So the gold-medal-winning, Canadian women's hockey team members returned to the ice in an empty arena, smoked a cigar or two, and celebrated. They even popped the corks on some fine champagne.
And the media and self-appointed moral authorities were on them like ugly on an ape.
This -- let me be forthright -- is not only overkillingly ridiculous. It is also entirely sexist.
Let's imagine... and maybe, by the time you read this, it won't be imagination... that the Canadian men win Olympic gold. What do we expect in the dressing room following the game? Lollipops?
Nope, the cameras of CTV and assorted associates will be right there, in the dressingroom, capturing the emotional celebration, punctuated, I'm guessing, with cigars and champagne (an odious combination, if you like champagne, but I digress), and maybe even beer.
And all will be well.
But let our women light up a celebratory stogie, or sip some champers, and all hell breaks loose.
Has anyone checked the history of the Stanley Cup, recently? The places it's been, the excesses which it has endured, the beverages that have been sipped from Lord Stanley's contribution to Canadian identity?
Heaven help us if any of those sippers had been women, apparently.
So, enough. Too much.
I was disappointed to see that the Canadian women's hockey team had to offer an explanation, which was close to (but not exactly, thank goodness, an apology). That was entirely unfair, and should never have happened.
We Canadians, proud and free, obviously place too much national self-identity on hockey, but what the heck, this is who we are. Polite, helpful, not terribly influential, but doggone dedicated to the best game in the world.
Me, too.
So we Canadians need to say to the women who won the gold wearing Canadian uniforms: 1) Hurrah, at the top of our lungs and 2) Sorry for treating you like children. Worse, sorry for treating you like men have treated women for too damned long.
You are champions. Sip proudly, have a foolish cigar if you want (but just one, okay), and know that you have every right to celebrate an incredible accomplishment.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
And the gold goes to... really?
Yes, I am enjoying the Olympics. I'm cheering for Canadians, I'm moved by the emotional moments, I like seeing all the flags waving. There... full disclosure.
This is not to say I am blind. Unlike most of the Canadian commentators! (Surely there is an extra syllable in that word. What would be the difference between a commentator and a commentor? I digress).
It is hard not to notice what they appear not to notice.
Consider the opening ceremonies, where a great many of the singers were clearly lipsynching, and doing so badly. The gold for worst lip syncher has to go to the usually solid Bryan Adams; silver to Nellie Furtado, his duet partner. Bronze? Well, there's a wide selection of candidates, but I'd give it to whoever decided not to trust Measha Brueggergosman, an excellent singer who should have been allowed to go live.
On the other hand, k.d. lang did sing live, and brilliantly. Wow! So it could be done.
It was cute, in an anxious sort of way, when the five torch lighters remained at attention for what was clearly way too long, while the announcers didn't acknowledge that something had gone wrong for what felt like an hour and a half.
On the other hand, the commentators clearly did notice, but declined to comment on, one of the most appalling moments in Canadian sportscasting, as -- while the American feed was showing beautiful Canadian vistas, and basically reporting wonderful things about us -- we were showing pre-Olympic scenes of apparently teenage girls in hot tubs, and then -- for the gold -- other apparently teenage girls about to do body shots off some hot guy.
That's what we're best known for... elegance and class.
I'm sure we all agree that the gold for most hackneyed phrase has to go jointly to the 1,275 broadcasters who mouthed the words "... has never won gold on Canadian soil". My goodness.
Speaking of all things Canadian, you gotta wonder who arranged that funereal tempo for our national anthem at the opening ceremonies. O Canada! indeed. It took longer to finish the song that it did to complete the Canadian Pacific Railway.
I don't recall hearing any commentator point out that although we are an officially bilingual country, it was not clear which second language the VANOC head was speaking in when he fell out of English and into what one can only assume was an attempt at French.
Vancouver has been swarming with people from all over the world, for months. Could John Furlong not have found someone to tell him that "una kip" is not how you pronounce the phrase meaning "a team" in French? Or is Una Kip a Finnish snowboarder? It's unclear.
And then there's a second mystery surrounding the clearly talented and committed Mr. Furlong... and again, nobody has pointed it out. When he was addressing the world at the opening ceremony (in English; we'll let the failed attempt at French go, now), he had a clear, if wooden, Canadian accent.
But when they showed the pre-recorded features about him, Furlong has an undeniable Irish lilt. Hey -- maybe they have spirited away the real Furlong and replaced him with a clone. It may be a North Korean plot. Stay tuned.
Speaking of staying tuned -- this is not the first time I have watched figure skating. And therefore, it is not the first time I have been utterly baffled by the judging. Is there any "sport" where the judging is more opaque?
People fell down, and won. They fell twice, and scored well. They skated beautifully, and came in seventh or 15th. And nobody said, "What the....??" Does everybody except me understand this? Do the cumulative scores of the last 12 years figure in? It's as though the Canadian hockey team, for instance, won 3-2 in the gold match, but gold is awarded to the US anyway, because the judges... well, because they can.
There. The gold in being a curmudgeon goes to Knowles. Let the Games continue.
This is not to say I am blind. Unlike most of the Canadian commentators! (Surely there is an extra syllable in that word. What would be the difference between a commentator and a commentor? I digress).
It is hard not to notice what they appear not to notice.
Consider the opening ceremonies, where a great many of the singers were clearly lipsynching, and doing so badly. The gold for worst lip syncher has to go to the usually solid Bryan Adams; silver to Nellie Furtado, his duet partner. Bronze? Well, there's a wide selection of candidates, but I'd give it to whoever decided not to trust Measha Brueggergosman, an excellent singer who should have been allowed to go live.
On the other hand, k.d. lang did sing live, and brilliantly. Wow! So it could be done.
It was cute, in an anxious sort of way, when the five torch lighters remained at attention for what was clearly way too long, while the announcers didn't acknowledge that something had gone wrong for what felt like an hour and a half.
On the other hand, the commentators clearly did notice, but declined to comment on, one of the most appalling moments in Canadian sportscasting, as -- while the American feed was showing beautiful Canadian vistas, and basically reporting wonderful things about us -- we were showing pre-Olympic scenes of apparently teenage girls in hot tubs, and then -- for the gold -- other apparently teenage girls about to do body shots off some hot guy.
That's what we're best known for... elegance and class.
I'm sure we all agree that the gold for most hackneyed phrase has to go jointly to the 1,275 broadcasters who mouthed the words "... has never won gold on Canadian soil". My goodness.
Speaking of all things Canadian, you gotta wonder who arranged that funereal tempo for our national anthem at the opening ceremonies. O Canada! indeed. It took longer to finish the song that it did to complete the Canadian Pacific Railway.
I don't recall hearing any commentator point out that although we are an officially bilingual country, it was not clear which second language the VANOC head was speaking in when he fell out of English and into what one can only assume was an attempt at French.
Vancouver has been swarming with people from all over the world, for months. Could John Furlong not have found someone to tell him that "una kip" is not how you pronounce the phrase meaning "a team" in French? Or is Una Kip a Finnish snowboarder? It's unclear.
And then there's a second mystery surrounding the clearly talented and committed Mr. Furlong... and again, nobody has pointed it out. When he was addressing the world at the opening ceremony (in English; we'll let the failed attempt at French go, now), he had a clear, if wooden, Canadian accent.
But when they showed the pre-recorded features about him, Furlong has an undeniable Irish lilt. Hey -- maybe they have spirited away the real Furlong and replaced him with a clone. It may be a North Korean plot. Stay tuned.
Speaking of staying tuned -- this is not the first time I have watched figure skating. And therefore, it is not the first time I have been utterly baffled by the judging. Is there any "sport" where the judging is more opaque?
People fell down, and won. They fell twice, and scored well. They skated beautifully, and came in seventh or 15th. And nobody said, "What the....??" Does everybody except me understand this? Do the cumulative scores of the last 12 years figure in? It's as though the Canadian hockey team, for instance, won 3-2 in the gold match, but gold is awarded to the US anyway, because the judges... well, because they can.
There. The gold in being a curmudgeon goes to Knowles. Let the Games continue.
Friday, February 12, 2010
25% vote; 100% bear the consequences
It's an intriguing experience, this political thing.
If you're reading this column, you probably already know that I am a candidate for the position of Mayor of Wilmot Township in the 2010 municipal election. I announced my intentions a couple of weeks ago, and the response has been very interesting.
(If you're not reading this column.... no, that won't work. Never mind).
A lot of people have contacted me since the announcement, mostly folks I have encountered on the street or in the grocery store or at a local restaurant.
I've been very impressed that at least half have not only congratulated me -- which is quite premature, unless the congratulations are for being brave and/or foolish enough to run, in which case, thank you -- but have also offered to help in the campaign.
Some, of course, simply say, "So, you're running..." and then look down at an imaginary speck on the sidewalk, so I suspect they are not among my most ardent supporters. This response, too, is to be expected.
What I didn't expect is the level of engagement of a lot of people, this early on. The nomination period is open, but the election doesn't take place until October 25. That's a geological age away, in political terms.
None the less, many people are engaged and eager to participate.
This is tremendous. One of the reasons I am running is because I believe that municipal government is where most of the things happen that affect our daily lives.
Of course, the feds make important decisions -- or don't, in the case of a lengthy prorogation -- and so do our provincial leaders. They do things that impact us every day, from instituting the HST to funding community facilities.
But it's at the municipal level that we feel the impact, most regularly. If you doubt that, imagine discovering your garbage at the end of your driveway, two days after it was supposed to be picked up. Think about what would happen if your taps no longer produced water, or your toilet no longer flushed; if huge sinkholes in your street were left un-repaired, or a rendering plant opened in the middle of your subdivision.
These are all municipal concerns, at the township and/or regional level. These things matter.
Listen when you are having coffee with some friends -- many of the complaints will be about all things municipal. Delays in getting approval from the GRCA? Your mayor is your only rep on that board. Electricity bills? Your mayor is your only rep on that board. Limited hours at your library? Your mayor.... this is becoming needlessly repetitive. The point is, our municipal representatives have a lot to do with how we live on a day to day basis.
I'm going on about this, this week -- and no, this will not be my weekly column topic, I assure you -- because many people still don't really know who does what, when it comes to supplying services to the people of our communities.
Odds are good, if you raise an issue, the trail will lead right to municipal or regional council. Part of my goal (in addition to the "get elected" part) is to inform as many people as possible about the importance of our township council and regional council.
But what I am celebrating, these days, is the number of people who do know, who do care, and who are eager to get involved.
As this campaign unfolds, if you are one of these, I encourage you to go beyond urging support for individual candidates. Talk to your friends and neighbours about the roles and responsibilities of municipal governments. Encourage them to get involved.
Only about 25% of voters participate in municipal elections. But 100% of voters are impacted by their results.
Get involved. Thus endeth the lesson.
If you're reading this column, you probably already know that I am a candidate for the position of Mayor of Wilmot Township in the 2010 municipal election. I announced my intentions a couple of weeks ago, and the response has been very interesting.
(If you're not reading this column.... no, that won't work. Never mind).
A lot of people have contacted me since the announcement, mostly folks I have encountered on the street or in the grocery store or at a local restaurant.
I've been very impressed that at least half have not only congratulated me -- which is quite premature, unless the congratulations are for being brave and/or foolish enough to run, in which case, thank you -- but have also offered to help in the campaign.
Some, of course, simply say, "So, you're running..." and then look down at an imaginary speck on the sidewalk, so I suspect they are not among my most ardent supporters. This response, too, is to be expected.
What I didn't expect is the level of engagement of a lot of people, this early on. The nomination period is open, but the election doesn't take place until October 25. That's a geological age away, in political terms.
None the less, many people are engaged and eager to participate.
This is tremendous. One of the reasons I am running is because I believe that municipal government is where most of the things happen that affect our daily lives.
Of course, the feds make important decisions -- or don't, in the case of a lengthy prorogation -- and so do our provincial leaders. They do things that impact us every day, from instituting the HST to funding community facilities.
But it's at the municipal level that we feel the impact, most regularly. If you doubt that, imagine discovering your garbage at the end of your driveway, two days after it was supposed to be picked up. Think about what would happen if your taps no longer produced water, or your toilet no longer flushed; if huge sinkholes in your street were left un-repaired, or a rendering plant opened in the middle of your subdivision.
These are all municipal concerns, at the township and/or regional level. These things matter.
Listen when you are having coffee with some friends -- many of the complaints will be about all things municipal. Delays in getting approval from the GRCA? Your mayor is your only rep on that board. Electricity bills? Your mayor is your only rep on that board. Limited hours at your library? Your mayor.... this is becoming needlessly repetitive. The point is, our municipal representatives have a lot to do with how we live on a day to day basis.
I'm going on about this, this week -- and no, this will not be my weekly column topic, I assure you -- because many people still don't really know who does what, when it comes to supplying services to the people of our communities.
Odds are good, if you raise an issue, the trail will lead right to municipal or regional council. Part of my goal (in addition to the "get elected" part) is to inform as many people as possible about the importance of our township council and regional council.
But what I am celebrating, these days, is the number of people who do know, who do care, and who are eager to get involved.
As this campaign unfolds, if you are one of these, I encourage you to go beyond urging support for individual candidates. Talk to your friends and neighbours about the roles and responsibilities of municipal governments. Encourage them to get involved.
Only about 25% of voters participate in municipal elections. But 100% of voters are impacted by their results.
Get involved. Thus endeth the lesson.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Why doesn't Kramer just use his cell phone?
It's a pretty good answer to the problem.
The problem: all those channels and nothing worth watching.
The solution: time travel.
I lived, for about a decade, without television. Can't imagine how, but I did.
Now, when I say "without television," I should admit that there was a TV present at all times, with a VCR/DVD hooked up to allow the viewing of movies and such.
I could also, in times of dire emergency, hook up an antique aerial and watch election coverage or some such important event. Did I mention that elections are very important events? I digress.
But I lived 99% TV-free.
Missed a lot, it seems.
A few years ago (yes, it coincides with the entry of one, Nancy, into my life), TV returned to my own particular scene. Today, there is an entire room of the house (albeit in the nether regions) devoted to the watching of TV.
That's how I know there is often nothing worth watching. It's also how I discovered my own particular method of time travel.
You see, during all those years in the broadcast wilderness, I was more or less unaware of shows like Seinfeld, Frasier, Friends, the West Wing, Star Trek Voyager, and more.
Turns out, one of the ways the 7,683 channels deal with all that empty telecasting space is to fill it with reruns. Of course, to me, many of them are still not re-runs. I am the last virgin viewer in the land.
All of this to say, if you really want to get a handle on how things have changed in a very short time, just watch Seinfeld or Frasier.
Seinfeld ran from 1989 to 1998, finishing only 12 years ago. When you're 59, as some of us are, 12 years ago is like yesterday. Sometimes, like tomorrow. Frasier was aired from 1993 to 2004 -- now a piece of even more recent history.
Watching these shows again... and for the first time... invokes the eerie atmosphere of wandering through a museum. Not the Neanderthal section, but those displays that replicate "a kitchen of the 1950's", complete with red plastic kitchen chairs and a cat clock with a pendulum tail.
Take telephones, for instance. How much of Seinfeld's humour is based on the telephone (that large black object with the extra-long cord, occupying most of the surface of the coffee table). The tossing about of the phone is a huge Seinfeld schtick. So is the absense of a phone. I have seen episodes of Seinfeld and Friends in the last week that each had our heroes lost in the countryside, with no recourse.
What about their cell phones? No, wait...
And speaking of cell phones, it's always funny to watch Niles or Frasier pull
out their cells -- which are about the size of a shoe box -- and yank up the antenna before speaking. At least, they would find themselves out of touch, should they get lost in Martin's Winnebago. (Or should Niles be trapped in someone else's RV).
It's odd that shows that in some ways feel very current to me are also rife with vestiges of the past. I guess that's because the past is long past so quickly, in our ever-changing world in which we live in. (Sorry, Sir Paul).
Frasier's booth is bereft of even one computer screen (try to find any broadcast locale where that is true, today). Nobody has GPS. Jerry and George write (or don't actually write) by hand in notebooks.
Ah, the good old days... all fresh and new to me, of course.
Do me a favour -- don't tell me how any of these series turn out. I do have some guesses -- Jerry finally gets a cell phone, and calls up some new, less abrasive friends. The cast of Friends discover computer dating and they all find someone brand new, thus ending the Ross and Rachel saga forever. Niles marries Bulldog. The crew of Voyager almost get home, then they realize what TV is like back on earth, and flee back through the wormhole.
Am I right? Eh?
The problem: all those channels and nothing worth watching.
The solution: time travel.
I lived, for about a decade, without television. Can't imagine how, but I did.
Now, when I say "without television," I should admit that there was a TV present at all times, with a VCR/DVD hooked up to allow the viewing of movies and such.
I could also, in times of dire emergency, hook up an antique aerial and watch election coverage or some such important event. Did I mention that elections are very important events? I digress.
But I lived 99% TV-free.
Missed a lot, it seems.
A few years ago (yes, it coincides with the entry of one, Nancy, into my life), TV returned to my own particular scene. Today, there is an entire room of the house (albeit in the nether regions) devoted to the watching of TV.
That's how I know there is often nothing worth watching. It's also how I discovered my own particular method of time travel.
You see, during all those years in the broadcast wilderness, I was more or less unaware of shows like Seinfeld, Frasier, Friends, the West Wing, Star Trek Voyager, and more.
Turns out, one of the ways the 7,683 channels deal with all that empty telecasting space is to fill it with reruns. Of course, to me, many of them are still not re-runs. I am the last virgin viewer in the land.
All of this to say, if you really want to get a handle on how things have changed in a very short time, just watch Seinfeld or Frasier.
Seinfeld ran from 1989 to 1998, finishing only 12 years ago. When you're 59, as some of us are, 12 years ago is like yesterday. Sometimes, like tomorrow. Frasier was aired from 1993 to 2004 -- now a piece of even more recent history.
Watching these shows again... and for the first time... invokes the eerie atmosphere of wandering through a museum. Not the Neanderthal section, but those displays that replicate "a kitchen of the 1950's", complete with red plastic kitchen chairs and a cat clock with a pendulum tail.
Take telephones, for instance. How much of Seinfeld's humour is based on the telephone (that large black object with the extra-long cord, occupying most of the surface of the coffee table). The tossing about of the phone is a huge Seinfeld schtick. So is the absense of a phone. I have seen episodes of Seinfeld and Friends in the last week that each had our heroes lost in the countryside, with no recourse.
What about their cell phones? No, wait...
And speaking of cell phones, it's always funny to watch Niles or Frasier pull
out their cells -- which are about the size of a shoe box -- and yank up the antenna before speaking. At least, they would find themselves out of touch, should they get lost in Martin's Winnebago. (Or should Niles be trapped in someone else's RV).
It's odd that shows that in some ways feel very current to me are also rife with vestiges of the past. I guess that's because the past is long past so quickly, in our ever-changing world in which we live in. (Sorry, Sir Paul).
Frasier's booth is bereft of even one computer screen (try to find any broadcast locale where that is true, today). Nobody has GPS. Jerry and George write (or don't actually write) by hand in notebooks.
Ah, the good old days... all fresh and new to me, of course.
Do me a favour -- don't tell me how any of these series turn out. I do have some guesses -- Jerry finally gets a cell phone, and calls up some new, less abrasive friends. The cast of Friends discover computer dating and they all find someone brand new, thus ending the Ross and Rachel saga forever. Niles marries Bulldog. The crew of Voyager almost get home, then they realize what TV is like back on earth, and flee back through the wormhole.
Am I right? Eh?
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