Pro Rogue

Whaddya know, we’re back where we began. A little more than a year ago, I began BBM because the Canadian Parliament had been prorogued by its Prime Minister when a coalition was readying to boot him out of office. Well, we’re prorogued again. Parliament is not reconvening until sometime in March. Ya-hoo, time for the boys on Parliament Hill to hit the ski slopes, down a couple of brews, kick back in their local ridings and hobknob with real citizens. Prorogation is an extremely technical, parliamentary procedure that means “the ability of the governing party to declare a vacation whenever it thinks its ass might be on the line.”

Why, you ask, is its ass on the line? Because it seems the government might have knowingly handed over Afghan detainees to Afghan authorities who were likely to torture them. And that qualifies as a war crime. The opposition pushed for an inquiry and asked for documents. The government released the documents but they were heavily redacted, an extremely technical, parliamentary term meaning “there’s no way I’m going to let you read this shit.” The government made matters worse by trying to smear the diligent and capable bureaucrat who reported on the matter. Yes, if it’s one thing the Harper government is consistent about is its hair-trigger readiness to shoot the messenger. Is it any wonder they’re against gun control? Yessiree, Harper is one rootin-tootin, fast shooting rogue. He’s become a real pro at it. Wait! Come to think of it, doesn’t that make him a pro rogue?

Christmas in Quebec

It has been more than 15 years now that I’ve been fortunate enough to celebrate Christmas in Quebec. I’m quite sure those celebrations aren’t like anywhere else in North America (though I wonder if some folklorist could identify similarities with traditions in the French cultures of Louisiana).

It begins Christmas eve with a small meal. The table is set with small plates of homemade lightly salted, roasted almonds. A wonderful, spicy chicken broth leads in to some foie gras served with lightly toasted, thin slices of baguette (shown here with those anglo triangles called sliced toast). My late mother-in-law, who was a superb French cook, would work for days preparing the foie gras, cleaning and cooking it, coating it in a delicious layer of gelatin. I had never had foie gras before my first Christmas with my in-laws, but I quickly understood why the French had been torturing those baby ducks for years and seem unlikely to give up the practice. The foie gras (meaning fattened liver) is always served with a deliciously cold French Sauterne, a sweet white wine that adds to the delight.

Following the foie gras, the main course, if it can be called that, is served. Small crescent-shaped pouches of ground pork are served; the pork is cooked with onion and spices and then placed individually on dough that will becomes the lovely, lightly-browned pouches. Technically they are patè a la viande, though they are more typically called tortière (though technically tortières, I have been told, require potato), and these pouches are petite tortière. The tortières are meant to be eaten with tomato aspic, something jello-like which I think of as the French contribution to advancing beyond mere ketchup. Of course, the main dish is served with wine from France. My late father-in-law, a serious afficianado of French wines, would serve as sommelier during the meal. Now that both in-laws are gone, their children will allow wines from Australia or South American to find their way to the table, a mildly heretical act if for no other reason that French wines have been losing ground as of late and need all the friends they can get. If Quebecers don’t remain loyal, who will?

Dessert is the tipping point, where one can choose to keep the dining experience an exercise in light eating or descend into gluttony. Truffles, mocha, croquignoles, white cake, pudding de noel (a molasses and spice cake that serves as an excuse to pour on a addictive sauce made of sherry, sugar and eggs) are all available. Croquignoles are essentially donut balls coated in icing sugar, though they do take different shapes. The truffles are balls of ultra-rich chocolate. The mocha are lovely yellow cake-squares lightly sprinkled, if you're lucky, with coconut. I generally make a quick decision to choose gluttony rather than waste agonizing minutes trying to convince myself to eat lightly. It is after all—I tell myself—only once a year. My goal has always been to focus on the mocha and the Pudding de Noel, trying to scarf as much as the sauce as others will let me get away with. Of course what would dessert be without a dessert wine? Hardly worth eating, I’d say. Yes, I’ll have another glass.

All of this precedes the short walk to the church for Midnight Mass. The kids have long ago been put to bed and I would then accompany my mother-in-law to the church. Though not of the faith, I have a soft spot for Christmas carols and singing them out into the lofty architecture of the cathedral is a treat, as well as a means to alleviate the possibility of falling asleep from too much wine.

We come back from Mass to quickly put all the presents under the trees. My in-laws had six children, each of whom has children, so that’s a lot of presents. We’d wake the sleeping children and bring them downstairs to open the presents. It wouldn’t take long before the sleepiness left them and they would become as wired as fireworks. Then we’d all sit down to a little snack, put the kids back to bed and nod off to sleep sometime towards 4 a.m.

We all wake sometime late in the morning in various states of consciousness, wonder aimlessly about the house, nibble on left-overs from the previous evening for lunch, knowing the big Christmas feast was still to come. Wine was still available for lunch and oftentimes my father-in-law would take out a plate of cheeses, mostly disgusting ones from my point of view. Then again, my reaction to these foul-smelling oozing gobs of pus called cheeses would result in someone reminding me that I grew up in the states on individually wrapped slices of Kraft crap, er, I mean cheese. My father-in-law would spend a wee bit of time each Christmas day suggesting I try a stinky cheese. It was a waste of breath. I’ve always thought that calling those cheeses a delicacy is like someone leaving used athletic socks in a locker for a year and then, upon pulling them out, declaring them Haute Couture. Stinky cheese is the one area in which the French took a wrong turn and, somehow or other, never saw the error of their ways.

The Christmas feast starts at six or so and—here I think it takes on the typical cuisine of any Christmas dinner—after the almonds and the broth, out would come the turkey and cranberry sauce and potatoes. More French wines, desserts, dessert wines, conversation until we were all talked-out, then amble off to sleep. The remaining day was for recovery primarily: wake to Boxing Day, move about the house as slowly as a snail, consider the snow on the slate rooftops and trees, open the door to feel the cold air, sit down in some comfy chair with a book, have some tea, get dressed to go outside and walk to the local park so the kids can sled, push the sled, watch them fall off, get on the sled, feel the cold air on my face, gather the kids to walk back home, have a modest meal, decline the wine (thank god), appreciate all that you have, watch your kids run around the dining room table as the grandmother chases them (where does she get her energy), read more of the book, crawl off to sleep knowing it will all happen again next Christmas

American Intelligence, Canadian Technology, and the Copenhagen Climate Talks

It’s true. We don’t like to admit it, but Canadians are a nation of super-spies. Yup, our spy technology rivals that of Inspector Gadget or MI-5’s Q; at least that appears to be the conclusion of some Pentagon officials. In documents released to the AP under the Freedom of Information Act, it seems some U.S. Military brass thought Canada’s commemorative quarters that featured the red image of a poppy were actually radio transmitters using nano-technology. Pentagon officials debated in late ’06 whether they should alert their officers working up in the U.S. Northern Command. I can only imagine top secret orders going out under a file known as “Stop the Poppy,” with Peter Sellers playing the role of the Deputy Director of Counter-Intelligence.

Counter-intelligence, exactly right.

Of course, now that Canada’s flagship technology company, Nortel, has been sold for auction at a pittance of its once glorious valuations, Canadian technology has now regressed to an age known as BMS (Before Maxwell Smart). In light of that, we recently, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, lowered the national Cone of Silence to have a Canadians-only conversation. We all agreed that it's so F...ING cold up here that we will do whatever’s necessary to speed up global warming. We also agreed that we all wanted the world to think most Canadians are vehemently against warming and want to curtail our carbon emissions. Greenpeace Canada agreed to hang a big sign on the Canadian Parliament to help with the ruse. And Prime Minister Harper, God love ‘im, agreed to take on the crap the world leaders in Copenhagen would be dishing out about Canada. Those damn Europeans, they wouldn’t know 40 below if their piss froze. Harper’s gonna hold the line. Bring on the heat!

Thanksgiving in the States

It's Thanksgiving in the States; another work day in Canada. At 3:00pm I called up the family who had all gathered at one of my sister's. Turkey, cranberry, stuffing. Everyone happy, excepting, as usual, the turkey. I remember, back in elementary school, taking a day-long field trip to visit Plymouth Rock, the exact spot where the Pilgrims landed. I was expecting to see a rock right on the water's edge because it was, after all, the rock where Captain, oh darn--what was is name?--William Smyth (maybe) stepped ashore. The Rock wasn't at the water's edge; in fact, it was pretty far inland. I remember looking at the rock and trying to figure out how he stepped ashore on it. I decided they must have had the wrong rock, and so lost interest in the outing and was bored the rest of the day. Even worse, I thought if they got the rock wrong, then they may have gotten other parts of the story wrong too. History suddenly seemed up for grabs. That's when I my skepticism began--at a third grade outing to Plymouth Rock.

That said, there was something about a U.S. Thanksgiving in Massachusetts that made one feel just a wee bit smug, because we lived where it had all happened, whether it was true or not. Why the rest of the U.S. also got a day off didn't quite make sense to me. They didn't have anything to do with the Pilgrims. It's odd to think those people sailed across an ocean to the new world to escape religious persecution only to have a nation founded that enshrined the separation of church and state, only to then morph into the most religious democracy in the west. Would it be too much of a stretch to call the States a theocracy? But I digress. I couldn't understand the rest of the U.S. celebrating Thanksgiving any more than I could understand Florida celebrating Christmas. There was no snow, nowhere for the reindeer to land, and--worst of all--poor Santa would work up one mean sweat flying over Florida in his winter coat. I had a winter coat and I knew for sure I wouldn't wear it if I was in Florida. I knew Christmas belonged wherever it snowed, and Thanksgiving belonged in Massachusetts. In the geography of holidays, I figured I was in just about as perfect a place as one could ask for.

The Downfall, Collapse and End of America

Catchy title for a blog post, isnt’ it?
I figure if CBC’s The Battle of Blades made the NY Times (see November 11th) then America's collapse must be imminent. Who ever knew Canadian fluff would be attracting American viewers, particularly at a time when they have minor issues like healthcare, two wars and a banking system trying to right itself.

The latter task isn’t so straightforward apparently. Senator Dodd who is leading the charge on creating bank regulations had a meeting with the ranking Republican on the banking committee who—is this a surprise?—opposed the creating of an agency designed to “protect consumers from abusive and deceptive mortgages and credit cards.” That’s right, why punish business by preventing them from offering deceptive mortgages or issuing abusive credit cards? This is America, Senator Dodd; how about you get with the program, sir?

Of course, one Republican Senator adverse to some regulations isn’t anything to get worried about. Worry only if this sort of foolishness has spread, and Paul Krugman is sure it hasn’t merely spread, it has morphed into a dangerous virus that has legs, maybe even wings. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/09/opinion/09krugman.html?scp=6&sq=Paul%20Krugman&st=Search Yes, this is serious shit. As Krugman puts it, “the takeover of the Republican Party by the irrational right is no laughing matter. Something unprecedented is happening here — and it’s very bad for America.”

Despite all this, America still takes care of its own. And this just in over the wires proves it:
A new study estimates four times as many US Army veterans died last year because they lacked health insurance [WAIT! Hold on a minute, this doesn’t sound like the right item] than the total number of US soldiers who were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan in the same period. A research team at Harvard Medical School says 2,266 veterans under the age of sixty-five died in 2008 because they were uninsured.
Oops.

The vets might not have healthcare, but at least those currently serving have weapons like the U.S.S. New York to be proud of, a warship that has over seven tons of steel from the Twin Towers in its bow. Never mind that the ship wouldn’t have been able to stop those nutcases with box knives who flew planes into the Towers, or that the steel might have been used to make a peace sculpture or benches encircling a garden of forgiveness, what matters is that the ship looks damn f…ing scary! Yee-haw!

Not be outdone by Americans proclaiming the downfall of the States, TV Ontario’s flagship current affairs program, The Agenda, just had a panel discussing the erosion of American power. Tell that to the crew on the U.S.S. New York. Go here http://www.tvo.org/cfmx/tvoorg/theagenda and look at the program for November 11th. Though I’d like to have heard more focus on the challenges of American democracy, the U.S. received tremendous kudos for the depth of its demographics. The U.S. population is growing, and compared to the demographics of China, Russia and Europe, its demographics are sitting pretty. In the future, the U.S. will actually have citizens to do stuff, compared to Russia, for example, whose citizens die young and don't leave offspring.

So let’s see, when you put all this stuff together, what comes out? Well, apparently we’re going to have a southern neighbor with a whole lotta people, who are broke from deceptive credit cards, lacking healthcare, overrun with Republican ideology and chock full of military toys. Not to worry--at least they’ll be watching the CBC.

Sports (?) Updates

Last weekend there was a Curling World Cup tournament (though I admit I’m not sure if they call it a World Cup) and Canada won. Who’d we defeat, you ask? Another Canadian team. That’s right. Apparently Canada is to curling what New Zealand is to rugby, India to cricket, Tiger Woods is to golf (when it comes to golf, Woods counts as a country). To make a sweeping claim, when it comes to curling, Canada rocks!….(Get it? Sweeping, rocks. “Uh?” says your average American, “what’s he talking about?”)

CBC has created the quintessential Canadian competition, and I suggest all of you south of the border who want to understand Canada tune in to watch it. (That insures a viewership of about 8 people, 3 if you exclude the Devereaux family of Eau Claire, Wisconsin). Battle of the Blades is a pairs figure skating competition with a twist: while the female partner is one of Canada’s many lovely former national skaters, their male partners are former NHL stars, big guys trying to find their inner figure skater. I can only imagine the sequel—great Canadian male figure skaters paired with players from the Canadian women’s hockey team. Elvis Stojko throwing Hailey Wickenhauser? That’ll be tv worth watching. (Go to www.cbc.ca/battleoftheblades)

And this past weekend, Canada hosted its first international surfing competition. Off the shores of Tofino, British Columbia, surfers were riding the freezing waves of the Pacific on November 1st. Called the “Yikes, My Testicles!” Competition, the event favored the savvy Canadian surfers who, for many years, have illegally been injecting their family jewels with anti-freeze.

Passports

With my U.S. passport set to expire, I recently applied to get a new one. I also decided I might as well get my first Canadian passport at the same time. As if a single North American government were responsible for servicing passport requests, my new passports both arrived on the same day! These documents, laying unopened on the table, look like the same drab, functional passport that I’ve come to know since I first acquired one, but open them up and—wowee!—these are some different countries/cultures. The U.S. passport is mythology, propaganda, history and sentimentality rolled up into one official and technically advanced travel document. Canada’s passport is functional, practical and without pretension. While one declares its national mythologies at the top of its lungs, the other is little more than an whisper.

Should I do a page by page comparison? I think not, for there is nothing to compare. The U.S. passport is incomparable. It’s full of eagles and wheat and buffalo and the great quotes of great Americans. Canada’s opens with a brief message wherein the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Canada (the current occupant of said position happens to be my current Member of Parliament) requests--in the name of Her Majesty the Queen--safe passage for the bearer of the document, then there’s a couple of pages of info including the page with the bearer's picture, followed by 19 pages of nothing. More accurately, each page of nothing bears rows of small, faint maple leafs and one large one in the centre. No lofty quotes, no images of Inukshuks, no caribou or voyageurs or images of the snow- capped Rockies.

The U.S passport on the other hand…well, one hardly knows where to begin. When I read the U.S. passport I can’t help but think here’s a country that has drunk its own Kool-Aid. I mean, does anyone believe this* is America anymore? Not only is this an America that no longer exists, it’s an America that NEVER existed. It’s a series of images, iconography and juxtapositons that are so relentlessly idyllic I find it dizzying, if not outright exhausting.

After flipping through the U.S.passport, I feel plumb tuckered-out and ready to rest my weary head on the bosom of the great nation in all its wild, rural splendor. Then, after my nap, I’ll be so refreshed I’ll head on out for that frontier that’s been waiting for me. I’m gonna pack my bags, catch a ride on that steamboat chugging down the Mississipi, step off at the town where the steam train is heading west and, yesiree, find those cowboys driving the longhorn cattle just down a country mile from where the farmer is plowing up the soil with his two oxen. With a country like the one in the passport, why would you ever want to leave it or need a travel document to make the leaving possible?

And, in fact, it seems like Americans don’t want to leave it, which must explain why so few of them have the passport in the first place. Compared to Canada and Europe, the U.S passport suffers from a distinct lack of citizens who think it's necessary. Yes, the irony of ironies is that someone somewhere in the U.S. Federal government went to great lengths to create a passport that hollers Here’s What America IS…but few Americans have the ability to hear it. Wouldn’t you know it, a considerably higher percentage of Canadians have passports but there’s nothing particularly worth hearing in it! Lost opportunities all around.

*APPENDIX--The specifics of the U.S. passport are as follows, in order (some of the quotations are not complete):

--Inside the front cover, people who seem to be on an old battle ship watching the flag over Fort Sumter; above it is a verse from the National Anthem that appears to be in the handwriting of Francis Scott Key (why do I know his name?)
--Opposite that page is that quote by Abe Lincoln—Government of the people, by the people--above the official seal of the U.S.
--Turn the page and one finds one’s picture and personal information in a front of a backdrop of the large head of a bald eagle, a sheaf of wheat, and a billowing U.S. flag. The opening words of the U.S constitution top it off.
Then the pages in the following order:
--A landscape of saguro cactus as backdrop to ones personal data and passport information
--A towering mountain range behind a lake. Above it, a quote from Daniel Webster: the principle of free government adheres to the American soil. It is imbedded in it, immovable as its mountains.
--The liberty bell in front of a corner of the Declaration of Independence, beneath Independence Hall, and a quote from George Washington topping it all off:
Let us raise a standard to which the wise and honest can repair.
--A tall ship under full sail moving past a light house, beneath the statement from the Declaration of Independence: We hold these truths to be self-evident…
--A glacial mountain range behind a plain with two buffalo grazing and a quote from Martin Luther King: We have a great dream. It started way back in 1776 and God grant that America will be true to her dream.
--Mount Rushmore beneath JFK’s famous quote, we shall pay any price, bear any burden…
--A steamboat on the Mississippi beneath Teddy Roosevelt's words, This is a new nation, based on a mighty continent, of boundless possibilities.
--A sheaf of wheat in front of a farm scene where a farmer plows the land with a team of oxen and the words of Dwight Eisenhower: Whatever America hopes to bring to pass in the world must first come to pass in the heart of America.
--Some cowboys driving a herd of long horn cattle with the mountains behind them and Lyndon Johnson's words: For this is what America is all about. It is the uncrossed desert and the unclimbed ridge. It is the star that is not reached and the harvest sleeping in the unplowed ground…
--A steam train in the foreground that had traveled over a wooden trestle bridge with hills in the background and the words on the Golden Spike, May God continue the unity of our country...
--A bear eating a fish with mountain in the background and totem pole in the foreground and the words from a Mohawk address on Thanksgiving: We send thanks to all the animal life in the world...
--The statue of liberty with a stone table showing July 4th, 1776 and a quote from Anna Julia Cooper, The cause of freedom is not the cause of a race or a sect…
--A palm tree above and a mountainous (Hawain?) island in the distance and a quote by Ellison S. Onizuka: Every generation has the obligation to free men’s minds…
--A view of the earth from behind the moon and a spaceship above