I'm packed, and ready to go. Except, today, the weather gods have conspired against me.
At this point in the election campaign, I start my day (after coffee and the crossword, of course) by loading my blue satchel with Paul Knowles for Mayor brochures, some buttons (same theme, surprisingly enough), a bottle of water, and some note paper and a pen.
And then I am off to go door to door, meeting the residents of Wilmot township. This was the plan this morning, too... except torrential rains and some thunderstorms have put a bit of a cramp in the schedule. It's supposed to get nicer, though, so I should be able to hit the streets later in the day.
This door to door campaigning is very interesting. A bit unnerving, too -- after all, each new door is an adventure, and you never know what you are going to encounter.
I have found everything from a refusal to meet me ("I don't open my door to solicitors") to warm welcomes from both friends and strangers ("Come in and sit down. Tell us about the election.")
Mostly, when people are home, they are very cordial, and often downright friendly. Most are aware of the election, and I will not be surprised if this time, we see a much higher turnout than we have in recent decades (where in Wilmot we were lucky to have a quarter of eligible voters cast their ballots).
I have already learned about a number of local issues -- and I will be writing a more 'official' news release about these issues, and posting it on paulknowles.ca.
But to be more informal, in this space: here are some of my favourite moments, so far, in the door to door quest for votes:
* A man who refused my brochure, but then explained, "I don't need your brochure. You have our votes, so please use that material to convince someone else to support you. Good luck!"
* Three folks on the same street who greeted me with, "I was just reading about your wife!" -- Nancy was featured in Most magazine, because of the Kitchener-Waterloo Arts Award we won for New Hamburg Live.
* Two people who saw my vague profile through frosted glass beard and belly most obvious, I suppose (I gotta stop standing in profile!), and assumed I was one of my similarly portly competitors.
* A friend who opened the door on one of the hottest afternoons, recognized that I was nearing the end of heat tolerance, and said, "Will you please go home before you kill yourself?"
* A series of women on one street who said, one after another, "You have my vote, because my neighbour has been singing your praises." Yo have to love neighbours like
that.
* Several voters who appear to support me after we discussed, not issues, but gardens. Which seems eminently sensible to me!
In the course of campaigning, I have been invited to meet lovely little dogs including a beagle named Molly (I accepted), to assist one friend in painting his foyer (I declined), and to give a hug to a long-time acquaintance who now lives in a seniors' apartment (I accepted).
I have also realized, as I attend larger events, that political campaigning involves a lot of eating, most of it excellent if not entirely fat-free. Pork chops, corn on the cob, sausages, hot dogs, ice cream, pie... all of which helps to explain why at least two of the candidates look like this. Or, at least, will continue to look like this for the foreseeable future. Maybe the multiple kilometers we will walk will counteract this, but I doubt it.
All in all, although it takes a bit of self-induced oomph to knock on that first door, each time, I am genuinely enjoying the process. And the good news is, there are only several thousand more doors to go.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Venison sausage, pickled eggs: gone fishin'
It worked out to about $10 a fish. And that was just for the fishing license -- I did not have to pay, personally, for the boat, the captain, the bait and other such essentials to a day-long bass fishing trip. That was all supplied by my friend Don, who hosts about 10 of us on such an outing, on Long Point Bay, every summer.
Now, when I say he does this every summer, I am being more presumptuous than I should be. Don keeps careful minutes, each trip, and the minutes always point out that each and every one of us, with the exception of mine host himself, is on probation.
It's not completely clear what we would have to do in order to lose our probationary rights, but none of us are eager to test the boundaries, at the risk of finding out. So, for example, we agree that Don always catches the biggest fish, and that it would be foolish to actually measure the bass, since Don's catch is demonstrably larger.
This is the only time, all year, that I fish. One day. Actually, by the time we made the trek to Port Rowan, and then took the two-hour boat ride to where the fish were allegedly biting, we probably got no more than about four hours of genuine fishing in.
In that time, I caught three fish, and watched several others escape my line. It's a thoughtful moment, when you realize a bass is smarter than you are. But I did triumph over our finned foes, three times in a day.
While this sounds less than stellar, I actually wound up in the middle of the pack, when it came to production this year. Everyone caught at least one fish, but for some, that was their total. No one caught their personal limit; Dave, our "sleeper" this year, caught nothing for about two and a half hours, and then landed (boated?) five in the last hour and a half to take the title.
This may not be exactly how it appears in the minutes of the meeting, however. Don has a way of massaging the facts, and may, in fact, wind up as the superior fisherman of record. Who are we probationers to argue?
All in all, this is an unusual day. It's always on a weekday, so except for two or three of the assembled multitude who are retired, for the rest of us it carries that special sense of playing hooky. We should be working; instead, to quote an ancient phrase, we have "gone fishin".
We all take along some edibles, which are served starting around 8 a.m. -- and comprise a most unusual breakfast. Venison summer sausage, for example, pickled eggs, limburger cheese with sweet onions; cheese curds (cheese is big with these guys), suicide pepperoni. Not your standard healthy breakfast, but it seems just right, when you are skimming (well, in this boat, perhaps "ploughing" is the more apt phrase) across the waters of Lake Erie.
We get to the area where the fish are hanging out, today - how the captain knows, we don't ask... it would be like asking a Mason to reveal secrets of the order -- and we fish.
Actually, we cast out our lines, and reel them in. Pretty much everything else, except for the eating and drinking part, is handled by the captain. He puts the bait on the hooks, he replaces lost hooks and sinkers, he nets the fish. We take the credit... or give it to Don.
On the way home, we stop at a place where the owners have built a niche businesses, cleaning fish for the likes of us.
Then we finish the homeward trip (this year in a borrowed 1977 camper van with a designated driver), knowing the feast that awaits us once Don fires up the barbecue and concocts his secret bass seasoning.
One bit of that fresh-caught fish, and there is no doubt in anyone's mind that Don caught the most, the biggest, perhaps the only fish of the day! Let the record show it.
Now, when I say he does this every summer, I am being more presumptuous than I should be. Don keeps careful minutes, each trip, and the minutes always point out that each and every one of us, with the exception of mine host himself, is on probation.
It's not completely clear what we would have to do in order to lose our probationary rights, but none of us are eager to test the boundaries, at the risk of finding out. So, for example, we agree that Don always catches the biggest fish, and that it would be foolish to actually measure the bass, since Don's catch is demonstrably larger.
This is the only time, all year, that I fish. One day. Actually, by the time we made the trek to Port Rowan, and then took the two-hour boat ride to where the fish were allegedly biting, we probably got no more than about four hours of genuine fishing in.
In that time, I caught three fish, and watched several others escape my line. It's a thoughtful moment, when you realize a bass is smarter than you are. But I did triumph over our finned foes, three times in a day.
While this sounds less than stellar, I actually wound up in the middle of the pack, when it came to production this year. Everyone caught at least one fish, but for some, that was their total. No one caught their personal limit; Dave, our "sleeper" this year, caught nothing for about two and a half hours, and then landed (boated?) five in the last hour and a half to take the title.
This may not be exactly how it appears in the minutes of the meeting, however. Don has a way of massaging the facts, and may, in fact, wind up as the superior fisherman of record. Who are we probationers to argue?
All in all, this is an unusual day. It's always on a weekday, so except for two or three of the assembled multitude who are retired, for the rest of us it carries that special sense of playing hooky. We should be working; instead, to quote an ancient phrase, we have "gone fishin".
We all take along some edibles, which are served starting around 8 a.m. -- and comprise a most unusual breakfast. Venison summer sausage, for example, pickled eggs, limburger cheese with sweet onions; cheese curds (cheese is big with these guys), suicide pepperoni. Not your standard healthy breakfast, but it seems just right, when you are skimming (well, in this boat, perhaps "ploughing" is the more apt phrase) across the waters of Lake Erie.
We get to the area where the fish are hanging out, today - how the captain knows, we don't ask... it would be like asking a Mason to reveal secrets of the order -- and we fish.
Actually, we cast out our lines, and reel them in. Pretty much everything else, except for the eating and drinking part, is handled by the captain. He puts the bait on the hooks, he replaces lost hooks and sinkers, he nets the fish. We take the credit... or give it to Don.
On the way home, we stop at a place where the owners have built a niche businesses, cleaning fish for the likes of us.
Then we finish the homeward trip (this year in a borrowed 1977 camper van with a designated driver), knowing the feast that awaits us once Don fires up the barbecue and concocts his secret bass seasoning.
One bit of that fresh-caught fish, and there is no doubt in anyone's mind that Don caught the most, the biggest, perhaps the only fish of the day! Let the record show it.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Evening is for the birds
It's a remarkable sight.
Every evening, between 7:30 and 8 p.m., starlings congregate in the giant, old poplar in the field behind our home. They arrive singly, or in small groups, or in flocks of a hundred or more.
The first to come settle on the top, leafless branches of the dying tree. They are soon joined by others, and the noise begins... not singing, because these are starlings, after all, but their best efforts at chirping.
The first large flock to arrive is an amazing sight, as a hundred or more birds glide across the sky, and then swoop to their chosen perches. Then another flock, and another, until the tree contains more than a thousand loud birds, at a conservative estimate.
Sometimes, they spill over into other nearby trees, including our spruces, but if we clap our hands, they soar up out of the spruce trees and elbow their way into spaces on the poplar.
We try to imagine what they are doing in this nightly gathering. Reporting in? Sharing information about the best places to find edible insects? Or is it a singles bar for starlings?
They arrive over the course of a half hour or so; by the end of the exercise, the tree is quivering like a wet Labrador, even though no other tree nearby shows any movement at all.
The noise hits maximum level, everyone is chattering at once, and suddenly, on some signal that you know humans are never going to figure out, they are off, again. This tree is not their night-time perch... it's their after-work pub. They spend anything from forty minutes to 30 seconds, for the latest-comers, and then they are off to destinations we know not of.
It is not rare to see a lone starling or two soar in just as the crowd is departing. These tail-end Charlies never land, they simply tag along at the rear of one of the new flocks heading off to -- to what? A better bar, or a starling restaurant, now that they have had their pre-dinner cocktail?
It's a fascinating phenomenon, all the more so because it lends itself to no easy explanation. Anything we try to figure out smacks of blatant anthropomorphism, so it's probably better to go all the way and call the popular tree Cheers for the Birds.
Whatever the inspiration, it's loud, it's fraught with danger for human observers under the flight paths of these thousand-plus birds, and its absolutely intriguing.
Plenty of people don't have any affection for starlings... I'm thinking they might change their minds if they saw them in this unusual behaviour. Or, they might simply have a dry cleaning bill of major proportions.
Every evening, between 7:30 and 8 p.m., starlings congregate in the giant, old poplar in the field behind our home. They arrive singly, or in small groups, or in flocks of a hundred or more.
The first to come settle on the top, leafless branches of the dying tree. They are soon joined by others, and the noise begins... not singing, because these are starlings, after all, but their best efforts at chirping.
The first large flock to arrive is an amazing sight, as a hundred or more birds glide across the sky, and then swoop to their chosen perches. Then another flock, and another, until the tree contains more than a thousand loud birds, at a conservative estimate.
Sometimes, they spill over into other nearby trees, including our spruces, but if we clap our hands, they soar up out of the spruce trees and elbow their way into spaces on the poplar.
We try to imagine what they are doing in this nightly gathering. Reporting in? Sharing information about the best places to find edible insects? Or is it a singles bar for starlings?
They arrive over the course of a half hour or so; by the end of the exercise, the tree is quivering like a wet Labrador, even though no other tree nearby shows any movement at all.
The noise hits maximum level, everyone is chattering at once, and suddenly, on some signal that you know humans are never going to figure out, they are off, again. This tree is not their night-time perch... it's their after-work pub. They spend anything from forty minutes to 30 seconds, for the latest-comers, and then they are off to destinations we know not of.
It is not rare to see a lone starling or two soar in just as the crowd is departing. These tail-end Charlies never land, they simply tag along at the rear of one of the new flocks heading off to -- to what? A better bar, or a starling restaurant, now that they have had their pre-dinner cocktail?
It's a fascinating phenomenon, all the more so because it lends itself to no easy explanation. Anything we try to figure out smacks of blatant anthropomorphism, so it's probably better to go all the way and call the popular tree Cheers for the Birds.
Whatever the inspiration, it's loud, it's fraught with danger for human observers under the flight paths of these thousand-plus birds, and its absolutely intriguing.
Plenty of people don't have any affection for starlings... I'm thinking they might change their minds if they saw them in this unusual behaviour. Or, they might simply have a dry cleaning bill of major proportions.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Should we welcome Conrad home?
It's hard to feel sorry for Conrad Black. I mean, he was in the newspaper business, he sometimes uses archaic words, he's married to a talented woman... oh, wait, that seems like a terrifically sympathetic person, after all!
At any rate, here's poor Conrad, sent to jail in the US for what may or may not actually have been a crime (I lean toward the "not" option, personally). If there were crimes, they're probably victimless; on the other hand, Black is certainly the victim of the weird American system of "justice" that involves grandstanding public officials, outrageous plea bargaining (where is David Radler these days?), and penalties don't vaguely fit the crime.
But now, Conrad is out on bail, his sentence for most of his convictions is likely to be overturned, and it well may be decided that he has done his time for the final, still-in-effect conviction.
And thus, he says, he wants to return to Canada.
This may be more related to his current housing crisis than his love for his home and native land. He has apparently sold his homes in England, New York and (as of August), Palm Beach, leaving him only with a spacious dwelling in Toronto.
The apparent problem is, he isn't actually allowed to come to Canada. This is temporarily true because of his bail conditions, but even if they are waived, or he is declared a completely free man due to time served, he still may not be able to come home.
That's because, in a fit of pompous arrogance (I suspect that phrase to be redundant, but he can take arrogance to a whole new level), he renounced his Canadian citizenship back when he lusted after his British peerage... which the Queen graciously bestowed on Lord Black of Crossharbour. Of course, he was rather forced to choose because of the enmity of one Jean Chretien, and the entire thing thus becomes as muddy as certain harbours.
So, does Canada forgive and forget? Well, we're unlikely to forget... Mr. Black is not a person to slip out of one's national consciousness.
But forgive? I vote, yes... not that there is a vote involved. He is a Canadian, despite all the political and peerage machinations. He's more than that -- he's a Canadian character, in a era when too many of our national figures are largely character-less.
I think we demand an apology for his abandonment of Canada (which will hurt him much more than an extended prison term, I suspect) and then welcome him home. He can be an ass, but he is our very own ass, and to leave him in suspended animation as a man without a country, when he very clearly is Canadian and nothing but, would be wrong.
He may have set a record as the proudest Canadian to ever give up his Canadian citizenship; when the time comes and the outrageous American legal system says its okay, let's let him back in.
Maybe we could arrange for Chretien to meet him at the Toronto airport since, given the reports of their current financial situation, the Blacks may need to hitch a ride downtown.
At any rate, here's poor Conrad, sent to jail in the US for what may or may not actually have been a crime (I lean toward the "not" option, personally). If there were crimes, they're probably victimless; on the other hand, Black is certainly the victim of the weird American system of "justice" that involves grandstanding public officials, outrageous plea bargaining (where is David Radler these days?), and penalties don't vaguely fit the crime.
But now, Conrad is out on bail, his sentence for most of his convictions is likely to be overturned, and it well may be decided that he has done his time for the final, still-in-effect conviction.
And thus, he says, he wants to return to Canada.
This may be more related to his current housing crisis than his love for his home and native land. He has apparently sold his homes in England, New York and (as of August), Palm Beach, leaving him only with a spacious dwelling in Toronto.
The apparent problem is, he isn't actually allowed to come to Canada. This is temporarily true because of his bail conditions, but even if they are waived, or he is declared a completely free man due to time served, he still may not be able to come home.
That's because, in a fit of pompous arrogance (I suspect that phrase to be redundant, but he can take arrogance to a whole new level), he renounced his Canadian citizenship back when he lusted after his British peerage... which the Queen graciously bestowed on Lord Black of Crossharbour. Of course, he was rather forced to choose because of the enmity of one Jean Chretien, and the entire thing thus becomes as muddy as certain harbours.
So, does Canada forgive and forget? Well, we're unlikely to forget... Mr. Black is not a person to slip out of one's national consciousness.
But forgive? I vote, yes... not that there is a vote involved. He is a Canadian, despite all the political and peerage machinations. He's more than that -- he's a Canadian character, in a era when too many of our national figures are largely character-less.
I think we demand an apology for his abandonment of Canada (which will hurt him much more than an extended prison term, I suspect) and then welcome him home. He can be an ass, but he is our very own ass, and to leave him in suspended animation as a man without a country, when he very clearly is Canadian and nothing but, would be wrong.
He may have set a record as the proudest Canadian to ever give up his Canadian citizenship; when the time comes and the outrageous American legal system says its okay, let's let him back in.
Maybe we could arrange for Chretien to meet him at the Toronto airport since, given the reports of their current financial situation, the Blacks may need to hitch a ride downtown.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Rideau Hall is the Fortress of Solitude
Ran into an intriguing bit of bureaucratic overkill, this week.
You probably know that David Johnston, President of the University of Waterloo, has been named the next Governor General of Canada. That's pretty good news for our area. For some reason, Waterloo Region has been a hotbed of celebrity this summer -- Stephen Hawking is here, the Prime Minister has popped in, the Queen showed up to pick up her new Blackberry at the source.
And then we learned that Johnston is the new GG. Pretty cool, and perhaps this strikes a blow for all of us old, grey-haired guys who are now the forgotten minority. Grey power! Grey power! What was I saying?......
Joking aside, I wanted to interview Johnston for Exchange magazine, the business magazine which I edit.
Turns out, thanks to relentless bureaucratic power games, this cannot be done.
I have interviewed Johnston in the past, on several occasions. He's a personable guy, articulate, extremely intelligent, and very visionary. He's a great person to talk to, and his comments always make for good articles.
He's also been surprisingly accessible for such a busy man. I've met him in his office, but I have also received a call from him as he travelled somewhere, but chose to respond to my message. I've been impressed.
That side of David Johnston was stifled in about three and a half seconds, the moment it became public knowledge that he will be the GG.
When I called the university media relations people, I encountered a fair level of genuine frustration on their part. They're not happy. Here's the deal -- they have always been the ones who set up interviews with their President. Johnston is their President... and the university is in the middle of a huge fundraising drive. However, the moment he because the Governor General-designate, some Ottawa poohbahs took over. The UW folks were told all requests had to come to the people at Heritage Canada. So, the UW-ites reluctantly referred us on to Ottawa.
Here's what happens.
Me: "I'd like to interview David Johnston."
Them: "Can we get all the information about you and your publication?"
Me: "Sure." And I give it to them.
Them: "We will get back to you in a day or two."
Them (a day or two later): "Interviews with Dr. Johnston are not being scheduled
at this time."
I would be personally paranoid, except I know this is happening to every media outlet trying to talk to the guy.
In the past, there has been some evidence that some people who became Governor General also became... how shall we say this... somewhat snobbish. Elitist. Distant. Maybe that shouldn't come as a big surprise, because from the very second David Johnston was announced as the incoming GG, a cloak of secrecy and elitism -- not of his own making, in any way has closed around him.
Personally, I think this is ridiculous.
David Johnston is known by his friends and colleagues to be a personable, friendly, open person. These should be ideal qualifications to be the Governor General, because the GG is most of all a person who leads by example, not by authority.
Let's hope that our new GG's strength of character is sufficient to overcome the fortress of solitude that the bureaucrats are already trying to build around him.
And David... if by some chance you happen to read this, give me a call. There's
nobody here to prevent it.
You probably know that David Johnston, President of the University of Waterloo, has been named the next Governor General of Canada. That's pretty good news for our area. For some reason, Waterloo Region has been a hotbed of celebrity this summer -- Stephen Hawking is here, the Prime Minister has popped in, the Queen showed up to pick up her new Blackberry at the source.
And then we learned that Johnston is the new GG. Pretty cool, and perhaps this strikes a blow for all of us old, grey-haired guys who are now the forgotten minority. Grey power! Grey power! What was I saying?......
Joking aside, I wanted to interview Johnston for Exchange magazine, the business magazine which I edit.
Turns out, thanks to relentless bureaucratic power games, this cannot be done.
I have interviewed Johnston in the past, on several occasions. He's a personable guy, articulate, extremely intelligent, and very visionary. He's a great person to talk to, and his comments always make for good articles.
He's also been surprisingly accessible for such a busy man. I've met him in his office, but I have also received a call from him as he travelled somewhere, but chose to respond to my message. I've been impressed.
That side of David Johnston was stifled in about three and a half seconds, the moment it became public knowledge that he will be the GG.
When I called the university media relations people, I encountered a fair level of genuine frustration on their part. They're not happy. Here's the deal -- they have always been the ones who set up interviews with their President. Johnston is their President... and the university is in the middle of a huge fundraising drive. However, the moment he because the Governor General-designate, some Ottawa poohbahs took over. The UW folks were told all requests had to come to the people at Heritage Canada. So, the UW-ites reluctantly referred us on to Ottawa.
Here's what happens.
Me: "I'd like to interview David Johnston."
Them: "Can we get all the information about you and your publication?"
Me: "Sure." And I give it to them.
Them: "We will get back to you in a day or two."
Them (a day or two later): "Interviews with Dr. Johnston are not being scheduled
at this time."
I would be personally paranoid, except I know this is happening to every media outlet trying to talk to the guy.
In the past, there has been some evidence that some people who became Governor General also became... how shall we say this... somewhat snobbish. Elitist. Distant. Maybe that shouldn't come as a big surprise, because from the very second David Johnston was announced as the incoming GG, a cloak of secrecy and elitism -- not of his own making, in any way has closed around him.
Personally, I think this is ridiculous.
David Johnston is known by his friends and colleagues to be a personable, friendly, open person. These should be ideal qualifications to be the Governor General, because the GG is most of all a person who leads by example, not by authority.
Let's hope that our new GG's strength of character is sufficient to overcome the fortress of solitude that the bureaucrats are already trying to build around him.
And David... if by some chance you happen to read this, give me a call. There's
nobody here to prevent it.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
What? The do-not-call program do-not-work?
I, for one, am shocked. Well, not.
I'm reading a news story, published today, about the national "do not call" list. You know, the one that prevents telemarketers from calling you. Really.
According to this report, 300,000 complaints have been filed by frustrated Canadians, against unwanted telemarketers.
The federal government has responded, sort of. In two years, it has imposed $73,000 in fines.
Here's the good bit -- it has collected $250 of that. That probably didn't come close to covering the coffee bill for the bureaucrats assigned to the job.
I have tried to use the do-not-call list. I notice no impact at all. I still hear the blare of the ship's horn as some cruise captain or other calls to tell me I have won a cruise. I still seem to win the chance to attend a never-ending sales pitch on time-shares on a regular basis.
The news story -- I'm drawing from CBC.ca -- says that "telemarketers are barred from dialing a number once it is on the list." Well, not so much, in reality.
They are also subject to fines up to $15,000 for offending companies.
Doing the math, it would seem, then, that fewer than five companies have even been assessed maximum fines (and none paid), despite 300,000 complaints. And the Conservatives think the long gun registry in ineffective! Heck, it is a glowing example of efficiency, compared to this!
According to the report, there have been 11 fines imposed since Sept., 2008. And I love this comment: "As of March 1, no company has officially refused to pay the imposed administrative monetary penalty."
This is a brilliant approach. Let's use it ourselves, for 407 charges, taxes, speeding tickets. We accept the penalty, we never officially refuse to pay it... we just don't cough up.
In fact, more than 7 million telephone numbers have been registered with the do-not-call registry. People genuinely want to believe this will work, despite all the supper-time and Saturday afternoon evidence to the contrary.
One critic nailed it, listing all the groups that are exempt from the do-not-call registry: charities, political parties, newspapers, and businesses with a prior business relationship. Add to that businesses that don't give a flying leap, and you pretty much have a telephone ringing, all the time.
The situation is pretty clear. We -- I speak for at least seven million Canadians, which is a pretty heady feeling, let me tell you -- don't want to hear from telemarketers. But we do hear the bell tolling for us. Incessantly. Tougher measures are called for.
I'm thinking, put the callers in a room with a hundred telephones, and allow volunteers from the general public to call at whim.
Or put a tracking bracelet on the offenders, and let public volunteers call them when we know they are asleep, or eating dinner, or playing with the kids.
Or issue a referee's whistle to every phone owner, to be kept right beside the telephone, to use in the case of unwanted telemarketing.
Because hangin' up is too good for these varmints.
I'm reading a news story, published today, about the national "do not call" list. You know, the one that prevents telemarketers from calling you. Really.
According to this report, 300,000 complaints have been filed by frustrated Canadians, against unwanted telemarketers.
The federal government has responded, sort of. In two years, it has imposed $73,000 in fines.
Here's the good bit -- it has collected $250 of that. That probably didn't come close to covering the coffee bill for the bureaucrats assigned to the job.
I have tried to use the do-not-call list. I notice no impact at all. I still hear the blare of the ship's horn as some cruise captain or other calls to tell me I have won a cruise. I still seem to win the chance to attend a never-ending sales pitch on time-shares on a regular basis.
The news story -- I'm drawing from CBC.ca -- says that "telemarketers are barred from dialing a number once it is on the list." Well, not so much, in reality.
They are also subject to fines up to $15,000 for offending companies.
Doing the math, it would seem, then, that fewer than five companies have even been assessed maximum fines (and none paid), despite 300,000 complaints. And the Conservatives think the long gun registry in ineffective! Heck, it is a glowing example of efficiency, compared to this!
According to the report, there have been 11 fines imposed since Sept., 2008. And I love this comment: "As of March 1, no company has officially refused to pay the imposed administrative monetary penalty."
This is a brilliant approach. Let's use it ourselves, for 407 charges, taxes, speeding tickets. We accept the penalty, we never officially refuse to pay it... we just don't cough up.
In fact, more than 7 million telephone numbers have been registered with the do-not-call registry. People genuinely want to believe this will work, despite all the supper-time and Saturday afternoon evidence to the contrary.
One critic nailed it, listing all the groups that are exempt from the do-not-call registry: charities, political parties, newspapers, and businesses with a prior business relationship. Add to that businesses that don't give a flying leap, and you pretty much have a telephone ringing, all the time.
The situation is pretty clear. We -- I speak for at least seven million Canadians, which is a pretty heady feeling, let me tell you -- don't want to hear from telemarketers. But we do hear the bell tolling for us. Incessantly. Tougher measures are called for.
I'm thinking, put the callers in a room with a hundred telephones, and allow volunteers from the general public to call at whim.
Or put a tracking bracelet on the offenders, and let public volunteers call them when we know they are asleep, or eating dinner, or playing with the kids.
Or issue a referee's whistle to every phone owner, to be kept right beside the telephone, to use in the case of unwanted telemarketing.
Because hangin' up is too good for these varmints.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Angry at the lot of them
I am saddened, frustrated, and most of all, really angry. And I find my anger is very widely directed.
Like you, I'm sure, I have been watching images from the G20 in Toronto, which continues today. More to the point, watching images of the violence that has destroyed some of the main streets of Toronto... which is also, we're told, likely to continue today.
I'm angry at the thugs and criminals who have seized the opportunity to go on a rampage. They may see some vague connection between terrorizing a city, destroying private property, burning police cars, and achieving world peace... but it is tough to make that connection, isn't it?
I suspect they really only accomplish one thing -- they turn moderate people into right-leaning people. They push many of us who would at least tolerate peaceful protest to become opponents of protest, because of the inherent dangers.
That's an entirely counter-productive result.
I'm also angry at our Prime Minister. He knew -- everyone knew -- that events like the G20 now attract the lunatic fringe, and none the less he invited them to downtown Toronto. He and his advisors created a situation that has led to violence in the streets, destruction of property -- while thousands of Toronto residents hide behind locked doors in the apartments above those very streets.
I recognize that this is not entirely fair to Harper. If we simply re-order our lives to avoid thuggery, eventually we will have surrendered the streets to the thugs. None the less, this seems to have been a circumstance where the outcome was completely predictable, $2 billion for security or not.
It may also be that the $2 billion was focused on the security of the world leaders gathered at the G20 and if things continue as they are this morning, that may be a resounding success. But at what other cost?
I am angry that the business people and residents of downtown Toronto are left completely to their own resources. It has been made clear that, while the feds could foster the situation that led to the violence, the feds will take no responsibility for the outcome. All those who have lost property are on their own -- it's up to them and their insurance companies.
I am angry with the media. I've been following the story in the media, of course -- on TV, on line, in newspapers. I have noticed a couple of things. First, the live television coverage, a voracious consumer of images, keeps showing us the same video, time after time. I think I heard that four Toronto police cars have been burned; I have seen a Toronto police car burning at least two dozen times. The same images recur, and our concept of what is really happening is skewed by this.
But I am more angry at the attention given to those perpetrating the violence, and those who appear to protest for the sake of protesting. This past week, on particular protester managed to have his picture on the front page of the paper about three times.
This same person is notorious for throwing chocolate milk on Stockwell Day, surely a significant moment in Canadian political history. Or not.
I have long been involved with the Stratford Garden Festival; a few years ago, this fine event was to be visited by then-Prime Minister Paul Martin. That would have been a real feather in the caps of the organizers and all the volunteers and participants in an utterly non-political event.
The protester noted above showed up; I saw him walking through the show. He didn¹t look much like a gardener. Sure enough, when Martin's security people spotted him, the entire Prime Ministerial visit was cancelled.
Now there is a victory for the people, wouldn't you say? And that certainly justifies triple exposure on the cover page of our regional daily. No, it doesn't.
That's an inconsequential story, compared to what is happening in Toronto. But it does show the impact a few thoughtless rowdies -- or worse -- can have. They are certainly having an impact today they're drowning out legitimate protest, they're
terrorizing citizens, they're damaging property, they're alienating every sane Canadian... and they're having no impact at all on the G20 itself.
Makes you angry, doesn't it?
Like you, I'm sure, I have been watching images from the G20 in Toronto, which continues today. More to the point, watching images of the violence that has destroyed some of the main streets of Toronto... which is also, we're told, likely to continue today.
I'm angry at the thugs and criminals who have seized the opportunity to go on a rampage. They may see some vague connection between terrorizing a city, destroying private property, burning police cars, and achieving world peace... but it is tough to make that connection, isn't it?
I suspect they really only accomplish one thing -- they turn moderate people into right-leaning people. They push many of us who would at least tolerate peaceful protest to become opponents of protest, because of the inherent dangers.
That's an entirely counter-productive result.
I'm also angry at our Prime Minister. He knew -- everyone knew -- that events like the G20 now attract the lunatic fringe, and none the less he invited them to downtown Toronto. He and his advisors created a situation that has led to violence in the streets, destruction of property -- while thousands of Toronto residents hide behind locked doors in the apartments above those very streets.
I recognize that this is not entirely fair to Harper. If we simply re-order our lives to avoid thuggery, eventually we will have surrendered the streets to the thugs. None the less, this seems to have been a circumstance where the outcome was completely predictable, $2 billion for security or not.
It may also be that the $2 billion was focused on the security of the world leaders gathered at the G20 and if things continue as they are this morning, that may be a resounding success. But at what other cost?
I am angry that the business people and residents of downtown Toronto are left completely to their own resources. It has been made clear that, while the feds could foster the situation that led to the violence, the feds will take no responsibility for the outcome. All those who have lost property are on their own -- it's up to them and their insurance companies.
I am angry with the media. I've been following the story in the media, of course -- on TV, on line, in newspapers. I have noticed a couple of things. First, the live television coverage, a voracious consumer of images, keeps showing us the same video, time after time. I think I heard that four Toronto police cars have been burned; I have seen a Toronto police car burning at least two dozen times. The same images recur, and our concept of what is really happening is skewed by this.
But I am more angry at the attention given to those perpetrating the violence, and those who appear to protest for the sake of protesting. This past week, on particular protester managed to have his picture on the front page of the paper about three times.
This same person is notorious for throwing chocolate milk on Stockwell Day, surely a significant moment in Canadian political history. Or not.
I have long been involved with the Stratford Garden Festival; a few years ago, this fine event was to be visited by then-Prime Minister Paul Martin. That would have been a real feather in the caps of the organizers and all the volunteers and participants in an utterly non-political event.
The protester noted above showed up; I saw him walking through the show. He didn¹t look much like a gardener. Sure enough, when Martin's security people spotted him, the entire Prime Ministerial visit was cancelled.
Now there is a victory for the people, wouldn't you say? And that certainly justifies triple exposure on the cover page of our regional daily. No, it doesn't.
That's an inconsequential story, compared to what is happening in Toronto. But it does show the impact a few thoughtless rowdies -- or worse -- can have. They are certainly having an impact today they're drowning out legitimate protest, they're
terrorizing citizens, they're damaging property, they're alienating every sane Canadian... and they're having no impact at all on the G20 itself.
Makes you angry, doesn't it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
