The clickety-clack for long hours, pour the drinks, finally standing straight up again. Soft terry robe, comnputer signing in the background, giant bed, alone with no arms there to hold me.

Travel.

Unfortunately I will be away on business tomorrow (blah), but please remember to head down to Yonge/Dundas Square between noon and 1:30, wearing red to support the troops. (chances are that at that time of day, you likely won't be shot at)

Anyone who knows Sun columnist Joe Warmington can tell you, the guy wears his heart on his sleeve.

That's why he's asking you to show up at Yonge-Dundas Square in the heart of Toronto tomorrow at noon, wearing something red to show your support for our 2,500 soldiers in Afghanistan.

Bring a Canadian flag, wear a red tie, t-shirt, or cap. But most important, bring yourself.

Maybe it's a sign that the world is finally changing for the better. Five years after 9/11, maybe enough people have woken up to the fact that the weak-willed crowd of special interest groups on the left can't save us from a threat that is much greater than a lack of affordable housing.

Further talks are to take place in an effort to save one of France's best-known newspapers, the irreverent left-wing daily Liberation.
Staff fear the biggest shareholder, of the Rothschild family, plans to make job cuts and a reduction in content.

The board, which includes Edouard de Rothschild and staff representatives, met on Wednesday, but few details of the talks have emerged.

Liberation has been battling failing sales and was rescued two years ago.

Socialists, take heed. Your end is nigh.

The image of the sexy schoolgirl has always been a fantasy for some men. Nabakov's Lolita didn't come purely out of nowhere - men wanting little girls is something that's been around forever.

And so men everywhere sighed a contented sigh when Britney Spears took the stage and asked to be hit one more time, baby. There she was with her big doe eyes, her little kilt, and her big round, uh, knees. The boys fell all over themselves (and probably did a few other things all over themselves), and the girls tried to emulate her by shortening their kilts and showing a great deal of downy pubescent thigh.

No longer are our Catholic schools run by strict and often violent nuns, so when the uniform issue got out of control, with schoolgirls dressing like Thai prostitutes, administrators and parents were at a loss as to how to deal with it. Yes - parents were at a loss, since they no longer know how to discipline their children, or teach them any type of decency or self respect.

Now certain schools are beginning to phase out the kilt.

"What motivated the change was, I believe, enforcing a decent length worn by our female students was becoming rather onerous," says principal Rory McGuckin.

"We would field calls from people — parents and former Power graduates — complaining that the length of the girl's kilt was, in their opinion, unacceptable."

The school understands replacing uniforms is expensive. Kilts are about $79.95. So after consulting with parents, staff and the student council, it decided to phase out kilts.

Returning students can wear them. New students can't.

It's a similar situation at John Cabot Catholic Secondary School in Mississauga. "Our primary issue is one of the kilts not being worn properly," says Bruce Campbell, spokesperson for the Dufferin-Peel Catholic District School Board.

Board policy dictates kilts be a maximum of 15 centimetres above the middle of the knee. But "in many cases they're being modified well beyond the prescribed length."

John Cabot and five other Dufferin-Peel high schools are gradually eliminating kilts from their uniforms.

While I would happily accept this as a means of cutting down on teenage promiscuity (not to mention pedophilia), I think it's rather sad to see the uniforms go, just because parents and staff are no longer permitted to punish unruly kids. Sister Mary Margaret and her strap are what's required here - not skorts.

... that I am one of the only North Americans that Belinda Stronach hasn't been romantically linked to?

Says Mr. Right to RightGirl:

If we both lose our minds, do you think they'll find each other?

I found this piece at The Conservative Voice. It is absolutely bone chilling:

I get through the airport checkpoints.

I rent an apartment in mid-America.

I take on a blue-collar job because I don’t have any degrees by which to get any other kind of job.

I check in with the local mosque. I meet the cleric.

Five times a day I pray from my prayer mat. I read my Koran.

I remember quite well all that I was taught back in my Muslim country. My parents, devout Allah worshipers, did not miss a paragraph in our holy writ. I never missed a meeting at the mosque. I took the vows of being a Muslim male.

I kept to myself as far as my non-Muslim neighbors were concerned. I smiled at them. I did not show any negative aspects to my persona. I was gracious appearing and neat about myself.

I was punctual at work, obeyed orders, showed appreciation for my job.

I actually bought an American flag and positioned it by my window at the front of my apartment. It was readily visible to passers-by.

I kept in touch with family back where I had come from. We all had email access. One furnishing that I made certain I had was a computer. I was computer literate.

I read Muslim web sites daily. I got to know some of the webmasters via emails back and forth.

I kept particularly informed concerning world and national news daily.

I also made certain that I was an integral part of the local mosque, not only in its Friday prayers but its workings for Islam. Or should I say for Islam World Rule?

Go read the rest of it. I may not sleep tonight.

Just a reminder that I'll be blogging fresh content over at The American Princess all this week.

At this hour eleven years ago, I was leaving the hospital. The undertaker confirmed that he was on his way to pick my father up. I had signed all the necessary documents, and cleaned out all personal effects from the room he had been living in for more than a month.

I wondered this morning if I was going to write yet another tribute to the man I loved and hated in equal measure - the man who shaped me more than any other. Frankly, I don't have it in me to do it again this year. Instead, I am stealing a post from a friend of mine (I hope he doesn't mind under the circumstances). A post on what it means to be a father. I know I put Dad through years of pure hell, and somehow he continued to love me as only a parent can. I often wondered how he could: now I see it truly is part of what it means to be a parent.

I love being a father. I dislike being a father. Being a father is the most rewarding, uplifting, euphoric experience of my life. Being a father is the most miserable, frustrating, depressing experience of my life. My daughters are 5 and 10. Sometimes I want to tell them that they have ruined my life. Sometimes I want to hug them and tell them that they are my life. Oddly, when I'm around them, I seldom feel neutral and content in my skin. My emotional life is one of extremes. I go from dizzying heights of profound love one minute, to claustrophobic depths of disappointment the next. For this dad, there is seldom a middle ground.

Mostly, though, I wonder how the hell I got myself into this. No one told me this procreation thing would take such a toll on my life.

Tuesday before last was the first day of school. My eldest had spent the previous week staying with her aunt and uncle, about an hour away. She left her favorite running shoes there and didn't realize it until she was dressing for school on Tuesday morning. Of course, these were the shoes she wanted to wear. They matched her outfit, don't you know. And thus ensued the drama. She cried. She moaned. She ran down the hall wailing. She blamed everyone but herself. Her life was destroyed, she exclaimed. Finally I had had enough and bundled her off to Sudan where I sold her into white slavery to Osama Bin Laden's second cousin twice removed.

OK, maybe not. But imagining it did make me smile. And after the smile, of course, I felt terribly guilty.

And then there's my little red headed five-year old. The next time she listens to me will the first time. You've never encountered obstinacy if you haven't met my daughter. She knows she's not supposed to walk across the street without looking both ways. She does it anyway - on purpose - just to show me that she can. Nothing dissuades her - not discussions, not lectures, not spankings. At the beach, she paddles her float-ring into deep water while looking straight at me and grinning, despite my repeated warnings to come back. If she lives to see adulthood, it will not be my doing – it will be God's.

And despite the parental trials and tribulations, I know that mine are really no greater than those of any other father. So why do they seem to bug me more?

Is it just me? Am I nuts or something? I see all these people out there with their kids looking so happy, so in the moment. Why don't I feel like that? Having children is the most natural thing anyone can do. In fact the only reason virtually any couple doesn't have children is because they use unnatural methods to prevent life from occurring or surgical methods to snuff out life that has begun to develop. And most people seem to take to parenthood rather well. At least they don't seem to be wracked with self-doubt like me. What is wrong with these people? Clearly they are all nuts and I'm normal. Or maybe, they are all just faking it. After all, to look at me, no one would know that my children are a weight that sometimes almost crushes me to death. I hide it well. And maybe there are many others hiding it as well. Certainly there must be. I can't be the only one.



But, let's get back to the kids. You would think that being so utterly happy and content with my marriage and family life would carry over to my feelings about being a dad. You'd think that I would be happier than a pig in poop. Surely I can't be the only dad in the world to struggle with these conflicting feelings.

Sometimes I wonder if there aren't more men out there like me – deeply in love with their children but doubtful as to whether their lives would be better had they never had kids in the first place.

Don't get me wrong. I would step in front of a bullet for my kids in a heartbeat. If I could have one wish it would be that they would live long, happy, healthy, contented lives. All I have I would give to them (and am giving them). When the media reports that a child has been abducted I lay in bed, in the moments before sleep, shuddering at the thought. I literally physically shake and shudder. Sometimes my wife wakes up and asks "what’s wrong honey?" Sometimes, I tell her. She hugs me close and we go to sleep like that. Surely, I love my kids as much as any man.

I guess it all comes down to duty. I believe that what I feel for my children transcends love. I have a sense of duty to protect them, nurture them, do right by them and be there for them every day.

And thank god for that sense of duty. It's there even when the frustration, claustrophobia and selfishness momentarily eclipse the love. And sometimes it's all that stops me from going to the store for milk and ending up living in Fort McMurray under an assumed name.

Kathy, blogging over at Small Dead Animals, takes the piss out of the progressives and their "Five Things Feminism Has Done for Me" whinge.

1. Convinced me that I had a one in four chance of getting raped in my lifetime, making me terrified to leave the house and generally really, really depressed about living in general.

2. Tried (and failed) to ruin my Church, with their bizarro world "theology" and adolescent, self-absorbed tantrums. Fortunately, most of the old ladies behind this movement are dying out.

So what did it do for me?

1. Actually decreased my pay and job prospects by forcing small businesses to pay maternity leave, causing them to hire fewer women and pay lower wages, just to stay on top.

2. Provided wonderful programs like SoW that raised taxes, thereby ensuring that I had to work, even if I didn't want to.

3. Allowed me to have an abortion, almost as easily as getting a Big Mac at a drive-thru, but never fought for my right to prevent conception via tubal ligation. However, it's ok to have my husband neutered.

4. Feminism has turned men into pussies.

5. Feminism has taken away my right to cry when somebody hurts me - now I have to suck it up and take it like a man.

Welcome to the playground, kids. At least, it must be the playgorund, for where else would you call someone "mean-spirited"? Parliament, you say?

The Conservative government came under fire Tuesday during Question period over cuts to the budget that the Liberals characterized as "mean-spirited."

"Never have Canadians seen such mean-spirited cuts at a time when Ottawa is swimming in money," said Liberal MP John McCallum. "This minority government only cares about its political base."

After announcing that last year's surplus was $13.2-billion Monday, the government unveiled $1-billion in spending cuts to take place over two years and announced that another $1-billion in savings over that period will be extracted through unidentified "tighter management" measures.

The surplus would go toward paying down the national debt, the Tories said.

Jack Layton was later heard double-dog daring the Prime Minister to give the money back:

NDP Leader Jack Layton joined the Liberals in attacking the government and its budget cuts.

"This government has a $13-billion surplus, and they cut funding for literacy. Two-billion dollars for fighter jets in Afghanistan, and they cut funding for women's programs. Over a billion dollars going to their friends in the big oil and gas companies, and what do they do? They cut funding for aboriginals and young people. Total arrogance. No consultation. No debate," Mr. Layton said.

Waaaaahhhhhhh!

I wrote the other day about the car dealership in Ohio that wanted to run a Jihad ad to sell cars.

Well, they caved.

An official with Dennis Mitsubishi told CAIR-Ohio that the dealership has issued an apology for any misunderstanding caused by "an attempt at humor that fell short."

In a statement, Dennis Mitsubishi owner Keith Dennis said his company ultimately decided not to air the spots.

"The public reaction to this story has been significant," Dennis said in the statement. "A large number of people have contacted us. Lots of them have seen the humor we were trying to convey, but far too many were clearly bothered by it. This was simply an attempt at humor that fell short.

Dhimmi.

From Pakistan:

A twelve-year-old girl was stripped and made to stand in public in a village near Shehr Sultan, Muzaffargarh, by her neighbours to teach her a lesson for the sin she never committed.

The motive in this case is identical to that of Meerwala - the suspicion of girl's brother having illicit relations with a woman of the rival group.

Though the area people, union council nazim and Muzaffargarh district nazim confirmed that such an incident had taken place in Mauza Kapahi Kharwala on Friday, police said the stripping issue had been concocted by the girl's family in a bid to neutralize an FIR registered against them.

According to reports reaching here, Momina was alone in her house when four men from her neighbour Hazoor Bakhash's family took her to their house and tore her clothes apart.

Hearing girl's cries, villagers gathered in the courtyard of Hazoor Bakhsh's house but no-one dared to save the girl who stood naked. When her brothers Ghulam Nazuk and Mureed Hussain came to her rescue, they were beaten by armed men from Hazoor's family.

Mike the Greek has an excellent rundown of the Liberanos comedy tour:

"As he left the conference, Volpe was heckled by two protesters dressed as ghosts, one carrying a sign that read "Volpe has spirits."

OK, the news room is starting to get busy, but stop the presses ...

"While one ghost led a chase through downtown Ottawa, Volpe's 'Ghostbusters' later claimed the man was Richard Zussman, a Bob Rae supporter."

So now Bob Rae supporters are dressing up like ghosts and chasing Joe Volpe down the street in Ottawa. But Volpe has an idea of why all these bad things keep happening to him....

It gets better and better. I thought the comedy ended with the Gomery wrap-up, but this is truly priceless.

One of Germany's leading opera houses, Deutsche Oper Berlin, announced Monday that it was cancelling a controversial production because of the likelihood that it might offend Muslims. The original opera, Idomeneo by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, makes no reference to Islam, but director Hans Neuenfels introduced a scene to his production that depicts the decapitated heads of the Prophet Mohammed, Jesus Christ, the Buddha and the Greek god Poseidon.

We are so afraid of the followers of this false prophet and his comic book deity that we'll silence newspapers, pooh-pooh cartoons, stifle art - how long before our women are covered from head to toe lest we offend these animals?

Hat tip LGF.

Steve's dog got hit by a car last night and is intensive care. She's just a tiny little thing. She'll be in my thoughts this evening.

Good luck Steve and Zoe. Let me know about Kaloo as soon as you can.

Egypt bans European papers for comments on Islam

Egypt has banned editions of two French and German newspapers, Le Figaro and the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, because of articles deemed insulting to Islam, the state news agency MENA said on Sunday.

"They published articles which disparaged Islam and claimed that the Islamic religion was spread by the sword and that the prophet ... was the prophet of evil," it added.

The edition of the German newspaper, dated September 16, contains an article by German historian Egon Flaig looking at how the Prophet Mohammad, the founder of Islam, was a successful military leader during his lifetime.

Flaig presents other arguments supporting the view that Islam has had a violent history.

Nothing was mentioned about Islam's violent present.

But asking the moderates and extremists of the Muslim world to duke it out over who gets to pick a leader is asking for trouble, since in the absence of sufficient infidels, the extremists often kill the moderates.

In my view, the safest and most entertaining way to hold a search for an Islamic leader is to do it on television.

Just imagine: The show, modeled after Survivor, would be hosted by British comedic genius Sacha Baron Cohen of Ali G and Borat fame -- who also, incidentally, is a Jew.

Any attempts on the host's life would result in immediate disqualification.

File that one away in the So crazy, it just might work category...

Or Toronto or Dearborn. Not today, of course. Not even next year. But soon. Before I retire. Before I even consider it.

Islamist fighters opened fire in the Somali port city of Kismayo on Monday toward residents burning tires, throwing stones and chanting to protest against the Islamist takeover of their city hours before.

A 13-year-old boy was shot dead while protesting, while two other people were injured, witnesses said, amid sketchy reports from Somalia’s third largest city.

"We have been taken over by extremists, the Islamic courts have taken us by force, and now they are firing at us," protester Dahabo Dirie said amid screams and gunshots.

Will you stand by and let it come to this in our own countries, despite the warnings you have been given in the last 35 years - or even the last 5 years, which is when most of us woke up? Will you let the Islamists continue to infiltrate our countries, becoming stronger and more plentiful, as we bow and scrape and give in to their demands in an effort to secure "peace"?

That kind of peace is Dhimmitude, and I don't want it.

It's Somalia today. It's your 13 year old tomorrow.

I will be guest blogging over at The American Princess while EM does that whole work/school/life balance thing that young women are taught is possible.

Head on over there - it will be all original (i.e. not cross-posted) content.

While I wouldn't exactly say this is done in the best taste, it certainly is amusing, and gets full marks for originality.

A car dealership's tongue-in-cheek radio advertisement declaring "a jihad on the automotive market" will not be changed, the company said, despite drawing sharp criticism that the ad's content is offensive.

Several stations rejected the spot from Dennis Mitsubishi, which boasts that sales representatives wearing "burqas" - head- to-toe traditional dress for Islamic women - will sell vehicles that can "comfortably seat 12 jihadists in the back."

The usual assholes (CAIR) are complaining about stereotyping blah blah and saying that the ads aren't funny (which I totally disagree with, if the above is anything to go by).

"Our prices are lower than the evildoers' every day. Just ask the pope!" the ad says. "Friday is fatwa Friday, with free rubber swords for the kiddies."

Somebody is finally coming out and hitting that ridiculous "religion" where it really hurt - its pride.

"This is one where we feel we're taking a bull's-eye on terrorists," Masterson said. "After all the nonsense that the terrorists put the public through, they're fair game."

Absolutely.

However, in the interest of safety, I really hope their fire insurance covers acts of false gods.

Just the Religion of Peace(tm) going about its daily business.

A young Pakistani woman has been kidnapped, raped and beaten by a gang of high-caste villagers because her uncle eloped with one of their relatives. She was chosen for punishment because she had recently gained a degree and was the pride of her low-caste family.

Ghazala Shaheen, 24, and her mother Mumtaz were abducted last month by men dressed in police uniforms from their home near Multan in southern Punjab.

This is just Islam being Islam in its purest form, with the tribal Sharia courts deciding whose life is worth living and whose is not.

Last week human rights campaigners said Shaheen was unlikely to see her attackers brought to justice because President Pervez Musharraf had failed in an attempt to repeal the Hudood Ordinance, which requires four male Muslim witnesses to support a rape charge. If the accused is acquitted, the victim becomes liable to prosecution for adultery.

While Musharraf was out of the country earlier this month, a committee of hardline Islamic scholars neutered his bill to protect women's rights which would have repealed the Hudood Ordinance. The scholars claimed the bill was un-Islamic because it "encouraged adultery".

The usual apologists and appeasers will cry out when I remind you that Islam is a religion of hatred, intolerance, sex and death. Women and children are nothing but sex objects and chattel to the men in pajamas who rule with their death-cult bible - the Koran. Go ahead. Scream that I am a bigot. Scream that I must be silenced. Maybe send a bunch of bearded bastards to my house to show me what the Religion of Peace(tm) does to mouthy women. I don't care at this point. All I care about is ridding the world first of its blinders that keep us bound and gagged, unable to speak out, and then ridding it of the danger that masks itself as legitimate religion.

They were moved between isolated desert houses at first. As night fell on the third day, Shaheen's mother was taken to another location and she was left alone with one of the gang members.

"This man sat next to me. A moment later he was on to me. He hit me with his gun on my back and on my body and raped me. I was crying and weeping. But he did not listen, and he repeated it," she said.

"In the morning, I was told to stand up and accompany this man. I was in pain. I could barely walk. Finally we reached a big house with Nazar Mirani (the gang leader) sitting outside. The man who had raped me told Nazar that he had done what he wanted with me and now it was his turn. They took me to a nearby cotton field and Nazar Mirani raped me."

This is Islam. This is what we're protecting every time our leaders - including the Pope - tell us how much respect they have for the Islamic faith. This is what we're encouraging when the Canadian Federation of Students launches a task force to study Islamophobia, and banish it from our Universities and Colleges. This is what we're inviting into our homes and our schools. To sit side by side with our daughters. This is what we're allowing to happen to our own countries when we create prayer rooms in call centres, but don't let the Jewish employees leave early on Fridays; when we remove the words Merry Christmas from public spaces; when we use the word "multicultural" as a euphemism for no white Christians, please.

So call me what you want. Write me up in the National Post again. Haul me in front of a kangaroo court. Hate and defile me, because its safer than seeing the truth, and directing your anger appropriately.

From the Sun:

And even Jack Layton is invited. Every Torontonian who cares is. No politics. We've had all we need of that. Just support for our men and women fighting for freedom.

The only requirement (and even that is optional) is to wear something red to send a message to our soldiers in Afghanistan that Canada's largest city cares. All of us. Left, right, centre. Canadians.

The momentum began yesterday in Ottawa as thousands flocked to Parliament Hill in the first pro-troop rally. Some estimates had it at 10,000. I am so proud. I knew a lot of people were solidly behind our fighting men and women.

It doesn't have to be as big, but I am hoping we can do something like that here. A lot of people have told me they didn't hear about the rally in Ottawa until my last column and they would like to show their support too.

Now many of you know I couldn't organize a drunk-up in a distillery, so if somebody wants to help do this in a bigger way, e-mail me and we'll do it.

Nothing fancy. We're just going to do our part.

Big or small, either way, I will be at Yonge-Dundas Square between noon and 1:30 p.m. next Friday wearing red and white and saying thank-you to the service men and women in Afghanistan. And thank you to those who have already died. Join me.

I'll be there. Will you?

The Ladies of the Cotillion have been emailing back and forth about the rumored death of Bin Laden. Carol from The Median Sib turned a few of our quotes into a cheesy little poem:

A Cotillion Ode to Osama Bin Laden

The newspaper reported that OBL might be dead
Typhoid took him - that's what they said.
The Cotillion ladies are here to say
Typhoid is much too easy a way

Maybe he's not dead - just terribly sick
Who will rid the world of the murderous prick?
Many volunteer - just take a number
To help OBL take a permanent slumber

With many a pigskin covered bat
And bullets dipped in bacon fat
The Cotillion ladies can take him on
We want to see him beg and moan

Lowly women taking on the big bad bendover
We'll make him beg - like a good dog, Rover
With all his illnesses and ailments plenty
His conscience, soul and integrity – all empty

The "religion of peace" is a farce and we know it
OBL was always proud to show it
So we'll gladly and proudly send him to hell
And then we'll ring the glory bell

Romeocat sent me this important historical tidbit yesterday:

We should remember the origins, history and tradition of the uniforms worn with pride by militaries around the world.

For example, a long time ago, Britain and France were at war. During one battle, the French captured an English colonel. Taking him to their headquarters, the French general began to question him.

Finally, as an afterthought, the French general asked, "Why do you English officers all wear red coats? Don't you know the red material makes you easier targets for us to shoot at?"

In his bland English way, the colonel informed the general that the reason English officers wear red coats is so that if they are shot, the blood won't show and the men they are leading won't panic.

And that is why, from that day to this, all French Army officers wear brown pants.

Nor does one inherit his 72 heavenly virgins. Typhoid is just... a disease (kind of like Islam).

A French regional newspaper quoted a French secret service report on Saturday as saying that Saudi Arabia is convinced that al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden died of typhoid in Pakistan last month.

We're waiting for the confirmation before we begin dancing in the streets with our Kalashnikovs and throwing candy to the children.

Abolish Islam

Haroon Siddiqui: Give Arar a government job...

Article 301 of the Turkish penal code makes it a crime to insult "Turkishness".

Other retarded laws can be found here.

Steve Janke did a great post on tolerance yesterday, and I'm just getting to it now. Tolerance is simply a path to a destination - it should not be treated as the destination itself:

Of course, for liberals, tolerance is the goal. Once tolerance is achieved, anything that follows is a separate problem. That is convenient, because all that is required to be tolerant is to do nothing. Moreover, tolerance interpreted this way is a shield against moral responsibility for the consequences.

How does this apply to this situation? I fear that if the Pope goes too far along this apologetic path, he will send the message that the Catholic Church is ready to tolerate far too much from the mobs of Islam. Burned churches, a murdered nun -- and the response from the Church is an apology and a promise to be more circumspect in future speeches. How can we tolerate that sort of violence? The intolerance comes from the other side, from the Islamists and their followers.

A girl died after an arson attack on her home by men who disapproved of a relationship her brother was having with a teenager, a court has heard.
Alisha Begum, six, died after the fire in March 2006 in Aston, Birmingham.

Hussain Ahmed, 26, of Harborne, and Daryll Tuzzio, 18, from Perry Barr deny murder and the attempted murder of nine of Alisha's relatives.

Abdul Hamid, 21, had started a relationship with Ahmed's 15-year-old sister Meherun Khanum, the court heard.

Alisha, the youngest of 12 children in her Bangladeshi family, became the innocent victim of an attempt to warn her brother off seeing the teenager, prosecutors told Birmingham Crown Court.

Once and for all, people must understand that Islam is not a civilized religion, and cannot live alongside us. Theirs is a world that is centuries old, still living in barbarism. They have no place here among us. They must either grow up and get with the times, or they must go.

Hi, I'm Mr. Right.

Or at least, I was. For several weeks previously and many odd nights beforehand, I've been Mr. Idiot-who-Got It-WRONG. Settle down, you know you're in for a long haul when it's me "blogging".

From the very first, it vaguely annoyed me. I wanted to finish that chapter, scene, mission, game, always something. Something that would make me stay up that little bit longer, usually too late as it was. But it also comforted me immensely, knowing that there was someoneone there, waiting for me when I finally did give it up and surrendered to the need for sleep.

For the first time, there was someone there. Someone who wanted - who was waiting for - me, bizarre as that concept was. Not someone who wanted the through-the-day me, the public persona me, the person I put on to got out. They were waiting for the real me that I showed her during six rollercoaster months in Montreal.

And I loved it, though I doubt I told her so.

I was just married after being unreservedly single, and I was used to my single ways and freedoms. Also, I was working all the hours I could while she couldn't work. I had no free time as it was, immediately switching from my "please myself" ways to "someone's depending on you" mode. She was horribly lonely, a stranger in a strange land, unable to do anything and knowing no one, with a five-hour time difference to anyone she did know.

I was there for her, all through those many long, depressing months, though towards the end I was reaching breaking point. Then, she was working and I had some of that "alone time" back. I could play for a few hours then sincerely devote my time to her without resentment. It was perfect. My weird shifts gave me plenty of free time to glut myself on and prepare and cook her dinner so it was ready for her as she stepped through the door from her normal 9-5, and listen to her rants (of which there were many) on the trials of the day.

As the years have rolled past, and the job hours finally normalised with a "real" job, my need and desire for free time has waned, but only slightly. I still wanted that hour or two of "alone" every day or so. The calls still came, and I always went... though it started taking longer and longer. I was being guilted into going, my own conscience perhaps unsuprisingly lacking when it came to my own wants.

Then one day, they stopped. To start with, I was secretly pleased. She's stopped pestering me, was the thought. I can go to bed only when my eyes are falling out of my head and tomorrow will suck for getting up so early.

Poor, foolish man. We all have our delusions.

Another, not-much-later day, I noticed her not noticing me. Oh, was I ever offended. I had noticed her being short-tempered the past couple of days, bitching at me without any reason to.

Ignorance is bliss.

I called her on it, and got it rapidly flung back in my face. This was a trait I had encountered on numerous occasions. I'd get pissed at her treatment of me for what were minor, trifiling things, call her on it, and she'd neatly turn them back on me with her feeling abandoned or ill-treated. Until that day, I had assumed it was just mind-tricks designed to get her own way, and I resented her for it, even though my genuine concern for her emotional well-being caused me to dismiss my own minor problems for her major ones.

On that day, I finally discovered the missing piece: She'd only get pissed at me when I'd pissed her off for a long time. She's weird that way. She doesn't get pissed at or pissy with me for no reason. It'll be no reason Mr. Oblivious is aware of, but it'll be there. I'm not Mr. Subtle. As long as there's no fights, there's no problems. I need an explosion to realise something's wrong and I'd been getting it right for so long now that I'd become complacent.

Oh, boy. A revelation.

She told me,

"Oh, you can come to bed whenever you like. I just don't care now."

Spoken in anger you know there's something to work with, apologies to be make, happy "kissy-kissy make-up" to be had. Harsher words than that were said, but spoken without heat, just as fact. Talk about a hole in your heart. That hurt. Perhaps almost as much as being ignored night after night for weeks in favour of a computer and whatever make-believe world I was inhabiting, of having to be literally dragged away from it—and feeling annoyed by this, to boot!

"Love don't live here anymore." "She stopped loving him that day." Refrains from songs went though my head, as my trivia-obsessed mind was wont to do in times of crisis. It came to a head that day. I hadn't realised the feeling behind that playful "Aaaaaandy..." could wither and die, or how much I'd miss that feeling once it was no longer there - as bone-deep stupid as that may seem. But it's true. I hadn't realised just how deeply I'd hurt her by this. I got an inkling that day, but I decided to read her blog today on an unrelated matter, instead of just her just reading out what she wanted me to hear. All the stuff she'd usually tell me, she's telling you. I've heard all this before, but not this time round. We did clear it up that day with me realising my mistake and things are on the mend, but boy, have I ever missed a lot. That's self-absorption for you.

I suck. When I get back to being Mr. Right, I'll let you know.

Baby, I'm sorry, and I love you. I'm going to make it worth your while to care again.

Beth posted the most fantastic tribute to the military. I wish I were at home right now where I could FTP part of it, but I can't.

Please go have a look.

Normally I get the Islamotards with their desert educations. This one sounds capable of having a conversation if they could get over themselves:

Dear "right"girl:

Your hatred and ignorance astounds me. You are an individual who lives in a priviledged society with access to vast amounts of literature concerning the situation between Hezbollah and Israel, and you are old enough to know better.

Israel is occupying palestinian land. They have bulldozed palestinian houses and killed many more innocent Palestinians than Palestinians have killed Israelis. Israel, using U.S. military equipment (jets, tanks, missles etc etc) has been repressing palestinians for decades. Hezbollah, is merely an answer to this abuse. Maybe you should read your history books before spouting off a bunch of rightwing zionist propaganda that makes you sound like a zionist pseudo Anne Coulter. You are giving jews everywhere a bad name. Remember the Holocaust? Jews acting like Nazis definitely won't curb hatred of Jews anywhere.

Best Wishes in Educating Yourself w/ Regard to the Subject Matter you are Preaching,

Your Friend,


nischt

I especially like the line about remembering the Holocaust. Was that a threat?Discuss.

Update: Nope, it's retarded.

Ignore my previous email, as I had assumed you were a Canadian before:

I had just noticed your Shitty american Flag picture at the top. That explains a lot. Being a Canadian and previously living on the border of the US and Canada, I know from experience that the average american's intelligence usually only amounts to the news channel that they watch they most. Looking at your webpage, I can tell that you probably watch Fox News quite a bit. This completely explains your ignorance of political issues. I don't know if the majority of US citizens realize that the rest of the living world hates them and laughs at how ignorant the general US population is towards what is going on in their own country, and the rest of the world. But anyway, have fun in your GOP Pseudo-christian Totalitarian police state. I heard that they are teaching creationism as a "science" in some states now? HAHAHAHAHAHA

You americans are so crazy...

P.S. Have you ever looked at the Map of north america? Canada looks like it is fucking the US, and Southern Ontario (Where I live) is the Penis.

P.P.S Did you crazy americans ever learn in school about how Canadians/British burned down the White House in the war of 1812?

"nischt" can be reached at nischt@gmail.com if you want to debate American vs. Canadian history.

Ok, not a great title, but I've been memed again. This one's good, too. Much better than the unpaid bills in my bag. She wants me to list seven songs I'm really into right now.

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now. Post these instructions your site along with your seven (for those of you who, like me can't count, that's all the fingers on one hand, plus two more) songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they're listening to.

Only seven, Cass? Ok, I'll try to pare it down.

1. As Long As You're Mine - from the Wicked Broadway soundtrack

Every moment, as long as you're mine
I wake up my body
And make up for lost time
Say there's no future for us as a pair?
And though I may know, I don't care
Just for this moment

2. I'm A Fool to Want You - Frank Sinatra (his immortal torch song for Ava Gardner, she of the lovely rack)

Time and time again I said I'd leave you
Time and time again I went away
Then would come the time when I would need you
And once again these words I'd have to say

Take me back, I love you
Pity me, I need you
I know it's wrong, it must be wrong
But right or wrong I can't get along
Without you

3. Lay Lady Lay - Bob Dylan (I never used to like this song very much, but it has grown on me)

Why wait any longer for the world to begin
You can have your cake and eat it too
Why wait any longer for the one you love
When he's standing in front of you

4. Do What You Gotta Do - Nina Simone (I just downloaded a ton of Nina Simone, and fell in love with this song, which I'd never heard before)

I guess they got no way to know
I've had my eyes wide open from the start
And man you've never lied to me
And the part of you they'll never see
Is the part you've shown to me

5. Hit - The Sugarcubes (I love to dance to this. Bjork was cool before she was wearing waterfowl)

This wasn't supposed to happen
I was happy by myself
Accidentally you seduced me
I'm in love - again

I lie in my bed
Totally still
My eyes wide open
I'm in rapture
I don't believe this
I'm in love!

This wasn't supposed to happen
I've been hit with your charm
How could you do this to me?

6. Light as the Breeze - Leonard Cohen (very high on my list of songs I would like to make love while listening to)

Then she dances so graceful
and your heart's hard and hateful
and she's naked
but that's just a tease.
And you turn in disgust
from your hatred and from your love
and she comes to you
light as the breeze.

O baby I waited
so long for your kiss
for something to happen,
oh something like this.

There's blood on every bracelet
you can see it, you can taste it,
and it's Please baby
please baby please.
And she says, Drink deeply, pilgrim
but don't forget there's still a woman
beneath this
resplendent chemise.

So I knelt there at the delta,
at the alpha and the omega,
I knelt there like one who believes.
And the blessings come from heaven
and for something like a second
I'm cured and my heart
is at ease

7. Don't You Need - Melissa Etheridge (A perennial favorite. Great guitar. What do you mean we're at number 7 already?)

Don't you want to lay it down
And feel your skin against the ground
Don't you want to ride the storm
And then sleep inside the calm
Don you want to get that high
Don't you want to be satisfied
Well if you don't want it from me
Don't you need?

I tag no one.

Maybe this post should be titled "Growing Apart from Heather." Who knows? We report, you decide.

Those of you who have been paying attention over the years know that my best friend's name is Heather. What you might not realize is that she and I have not spoken in a year. Typically us, we've had yet another falling out. To her credit, she has put up with many years of not knowing which Wendy she would face on any given day: the heartbroken romantic, the promsicuous vixen, the angry anti-establishment psychopath, the tightly wound bomb waiting to go off, or the silent sullen unhappy child. She has met them all, held relationships with many of them, and nurtured some of them like pets or children. She has lived with us, alongside us. She has shared a bathroom with us, and when things were particularly tough, a bed. No one can be expected to juggle Wendys forever, and I do believe my dear Heather is out to pasture, hoping to live out the rest of her life like normal people do. Burnt out by the storm that is Wendy, and only 31 years of age. Thirty-one today. Happy Birthday, Heather.

We met at a hard time in both our lives: highschool. We came and went throughout each other's lives in the years that followed. We could tell we loved each other, because half the time we hated each other. She was there when my mother died. She wasn't there when my father died. But she was there for a lot of the hell that followed. Was I there for her? Possibly. Nacissistic navel gazer that I am, I wouldn't have noticed. I hope I was. I know I played her understudy to her toughest audience on and off for a few years. The stand in. Hopefully that took some of the burden off her shoulders. But anger made us miss each other's weddings. We are at polar opposites on our views of the world. I have thrown myself into the world of politics and news - the world she was supposed to inhabit - and she has shut the door on the evil within man. I am right wing. She went to Concordia, ferchrissakes! I've been around blocks she's been too scared to walk down. And yet I know she's stronger than me, in that way women of a certain century are strong, with silence and stubborn innocence.

The relationships she has nursed me through: the loss of my first love (and the loss of the Cottage, which was greater). Convincing me that my second love wasn't what I really wanted, though he was something important, and I should hang onto him. Marrying me off to the one who truly was my second, who she introduced me to. The various in-betweeners; one-night stands, strangers, friends with benefits, and clients. When she learned what I was doing, and poohpoohed it, she learned that it truly was part of my nature to be.. shall we say.. entrepreneurial... and stoically stood by.

So tally that up: We've spent 50% of our friendship, including right now, not speaking. We've missed deaths. We've missed weddings. We have fought so hugely and bitterly that innocent bystanders have been blinded by it.

How can I call that a friendship? And how can I call her my best friend??

Because she is. Pure and simple. There are some things you just know about a person, and about their place in your life. We may never speak again (chances are very strong that we won't, and I am finally at peace with that after so long), but in the grand scheme of friendship, she was - is - the very best.

I know in my NyQuil haze I have not done justice to the subject of Heather, especially when you consider the veritable tomes I've written on the subject. But the funny thing is that when the day comes that my body is cold, all the finger sandwiches are eaten, the last of the scotch has been had, and I am just dust on a hillside far from here, it is to Heather that those tomes will go. She will be the one to crack their spines, to know of everything she's missed in between, to guard the secrets and tell the tales. It is not to my beloved husband that the volumes will go, for he would not be able to rest when faced with the content. It is to Heather I will give my last, and my greatest gift. All the words I never spoke.

By Francesca Delbanco. I picked this little gem up at Chapters in the Bargain Books section. Which means it was a dud. It didn't move. I grabbed it because it was cheap ($4.99), and I needed some fiction. You can only read so many books about how the Arabs are going to kill us before you begin to cry out for some fluffy chick-lit.

The book is about Rosalie, a twenty-six year old wanna-be actor in New York, and her group of friends. Their lives are coming to that crucial point in the growing up process that involves friends going their seperate ways. I remember that point, and it comes to mind more sharply today because it is Heather's birthday. My Heather deserves her own post, so for now I will stick with the book.

At first I chewed through this book with typical chick-lit abandon. There was nothing to it, but the words flowed well. One's brain did not need to be plugged in and charged, the way it does for say, Tolstoy.

Until Rosalie met her friend's father... ok. Take away the icky factor of that relationship. Forget the squeaminess of your father banging your friend. Delbanco's description of the relationship was clear and calm. And accurate. When I read the line "But here is what I learned from my second stay in the climate-controlled splendor of the Pierre penthouse suite: unless you're vigilant, nakedness and intimacy can be damned hard to separate. And once someone has turned your body into hot molasses, look out." I woke up. I paid attention. And I love this book. It is written with far more insight than its young first-time author should have.

I'm glad I went bargain hunting.

Like a flower waiting to bloom
like a light bulb in a dark room
I am sitting here waiting for you to come home and turn me on
like the desert waiting for rain
like a school kid waiting for spring
I am sitting here waiting for you to come back home and turn me on

My poor heart, it's been so dark
since you've been gone
after all you're the one who turned me off
now you're the only one that can turn me back on
uh

my hi-fi's waiting for a new tune
and my glass is waiting for some fresh ice-cubes
I'm just sitting here waiting for you to come on
back home and turn me on.

I think it might be the flu. I can't remember ever throwing up or getting the cold sweats from a cold.

From a hangover, yes. Frequently. But not from a cold.

Fuck.

Last year, when my pal RTG left the blogshpere, many of her fans emailed me their best wishes that she would heal her wounds and return. I forwarded all these kind messages on to her.

But if you regularly email nuisance notes to someone like, say Kathy, so many that she has to block your IP from her inbox, the correct action is to get some professional help to stop doing it. The correct action is NOT to send the emails to me, instead.

Just sayin'.

In one of my past lives (the one where I was unemployed, freezing, and creating a butt groove on my couch in Edmonton) I read a book of letters between Anais Nin and Henry Miller. In the preface of the book was an excerpt from Nin's diary, dated July 23rd, 1932. It meant enough to me that I wrote it down (circa January 20, 2000), and I found it today while flipping through the pages of the Phantom Letters.

Henry is in my being for good even while I so wisely contemplate the end of our love. I still see the friendship lasting, the almost life-long tie. So it looks to me today - as if Henry is going to be a part of my life for many years, even if he is my lover for only a few months.

I remember who and what I was thinking about the day I wrote those words down. And yes, the man I was thinking of that day has continued to be a part of my life, and for that I am grateful. I will see him married in less than a month. It's a pity they don't all go that way, isn't it?

I first read Anais Nin's Delta of Venus back in 1997. I had read some Oprah-esque list of who had what books on their bookshelf, and Venus appealed to me. It should be a staple in any woman's nightstand, believe me. And now I'm trying to track down copies of her diaries, which are proving to be more difficult to find than they should be. Looks like I may have to order them. I want them because I am fascinated by her relationship with Henry Miller and his wife June. The film Henry & June was based on these diaries - though I never saw it. For a spell it always seemed to be on some PBS station, but I always caught it halfway through.

If she was so famous as a diarist, do you think she would blog today? Heh. Interesting thought. Imagine the woman who wrote erotica for a dollar a page sitting in front of a computer, telling us about her love affair with Henry Miller and his wife, and some RSS feed advising us that she'd updated.

One of my favorite lines is from The House of Incest:

I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness.

And this, which sums up more than you, my gentle readers, could ever know:

The moment I step into the cavern of my lies I drop into darkness, and see a mask which stares at me like the glance of a cross-eyed man; yet I am wrapped in lies which do not penetrate my soul, as if the lies I tell were like costumes.

LIES CREATE SOLITUDE.

And this, from Volume Four of the Diaries:

Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

And this, which is perfect in every way:

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.

The Religion of Peace(tm) has certainly (not) proved Pope Benedict wrong about their violent tendancies. So insulted were they about his quoting ancient text as to the violence of Mohammed's religion, that they went out and bombed churches and shot a nun.

Silly Pope. Don't you know that civilization isn't for Muslims?

Not that it should come as a surprise to anyone, but the Toronto International Film Festival has bestowed its highest honor on the film Death of a President, about the assassination of George W. Bush. In Toronto, such a subject should be part of the midnight screenings. After all, it's practically porn to the salivating moonbats of this little town at the Center of the Universe.

Somebody needs to stand back and take a look at their bigger picture...

The most extreme opinion was voiced by Hani Pahas in the London-based Arabic-language daily newspaper Al-Hayat, who wrote "the pope's comments may lead to war; we fear that the pope's statements may lead to a war that we, Muslims and Christians alike, are trying to prevent through dialogue between East and West.

I hardly know where to begin with this... ok, show me where Muslims are trying to avoid war through dialogue. C'mon, show me.

And saying that remarks calling Islam violent will spark war? You are ironically challenged, and if it weren't so scary, it would be damn funny.

"We want a personal apology (from the Pope). We feel that he has committed a grave error against us and that this mistake will only be removed through a personal apology," Muslim Brotherhood Deputy Leader Mohammed Habib told Reuters.

Yeah? And we're still waiting for an apology for the World Trade Center attacks - both of them! And the USS Cole. And the Pentagon. And Pennsylvania. And Madrid. And Bali. And the Embassy. And London. And... I'm sure I'm missing quite a few, but I just woke up from a nap, so please excuse my foggy memory. If you're waiting for an apology from the Pope, you waited too long. Pope John Paul II was the official apology guy, and he's dead. Meet the new boss... NOT the same as the old boss.

The current pope cloaks his words in the parables and quotes of his religion, as is fitting. I don't. So let me say it plainly: You are evil, and you must be stopped. And you WILL be stopped.

Out of sight, out of mind

or

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Today's quote of the day goes to my neighbor:

Did I perspicate well enough for you?

Baby, you always do.

Why are more people not talking about the fact that the judge on the Saddam Hussein genocide trial said:

"I will answer you: you are not a dictator, not a dictator, you were not a dictator."

That seems a little biased to me.

Smiling, and visibly pleased, Saddam took his seat and said "Thank you".

Mr Amiri, a Shiite, was a judge during Saddam's rule and is now the chief judge presiding over the Anfal trial, which has been hearing accounts from Kurds since it started last month.

I smell payoff.

A soccer game turned deadly when a bomb exploded, killing eight Iraqi men and wounding 13 civilians in Falluja, west of Baghdad, a police official said.

Flanked by spectators, young men from the city's northeastern Juraishi neighborhood had gathered for the match when the blast went off Thursday, the official said.

Although, come to think of it, there are British forces in the area, are there not? Hmmmmm......

Pope John Paul II (may he rest in peace) might have done the I'm Sorry, So Sorry world Tour, but that's just not Benedict's style. I hope he declines to retract his (very true) statements about the Religion of Peace. And yes, I'm well aware that it was not actually his statement, but a quote from 14th century Byzantine Emperor Manuel II Palaeologus.

The Pakistani national assembly, parliament's lower house, unanimously passed a resolution on Friday demanding the Pope retract his remarks "in the interest of harmony among different religions of the world".

"The derogatory remarks of the pope about the philosophy of jihad and Prophet Mohammed have injured sentiments across the Muslim world and pose the danger of spreading acrimony among the religions," the resolution said.

Pot and kettle. The only thing that spreads acrimony between Islam and other world religions is... Islam.

"If Jesus were here, he'd be a Muslim"

Um, no. Just no.

Veteran journalist and writer Oriana Fallaci, a former war correspondent best known for her uncompromising interviews and provocative stances, has died, Italian news reports said Friday. She was 76.

Fallaci, who was diagnosed with cancer years ago, died in a Florence hospital, the Italian agencies ANSA and Apcom said. The reports said she had been hospitalized for days.

May she find peace now. I seem to recall that she was an athiest. I hope that in death she has been proved wrong, and that Heaven is a place free from the Children of Allah.

More looniness from the Toronto Star letters page:

Our strict gun control failed us once again. Maybe the solution is to stop people from becoming criminals instead of fruitlessly trying to regulate inanimate objects. The Dawson tragedy was caused by a person who was bullied and excluded, much like the Columbine tragedy and probably others around the world. Maybe a society where everyone is free to grow up in his own image instead of having to fit the social mold forced on us by our schools and our governments will prevent bullying, social exclusion and ineffective policies.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kirill Stepanchuk, Waterloo, Ont.

While I agree that the stupid gun registry proved useless, I don't see how being nicer to the twistoid would have helped much. Lots of kids get bullied and picked on and excluded. Sometimes in cycles, sometimes throughout their school years. In nature, it would be a case of survival of the fittest. But then again, there's nothing natural about humans, is there? Anyway, tons of kids get picked on, but they don't grow up to kill people.

No amount of basketball would have saved that young girl from an psychotic kid in a trenchcoat.

On the way to the doctor this morning, I found myself humming part of a haunting tune by Jewel.

Then one day the rain fell
Thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew something was wrong
She went running to the orchard screaming
'No God! Don't take him from me!'
But by the time she got there she knew
He already had gone

She got to where he lay
Watercolored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming
'Damn you man, don't leave me!
With nothing left behind but
These cold paintings, these cold portraits
To remind me'

He said, 'Love I leave, but only a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life we created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little this world holds me still
My body may die now, but these paintings are real.'

With Democrats hoping to recapture the House in the midterm elections, Republicans have sought to distance themselves from an unpopular White House. On Tuesday, House Republican candidate Randy Graf won the GOP primary in Arizona's 8th Congressional District after running hard against illegal immigration.

I met Randy down at CPAC. All the best, Randy. Good luck in November!

I read two stories today that made me shake my head and wonder what the hell is wrong with people. Do they have nothing better to focus their minds on? Does the press have nothing better to focus our minds on??

First, is there a thing between Peter McKay and Condoleeza Rice? WTF? She is the most eligible bachelorette on the planet, she's almost old enough to be his mother, and she's American ferchissakes! What does she want with a Merry-timer when she has the whole world at her fingertips?

Foreign Affairs Minister Peter MacKay and Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice met in Nova Scotia this week to mark the fifth anniversary of the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks and discuss trade issues.

But any rehearsed political messages were overshadowed by the image of MacKay and Rice smiling and clasping hands while gazing into each other's eyes at the conclusion of a news conference on Tuesday.

Oh barf! As if the Conservatives aren't already accused of "getting into bed with the Bush administration", this is the last thing we need!

And then there's the tempest in a teapot of Sean Penn's oral fixation.

Ontario's smoke police have allowed actor Sean Penn off the hook.
But the Sutton Place Hotel isn't as lucky.

David McKeown, Toronto's chief medical officer of health [formerly of the Department of Redundancy Department - RG], told thestar.com late today that the Oscar-winning actor, who lit up a cigarette at the Sutton Place Hotel last Sunday during a news conference, will escape with a warning.

However, McKeown said the Sutton Place Hotel will be issued tickets totalling $605 for breaking the tough new Smoke-Free Ontario Act, which bans smoking in enclosed places in the province.

You see what kind of a backwards little cesspool Toronto is? Oh yes, come here and bring your Hollywood money, but whatever you do, be a puritan about it! I haven't seen such un-cosmopolitan behavior since... well, since Madonna almost got arrested for a racy scene in one of her shows... IN TORONTO! Or wait, maybe it was when Toronto's own Bare Naked Ladies weren't allowed to have the band name on any marquee, because it said BARE NAKED LADIES!!! This town pretends really hard to be a city, but it's a backwater. Always has been, and always will be.

"I think this incident has really drawn attention to the issue and the requirements under the act, and I hope it will be less likely that we will see charges in the future," McKeown said.

He also said he hopes Penn gets the message and complies the next time he is in town.

"I hope Mr. Penn comes back to Toronto and we look forward to his next visit and hope he kicks the habit," McKeown said.

Yeah, you'll be lucky.

Ho-ly shit. I swear the Sylvia Watson people are either trying to completely alienate their voters, or they are just insane stalkers. This morning I was attacked by a flock of them, Ms. Watson included, at the High Park subway station. In tow was the Liberal's personal press agents - the CBC. And on the way home, same thing, but without CBC (small mercy). I wonder if they hung out there all day.

I was canvassed on the street in front of my building (I don't know if that's even legal, since my building is a polling station). And in the time it took me to start up my computer, I had a lit drop at my door. PLEASE GO AWAY. There wasn't this much hullaballoo for the Federal election, which was a site more important than a provincial by-election.

Today I shall laugh. Even if it kills me.

Over the weekend I was tagged by Kateland of The Last Amazon to do the What's in Your Handbag? meme. Kateland must be crazy if she thinks I would have in my handbag the things a lady should have! But here goes.

Wallet with the usual crap - ID, cards, receipts, change, very little cash...

A letter I wrote to T on his 21st birthday, and never sent. I carry this letter (it is part of the Phantom Letters Collection that will be published posthumously) with me everywhere to remind me that my life is worth living. I wrote it in thanks for all he had done for me, and when things get tough, I take it out and re-read it.

Unpaid bills and final notices I don't want Mr. Right to see.

Condoms, on the off chance that I am presented with an opportunity to pay off some of those debts (call girls and Boy Scouts - always prepared for anything!).

A compact which contains two eye shadow combinations - one for day, one for night, and lipstick. I do not reapply makeup during the day, unless I have a hot date. I use the mirror after lunch to make sure I don't have food in my teeth.

A brush, given to me for the aforementioned hot dates, by a colleague who takes pity on my unmanageable hair.

Breath mints or gum (see earlier condom comment - just kidding!).

Cell phone. For arranging hot dates, and receiving calls from bill collectors.

The various passes I need to go to work - regular, evening/weekend security pass, and Metropass.

Keys.

Handgun (up to you to decide if I'm kidding).

MP3 player. Not an iPod, but my birthday is in 3 weeks... hint, hint. Batteries for MP3 player. Nothing a girl hates more than running out of battery power at a crucial moment (or a good song).

Currently reading Madame Bovary, and that's shoved in my bag, too.

Now, if you ever see me carrying a black leather briefcase, it contains the following:

Cat-o-nine-tails, riding crop, a collection of things that do and do not whirr, handcuffs, leather wrist cuffs with lock, dog collar and leash, chain belt, three types of corsets, lace skirt, optional garter attachments, red satin rope, and occasionally a pair of 4-inch heels.

Sorry Kateland, not very ladylike.

I will tag the Cotillion. I've always been curious about what they carry with them, other than their tiaras and flasks.

Jeff,

Are you sure you won't run for office? You're young, hip, urban, good-looking, and you have legible handwriting (as evidenced by the charming note you left me). I insist you run as a candidate for the Parkdale-High Park Conservative Party. And I assure you, I can be very persuasive....

Sincerely,

Wendy - VP, Parkdale-High Park Conservative EDA

... I would appreciate not having hurricanes named after so many of my aunties and uncles on my mother's side. I know that there are 20 to choose from (no, that's not a typo), but please go pick on someone else's family. I get unnerved when I hear that Frances or Florence are on their way. I really didn't like any of these people, and I don't want to have to entertain them or clean up their messes.

Thank you.

Wives and girlfriends of gang members in one of Colombia's most violent cities have called a sex ban in a bid to get their men to give up the gun.
Dozens of women are said to be taking part in what is being called the "strike of crossed legs", a move backed by the mayor of Pereira.

The city in Colombia's coffee-growing region reported 480 killings last year.

A city official said the idea came from a meeting of wives and girlfriends over the progress of a disarmament scheme.

Heh. I don't know that I'd be willing to go to such extremes just to save lives and bring peace, but what the heck. Good for them.

But what do you want to bet that rapes and sexual assaults increase? Just sayin'.

One of the girlfriends, Jennifer Bayer, told Britain's Guardian newspaper: "We want them to know that violence is not sexy."

Sounds like the title of a Margaret Atwood novel, doesn't it? Last night I dreamed of the Iranian. I haven't really thought about him in ages. Although I learned something from the experience (and therefore it was not all in vain), I am still filled with a sense of shame over it. I guess that's why I push it out of my mind when it comes up.

I give you total permission to blame the victim. I do.

I was 17. It was early summer, and a group of friends and I were planning on camping out for Metallica tickets. Some outdoor show at a racetrack in Quebec City. I don't remember much about the show, since I didn't wind up going. We showed up at the ticket center around 6pm, and there was no one there. So we decided to have a party in Tanya's backyard instead, and just head over to the ticket center around 5am. Off to the liquor store, where we stocked up on nearly $400 worth of mickeys. Tanya's boyfriend Jean had the Big Book of Shooters, so we were just going to mix all night. There was myself, Tan, Jean, a girl named Heather, and the Iranian. His name was Ahmad. I had never met him before that night. He spoke very little english, so we communicated mostly in French. I thought nothing of him, good or bad. He was just a friend of a friend.

And so we drank. And drank. And drank some more. Almost all the bottles were empty by 2am when we finally retired to the basement to catch a couple of hours sleep before heading out to line up for our tickets. It is a testament to my constitution at that age that the idea of throwing up all that liquor never even crossed my mind (if I did such a foolish thing today, I'd be in the hospital!). But I did pass out. Cold. Gone. Wendy had left the building.

I remember that Tanya had put on Disney's The Rescuers. I think I managed to get through the first fifteen minutes before I blacked out.

I don't know how long I was out for. I didn't check the time again till I got home. But I woke up because of a pain. A discomfort. It took a while for it to really register. And when I opened my eyes, I was looking at the Iranian. He was naked. And he was inside me. I didn't scream - not right away. Instead I just looked at him, a little quizzically. I couldn't believe he had the effrontery to get naked, pull my jeans down, and shove his Iranian dick in me. What gall! And then it dawned on me through my haze - I was being raped.

With a Bronx Cheer, I threw him off me. He rolled off the couch and into a sleeping bag I had been using, leaving me exposed from the waist down. I didn't waste time trying to cover myself. I kicked my jeans off the ankle they were still dangling from, and began striking downward with my heels. Over and over I kicked the sack of shit at my feet, and occasionally heard the crunch of bones breaking. Must have been his ribs. I stomped, and he cried out. The others woke up.

Tanya scrambled over to me, trying to calm me. Her parents, who had been asleep upstairs, came down to the basement. By now I had another blanket covering my nether regions. Tanya told them I'd had a nightmare. I had grown up with these people - they were like a second family. They had been dealing with my night terrors my whole life. And I didn't argue with Tanya's assumption. Stupid code of teenagers: don't rat.

Of course, Tanya wasn't lying. She had no idea what was actually happening. No one noticed that Ahmad had disappeared. He was still rolled up at my feet, and couldn't be seen. And I kept slamming him with my heels. His glasses broke under my feet.

Jean figured it out. He threw himself against me, knocking me off the couch and onto the floor where he pinned me down. Pinned down, half naked. If he thought that was going to calm me, he had another thing coming.

And then he said he didn't mean it

What the fuck? He didn't mean it? He didn't mean to take off all his clothes and fuck a complete stranger who was passed out on a couch? Angry, I have the strength of ten men. Tanya's father was perpetually working on the house, and there was always carpentry debris lying around. I reached for the closest weapon - a 2"x6" piece of lumber. And I swung. And I heard Jean's shoulder come out of its socket. and I ran.

Up to the kitchen. I grabbed a serrated knife from the counter - the sharp one we'd used on baguette for our little booze picnic that evening. I flew back down the stairs. The Iranian was now standing, clutching his chest. I threw my weight against him, knocking him to the floor. I raised the knife. I aimed for his neck. I was going to kill him.

And then suddenly, it was Tanya's flesh beneath the knife. She was trying to wrest it away from me, and her hand caught the blade. My oldest friend on earth, and I sliced open the tender web between her thumb and forefinger. Her blood stopped me cold. She looked at me. She wasn't scared of me. She wasn't angry that I'd cut her. She looked at me with concern, love, and worry. Worry for me, not for her. Not for the Iranian. I dropped the knife and looked away. I stood up. The Iranian stood, threw on his boxers, grabbed his clothes, and hobbled out at quickly as he could.

I put my jeans back on. I got in my car. And I left. Still drunk, I drove the 5 blocks back home. I could have walked it, but I wanted the safety and protection of my car. And I wanted its sheer killing power, on the off chance that the Naked Iranian was in my path. Lucky for him, he was not. It was 7am when I fell into bed that morning. I never did get my Metallica tickets. Funny, the band lost its appeal after that...

I never forgave Jean for his remark about Ahmad not meaning it. And I never forgave myself for putting myself in such a stupid situation in the first place. But I did learn one very valuable lesson I've taken with me throughout the rest of my years:

Never drink with anyone you wouldn't sleep with if you were sober.

A little brandy to wash it down with. Smoooooooth.....

All Mine - Portishead

From that cloud, number nine,
Danger starts the sharp incline,
And such sad regrets,
Oh as those starry skies,
As they swiftly fall.

Fade Into You - Mazzy Star

I want to hold the hand inside you
I want to take a breath thats true
I look to you and I see nothing
I look to you to see the truth
You live your life
You go in shadows
Youll come apart and youll go black
Some kind of night into your darkness
Colors your eyes with whats not there.

Waltz for a Night - Julie Delpy

You were for me that night
Everything I always dreamt of in life
But now you're gone
You are far gone
All the way to your island of rain

It was for you just a one night thing
But you were much more to me
Just so you know

Autumn Leaves - Nat King Cole

Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

I'll Be Seeing You - Frank Sinatra & Tommy Dorsey

I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you

Last Day of Our Aquaintance - Sinead O'Connor

This is the last day of our acquaintance
I will meet you later in somebody's office
I'll talk but you won't listen to me
I know what your answer will be
I know you don't love me anymore

Neither One of Us (wants to be the first to say goodbye) - Gladys Knight

It's sad to think we're not gonna be here
And it's gotten to the point
Where we just can't fake it
For some ungodly reason
We just won't let it be

Not Trying to Forget You Anymore - Willie Nelson

You were someone who brought happiness into my life
and it did not last forever but that's all right
we were always more than lovers and I'm still your friend
And if I had the chance I'd do it all again

So I'm not trying to forget you anymore
I got back into remembering all the love we had before
And the best day of my life was still when you walked through my door
so I'm not trying to forget you anymore

Son of a Preacher Man - Dusty Springfield

Being good isn't always easy,
No matter how hard I tried,
When he started sweet talking to me,
he'd come tell me everything is alright,
he'd kiss and tell me everything is alright,
Can I get away again tonight?

Lady Sings the Blues - Billie Holiday

Lady sings the blues
She tells her side
Nothing to hide
Now the world will now
Just what the blues is all about
The blues aint nothing but a pain in your heart
When you get a bad start
When you and your man have to part

Deathly - Aimee Mann

Now that Ive met you
Would you object to
Never seeing each other again
Cause I cant afford to
Climb aboard you
No ones got that much ego to spend

So dont work your stuff
Because Ive got troubles enough
No, dont pick on me
When one act of kindness could be
Deathly

I was at the pinnacle of happiness, which is a precarious place to be. T was spending almost every night with me in the relative safety and comfort of my orphan's abode. His parents were away in London for all of September, and he was free to come and go as he pleased.

Oh, how they despised me, his parents did! I was Eve with a bushel of apples, as far as they were concerned. Who knows? They were probably right. But they were away, and the mice were free to play. And play we did.

Nothing lasts forever, but at that time, the end was far enough away so as not to register at all. Pure joy was a feeling I was unaccustomed to, and sadly the novelty of it never had a chance to wear off.

Just when I thought it was safe to leave the house again, and that September 11th had passed us by once more, I attended Quelques jours en Septembre at the Toronto International Film Festival this evening. It spans the timeframe of September 5-11th 2001, in Paris and Venice.

Juliette Binoche is lovely as ever, and appeared onstage at the Ryerson Theatre. She has colored her hair blond, which was a bad choice, but at least it was dark in the film.

I had braced myself for another "September 11th" movie, and as the film progressed, I expected it to turn into some kind of conspiracy movie. It was neither. It was just a good story of an unusual family with a mysterious patriarch.

Ne me quitte pas

Ne me quitte pas
Il faut oublier
Tout peut s'oublier
Qui s'enfuit deja
Oublier le temps
Des malentendus
Et le temps perdu
A savoir comment
Oublier ces heures
Qui tuaient parfois
A coups de pourquoi
Le coeur du bonheur

Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

Moi je t'offrirai
Des perles de pluie
Venues de pays
Op il ne pleut pas
Je creuserai la terre
Jusqu'apres ma mort
Pour couvrir ton corps
D'or et de lumiere
Je ferai un domaine
Ou l'amour sera roi
Ou l'amour sera loi
Ou tu seras reine

Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

Je t'inventerai
Des mots insenses
Que tu comprendras
Je te parlerai
De ces amants-la
Qui ont vu deux fois
Leurs coeurs s'embraser
Je te raconterai
L'histoire de ce roi
Mort de n'avoir pas
Pu te rencontrer

Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

On a vu souvent
Rejaillir le feu
De l'ancien volcan
Qu'on croyait trop vieux
Il est para t-il
Des terres brulees
Donnant plus de ble
Qu'un meilleur avril
Et quand vient le soir
Pour qu'un ciel flamboie
Le rouge et le noir
Ne s'epousent-ils pas

Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

Ne me quitte pas
Je ne vais plus pleurer
Je ne vais plus parler
Je me cacherai la
A te regarder
Danser et sourire
Et a t'ecouter
Chanter et puis rire
Laisse-moi devenir
L'ombre de ton ombre
L'ombre de ta main
L'ombre de ton chien

Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

That's enough for this year. I have sat vigil at this keyboard for days, and I can bear no more. Last night I said a rosary before falling asleep. I shall do another tonight.

RightGirl is closing the book on Chapter 5 of the September 11th tragedy. For the next 364 days I shall go back to telling you about the kinds of people who commit these murderous acts.

Goodnight, and thanks for keeping vigil with me on this 5th anniversary.

Ken Basnicki was a Toronto man, a husband, and a father of two. He was Financial Marketing Director for BEA Systems. In New York for a business meeting, he was last seen on the 106th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Some remains have been recovered. There is a grave in Collingwood, Ontario, at St. Mary's Cemetery. He was one of 24 Canadians killed on September 11, 2001, by Al Qaeda terrorists.

Those are the facts. But they don't really tell us much about the man, do they? The facts don't tell us that he loved his Harley. They don't tell us that the reason his memorial is in Collingwood is because that's where he built his dream home for he and his wife Maureen. They don't tell us that, even though he was 48 years old, he was a fanatical snowborder! He also golfed and skied.

The facts tell us that he had a son, Brennan, and a daughter, Erica. They don't tell us how much he cared about them, and how they felt in the wake of his death. The facts don't tell us of his dreams cut short, or of their nightmares.

Maureen and Erica are currently petitioning the Canadian government to pass legislation allowing victims of terrorism to sue the countries and organizations involved in terror, in order to financially cripple them. I wish these brave ladies well.

Ken's last contact with this world was in a cellphone call to his mother at 8:55 am, just 9 minutes after the plane struck the tower, to tell her that the place was full of smoke and he didn't think he'd find a way out.

Update - 10:04am, September 11th, 2006: Erica Basnicki's tribute to her father in Today's Sun.

It was there that I realized that I can't explain the significance of the fifth anniversary of 9/11, because the anniversary itself isn't significant. It doesn't matter whether it's the fifth, 12th or 402nd anniversary - five is just a number.

If you want significant numbers, here are just a few: 2,996 people were killed on 9/11, and only 174 bodies were found intact. Most of the people who died were young, between 35 and 39 years old. There are 193 countries in the world and 115 of them lost citizens that day, and the fires at Ground Zero burned for 99 days after the attacks.

Most significant of all, Canada lost 24 citizens that day.

One of them was my dad.

I found this via Cigars, Donuts & Coffee.

People, remember this name: ehostpros

They have shut down the 2996 site because of high traffic. These are not the kinds of people you want hosting your site. Remember how nice Captain Ed's hosts were when he broke the Canadian publication ban, and exceeded his bandwidth? Something tells me he isn't hosted with ehostpros.

If you want to email them your displeasure, info@ehostpros.com

For shame.

In the meantime, the 2996 list is being mirrored here and here.

Sometimes, when you are in despair, the world gets a little bit smaller, and gives you a hug.

From the Flight 93 Memorial at Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I was lucky enough to visit there last fall.

Lest We Forget


Last Sunday, the 2nd (Mr. Right's birthday), found us in Shanksville, PA, at the makeshift tribute to Flight 93. Nobody who wasn't on a list of family members was permitted to walk on the actual site, but there was a parking area on a hill that overlooked, which was turned into a visitor's center.



It's obvious why there shouldn't be a giant tribute to Islam put up here, but personally, I do not feel that any government memorial is necessary. There is a chaotic outpouring of love and admiration that has been put in place, by the people, for the people. Some tendered "arty" or "cultural" monument to the bravery of those passengers would spoil everything.


If you look very closely (sorry, no zoom lens), you will notice that off in the distance there is a speck close to the center of the image. That speck is the American flag, on the fence around the perimeter of the crash site.










Mr. Right and I left our own small tribute: the magnet from the back of our car. I would rather see that than a huge red crescent, wouldn't you?

I just got back from the US Consulate on University Street here in Toronto. The American flag was flown at half-mast. There was a table covered in floral tributes. The Consul General spoke, thanking Canada for all they have done for the United States, and all the assistance they received on September 11, 2001.

Now I'm home. I took today off to reflect, but now I just feel alone. So alone. I'm sitting here watching Donald Rumsfeld choke up on his words at the Pentagon, as he, too, reflects.

Five years ago there were no clouds. There are clouds today.

(Please note that all of today's posts will have messed up timestamps. I will keep my tribute to Ken Basnicki at the top, with the timestamp of 8:46am - when the plane hit his Tower. Everything else will be stamped at an earlier time.)

Why couldn't I cry that day? I only laughed, because it didn't seem real. Why couldn't I cry?

I can see why the left isn't pleased with The Path To 9/11. Heh.

If it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and if it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart? -Alexandr Solzhenitsyn

But I am rather impressed by what I'm watching on the CBC right now. The Secret History of 9/11. While the left is shrieking about their blessed St. Willie Clinton being implicated as the useless tit that he is over on ABC tonight in The Path to 9/11, the uber-socialist, America- & Bush-hating CBC is telling the very same story. Clinton had the chance to stop it. He chickened out. All the plans for 9/11 took place in the 90's. On Clinton's watch.

Wow.

I've gotten a few emails in response to my post, Looking Away, where I asked people if they could remember the normal of September 10th. One man said he was preparing for court the next day. Another said there was no way he could remember.

Amy from Florida writes:

My son was 20 months old and sick, so I took him to my mom and dad's after work to stay the night and following day. After dinner, we chatted as normal, visiting before I would leave for home. As fate (as I see it) would have it, Dad started watching "Band of Brothers" on HBO. He insisted I sit down and watch, regardless of the 45 minute drive I would have to make on the way home.

During the movie, we remarked about the "Greatest Generation", and spoke with appreciation of my "PawPaw" who was a proud sailor during WWII. What these men and women did. How they selflessly sacrificed. For their families and country. For me. For my Mom. My Dad. My children.

We wondered. What if that was needed today? We didn't have doubts, but hoped that the fire was still there.

We found out the very next morning. My daughter fell sick on the way to school, so at 8:20 in the morning, I found myself on the way to Grammy's house again. Between phone calls and radio commentaries less than an hour later, I knew we were at war. I got to Mom's house in time to see the second tower hit. Mom, Dad, me, we all knew what was happening. Who was doing it. And what was going to happen.

In a little over 12 hours, all the questions from the night before had been answered. The memories from that evening will always be married to the memories of 9-11.

Keep emailing. I'm interested to know how many people can recapture the last moments of normal.

Another:

I working night shift at the time. The only memory I have is the morning of September 11 around 2 or 3 in the morning (central time). I was in a whataburger with my friend/supervisor. I remember telling him about how I had taken the rest of the week off and had no plans. Later on I went home and was playing on the computer. I caught glimpses of posts saying a plane hit the World Trade Center but I didn't pay it much attention because I thought surely they must be talking about a movie. When I saw more of them I turned on the tv and saw all the news stations. Then my wife (then girlfriend) called panicking and leaving work to come over. She works for Morgan Stanley and her then-best friend was there. She was in the WTC for a training conference when they let out on break. She walked out of the building and saw the first plane hit. After the realization set in, she ran like hell to the stock exchange where the guard thought she was a lunatic. Anyway, that's my memory of the day before.

Jason
Houston, TX