank Greenberg the hard-hitting first baseman for the Detroit Tigers faced a similar dilemma as to whether to play on yontif. 

The Detroit media, aware of Greenberg's indecision, sought out the opinions of local rabbis, with the Detroit News running a headline saying "Talmud Clears Greenberg for Holiday Play."

"The team was fighting for first place," wrote Greenberg in his autobiography, "and I was probably the only batter in the lineup who was not in a slump. But in the Jewish religion, it is traditional that one observe the holiday solemnly, with prayer…. I wasn't sure what to do."

Greenberg skipped batting practice that day, thought some more, and finally chose to take the field. He hit two home runs to lead the Tigers to a 2-1 victory.

The next day, the Detroit Free Press ran a banner headline, in Hebrew, that read "Happy New Year, Hank," Also in the Free Press, an Edgar Guest poem celebrated Greenberg's decision:

Came Yom Kippur -- holy fast day world wide over to the Jew, 

And Hank Greenberg to his teaching and the old tradition true 

Spent the day among his people and he didn't come to play.

Said Murphy to Mulrooney, 'We shall lose the game today! 

We shall miss him on the infield and shall miss him at the bat

          But true to his religion and I honor him for that.

More recently, Shawn Green of the Dodgers decided to sit out a pennant race game against the hated Giants that fell on Yom Kippur. But for every Koufax, Greenberg, and Green there are 10 players like Jason Marquis. Marquis, a Jewish 2-8 pitcher with a 6.60 ERA with the Washington Nationals, a team that has absolutely no playoff aspirations, plans to take his regular turn in the rotation this Friday evening-Kol Nidre. Says Marquis, “Your team expects you to do your job and not let your teammates down, and that’s the approach I take.” In fact, this is the approach that Mr. Marquis has taken in past seasons as well.

Now, I have never been one to to tell anybody how to practice or observe their religion. (My children may disagree with that statement, but I reserve the right of motherhood with them!) Religion is a personal matter better left between the individual and their God. If Jason Marquis wants to pitch on Yom Kippur, who am I or anybody else to tell him not to. I will suggest the following, however. When Jews choose to work or go to school on the holiest day of the year, it makes it that much more difficult for those of us who choose to observe the day in a religious manner to explain our choices to a secular audience. "If Jason can pitch, why can't you be here for class or in the office or.........."

I have heard all of the reasons. "I simply couldn't get out of it because I would be docked." or "They told me I would be in trouble." or "What difference does it make, I don't practice anyway." I get it. Your lives are important and your jobs are important. All that I am saying is that your decisions impact all of us who do observe.

A personal story. My paternal grandfather was a practicing atheist. Back in Poland, he had begun studies for the rabbinate, before deciding that it was all hooey for him and finally ran off to join the army. When he came to Canada he was a cultural Jew who had absolutely no interest in God or synagogue practice. It probably was the height of irony for him that his children and grandchildren became so involved. Every year on Yom Kippur my grandfather would insist that his family, including my father, dress in their best clothes. They would be scrubbed and clean and out of the house early, and then he would take them all to the movies for the entire day. They would sit through several features, just long enough for synagogues to conclude their final prayers and then they would return home. When asked why he engaged in this behaviour year after year, my grandfather would respond "I can't insult every other Jew on Yom Kippur just because I don't believe." That is how I feel about Jason Marquis and every other Jew who chooses to work on Yom Kippur.

There is a reason that we Jews so identify with what Sandy Koufax did. He was taking the stand for all of us that observe but, for some reason feel the need to justify it to our employers, our families and to ourselves. It is not easy being Jewish in a modern world. Sandy Koufax made it a bit easier. It will be interesting to see what other Jewish ballplayers choose to do this weekend. Kevin Youkilis, Ian Kinsler, Ryan Braun-are you listening?

Spinning Squirrel

It is really a squirrel's world! Finally-karma bit the little bugger in the ass. Happy New Year-even to the rodents. :)