The Streetcar Factor

I am not amused by John Baird. The perennial loud-smith has done it again, calling Toronto's streetcar project "inappropriate" for federal infrastructure funding and telling the largest city in Canada to "f-word off". The Transport Minister and former provincial cabinet minister was quick to point out that streetcars will not be built in Toronto itself, and short-term jobs will not be created anyway.

Frankly, I would not be surprised if Baird was never a regular streetcar rider; and the commuters of public transit in Toronto will be quick to reciprocate the swearing, care of Ottawa, in the next election. It is simply pig-headed to talk in such defiance, knowing that Thunder Bay will benefit from the streetcar contract, and then saying it would not help anyone right now.

If our dreams were timed to their original commitments, and politics weren't as dirty, then the subway extension to York University and Vaughan would have been open right now. And those "new streetcars" would have been delivered in 2010. Next year.

Instead, our representatives in Queen's Park and Ottawa are quick to play games, elections and "liar, liar, pants on fire". The lack of forward-thinking in government means that the Bombardier plant in Thunder Bay won't be churning out any new streetcars until Minister Baird decides not to continue his big-ego attitude towards this issue.

Excuse after excuse. "Not enough Canadian content", "this funding is allocated to roads and bridges", "the City of Toronto should bump up future construction and find the savings to fund the contract". Anything to avoid saying "fat chance", since the electorate would not be happy hearing that.

Toronto has enough roads and bridges to choke itself from smog. Public transit is an investment that covers more than just Toronto. There is an increasing need and want for fast, efficient service.

And all Baird wants to imply is "streetcars are not infrastructure".

Semantics? You've got 'em.

Periwinkle Mood Swings

I admire the individuality of my walkman cell phone. It's a device that lets me choose the tone of my day and gives me the choice of listening to conventional radio. It doesn't treat me like a confused sheep or an ice cream product posted "Made in Canada" but with significant content from New Zealand. My attitude towards life can be as blissful as a Celine Dion tune or as torturous and melancholy as... a Celine Dion tune.

I gave the conventional radio station a try the other day and was enjoying the influx of new tune to supplement the outrageously drowsy elevator music that I, and around ten percent of the radio audience in Toronto are used to, according to last industry survey.

Considering we're into a new year, and another minority term of federal government over in Ottawa, I was startled to hear an ad from our gorgeous friends, the Conservatives.

"Let's make government work," screamed this ad's overall tone and bit, "we need to reach a consensus bladdy-blah..."

Is this because Stephen Harper was denied a majority?

Was this because our Queen of Canada... ahem... Governor-General gave Stevie a Christmas break slash pick me up from certain political death slash let the public forget my latest boondoggle?

Frankly any political advertising, especially from the governing Conservatives, about a consensus "anything" is patronising and insults a regular voter like myself to believe that they were always this conciliatory to political opinion and opponent contrary to their own. Do the Conservatives really think that I forgot their pathetic ways to "crush" what they see as representatives of the dominion undeserving of their seats even though we voted for them? I'm still reeling from the fact that Conservatives even run partisan ads in a post-election non-election period.

The mongrels we have in parliament, regardless of political stripe, are pathetically laden with archaic semantics only acceptable in the Victorian era. I am certainly not fond of public advertising calling opposition moves as "Un-Canadian" or compared to a coup of any sort.

No, that's called democracy in the Canadian dominion. And any political party should be sued for calling what is legal, "illegal". It's an arrogance that drives me further away from ever voting periwinkle.

Maybe I should just use my next ballot paper in the bathroom instead. That's what our current Prime Minister suggests with his current ad campaign and put-downs.

Voting: So (A)-pathetic

Why is it so hard to vote?

Even with minority governments, the time in which we can exercise such a fundamental right is so easily wasted and ignored by an uninterested public.

I turned eighteen years old the day before municipal elections were held back in 2006. All I had to do, even without my name on the official voters' roll at the time, was to bring appropriate identification. It was easy, quick, painless and I got to say it was a calming feeling.

Earlier that day, a female friend and I were trolling (which is probably a lousy way to describe it) on Yonge Street in Toronto, entering an adult-themed shop just because I could as a person over the age of majority. It wasn't as painless or calming as voting, but for some voters they would rather enter an adult shop than vote at all.

For the record, I glanced and gave a disgusted look considering my naivete and baby face to boot, dragging my suddenly amused female friend out of the store.

People are definitely not liking the government as we see it in general. I'm certainly not thrilled with partisanship, or corporate donations, or moustaches for that matter. But voting was a right that we as a country fought for in war and with the British.

I'm sure that this history lesson has already bored most apathetic voters I'm trying to convince.

Election laws stipulate that you have the time to vote. You can be excused from work or probably school just to slip that ballot into the ballot box.

But why such low turnouts these days? Sure, we're not satisfied with politics.

But without voting, even with a spoilt or blank ballot, you as a non-voter has given all permission to let the current system continue its apathetic voter-making ways.

So take your damn Voter Information Card, and say what you need to say on that small piece of paper. Why is it so hard to vote?

Let Girls Be Girls

For you parents who have growing teenagers in your family; watch out. A life of bad habits may be developing from here.

It's probably most important to shield your kids to most harms in life; this can be learned from school in the right instruction at least. Some may not have received important talks, but judging by judgment, those not told would know better.

Like refraining from excessive alcohol.

I don't know if a couple of close friends of mine are crazy, but I was sitting in an overpriced hotel room wondering where in heavens they were. They were at least, in my watch, drinking alcohol willfully and left soon after.

What am I to say to myself? I had a drink myself but this is simply not right. I should've stopped them. But I couldn't as they're legally adults. But they say they're responsible.

It's impossible for me to figure this out: should I put my moral foot down like the father figure they prescribed me, or should I just sit and chill as advertised?

Time to figure that out. And you'll have to too.

Security Check

"You need to complete this form," the flight attendant told me and fellow passengers on a plane from Tokyo, Japan. She was distributing and holding arrival cards for the inevitable descent and entrance into the United States.

I had no intention to enter the country. I was just coming back from a week-long vacation that was long needed and I wanted to go home. But I had to complete an arrival card anyways.

That's the cost of flying these days. Many passengers who plan on going to faraway countries are sometimes restricted by requiring a connection through the US. Thanks to airline alliances and the hub and spoke system, the economy of flying in recent times meant the most interesting trips through American security.

I have no beef or any kind of protein towards the theory; if it means I can fly with whomever I want under a reasonable fare, sign me up. But sometimes the checkpoints of airports in the United States can be stunningly tactless.

I recall my first trip to Tokyo, coming home with a delicate present made of glass for a close friend of mine. As I approached the security checpoint at Chicago O'Hare, my bag was gregariously emptied, its contents making a big thump. The oversensitive red-haired officer squealed that I couldn't touch my backpack whilst I was trying to help.

But sometimes, one will find a bit of heart inbetween the metal detectors and security equipment.

This time around, I was guarding against any future damaged souvenirs. I am probably worried enough about what I carry after the security check, to the extreme point of making sure I didn't splurge in the airport shops on anything delicate or breakable.

As the backpack went through the machine, a security officer yelled "bag check". I cringed at the fear of another uncomfortable experience.

The second officer passed on the bag to me, unemptied. "Am I alright?" I asked.

"You're good. You have a nice day, sir."

Maybe this "third country" idea isn't as bad.

Get it Yourself!

So, I was working hard one day at my desk when I had a sudden urge to consume something that was quick, fast, and damaging to my overall health. Remembering the days as a child where fast food was such a delight, I quickly scrambled to find a telephone number of some fixed protein conglomerate that could deliver.

I reached the cordless phone and in about three or four rings later, to my delight, an operator picked up and asked for my street address.

It's not hard to find me: I'm down the road from a pizza establishment.

"Is it (your address) in Bolton," the female voice sensually asked. Bolton? That's several miles away from where I was.

I then gave my postal code to her when she gave me some advice that made my liver ever happier: They can't deliver.

"You can't deliver?!?" I exclaimed. She then explained that I was quite a ways away from any delivery area they serve.

I then hung up, frustratingly in silence. The smell of a "deep fried something" permeated my mind and I was desperate for saturated fat.

Another phone number was pulled from my Yellow Pages directory, this time for a pizzeria. They're known for fat topped and tossed in fat, stuffed with fat in the sensually fatty crust.

The operator from this restaurant sent me to a local franchisee, who then proclaimed that "he didn't deliver" and proceeded to send me to a franchisee who did deliver. From that crosstown location, the third operator sent me back to the main line, where another operator told me that no one delivers to my area!

I then realized that these calls led me absolutely nowhere. Who orders delivery nowadays? In fact, the two chains I called are owned by the same company.

I gave up. I walked to the grocery store next door and fed my gastronomical mandarins with home cooked food. My liver has never been so thankful.

Truscott Vindicated

At the age of fourteen years, a young man was enjoying his life growing up in a town not too far from Windsor, Ontario.

This young man was riding his bicycle, and even gave a helpful lift for a classmate he knew. You could tell that this man was very gentlemanly.

Suddenly, in a blink of an eye he was arrested, charged and brought to death row, reportedly staying there for over a decade. The young man found out that his classmate, the one he gave that helpful lift to, was murdered, and he was the culprit least according to the authorities at the time.

The outrage caused by his potentially lethal sentence was reduced to time in prison, and after he was released the man had lived discreetly, never to be heard until recently.

Stephen Truscott sought to clear his name, and the same court system that sentenced him to the gallows, acquitted him.

As a miscarriage of justice, it was about time he was cleared of something he didn't do. This case shut him out from enjoying the most lively years of his life, and I for one am angry that it has happened in the first place.

At least Mr. Truscott can live the rest of his life confident that he was vindicated. That is good to hear.