http://www2.macleans.ca/2010/09/24/the-most-corrupt-province/
MACLEANS: According to many on both the left and right, obsessing over Quebec’s existential question has come at the expense of proper transparency and accountability. “I don’t think corruption is in our genes any more than it is anywhere else on the planet, but the beginning of an explanation would be the fact that we have focused for so long on the constitutional question,” says Éric Duhaime, a former ADQ candidate who recently helped launch the right-of-centre Réseau Liberté-Québec. “We are so obsessed by the referendum debate that we forget what a good government is, regardless if that government is for or against the independence of Quebec.”
A suggested read for those who are following the eternal debate. Not nearly as defamatory as I first thought, thankfully. I love Macleans and would like them to continue to be as non-partisan as journalists can be. I have enough infotainment "news" programs to choke on.
September 28, 2010
September 23, 2010
September 22, 2010
Eloquental Bee.
Job: NEW!! Peak Performance Inc. Distributor of Himalaya Organic Supplements and other exclusive lines for the Canadian Market. They sent me to Toronto for their annual sales meeting and it was intensive. Definitely an opportunity I am thankful I was hired in time for.
http://www.himalayahealthcare.com/products/medicinalrange.htm
Relationship: Greg and I have officially been together 2 years, if you count from the first kiss. Crazy. It's just as much fun as it was the first week. We are celebrating by making Potato Leek Soup from scratch since it is my new fave to make, and Greg adores it. The CSA drop off veggies usually dictate what we make for the week, so this has been a few weeks of leek-y, potato-y goodness.
Home: We love this apartment. It is so cozy and clean and quiet. Except for the dead body they dragged out of the apartment building across from us, that is. From the scene in the parking lot, we imagine an overdose or suicide. There has been a vigil of Somalians hanging around for the passed 2 days. But our apartment is awesome. Love the real hardwood.
Miscellaneous: Went to a raw food seminar with Melissa last week and it was a pretty rad little goddess trip. Plus, I am totally making raw food stuffs now. ;) I have to call my mother and see my dad. I can't wait until Greg & I take our fall trip to Summerland, and Melissa and I take our Christmas shopping trip to Calgary. So many plans...
This was the least eloquent update I've written in a while.
Good thing nobody actually reads this, hey?
http://www.himalayahealthcare.com/products/medicinalrange.htm
Relationship: Greg and I have officially been together 2 years, if you count from the first kiss. Crazy. It's just as much fun as it was the first week. We are celebrating by making Potato Leek Soup from scratch since it is my new fave to make, and Greg adores it. The CSA drop off veggies usually dictate what we make for the week, so this has been a few weeks of leek-y, potato-y goodness.
Home: We love this apartment. It is so cozy and clean and quiet. Except for the dead body they dragged out of the apartment building across from us, that is. From the scene in the parking lot, we imagine an overdose or suicide. There has been a vigil of Somalians hanging around for the passed 2 days. But our apartment is awesome. Love the real hardwood.
Miscellaneous: Went to a raw food seminar with Melissa last week and it was a pretty rad little goddess trip. Plus, I am totally making raw food stuffs now. ;) I have to call my mother and see my dad. I can't wait until Greg & I take our fall trip to Summerland, and Melissa and I take our Christmas shopping trip to Calgary. So many plans...
This was the least eloquent update I've written in a while.
Good thing nobody actually reads this, hey?
September 21, 2010
September 19, 2010
This is why I hate flying.
Y’know, I used to be afraid of things like turbulence and dying.
Now I am afraid of screaming babies, glitches in the in-flight TVs and people who smell.
And for good reason.
After we almost got lost trying to find the airport in a city that has decided streets are boring if they stay heading in one direction, I found out that my gate is closed and I had to go along with the Gate A people. This made for a ridiculously long and arduous security line full of people with arbitrary solutions and redundant complaints.
“Y’know, if I was a terrorist, I know how to get on a plane to blow the shit out of people even IF they make me take my shoes off…”
I decided now was the perfect time to pretend I was Russian.
“Shoes off? “, I asked in my best make-me-your-foreign-sex-whore accent.
“Uhhh… no, those shoes are okay. Do you have a laptop?”
“Yes!! Thank you!”
“No, Ma’am… where is it? Can you take it out of the bag?”
“Thank you. “
“HERE, I’LL DO IT.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have anything in your pockets?”
“Toronto. Thank you.”
She sighed and pushed me along. I waved and acted like this was my last flight to Disneyland. I should have thought of this YEARS ago.
I made my way to Gate B and after the 20 minute delay trying to locate “Chin Wan Kim? Ummm… maybe Kim… Wan… Chin? Damn it “ over the intercom, they began pre-boarding: business men and those with special needs. This sounded vague enough for me. I got in line.
“Madame, do you have special requirements?” the distressed airport employee/ mother of nine inquired.
“Toronto.”
“Oh! Ummm… oh, are you… wait, let me see…” she asked and checked her screen, trying to locate the ‘immigrant passenger- let’s speed this up’ notation on my boarding pass.
“Okay, why don’t we just get you in there…” she decided, and let me on before the Business Class even had a chance to pull out their passports.
Small victories.
And don’t sit there and judge me.
I’m not finished yet.
So, after finding my middle seat over the wing- fuck ME- we are alerted that the pilot is unable to take off because people have not understood the take-on luggage requirements and there are too many pieces for the storage space in the beloved overhead compartment. (I’d like to be more frustrated, except Air Canada BEGS for this shit. They repeatedly lose luggage and leave passengers stranded for days, which is the extent of their trip at times, with nothing more than a Visa bill and a free copy of the in-flight magazine featuring plums. I’d bring my vibrator as carry-on, too, except that I have a sense of adventure and like to invite future anecdotes.)
After people of different languages and priorities attempted to get their proverbial shit together, we got to sit on the tarmac and watch the new safety “movie” for ten minutes, complete with soon-to-be porn stars showing off their manicured fingernails and seat-belt buckling skills. Then there were the 5 minutes of advertisements so we know exactly who to blame for this piece of shit. At that point, we were a half an hour late for take off.
The Asian gentleman beside me started mumbling something under his breath that could be a ninja death wish or a conversation with himself about whether to watch that new Jennifer Aniston movie or just give up on her altogether. All I know is that his breath smelled like wet sock and Wonton soup.
Eventually, we took off and dinner service commenced.
But not for ME, because when my new employer booked my flight they didn’t check the “meal please” box on the form.
But I am welcomed to buy a gluten-free tuna sandwich for twelve dollars. Fuck ME.
“Sorry, ma’am. We have liquor service?”
“Thank you. How much? “
“Six dollars. But we only take Visa. And you’ll have to wait until the food carts are finished. About 15 minutes.”
“Thank you.”
I was at least happy they took Visa, since I had pre-paid Visas for just such an occasion. This should have worked out fine.
Turbulence. Seat belts on. Bathroom privileges revoked. Food cart parked for half an hour.
I noticed everybody’s personal TV was playing movies except mine, which read a somber 'No service available.'
Fantastic.
By the time they came by with the drink cart, the people in front of me have finished watching Iron Man 2 and I have decided a Rum is in order.
“Rum and… cola? Coca Cola?” I stumbled, Slavic-ly.
I passed her the Visa... which didn’t work. My face fell as the dispensing attendant took back the small bottle of Bacardi like a disappointed parent.
“The machine doesn’t recognize it.” she said, confused.
‘Of course it doesn’t’, I thought, ‘what, with the big Visa logo on the front of it…’
She grabbed the bottle and a can of Coke from the other girl and handed them to me.
“It’s on us.”
I smiled my biggest ‘I Love Canada’ smile and thanked her.
Wonton Soup sighed and the attendant sneezed.
----
And now here we are.
It is the best rum and Coke I have had in a long while and eases the pain of continually having to smell the pizzas people keep ordering around me (apparently, they are bottomless), and sock soup.
I now calculate the flight times to realize that by the time I get to my hotel room it will be past ten, and therefore too late for a real dinner.
Denny’s should not be anyone’s last meal.
Fuck. ME.
Now I am afraid of screaming babies, glitches in the in-flight TVs and people who smell.
And for good reason.
After we almost got lost trying to find the airport in a city that has decided streets are boring if they stay heading in one direction, I found out that my gate is closed and I had to go along with the Gate A people. This made for a ridiculously long and arduous security line full of people with arbitrary solutions and redundant complaints.
“Y’know, if I was a terrorist, I know how to get on a plane to blow the shit out of people even IF they make me take my shoes off…”
I decided now was the perfect time to pretend I was Russian.
“Shoes off? “, I asked in my best make-me-your-foreign-sex-whore accent.
“Uhhh… no, those shoes are okay. Do you have a laptop?”
“Yes!! Thank you!”
“No, Ma’am… where is it? Can you take it out of the bag?”
“Thank you. “
“HERE, I’LL DO IT.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have anything in your pockets?”
“Toronto. Thank you.”
She sighed and pushed me along. I waved and acted like this was my last flight to Disneyland. I should have thought of this YEARS ago.
I made my way to Gate B and after the 20 minute delay trying to locate “Chin Wan Kim? Ummm… maybe Kim… Wan… Chin? Damn it “ over the intercom, they began pre-boarding: business men and those with special needs. This sounded vague enough for me. I got in line.
“Madame, do you have special requirements?” the distressed airport employee/ mother of nine inquired.
“Toronto.”
“Oh! Ummm… oh, are you… wait, let me see…” she asked and checked her screen, trying to locate the ‘immigrant passenger- let’s speed this up’ notation on my boarding pass.
“Okay, why don’t we just get you in there…” she decided, and let me on before the Business Class even had a chance to pull out their passports.
Small victories.
And don’t sit there and judge me.
I’m not finished yet.
So, after finding my middle seat over the wing- fuck ME- we are alerted that the pilot is unable to take off because people have not understood the take-on luggage requirements and there are too many pieces for the storage space in the beloved overhead compartment. (I’d like to be more frustrated, except Air Canada BEGS for this shit. They repeatedly lose luggage and leave passengers stranded for days, which is the extent of their trip at times, with nothing more than a Visa bill and a free copy of the in-flight magazine featuring plums. I’d bring my vibrator as carry-on, too, except that I have a sense of adventure and like to invite future anecdotes.)
After people of different languages and priorities attempted to get their proverbial shit together, we got to sit on the tarmac and watch the new safety “movie” for ten minutes, complete with soon-to-be porn stars showing off their manicured fingernails and seat-belt buckling skills. Then there were the 5 minutes of advertisements so we know exactly who to blame for this piece of shit. At that point, we were a half an hour late for take off.
The Asian gentleman beside me started mumbling something under his breath that could be a ninja death wish or a conversation with himself about whether to watch that new Jennifer Aniston movie or just give up on her altogether. All I know is that his breath smelled like wet sock and Wonton soup.
Eventually, we took off and dinner service commenced.
But not for ME, because when my new employer booked my flight they didn’t check the “meal please” box on the form.
But I am welcomed to buy a gluten-free tuna sandwich for twelve dollars. Fuck ME.
“Sorry, ma’am. We have liquor service?”
“Thank you. How much? “
“Six dollars. But we only take Visa. And you’ll have to wait until the food carts are finished. About 15 minutes.”
“Thank you.”
I was at least happy they took Visa, since I had pre-paid Visas for just such an occasion. This should have worked out fine.
Turbulence. Seat belts on. Bathroom privileges revoked. Food cart parked for half an hour.
I noticed everybody’s personal TV was playing movies except mine, which read a somber 'No service available.'
Fantastic.
By the time they came by with the drink cart, the people in front of me have finished watching Iron Man 2 and I have decided a Rum is in order.
“Rum and… cola? Coca Cola?” I stumbled, Slavic-ly.
I passed her the Visa... which didn’t work. My face fell as the dispensing attendant took back the small bottle of Bacardi like a disappointed parent.
“The machine doesn’t recognize it.” she said, confused.
‘Of course it doesn’t’, I thought, ‘what, with the big Visa logo on the front of it…’
She grabbed the bottle and a can of Coke from the other girl and handed them to me.
“It’s on us.”
I smiled my biggest ‘I Love Canada’ smile and thanked her.
Wonton Soup sighed and the attendant sneezed.
----
And now here we are.
It is the best rum and Coke I have had in a long while and eases the pain of continually having to smell the pizzas people keep ordering around me (apparently, they are bottomless), and sock soup.
I now calculate the flight times to realize that by the time I get to my hotel room it will be past ten, and therefore too late for a real dinner.
Denny’s should not be anyone’s last meal.
Fuck. ME.
September 14, 2010
Monkeys.
Start with a cage containing five monkeys. Inside the cage, hang a banana on a string and place a set of stairs under it. Before long, a monkey will go to the stairs and start to climb towards the banana. As soon as he touches the stairs, spray all of the other monkeys with cold water.
After a while, another monkey makes an attempt with the same result all the other monkeys are sprayed with cold water. Pretty soon, when another monkey tries to climb the stairs, the other monkeys will try to prevent it.
Now, put away the cold water. Remove one monkey from the cage and replace it with a new one. The new monkey sees the banana and wants to climb the stairs. To his surprise and horror, all of the other monkeys attack him. After another attempt and attack, he knows that if he tries to climb the stairs, he will be assaulted.
Next, remove another of the original five monkeys and replace it with a new one. The newcomer goes to the stairs and is attacked. The previous newcomer takes part in the punishment with enthusiasm! Likewise, replace a third original monkey with a new one, then a fourth, then the fifth. Every time the newest monkey takes to the stairs, he is attacked.
Most of the monkeys that are beating him have no idea why they were not permitted to climb the stairs or why they are participating in the beating of the newest monkey.
After replacing all the original monkeys, none of the remaining monkeys have ever been sprayed with cold water. Nevertheless, no monkey ever again approaches the stairs to try for the banana. Why not? Because as far as they know that's the way it's always been done around here.
And that, my friends, is how a company policy begins.
September 2, 2010
Gary Busey’s moccasins can prevent car accidents.
Gary Busey, who has a little experience with auto accidents himself, reportedly played the hero after witnessing a car crash in Malibu earlier this week. “Where’s the curb that hit you? I’m gonna give it a piece of my mind!” I imagine him telling the victims.
While waiting for police to arrive, Busey helped the kid stay calm, reminding him that “crash” is just an acronym for “Chinese Restaurants Always Steal, Homey”, before handing a passing motorist his buck knife and retrieving a bushel of onions he’d hid in a storm drain.
Gary Busey once bit the bumper off a ‘72 Skylark on a dare. True story.
Gary Busey is being hailed a highway hero — after the actor witnessed a collision in Malibu earlier this week … and rushed to the scene to help out a 21-year-old man who was injured in the wreck.
Law enforcement sources tell us Gary called 911 on Tuesday afternoon after two cars collided on Pacific Coast Highway … but after the call, Gary was the first person who went down to the scene to help out.
According to a witness, Gary helped slow traffic — and stayed with one of the injured men until paramedics arrived.
TMZ spoke to the injured man’s mother — who told us Gary was “very sweet and caring” … and wanted to thank the actor for all of his help. The mom also told us her son only has minor back pain … but on the whole, he’s doing fine.
While waiting for police to arrive, Busey helped the kid stay calm, reminding him that “crash” is just an acronym for “Chinese Restaurants Always Steal, Homey”, before handing a passing motorist his buck knife and retrieving a bushel of onions he’d hid in a storm drain.
Gary Busey once bit the bumper off a ‘72 Skylark on a dare. True story.
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