Well, Mr. Harper has managed to convince Her Majesty's representative, Governer General Michaëlle Jean to prorogue Parliament until January 26th, which means that we are effectively without a functional government for the next seven weeks. Way to go, Steve - instead of either trying to reach consensus with the other Members of Parliament elected by 62% of the 59% of the population of this apathetic bloody excuse for a country who bothered to vote [Note: To any suddenly rabid Tory supporters reading this who have been screaming about the coalition but didn't bother to vote, I suggest you go into the kitchen and dish yourself up a nice big bowl of "shut the fuck up".], we're stuck with a minority government who'd rather spend the better part of the next two months taking cheap shots at the opposition from behind the Queen's skirts. Nice.
I'm not saying I don't have grave misgivings about the whole notion of a coalition government, particularly one led by Stephane Dion, who's got so many daggers stuck into his back at the moment that he resembles a pincushion. However, the fact that Mr. Harper seems to feel that he can govern this country as though he'd been handed a landslide majority in the last election damn well needs to be answered with a resounding, "Hell no, you didn't." The fact that he decided to turn a plan to deal with the economic crisis into an attempt to financially eviscerate his political opponents makes him look not only like an arrogant idiot, but a mean-spirited asshole as well, particularly considering that the $30 million that the government would have saved by cutting the political party funding is basically just a drop in the bucket.
Ms. Jean's hands may well be tied by legal considerations, but this whole situation makes me inclined to join the anti-monarchist faction.
The only silver lining here might be the fact that if the public can muster sufficient outrage over this, the Tories might consider acting like adults and negotiate with the other parties.
Oh, and as far as the carrying on about the Liberals and NDs getting into bed with [OMFG] the scary treasonous separatists - when was the last time Quebec separation was seriously on the political agenda? Seriously - the Bloc hasn't said boo about it since 1995. They're basically a left-leaning regional party. You know, the way the Reform Party was a right-leaning regional party before they got sick of being ignored by Ottawa, held their noses, and got into bed with the Tories.
4.12.08
17.11.08
Signal to Noise (dreamtime)
I'm flipping idly through a game module for some long out-of-print RPG - it's for an adventure in a "Forbidden City" which, by the setting blurb, sounds a lot like something Lovecraft or Chambers would have devoted pages of florid yet vague descriptive text to. The creepy thing is that the front cover of the module has been damaged, so the name of the city is obscured, as though water has been spilled on the cover and left long enough to bleed the ink down the paper. The really creepy thing is that every instance of the city's name has also been carefully excised from the book - not just crossed out or covered with white-out, but cut out neatly, so there are small holes in several of the pages.
Needless to say, I buy the module and make plans to run it using WoD rules.
The POV switches at this point to the action in the game itself. The party (including myself) is picking its way through a series of caves which turn out to be the ruins of a massive highway interchange on the outskirts of The City*
[* The City is a place I frequently end up in my dreaming life. It's huge, contains elements of every place I've ever lived and a few I've simply visualized from books, and for some reason contains large stretches of urban decay - not the dangerous, crime-riddled variety, but the wasteland that's left after even the criminals decide to move to a nicer neighbourhood with a better class of people. We're talking the Bronx during the late 1970s - early 1980s. Or maybe postwar Dresden. The Ciry also contains a huge university, a deeply confusing and arbitrary public transit system, and, inexplicably, an amusement park.]
There are five of us, and five small children. One of the kids is our guide, the others... from sketchy reports of this nameless place and what other people have told us, apparenty young children are the only people able to find their way around the city without becoming paralyzed with nausea from the bizarre geometry of the place. The unspoken reason they're with us, which I'm really not happy about, is that they can't run as fast as adults, so it's like the old joke about not having to outrun the bear, but the other person you're hiking with, only not funny at all. I've made a private resolution that this is not going to happen, no matter what sorts of godawful things we run into.
We finally reach the gates, where a bridge leading to the main entrance has been collapsed into a deep gorge separating the city from the surrounding countryside. Despite the place's reputation, there are a hell of a lot of people milling around, to the point that there's actually a lineup for the improvised cablecar visitors use to get across the gorge. I remark that for an allegedly forbidden city, there are an awful lot of damned tourists. Nobody laughs.
X. and M. wait in line. The kids go off to play with the hordes of other kids building forts out of rubble, chucking stones into the gorge, play-fighting with sticks, and other stuff kids do when left to their own devices. R., V., and I wander around to try to get some more reliable information on what exactly we're getting into here. A frail-looking blonde woman is sitting on a parapet overlooking the gorge, and she smiles at us when we approach. She's perfectly happy to talk to us, chatting about the inhabitants of the city, including her sister, who she's visiting. She says she's never heard of any monsters, and the people are no more mad than they are anywhere else. She brushes some hair away from her face, and I see a small black square on one cheek. V. stiffens and walks away without another word to her, and I make some excuse and hurry after him.
"What was that all about? She was being helpful!"
"Oh yes, very helpful. Didn't you see that mark on her face? She's starting to pixellate. We can't trust a word she says."
"It was just the one square!"
"On her face - but she was wearing long robes. For all we know, she could be nothing but static under there. I'm not willing to take the chance."
When I look more closely at the people waiting in line, I notice that the majority of them, particularly those who have been here before, have parts of their body missing - the area where the limb should be is a hole filled with grey static. Their voices, too, are occasionally obscured by the hiss of a dead radio or occasionally rise into a sharp whine of feedback. The little girl guiding us comes up and stares at me solemnly.
"It's nothing like monsters, really. Mainly it's just that when you can't see or hear anything in particular, you start to make stuff up."
Needless to say, I buy the module and make plans to run it using WoD rules.
The POV switches at this point to the action in the game itself. The party (including myself) is picking its way through a series of caves which turn out to be the ruins of a massive highway interchange on the outskirts of The City*
[* The City is a place I frequently end up in my dreaming life. It's huge, contains elements of every place I've ever lived and a few I've simply visualized from books, and for some reason contains large stretches of urban decay - not the dangerous, crime-riddled variety, but the wasteland that's left after even the criminals decide to move to a nicer neighbourhood with a better class of people. We're talking the Bronx during the late 1970s - early 1980s. Or maybe postwar Dresden. The Ciry also contains a huge university, a deeply confusing and arbitrary public transit system, and, inexplicably, an amusement park.]
There are five of us, and five small children. One of the kids is our guide, the others... from sketchy reports of this nameless place and what other people have told us, apparenty young children are the only people able to find their way around the city without becoming paralyzed with nausea from the bizarre geometry of the place. The unspoken reason they're with us, which I'm really not happy about, is that they can't run as fast as adults, so it's like the old joke about not having to outrun the bear, but the other person you're hiking with, only not funny at all. I've made a private resolution that this is not going to happen, no matter what sorts of godawful things we run into.
We finally reach the gates, where a bridge leading to the main entrance has been collapsed into a deep gorge separating the city from the surrounding countryside. Despite the place's reputation, there are a hell of a lot of people milling around, to the point that there's actually a lineup for the improvised cablecar visitors use to get across the gorge. I remark that for an allegedly forbidden city, there are an awful lot of damned tourists. Nobody laughs.
X. and M. wait in line. The kids go off to play with the hordes of other kids building forts out of rubble, chucking stones into the gorge, play-fighting with sticks, and other stuff kids do when left to their own devices. R., V., and I wander around to try to get some more reliable information on what exactly we're getting into here. A frail-looking blonde woman is sitting on a parapet overlooking the gorge, and she smiles at us when we approach. She's perfectly happy to talk to us, chatting about the inhabitants of the city, including her sister, who she's visiting. She says she's never heard of any monsters, and the people are no more mad than they are anywhere else. She brushes some hair away from her face, and I see a small black square on one cheek. V. stiffens and walks away without another word to her, and I make some excuse and hurry after him.
"What was that all about? She was being helpful!"
"Oh yes, very helpful. Didn't you see that mark on her face? She's starting to pixellate. We can't trust a word she says."
"It was just the one square!"
"On her face - but she was wearing long robes. For all we know, she could be nothing but static under there. I'm not willing to take the chance."
When I look more closely at the people waiting in line, I notice that the majority of them, particularly those who have been here before, have parts of their body missing - the area where the limb should be is a hole filled with grey static. Their voices, too, are occasionally obscured by the hiss of a dead radio or occasionally rise into a sharp whine of feedback. The little girl guiding us comes up and stares at me solemnly.
"It's nothing like monsters, really. Mainly it's just that when you can't see or hear anything in particular, you start to make stuff up."
3.10.08
Ash Tourist (dreamtime)
I'm packing a bunch of Pooh Bear's old clothes, soap and other toiletries, and stationery supplies in an old messenger bag. I plan to leave it in a visible location in the Land Rover when we arrive at the camp - the dossier said that the locals' pride would not let them accept charity, but the aid workers have an arrangement worked out. They leave the donations in easy-to-steal bags in convenient locations, and the recipients get to tell their friends that they put one over on the foreigners.
The landscape is flat and grey and barren, with low mountains in the distance. There is a light dusting of frost or ash on the rocky ground. The sky is almost the same shade of grey, and there's a sharp, cold wind, whipping fine grit through the thin air. I don't understand what these people are doing out here. There are no cities, no rivers, and the land obviously isn't capable of supporting anything in the way of edible vegetation. Surely there must be someplace a little less inhospitable they could stay.
At this point, the dream starts to get a little strange. There are several small replicas of ancient temples dotting the plain. They are whitish-grey and appear to be made of local stone. There's a replica of the Parthenon, the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, Hagia Sophia, and (of course) Stonehenge. None of them is more than about seven feet high. There is also a pair of gigantic legs straddling the road. The rest of the body is nowhere in sight.
We arrive at the aid workers' base, which appears to have been set up in an abandoned air base. The workers' tents are inside the hangars, mostly for added protection from the wind and dust. A couple of other people in the Land Rover get out and demand to know where we are, because the base was definitely south of the legs and this is west. I have no idea what direction we came from, because everything looks the same, but quibbling about directions strikes me as a bit stupid, considering that this base is the only landmark other than the temples in the area anyway.
I walk out and go to the other part of the camp. Sullen-eyed people of indeterminate ethnicity watch me from shacks made of scrap metal from the hangar and tarps and tents from the aid workers. Apparently the stones here are flammable, because that's what they're using to cook the field rations they've "stolen". They wear colourful clothes in strangely shiny iridescent fabrics. I allow one of the kids, a little girl, to pick my pocket. She takes the handful of candy back to her gang a short distance away.
I woke up shortly after this.
The landscape is flat and grey and barren, with low mountains in the distance. There is a light dusting of frost or ash on the rocky ground. The sky is almost the same shade of grey, and there's a sharp, cold wind, whipping fine grit through the thin air. I don't understand what these people are doing out here. There are no cities, no rivers, and the land obviously isn't capable of supporting anything in the way of edible vegetation. Surely there must be someplace a little less inhospitable they could stay.
At this point, the dream starts to get a little strange. There are several small replicas of ancient temples dotting the plain. They are whitish-grey and appear to be made of local stone. There's a replica of the Parthenon, the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, Hagia Sophia, and (of course) Stonehenge. None of them is more than about seven feet high. There is also a pair of gigantic legs straddling the road. The rest of the body is nowhere in sight.
We arrive at the aid workers' base, which appears to have been set up in an abandoned air base. The workers' tents are inside the hangars, mostly for added protection from the wind and dust. A couple of other people in the Land Rover get out and demand to know where we are, because the base was definitely south of the legs and this is west. I have no idea what direction we came from, because everything looks the same, but quibbling about directions strikes me as a bit stupid, considering that this base is the only landmark other than the temples in the area anyway.
I walk out and go to the other part of the camp. Sullen-eyed people of indeterminate ethnicity watch me from shacks made of scrap metal from the hangar and tarps and tents from the aid workers. Apparently the stones here are flammable, because that's what they're using to cook the field rations they've "stolen". They wear colourful clothes in strangely shiny iridescent fabrics. I allow one of the kids, a little girl, to pick my pocket. She takes the handful of candy back to her gang a short distance away.
I woke up shortly after this.
2.10.08
Debate Report Summary (reconstructed)
Just finished watching the second hour of the English-language party leaders' debate on CBC.
Overall impression of the leaders:
Harper: Tired and beleaguered
Dion: Sensitive and desperate
Layton: Aggressive and smug
May: Blunt and knowledgeable
Duceppe: Just there to disturb shit
Steve Paikin (moderator): Pretty good at keeping the candidates within their time limits and preventing the debate from devolving into a shouting match.
That said - who the hell thinks 45 seconds is an adequate length of time to respond to a question? Seriously.
Layton's quote for the night: "Where's your platform? Under your sweater?"
I'm really glad someone brought up the culture question - I know a lot of people who are involved with the arts, and not one of them can afford to do it for a living, much less attend these mythical fucking galas Harper claims are going on all over the place.
Dion's quote for the night (on culture): "First, it's fun. It's bringing us beauty, emotions, a beautiful novel, a beautiful movie. We need to have more of that, certainly." I mean, it wasn't a great quote in and of itself, but it came across as disarmingly honest. Making a case for art as a purely aesthetic value in it's own right without saying how much it contributes economically or how it helps define our national identity is something I can totally get behind. And saying that your party is in favour of more fun is just plain cool.
Wow - that dude from Toronto who asked what the leaders were going to do about crime was totally and obviously a Conservative plant. Way to go Jack for calling attention to the huge rate of incarceration among young Aboriginal Canadians and what the underlying causes are (lack of education, lack of opportunities, shitty facilities on most reservations, to name a few).
Ooh - the Afghanistan question. This is one of the few policy issues I'm seriously ambivalent about. On the one hand, if we pull out and the Taliban take over again, life is going to seriously suck for half the population. On the other hand, the Canadian military don't have the money or the gear to protect our soldiers from jury-rigged roadside bombs, much less anything more substantial. Booyah to May for arguing in favour of a broader UN mission with more emphasis on humanitarian aid. And another booyah for bringing up the fact that a huge chunk of our foreign aid budget (such as it is) is being poured into Afghanistan at the expense of Africa and other seriously impoverished areas of the world.
Sealab 2021 moment: "Oh, that tears it! How many more times am I gonna have to hear the phrase 'kitchen tables' today?!"
The "building a shed" guy sounds like a plant too, but damned if I can figure out for which party. Maybe he's just making the most of his 15-odd seconds of fame among the small subset of Canadian voters watching this debate instead of the no doubt riveting trainwreck of the U.S. vice-presidential debate.
I'm really glad May brought up electoral reform, although it could be argued that it's kind of self-serving, as (sadly) it's the only way the Greens are likely to get enough seats to be taken seriously. Regardless of motivation though - hells yeah, let's get proportional representation in Parliament. I'm sick of feeling like my vote doesn't count (see earlier discussion of dressing up orangutans and running them as Conservative candidates in Alberta).
Duceppe quote of the night: "I know I won't be prime minister, and three of you won't be prime minister neither. Some of you know it, but you won't say it."
Okay - I know I've got some heavy screaming pinko lefty bias going on here, but even so it looked like May was the clear winner. She'd done her research, and unlike certain other party leaders (Jack, I'm looking at you), she wasn't constantly getting into slanging matches with Harper. Harper just looked like he had better things to do than be there. Duceppe really didn't need to be there. Layton came across as a better politician than any leader the NDP has had since Broadbent, but I'm not sure that's a good thing. That, and he was kind of acting like a dick, especially when he went after Dion for things previous Liberal governments had done. I just feel more sorry for Stephane Dion than anything. He's inherited a real basket case of a party (thanks a lot, Jean), and it's probably going to be at least two more elections before the Liberals get their shit together.
Overall impression of the leaders:
Harper: Tired and beleaguered
Dion: Sensitive and desperate
Layton: Aggressive and smug
May: Blunt and knowledgeable
Duceppe: Just there to disturb shit
Steve Paikin (moderator): Pretty good at keeping the candidates within their time limits and preventing the debate from devolving into a shouting match.
That said - who the hell thinks 45 seconds is an adequate length of time to respond to a question? Seriously.
Layton's quote for the night: "Where's your platform? Under your sweater?"
I'm really glad someone brought up the culture question - I know a lot of people who are involved with the arts, and not one of them can afford to do it for a living, much less attend these mythical fucking galas Harper claims are going on all over the place.
Dion's quote for the night (on culture): "First, it's fun. It's bringing us beauty, emotions, a beautiful novel, a beautiful movie. We need to have more of that, certainly." I mean, it wasn't a great quote in and of itself, but it came across as disarmingly honest. Making a case for art as a purely aesthetic value in it's own right without saying how much it contributes economically or how it helps define our national identity is something I can totally get behind. And saying that your party is in favour of more fun is just plain cool.
Wow - that dude from Toronto who asked what the leaders were going to do about crime was totally and obviously a Conservative plant. Way to go Jack for calling attention to the huge rate of incarceration among young Aboriginal Canadians and what the underlying causes are (lack of education, lack of opportunities, shitty facilities on most reservations, to name a few).
Ooh - the Afghanistan question. This is one of the few policy issues I'm seriously ambivalent about. On the one hand, if we pull out and the Taliban take over again, life is going to seriously suck for half the population. On the other hand, the Canadian military don't have the money or the gear to protect our soldiers from jury-rigged roadside bombs, much less anything more substantial. Booyah to May for arguing in favour of a broader UN mission with more emphasis on humanitarian aid. And another booyah for bringing up the fact that a huge chunk of our foreign aid budget (such as it is) is being poured into Afghanistan at the expense of Africa and other seriously impoverished areas of the world.
Sealab 2021 moment: "Oh, that tears it! How many more times am I gonna have to hear the phrase 'kitchen tables' today?!"
The "building a shed" guy sounds like a plant too, but damned if I can figure out for which party. Maybe he's just making the most of his 15-odd seconds of fame among the small subset of Canadian voters watching this debate instead of the no doubt riveting trainwreck of the U.S. vice-presidential debate.
I'm really glad May brought up electoral reform, although it could be argued that it's kind of self-serving, as (sadly) it's the only way the Greens are likely to get enough seats to be taken seriously. Regardless of motivation though - hells yeah, let's get proportional representation in Parliament. I'm sick of feeling like my vote doesn't count (see earlier discussion of dressing up orangutans and running them as Conservative candidates in Alberta).
Duceppe quote of the night: "I know I won't be prime minister, and three of you won't be prime minister neither. Some of you know it, but you won't say it."
Okay - I know I've got some heavy screaming pinko lefty bias going on here, but even so it looked like May was the clear winner. She'd done her research, and unlike certain other party leaders (Jack, I'm looking at you), she wasn't constantly getting into slanging matches with Harper. Harper just looked like he had better things to do than be there. Duceppe really didn't need to be there. Layton came across as a better politician than any leader the NDP has had since Broadbent, but I'm not sure that's a good thing. That, and he was kind of acting like a dick, especially when he went after Dion for things previous Liberal governments had done. I just feel more sorry for Stephane Dion than anything. He's inherited a real basket case of a party (thanks a lot, Jean), and it's probably going to be at least two more elections before the Liberals get their shit together.
28.9.08
Getting What You Pay For
In other news, apparently the LHC is on the fritz less than two weeks after they first fired it up. I'm picturing wild-eyed Swiss scientists standing hip-deep in rapidly evaporating liquid helium screaming "You're the reason we can't have nice things!" at each other in chipmunk voices.
In other news, I'm very easily amused.
In other news, I'm very easily amused.
2.9.08
Soft Power / Bun Fight at the OK Economy (dream)
1. One of the others in the group hands me the binoculars so I can see the soldiers (?) camped in the clearing below us. We're unarmed, at least with conventional weapons. I reach into the bag at my hip and pull out a snake's skull and a cord of braided red, yellow, and black ribbons. I tie a large knot in one end and pass it through the mouth of the skull, then mutter something under my breath and whirl it around my head a few times before letting go. Everyone ducks as the thing goes whipping though the trees before swerving around and coming back, snapping at everything it comes into contact with. I'm beginning to think that the manbo was right and I probably should have tried this maneuver with a real snake first, but I duck to one side, grab the tail and then yank back hard before grabbing the braid just behind the head. It's hellishly strong, this spirit, and it's thrashing around trying to take a bite out of me before I finally pull it taut and say the words to control it. Once it's calmed down, I take out a little ziploc baggie with a small vial, two black glass beads, and a bunch of loose fangs in it. As I put the beads into the eye sockets, I tell it that I'm giving it eyes in exchange for not biting me or my friends. Then I put the fangs into the appropriate spots, exacting a promise that it won't attack any civilians or animals. I slot the vial of poison into a hollow behind the fangs and tell it that this is for taking care of the men down the hill. Then I let it go and watch as it slips into the shadowy undergrowth. There's some screaming from below, a short staccato burst of gunfire, and then silence before the forest sounds start up around us as we pick our way down the hillside.
2. We're at a con at the U of S. It's lunchtime and we're all scarfing down standard-issue overcooked cafeteria pasta like it's going out of style. Several of us are still dressed up from the last game we were in or have already changed for the next one. Conversation stops dead when Ferlak turns up in a godawful eyesore of a Hawaiian shirt and bermuda shorts. (For anyone who doesn't know him, Ferlak never dresses like this.)
"I'm playing the ugly American tourist after lunch."
"Ah."
"Ah."
"Ah."
At which point he gives me this shit-eating grin and adds, "Had to borrow this from your husband."
X. flips him off, and I throw a stale dinner roll at him, which, unsurprisingly given my aim, hits a guy dressed as a gargoyle at the next table. I suddenly feign great interest in the shaker jar of parmesan cheese on the table, but Mal's still laughing when the guy turns around. He comes over and snarls, "You want to step outside for a physical challenge?"
I woke up snickering.
2. We're at a con at the U of S. It's lunchtime and we're all scarfing down standard-issue overcooked cafeteria pasta like it's going out of style. Several of us are still dressed up from the last game we were in or have already changed for the next one. Conversation stops dead when Ferlak turns up in a godawful eyesore of a Hawaiian shirt and bermuda shorts. (For anyone who doesn't know him, Ferlak never dresses like this.)
"I'm playing the ugly American tourist after lunch."
"Ah."
"Ah."
"Ah."
At which point he gives me this shit-eating grin and adds, "Had to borrow this from your husband."
X. flips him off, and I throw a stale dinner roll at him, which, unsurprisingly given my aim, hits a guy dressed as a gargoyle at the next table. I suddenly feign great interest in the shaker jar of parmesan cheese on the table, but Mal's still laughing when the guy turns around. He comes over and snarls, "You want to step outside for a physical challenge?"
I woke up snickering.
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