It’s been a wonky period at work for the past few weeks. Whether because of winter-induced “cabin fever”, or whether the laughable refusal of our leading Opposition party to… well, oppose anything has triggered a giddy sense of absolute power in the minds of the folks who inhabit the upper echelons of government in Ottawa, my little corner of the communications planet has been on the receiving end of some damned peculiar requests over the past few weeks. And never with less than the free employment of the DOUBLE-PLUS-URGENT stamp. So the lack of desire to put fingers-on-keyboard after getting home in recent days has been, regrettably, at the expense of Baby Duck, among others.
(I’ll leave it up to you to determine if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.)
So Happy Birthday to me! (Me the blog, that is, not me the person.) With a mild sense of shock, I just realized after a quick look at the archives recently that entry #1 on this blog was February 25, 2004. Even allowing for occasional sporadicity and one or two bouts of hiatusness, being a blogger for four years puts me statistically in pretty rarefied company, I suspect. (On the other hand, among the class of bloggers who freely make up words, I’m clearly in the majority.)
(Note to self: find out how many blogs existed in February 2004; find out the average ratio of blog start-ups to blog shut-downs since then; congratulate self on being among those hangers-on who by now are displaying what I suspect is a cockroach-in-the-nuclear-flash level of survival.)
But I digress.
So on to the serious stuff, beginning with more from the scintillating* work life of a Government of Canada Media Analyst...
(* from “scintilla: a shred, a tiny or barely detectable amount”. Yep, some days it seems like that pretty well describes the value of the work that comes off my desk.)
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This brief news advisory crossed my e-mail recently at work:
“FYI: WINNIPEG _ Raven Thundersky, who says zonolite insulation killed her relatives, holds a news conference to discuss her dealings with the federal government. (10 a.m. at St. Matthews Anglican Church, 641 St. Matthews Ave)”
I think Raven Thundersky is one of the coolest names in Canada. (And no, it’s not thun-DER’-skee, like Sandusky, Ohio; it’s THUN-der-skye. Like heavy, black clouds on the horizon showing flickers of lightning and rumbling with the occasional low growl that indicates the promise of a huge storm to come.) I also think that, if you’re a busy little senior level bureaucrat beavering away in the bowels of Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, and your admin asst comes over and says, “Raven Thundersky is downstairs”, that’s a meeting you’re going to take. Immediately, if not sooner.
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And while we’re on the subject of work.
My job is officially “media analysis” so when a big federal government event like a Budget or Speech from the Throne happens (you know when a government capitalizes the mundane, it’s important... to someone... almost always just someone else in government), we go a little crazy for a couple days. And amid the torrent of coverage, especially of reaction to the announcement, I can always find a chuckle or two. For example, recently we had a new federal budget (sorry, Federal Budget) and, while there was some happiness with the announced spending, there was also disappointment. Here’s something I call, “Been down so long it looks like up to me”:
"Association of Municipalities of Ontario President Doug Reycraft (President) reacted positively, but the London Free Press (Patrick Maloney) reported “that may be only because he’s learned to keep his expectations low”: Said Reycraft, “The finance minister did a fantastic job of dampening expectations. The general expectation was pretty low and, as a result, we’re very pleased.”
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And this one I call, “You need a spokesperson for that?”:
“Through a spokesperson, MPP Deb Matthews, Ontario’s minister of children and youth services, declined comment.”
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And here’s an organization whose name I had to take a couple runs at before I got beyond both (a) YUCK!, and (b) the realization that in fact its name as rendered here is not a typo: The Ontario Flue-Cured Tobacco Growers' Marketing Board. (The “couple runs” were required because my first thought went something like, “Well, thank God they cured it before they marketed it. Nothing worse than tobacco that might give you the flue… Oh wait… never mind.”)
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(And this, because you complain about what touches you…)
I hadn’t thought it was possible, but at work our department’s janitorial division actually seems to have found a supplier of paper hand towels with which to stock the men’s room paper towel dispenser that surely qualifies for a new Guinness Book of World’s Records entry: “world’s most fragile paper”.
These things are a bare step above raw cellulose and actually manage to self-destruct to near dissolution at the first touch of a wet hand. As a result, by the end of the day, the floor of our men’s room is littered with soggy little loonie-sized bits of paper that have been pulled away from the sheets as freshly-washed-wet-handed men try – often repeatedly – to pull a complete sheet from the dispenser. They’re such cheesy sheets, in fact, that I already find I’m using about triple the quantity of the sheets I used to use.
Will the added costs of cleaning the bathroom floors make the savings on the ridiculously cheap new paper worthwhile? Will triple consumption please the tree huggers of the world? Probably not, in both cases, but in my experience, “economy” never did wed itself to “common sense” in bureaucacythink. If I ever read that someone is seeking “paper” to make newsprint seem like vellum by comparison, I am going to tell them right where they can look.
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I note that, following the recent announcement from Cuban media that the probably-already-dead Fidel Castro will not seek re-election, in a lightning-quick reaction US President George W Bush pledged to help the island nation find its way to “real democracy”.
Which ought to mightily cheer up all those illegally-imprisoned, routinely tortured prisoners being held in the American “detention centre” at Guantanamo.
‘Bout time! Viva!
“Real democracy”... As interpreted by a man first elected when the US Supreme Court had to be dragooned into declaring him the winner. Oh yeah, that oughta be a terrific roadmap!
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Normally three little dots in a quote don’t mean a whole heck of a lot and usually they’re employed to bridge one important part of a quote to another important part of a quote while bypassing an irrelevant or unimportant part. So unimportant that we can leave it out.
But in this following example, I am kind of thinking that the dots – like Seinfeld’s famous “yadayadayada” – might have been used a little too quickly and expunged a little too much:
"You know, I tell him. I say, 'I don't know how to use the chainsaw.' Saenz told CBC. "He says, 'Don't worry. It's easy. Do it. It's easy don't worry. Just press the button and cut the pipe. That's all. It's easy.' … I was very, very, very scared because there was lots of blood." (from a CBC.ca / Edmonton story calling for better training for foreign workers, January 23)
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I was watching the BBC’s half-hour television newscast a few evenings ago when I heard a financial reporter sign off with the customary, “This is [so-and-so]…”. And I confess it brought me up short. “Did I hear that right?”
(GoogleGoogleGoogle)
Yep. I heard it right. “[So-and-so]” (above) is actually:
“Julia Caesar, BBC News 24 business presenter. Julia joined BBC News 24 for the channel's relaunch on 8th December 2003 - from sister channel BBC World, where she was European Business Reporter on World Business Report.”
Funny parents, Mr and Mrs Caesar.
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And in the post-Oscar euphoria… a movie note.
About an oldie but goodie. I just re-watched “Wargames” (coincidentally on the same night as the Oscar telecast because, to paraphrase one of our MPs, Garth Turner, I would rather have a kidney removed without the benefit of anaesthetic than sit through even a few seconds of that telecast… Turner was talking about the level of enthusiasm among some of his current colleagues in the federal Liberal caucus for an election at this time; it works just as well as a description of my enthusiasm for the thought of watching the live Oscar show. But I digress.)
"Wargames" is high on my list of personal favourite movies. But for the life of me, I can’t really nail down why. After all, it’s not that highly regarded by very many reviewers. It’s a somewhat unlikely plot – the continent’s nuclear safety is placed in the hands of a supercomputer (which becomes a character in its own right – WOPR, for War Operation Plan Response). A highschooler who is “really into computers” hacks into NORAD and, thinking he has hacked into a games development company, gets the supercomputer to play “Global Thermonuclear War”, a game developed by the computer’s designer before the computer was given control over the actual NORAD nuclear missile arsenal. So the movie becomes a race against time as the principals first try to figure out what’s happening, and then try to get the “game-playing” computer to disengage from its relentless determination to actually launch its arsenal in order to win the game.
The movie’s gadgetry hasn’t really aged all that well – watching the whizkid slide floppy discs the size of LP records in and out of his computer; and listening to the now-ancient hiss-and-crackle of a dial-up modem connecting will probably trigger more laughs than any other response nowadays.
But "Wargames" has a strong cast that includes a ridiculously young Matthew Broderick as the whizkid and Ally Sheedy as his somewhat skeptical friend. Dabney Coleman also has a terrific role as one of the co-developers of the supercomputer who clearly is not happy with anyone who argues that his electronic brain could somehow be doing anything other than exactly what it is supposed to do. A fellow named Barry Corbin has a great turn as Coleman’s chief antagonist – a hard-driving, tobacco-chewing general who strongly believes that actually pushing the nuclear button is a decision best left to a human being. But my favourite role in the movie is Coleman’s former partner in designing the computer (why “former” partner would require giving away too much of the plot here), Stephen Falken. Falken is played really thoughtfully (I thought) by John Wood, who, I am astonished to discover, first appeared in a movie in 1952… and as an adult! Given that "Wargames" came out 31 years later, Mr Wood carries his age very well.
And there are also plot holes you could drive a truck through – the ease with which the Broderick character is able to move around in what should be the super-secure NORAD command centre, for example.
But even allowing for the swift aging of the onscreen technology, the movie’s core message about the dangers of subserving people to machines, which has driven plotlines beginning as long ago as Fritz Lang’s "Metropolis" all the way up to James Cameron’s "Terminator" franchise – rendered most recently as a TV series – is nicely preached in "Wargames": Always leave yourself with a key to that lock.
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And finally... musical cowboy poetry! (And they say this blog is so monotopical... or is that monotonous?)
"I Wanna Be in the Cavalry", by Corb Lund
This is probably one of the ten most instantly catchy songs I’ve ever heard. (And that’s pretty exclusive company, let me tell ya, sharing a short list with the likes of Blue “Ooga chugga, ooga ooga” Swede’s rendition of “Hooked On a Feeling", and Hot Butter’s instrumental “Popcorn”, to name just two.) Officially, “I Wanna Be in the Cavalry” is “country” but about four bars in, it hits you like a really great little pub song with a lavish debt to the Irish. That’s hardly surprising when you consider it’s musically framed by a mandolin, banjo and drum. YouTubers (Hee-yuk! I guess that’d be couch potatoes for the New Millennium) can certainly spend a worse three-and-a-quarter-minutes than with Taber native Corb Lund and the (believe it or not) Hurtin’ Albertans.
And I’m not the only one who really likes this song or these guys (Lund and his band’ve won a wagonload of awards and have played with the likes of Steve Earle and Earl Scruggs, both household names to bluegrass fans.)
But more than just the music, the text kind of appeals to me on this song, if only because they take a couple of wonky paths you don’t see travelled by too many of the genre these days. I mean, how many country lyrics do you know that include lines like these?:
“But I'll be first in line if they'll let me ride, by god, you'll see my starch
Lope back o'er the heath with the laurel wreath underneath that vict’ry arch”
Or
“I'll wield my lance as the ponies dance and the blackguards fire their guns.”
(Oh, and if you’re wondering, the lyrical reference, which is also represented in the video, to a rider’s boots being “stirruped back to front” is the traditional tribute paid to a cavalryman who has died in battle. The boots are reversed and placed in the stirrups of a riderless horse during the funeral procession. It’s cavalry’s version of the Air Force’s “missing man” formation, shown here in the moment of its creation as an A-10 Thunderbolt pilot peels up and away from the formation of three colleagues, leaving an obvious gap in the flight.
Ladies and gentlemen… actually make that guys ‘n’ gals, start your toes to tappin’!
Video is here.
Singalong song lyrics here:
I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.
I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before.
I wanna good mount when the bugle sounds and I hear the cannons' roar.
I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.
Well, I wanna horse in the volunteer force that's riding forth at dawn.
Please save for me some gallantry that will echo when I'm gone.
I beg of you sarge let me lead the charge when the battle lines are drawn.
Lemme at least leave a good hoof beat they'll remember loud and long.
I'd not a good foot soldier make, I'd be sour and slow at march
And I'd be sick on a navy ship, and the sea would leave me parched,
But I'll be first in line if they'll let me ride, by god, you'll see my starch
Lope back o'er the heath with the laurel wreath underneath that vict’ry arch.
I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.
I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before.
I wanna good mount when the bugle sounds and I hear the cannons' roar.
I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.
Let me earn my spurs in the battle's blur where the day is lost or won.
I'll wield my lance as the ponies dance and the blackguards fire their guns;
A sabre keen, and a saddle carbine and an army Remington,
Where the hot lead screams with the cold, cold steel let me be a cav’lryman.
I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.
I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before.
I wanna good mount when the bugle sounds and I hear the cannons' roar.
I wanna be in the cavalry if I must go off to war.
Let 'em play their flutes and stirrup my boots and place them back to front
For I won’t be back on the rider-less black and I'm finished in my hunt.
I wanna be in the cavalry if I must go off to war.
I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won't ride home no more.”
À la next time!