Goodbye Mayor Campbell

A good and decent man has finally had enough of the pettiness and frustration that is Municipal Government, and has called it quits.

Vancouver is much the poorer for the loss of Mayor Larry Campbell.

He does not suffer fools gladly. He has an edge that I admire, and he has never been shy about sharing his opinions or making his feelings known. His bluntness and honesty have made him many political enemies, some egos and personalities have difficulty with the concepts of frankness and candor.

Mayor Campbell has proven himself to be a renegade. His four-pillars approach to addressing Vancouver's drug abuse crisis is innovative, and his willingness to look at new and inventive strategies for some of Vancouver's historical problems has earned him many supporters.

And many detractors.

Mayor Campbell has faced a ton of criticsm from all sectors of the public he has served. He can be combative and churlish, but he has always followed his conscience and taken responsibility for his words and actions. He is a man of principle, and as such, he has had to deal with the slings and arrows of a diverse and fickle electorate.

Vancouver is an odd little city. It fancies itself this big, modern, oh-so-hip metropolis, when in fact it is really quite a provincial little place. Yes, we have the Republic of East Van, the West End and a few funky neighborhoods, but by and large this is a staid town whose citizens prefer to cling to the status quo and protect old, established traditions. To many Vancouverites change is bad, and it must be fought at all cost.

Not the most comfortable location for a visionary.

It is my hope that Mr Campbell decides to fade from public life for a short time, and then make a serious run at provincial politics. A man with his talent, imagination, drive and community-mindedness could do much good for British Columbia.

I hope people realize the positive impact this dedicated public servant has made on the city of Vancouver. He has left some pretty big shoes to fill.

The British Columbia MP Hall of Shame.

They are homophobes, and that affects "us", but people who are homophobic can also be counted upon to be racist, sexist, classist, ageist and will hide many other very unpleasant biases that will affect everyone.

As Pastor Martin Niemoeller wrote in 1938:

First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out-because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out-because I was not a socialist;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out-because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out-because I was not a Jew;
Then they came for me-and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Beware of these Members of Parliament who don't support equality or the Charter of Rights and Freedoms:

Jim Abbott
John Cummins
(Laughing) Stockwell Day
John Duncan
Paul Forseth
Gurmant Grewel
Nina Grewel
Dick Harris
Russ Hiebert
Jay Hill
Betty Hinton
Randy Kamp
Gary Lunn
James Lunney
John Reynolds
Werner Schmidt
Darrel Stinson
Chuck Strahl
Mark Warawa
Randy White

Not Everyone Shares the Joy of Our Victory. Too Bad So Sad.

The question was: What is your opinion of the House of Commons approving the same-sex marriage bill?
The poll results:
26% - I applaud it
63% - I condemn it
10% - Don't know/care

It seems as if 63% of the unnamed number of poll respondents don't like the idea of equality. Gee, what a shame. I'm then pushed to wonder how many slave traders and owners would have responded "I condemn it" if polled before emancipation, or how many men would have responded "I condemn it" if polled before women were finally declared persons?

Since the dawn of time inequity, unfairness, inhumanity, cruelty and systemic inequality has been employed to keep one group of people "in their place", thus enabling a second group of people to enjoy priviledges they did not earn and did not deserve. Be it gender, colour, creed, citizenship, sexual persuasion, culture, language, or a host of other differences, there will always be those who feel they are more deserving than others, just because they say so.

In fair and just societies, governments ensure that those who feel priviledge is their due are told, in no uncertain terms, that they are wrong. Regardless of how loudly they proclaim their superiority. Regardless of how many totally inappropriate allies they band together. Regardless of how much they rant and rave and threaten.

That doesn't mean they can't still proclaim their idiotic beliefs about their own importance.

So go nuts, Mr and Mrs We-live-in-a-nice-bungalow-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-important-with-our-two-point-three-children-and-our-golden-retriever-and-go-to-church-at-Christmas-and-Easter-and-have-"normal"-sex-once-a-week-in-the-missionary-position-even-though-we-rarely-talk-to-one-another-and-never-listen-anyway-but-we-are-straight-and-therefore-superior, keep deluding yourselves about how much anyone really cares about what you think.

Our Queer family is just as legitimate as yours.

Poor Karla Teale (Homolka).

Cry me a river, lady.

Karla Teale, aka Karla Homolka, has lost her bid for an injunction to prevent the media from covering her release from prison this week, and giving her ten days grace in order to get her life together before the press starts bird dogging her.

As if!

The murderer feels that she is in jeopardy, that because she is alone and without resources, she is at risk. Every criminal leaving prison faces difficulty. Many are virtually alone and without significant resources. What separates this criminal from most others is that she is universally despised and everyone in the country wants to know which neighborhood in Canada is unlucky enough to be home to "The Schoolgirl Killer." People feel, and justifiably so, that Karla Homolka remains a threat. People want to know where this monster is hiding, what she is doing, where she is travelling, who she is seeing. That's what happens when one is a stone cold-blooded killer with no conscience and therefore no remorse.

If this murderer was spending the same amount of time in prison as her victims, Leslie Mahaffy and Kristen French, and her "forgotten" victim, her sister Tammy Homolka are going to be dead, nobody would have to fear for the safety of their daughters. And what about "Jane Doe", the victim who may never get justice? I'm certain she wants to know the whereabouts of her abuser.

She "fears for her life", but blames the incredible level of public hatred on the relentless media coverage her crimes received, not on the crimes themselves. This woman simply doesn't get it. She is a vicious, unrepentant, callous, narcissistic killer, and she deserves no compassion, no empathy and no breaks. If she spends the rest of her life being harassed and relentlessly pursued, so be it. If she never knows a day of peace, good.

There is no way she can lose as much as Kristin, Leslie, Tammy and their families have lost. She will never know the torment the families and Jane Doe still know. My hope is that her life is so hellish that she begs the Justice Department to let her go back to prison in Joliette, and they tell her to go to hell.

And Now the Rednecks Sweat....

I've never been shy about my total contempt for New Brunswick, the Armpit of Canada. The Maritime provinces are firmly stuck in the mid-nineteenth century (Nova Scotia actually had a plebecite about Sunday shopping recently. The religious fanatics won.) but New Brunswick is a particularly backward province. In order to make my point, I give you the premier of New Brunswick, Bernard Lord.

Now that the federal government has moved to entrench my rights as firmly as those of my straight friends, Premier Lord has decided to go ahead with legislation to "protect" churches from the onerous task of marrying Gay and Lesbian couples. I'm pretty certain his mother and father were first cousins , and they were allowed to marry, but that's beside the point.....

I have no problem with religious clubs who find it impossible to marry same sex partners. If the Catholic Club or the United Club or the Seventh Day Adventist Club want to exclude certain members, risking shortfalls as a result of lost membership dues, so be it. It's their budgets that will suffer.

Churches, on the other hand, are a whole different ball of wax. Churches take advantage of liberal tax laws, special status and "charity" designation. That means churches are responsible to the public purse that funds them.

That public includes little old Dykely me.

Unless Bernard Lord plans to protect every charity from doing anything they find distasteful (such as letting certain ethnic minorities, races, sexual orientations and people in certain tax brackets join their ranks) then he needs to keep his mitts out of the religious arena. Separation of church and state means that even socially and culturally retarded New Brunswick needs to play by the rules.

And Alberta. If New Brunswick is the armpit of Canada, Alberta is a boil on the ass of this great country. There are so many reasons to detest Ralph Klein and his band of tradition-loving, equality-hating cowboys. Alberta exists to prove that there will always be self-righteous, self-important twits willing to pretend bigotry and hatred are family values. Delusion, thy name is Wild Rose Country. King Ralph says that he's not allowed to use the Notwithstanding Clause, so he's getting Alberta out of the marriage game. Typical Klein, "if I can't win, I won't play." No worries though, all the open-minded, intelligent, forward thinking people in Alberta leave at the first opportunity. If a bunch of Stephen Harper clones want to populate Alberta, the rest of us in Canada should be grateful, at least they aren't polluting our provinces!

There's no turning back, now. The genie cannot be put back inside the bottle. Equality is ours, and now the rednecks sweat. Sooo-Weee!

The Ayes Have It! Canada's Historic Day.

Stephen Harper is a jerk. I used to believe he was just a redneck and a bible-thumping half-wit, but now I realize he truly is an asshole. Stupidity can be forgiven, pure maliciousness cannot.

The jerk, as he will hereafter be known, is not only a loser, but a sore loser. Canada took a giant step toward egalitarianism today with the passing of the third reading of Bill C38. This is a momentous occasion, a reason for celebration, but the jerk wanted to go on record as saying that this victory for equality will have the stamp of "illegitimacy" because the Liberals needed the Bloc Quebecois to pass the third reading.

Does that mean every Bill passed with the help of the Conservative Party is bastardized? The short answer is yes, but not for the same reason the jerk used to insult the BQ.

The jerk says that the Bloc wants no part of Canada so they don't care whether they destroy Canadian society. The last time I looked, Quebed was still a part of Canada, and a big part, no less. This is not about Federalism at all, it is about equality for all citizens of this country, and Quebec, as a province, has always been light years ahead of other provinces when it comes to civil liberties.

Canadians have spoken, but the jerk has his head so far up his ass that his ears are blocked with shit. He sees a white light coming toward him and thinks it is God coming to ask his advice, but it's a train, its whistle blasting a death knell for his policies, his "vision" and his future in the political arena.

The jerk has threatened to "revisit" this piece of legislation when he becomes Prime Minister. It is to laugh. This man is so incompetent, so out of touch and so offensive that even his wife must be considering voting for the NDP in the next federal election.

Today I am proud to be a Canadian. Democracy works, and today this country showed the world that we are a force to be reckoned with when it comes to true equality. This is a day that will help shape history, and I know gay and lesbian Canadians who witnessed this miracle will remember where they were and how they felt when they were finally granted the same civil rights as their heterosexual families, friends and neighbors.

I'm hoping that the jerk feels compelled to leave Canada in order to find a country more in line with his moral compass. A country that shares his ideals. I understand it's easy to emigrate to Afghanistan, Egypt, Iran, Iraq and the United Arab Emirates.

The jerk obviously hates defeat. Funny, one would think he'd be used to it by now.

Thank you Canada. Thank you Canadians.

A Shaggy Dog Story.

And this one is, happily, absolutely true.

His name is Heathcliff. He is a stone deaf, ancient, arthritic Bouvier des Flandres.

Heathcliff was abandoned, left to fend for himself several months ago. He was crippled, missing huge patches of fur, malnourished, and had horrendous ear and eye infections that had raged, untreated, for God knows how long.

Heathcliff also had soft, kind, loving eyes that cried out for compassion and understanding. He has the noble grace and dignity that makes his breed so proud. His beautiful Bouvier head and gentle Bouvier nature won him many, many supporters and friends from the very moment of his rescue.

This poor, sweet waif was saved from some horrible fate by a kind-hearted person who did the right thing and called Animal Control. Heathcliff was rescued from the streets, given vet care, good food, exercise, a warm, safe bed, and plenty of love. Heath is an easy dog to love....he asks for nothing and gives much.

After many weeks at the Shelter, Heathcliff got really lucky, and moved into a foster home. Foster families are very special, they take on aged, sick, injured, and/or recovering dogs and care for them, love them, and then let them go to forever families when the time is right. It's a tough gig, and not many families can handle the emotional trauma, but some do, and Heathcliff was placed with such a family. They lovingly called him "Shaggy", due to his typical bear-like Bouvier coat. They nursed him to relative health, cared for his emotional needs, gave him the respect, understanding and love he so richly deserved, and today, let him go....

Heath has been adopted by another very special, very rare person. Not many people are willing to take on a medically unstable, extremely aged, deaf dog with the promise of caring for him for the rest of his life, however long that might be. He could live another three years, or he could be gone in three months, or three weeks. His new "mom" doesn't care about the quantity of time he has left, she only cares about the quality of the time. She fell in love with Heathcliff at first glance, and she vows to cherish him each and every day they are granted.

Some days are just good for the soul. This was one of them.

Goodbye sweet Heathcliff. May the remainder of your days be filled with warmth. You will be missed by all of us who love you, but this is what we have dreamed of for you.

Good luck good dog.

The Goons Next Door.

They call themselves a "Christian Community". In truth, they are bullies and goons.

Our Co-Op is unfortunately the neighbor of the single most obnoxious, unfriendly, rude, and disrespectful church group I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing. The women of this United Church of Canada congregation are mostly silent and distrusting; the men, misogynistic, macho and coarse.

There has been a long-standing battle regarding the noise level of the church's celebrations and parties (not their services, I'm not even sure when or whether they actually worship at this church). Their facilities back onto several of our townhouses and apartments, and they party, loud and long, with doors and windows flung open wide, so that nobody can escape the din they create. They also feel they have the right to hopelessly block the fire lane between the Co-Op and the church, and take up every other available street parking space as well. When informed that they are cutting off the only access route for emergency personnel and vehicles, they offer hope that one of our Members suffers a heart attack. When challenged on their unneighborly, unchristian behaviour, the men of this congregation, including the Pastor, become verbally abusive and physically threatening.

Nice. What a great example they set for their impressionable children.

There seems to be no way to communicate reasonably with this group. It's not as if our Co-Op can engage in a battle of wits, these people are unarmed.

That leaves the police, bylaw enforcement, and lawyers. It's unfortunate that two groups of adults can't come to a peaceful understanding without involving the legal system, but it appears that the entire arsenal of communication skills this church's leadership possesses consists of one item: intimidation. The leadership of the Co-Op will not be intimidated by a group of childish, self-indulgent gangsta wannabes.

This is not a holy war. It's just war.

Cat People - Listen Up!

I picked up yet another crushed cat today, the victim of a hit and run. As I listened to the sobbing owner, a woman who repeatedly moaned "I loved him so much", and "He was my baby", I wanted to scream:

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

I couldn't, of course, all I could do was make sympathetic noises. She ended her part of the conversation by telling me what a great life her cat had.

Yeah, right up until he was run over by a vehicle, at age three.

People who share their lives with cats need to recognize the truth. Cats are not safe outside alone in urban (or in rural) areas. Ever. If cars don't get them, coyotes, dogs, raccoons, poison, nasty kids, feral cats, cat-hating neighbors, disease or accidents will. Cats are only safe inside their own homes, and people who allow their cats to roam are either negligent, willfully obtuse or just plain stupid.

Cats do not need to hunt. Cats do not need the same kind of exercise and socialization that dogs do. They can get all the stimulation and play they require while being sheltered and protected from that which might cause them harm. Cats belong inside.

Every excuse in the book gets repeated ad nauseum by people whose "beloved pets" have met some horrid end due to their irresponsibility. "Fluffy was miserable inside." Fluffy was more miserable when he was ripped apart by a raccoon. "Misty loved to stalk birds. She was a hunter by nature." Misty had a food bowl that was never empty, she had no need to kill songbirds. "Happy needed to go outside to relieve herself." Happy should have been using a litter box, how happy was she when the neighbor poisoned her for fouling his vegetable garden?

What galls me the most is that these same people will just replace one cat with another when their lack of care and concern results in the deaths of their pets. They also refuse to learn from their stupidity, and let the next unfortunate cat roam as well, often to meet the same cruel fate as the first.

I have a suggestion for people who feel it is unnatural to keep cats inside.

Don't get a cat.

WallyWorld

Call out the Militia, Vancouver is in crisis!

Wal-Mart may soon be blighting the landscape of lovely Marine Drive....the beautiful commercial district that is home to "Vancouver Honda, between Oak and Cambie" and warehouse after warehouse, fast food joints, car dealerships and strip malls.

I can see why so many west side Vancouverites are rabid in their defense of the integrity of Marine Drive.

Oops, no I can't.

This city is a study in the "mountain out of a mole hill" phenomenon. Wal-Mart, though big, American, non-unionized, cheap and ugly, is a reality, a huge player in the low-end department store scene. Wal-Mart is everywhere. That so many priviledged citizens of this odd little city have enough energy to fight the building of another WallyWorld while real issues: homelessness, illicit drug manufacturing, underage sex trade workers, property crime, etc, etc, etc, are pushed to the back burner, is simply amazing.

Most of the people fighting the Wal-Mart application on Marine Drive have never and will never set foot in a Wal-Mart store. They do not understand the realities of living on the edge of poverty, of raising a family with absolutely no money available for "extras", like new clothing, food, toys.

These same people, living in Kits and Shaughnessy, rarely venture from the confines of their multimillion dollar homes and offices to visit the little people in the areas they pretend to protect. They do not have a clue as to the needs or wishes of the people who depend on part-time jobs and low cost staples that stores like Wal-Mart provide.

Perhaps the fine citizens balking at this application should stick to breathing the rarified air of their gated communities and let the people who are actually affected by this proposal fight their own battles.

Rest in Peace Amandeep Atwal.

How horribly she died.

Stabbed 17 times, the same number as the years she had called her murderer "dad". Butchered by an angry, weak and pathetic man who then tried to convince medical personnel that her savage wounds were self-inflicted.

Amandeep's crime? Love.

The murderer, Rajinder Singh Atwal, didn't like Amandeep's boyfriend, Todd McIsaac. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his diseased ego, he felt that his disapproval justified his decision to murder Amandeep in cold blood.

This is not a complicated case. Rajinder Singh Atwal saw Amandeep as his property, and when she disappointed and disobeyed him he was enraged, and he exacted revenge with a huge knife.

May he rot in hell.

How many Canadian women have to die before people wake up and realize that many men see women as possessions? Statistics Canada says that 3 to 4 women per week are murdered by a male family member. There is always an excuse, but the real reason is that men kill women simply because they can and they want to.

What the hell is wrong with us? Why are we continuing to allow men to get away with bullying, assaulting, stalking, raping and murdering our mothers, sisters, daughters, grandmothers, aunts and spouses? Why are we allowing music, movies, books, video games and television to glorify the abuse of members of our gender? Why are we allowing ourselves to be objectified, degraded and infantilized?

When will we finally start to fight back?

Men will not easily give up their long held beliefs that they are stronger and more powerful than women, thus making it their right to dominate us. They won't willingly hand over their unearned and undeserved control. They like their self-established supremacy. Who wouldn't like to be entitled to the perks that superiority, real or imagined, can bring?

No, men will never give up their power, so women will have to take it back. That means women will have to learn to support one another and believe in their abilities and those of other women. That means women will have to do for themselves, act for themselves, think for themselves. Women must not fear failure, and must learn to grow from mistakes. Women have to tap into their inner strengths and develop their talents and passions.

Women must learn to say no and mean it, without guilt or shame. Women must come to terms with the fact that they can't make everyone happy, and it is not their collective job to nurture the world.

When women are finally fed up with the status quo, and decide that we are capable of forging our own destinies, without requiring advice or assistance from men, we will be free of the threat of violence. Men cannot hurt women if women do not give men the power to do so.

Only then will 17 year old young women be free to blaze their own trails without fear. Only then will tragedies like the vicious murder of Amandeep Atwal cease to occur.

Who Does Bono Think He Is?

Okay, so the cult of celebrity has made Paul Hewson into "Bono~Superstar". The fact is that there are far better bands than U2, and certainly more genuine "celebrities" than Bono, and many, many more "normal" people working at eradicating AIDS, hunger, genocide and various other serious world crises. He's one guy who gets a lot of press. Some deserved, much not. A multi-millionaire with an over-inflated sense of his own importance is not a role model.

Okay, to some people that IS a role model, but come on, we're Canadians! We're above idol-worship here, right? Unless of course we're discussing hockey players......

It seems Bono takes his status seriously, though. He rubs shoulders with actual policy-makers and world leaders and all of a sudden he's not just a singer from Dublin, but an authority on the economic needs of the entire third world. And here we all believed it took insight, intellect, dedication, hard work, and ability to develop healthy economic strategies, but no, it really just takes a good sound bite now and again. Who knew?

The dude should give his head a shake! He's a vocalist and an opinionated man, but he has neither the education or the experience to advise any world leader as to his/her "responsibility" to erase third world debt.

When Bono made his proclamation that Mr Dithers should either follow his demands of a certain percentage of Canada's GNP (3.9%?) being dedicted to cancellation of third world debt, or stay home during the upcoming G8 Summit, someone should have told him to get over himself. Of course nobody did. That might lead to bad press. The fact that our Prime Minister is getting spanked by a publicity hungry and egomaniacal singer is okay, but we can't piss off THE Bono. His overrated band might not appear in Canadian cities on their next world tour! Oh the horror!

Paul Martin is the author of his own misfortune, of course. If he hadn't made himself into a total slut by having Bono speak on his behalf at the 2003 Liberal Leadership Convention, he wouldn't be facing the humiliation of being shunned by the beautiful people. Ah Paul, hoist by his own petard.

Mississippi Burning

41 years after Ku Klux Klan member Edgar Ray Killen murdered three men near Philadelphia, Mississippi, he has finally faced justice. Of course, that is justice Mississippi style.

Inside the frail, ugly shell that is the body of now 80 year old Killen beats the heart of a monster. The one-time "preacher" has lived a life of hatred, causing terror, agony and horrible death to those he felt were inferior.

Inferior to what? An uneducated, ignorant, stupid and mean little man whose only "virtue" was his caucasian skin.

Mississippi, being the backwater it is and always has been, decided that Killen was not guilty of murder, but the lesser offense of manslaughter. The brain trust needed to prove an intent to kill in order to find Killen guilty of murder. Um, does one not intend to kill a person when that person is beaten into an unconscious state and then shot, at point blank range, in the head? Killen and his partners in the evil that is the KKK murdered three men, James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner, who were trying to register black voters during Freedom Summer.

Killen faces 20 years in prison for his crimes. At 80 years of age, that means a life sentence, but it is still far, far too lenient a sentence for this vile piece of human waste. Let's see whether Killen is given the maximum sentence.

Mississippi has a well earned and well deserved reputation as one of the most backward states in the wasteland that makes up the American south. The prosecuters in this case trumpet this watered- down verdict as proof that times have changed in Mississippi. The good old boys know, however, that the more things change, the more they stay the same. This is not a true victory, and the fact that it took 41 years to get this far speaks volumes.

Phil Ochs said it best in his 1964 song "Here's to the State of Mississippi":

Here's to the state of Mississippi --
For underneath her borders the devil draws no line;
If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.
Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes;
The calendar is lying when it reads the present time.
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of --
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

And here's to the people of Mississippi --
Who say the folks up north, they just don't understand;
And they tremble in the shadows at the thunder of the Klan;
Oh, the sweating of their souls can't wash the blood from off their hands
Where they smile and shrug their shoulders at the murder of a man.
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of --
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

And here's to the schools of Mississippi --
Where they're teaching all the children that they don't have to care,
All the rudiments of hatred are present everywhere,
And every single classroom is a factory of despair,
And there's nobody learning such a foreign word as "fair."
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of --
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

And here's to the cops of Mississippi --
They're chewing their tobacco as they lock the prison door,
And their bellies bounce inside them when they knock you to the floor;
No, they don't like takin' prisoners in their private little wars,
And behind their broken badges. they are are murderers and more.
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of --
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

And here's to the judges of Mississippi --
Who wear the robe of honor as they crawl into the court,
They're guardin' all the bastions of their phony legal fort;
Oh, justice is a stranger when the prisoners report,
When the black man stands accused, the trial is always short.
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of --
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

And here's to the government of Mississippi --
In the swamp of their bureaucracy, they're always bogging down,
And criminals are posing as the mayors of the towns;
And they hope that no one sees the sights and no one hears the sounds,
And the speeches of the governor are the ravings of a clown.
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of --
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

And here's to the laws of Mississippi --
Congressmen will gather in a circus of delay,
While the Constitution's drowning in an ocean of decay;
"Unwed mothers should be sterilized," I've even heard them say;
Yes, corruption can be classic in the Mississippi way.
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of --
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

And here's to the churches of Mississippi --
Where the cross, once made of silver, now is caked with rust,
And the Sunday morning sermons pander to their lust;
Oh, the fallen face of Jesus is choking in the dust,
And Heaven only knows in which God they can trust.
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of --
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

May the families of James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner find comfort in the fact that this vicious killer has been brought to a semblance of justice, and may the souls of the three murdered men rest in peace.

Memo to Stephen Harper.

To: Stephen Harper
From: Deb
Subject: Your image.

I'm glad you are disregarding the well documented advice of your advisors, your consultants, your handlers and your staff regarding your perceived "image problem". I'm glad you are determined to remain true to yourself, damn the torpedos! Your supporters don't want you to change, all nine of them think you are just swell the way you are.....well, eight of the nine, that one guy from Moose Jaw thinks you are too liberal.

Don't change a thing....please! Keep the navy blue suits that make you look like a mortician. Keep the grimace that passes as a smile, it doesn't make every baby cry. Keep that Catholic school boy haircut, it is sure to become fashionable again really, really soon.

Please also continue to twist the words of the bible and use those words as a smokescreen for your bigotry and hatred. Feel free to use your position of power to push your personal agendas. Don't bother to listen to the people of Canada, just impose your will on them, and don't forget to keep appearing smug and self-satisfied when your will flies in the face of goodness, decency and fairness. People love egotistical, condescending, sanctimonious harpies, especially when they are second stringers and wannabes. Self serving self righteousness is so hot, dude!

Please hold on to the delusion you foster about someday becoming a legitimate political force. It's good to dream, lots of people have fantasy lives, why should you be any different?

No, don't change. Stay the holier-than-thou, uptight prig you are now. Your refusal to recognize how truly out of touch you are with Canadians is going to ensure that after the next federal election takes place, this country will have an NDP Prime Minister.

Fathers Day Without a Father.

It's painful to be a fatherless "child", of any age, on this Hallmark holiday. Whether a father was lost to death, is voluntarily or involuntarily absent, or was never there at all, there is a deep and bitter pain involved with witnessing the celebration of fathers when one's father is not around to be be enjoyed.

There are those of us who chose to distance ourselves from our fathers, those who lost touch, and those of us, like me, who severed all ties. I refer to it as amputation, it's a relationship that could never be repaired. Were he still alive, no situation or event would have compelled me to see him. He was dead to me long before he passed away. It was a choice I made; the only choice, given the history we shared, but still, on Fathers Day, my thoughts go to him.

And what could have been.

He could have been a good man. He could have been an honest, caring, loving husband to my mother. He could have been a gentle, nurturing, understanding father to his children. He could have chosen to overcome his addictions, he could have fought his demons. he could have tried to help himself.

He could have apologized. Just once.

He didn't. Instead he left a trail of destruction that still causes anger, fear and heartache, especially on Fathers Day, when people who did have and do have loving fathers celebrate their good fortune. Truth is I'm jealous.

Fathers Day is also a difficult one for fathers who have lost contact with their children. Whether these men abdicated their roles, were told by the courts that they were no longer worthy, or are prevented by circumstances of another type, it has to be tough to be a childless father on the day that celebrates all things paternal.

My heart breaks for children who don't know, have never known, and may never know their dads. Maybe they are lucky to be spared a horribly debilitating relationship in some cases, but most dads do their best, or are, at least, not willfully abusive, neglegent or evil. I think most fatherless children's lives would be enhanced if their dads were involved. Some women risk their lives and freedom to keep their children safe from their fathers, and those kids, of course, have far more at stake than feelings of loss on Fathers Day. Those mothers are heroes, giving up any chance of a normal life in order to protect their families.

Then there are the far less noble and self-sacrificing mothers.

Many women refer to their child's male parent as a sperm donor, which has to be devastating to a little kid. Not having a parent in one's life is bad enough, but having him reduced to a bodily function is cruel and unneccesary. Some women choose to seek revenge on their ex- partners by denying them access to their children. Who really suffers in those sad cases? That's a rhetorical question, of course...

There are millions of children all over the globe living in families headed by single mothers, and no doubt some of those kids are far better off never knowing their fathers. Their mothers do all they can to give them well rounded childhoods, including strong male role models. It may not be "perfect", but it can be very good.

Great fathers give their children a head start in life. Bad fathers can make survival an overwhelming challenge. People blessed with good fathers should be aware of how very sacred that relationship is, and how very fortunate they are.

Congratulations Angelina!

I know she will hate this, but she won't stay pissed forever, and some things are too important to ignore.

Our very dear friend Angelina graduates from high school tomorrow, and we could not be prouder!

The families and friends of each and every graduate of every high school, college, university and trade school in British Columbia have reason to celebrate the accomplishments of their loved ones. Those of us who love Angelina know that this diploma did not come easily to her, she has faced more than her share of obstacles, and has had to overcome barriers and hurdles that might have destroyed others her age. The path may have been rocky, but she did what she had to do, always keeping her eyes on the prize. Well, Babe, you did it! Good on you.

Angelina is going to succeed, regardless of what she chooses to do with her life. This young woman is a survivor, made of strong stuff, and she should dream big. I have no doubt whatsoever that she can be anything, do anything she wants to. Getting this diploma is just the beginning of her journey. From now on, she is the master of her own destiny, and as a smart, strong, and capable young woman, there is nothing that can stop her.

Congratulations Angelina, we are very proud!

Yet Another Reason to Examine Organized Religion.

....although describing Morman churches as "religious" is similar to calling pro wrestling "sport". It's a stretch. A very long stretch.

The Mormons have added child abandonment to their long list of abhorrent activities. They seemingly decided that child abuse, child molestation, civil rights abuses and polygamy were not substantial enough crimes to make their church a pariah to truly spiritual people.

It has been reported that one Mormon commune doesn't have enough virgins to satisfy the elders' needs to marry as many children as they can. They are eliminating competition by driving teenaged boys outside the city limits and telling them they are never welcome back to their families and communities. They give excuses such as a boy's sins of wearing short sleeved shirts or listening to compact discs as the reason for excommunication, but the truth is that child brides are a hot commodity and the old men don't want the young men messing with their "property".

I've known Mormons off and on over my adult life. It is hard to maintain relationships with "good" Mormons when one is an unapologetic Lesbian, but I have had superficial aquaintances. The whole cult of Mormonism frightens me, from the wonky "undergarments" all adult Mormons have to wear, to the fact that "Bishops" rule churches with an iron fist, and they can destroy individuals and families in the blink of an eye for such petty things as clothing choices and consuming beverages containing caffeine. Mormons have to jump through ridiculous hoops in order to be allowed to enter the "sacred temple", and they are forbidden, on pains of excommunication, to discuss what they see and hear inside the temple.

And what is the deal with Mormons referring to one another as "Saints"? One woman I once worked with called every other member of her church Saint....not even calling fellow parishoners "Sister" or "Brother" is that annoying.

The fact that women hold little value outside of being some "elder's" eighth or tenth wife pisses me off. As a feminist, as a woman, as a human being capable of distinguishing right from wrong it is appalling to me that our government allows this practice to continue in this country. I expect nothing of the government of the United States; after all, the President has yet to figure out that the war games he's playing are using live soldiers, not his boyhood GI Joe dolls. North of the 49th parallel, we know that polygamy, along with slavery and capital punishment, is archaic and has no place in civilized society. So why does Bountiful the Bizarre exist on Canadian soil?

My heart goes out to those "lost boys" who have been raised in such a way that they possess none of the skills required to be successful in the real world, but are being thrust into this new reality anyway, sometimes with as little as two hours to pack their belongings.

I do not believe in the same God Mormons do, but I have great faith in Karma, and these perverted old monsters had better duck, because what goes around, comes around.

It's Time to Legalize the Sex Trade.

I can't imagine that any eight, ten, twelve year old girl, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, responded "a sex trade worker".

It's not a career choice many make willingly, but the fact remains that for many women (and yes, some men) sex equals survival.

Regardless of whatever reason or circumstance, sex trade workers face abuse, disease, public scorn and the very real possibility of death every single time they hit the streets looking for a "date". Except for a few small groups dedicated to keeping sex trade workers safe, who cares about these women? Who even gives them a second thought? Not many people, obviously, given that more than 60 women went missing from the Downtown East Side without as much as a whisper from the police, the press or the public.

Legalizing prostitution and regulating the sex trade would go a long way toward keeping a vulnerable group of people safer. In jurisdictions where governments sanction brothels, sex trade workers are given medical care, safe housing, and most importantly, protection. The women are not forced to stand on dark street corners in the pouring rain, subjected to untold horrors while their fellow citizens try to pretend they don't exist.

It's really not about whether the sex trade should exist. It does exist. It's not about whether women should sell their bodies in order to survive. Women do sell their bodies. Prostitution has been a reality for hundreds of years, and for hundreds of years women in the sex trade have been treated like pariahs.

The truth is that sex sells, and as long as there are men willing to pay, and women willing to sell, there will be prostitution.

But it doesn't have to remain a neverending game of Russian Roulette for women.

I've Adopted A Psychotic Hedgehog.

His name is Booker, and although he looks like a normal, cute little hedgehog, I know, and he knows, that he is the demon seed.

Hedgehogs are known as "exotics". They should be known as "psychotics".

Don't let his adorable little face and tiny little feet fool you. Inside that spikey (spiky?) shell beats the heart of a nasty little beasty. He's vindictive, he's calculating and he holds a grudge.

A few weeks ago I put a kleenex box in Booker's cage. I thought he'd like this "house" material. Nope. The little rotter flunge the box at his water bottle until it dislodged, fell to the floor, and broke. I put in a new water bottle, he did the same thing. I put the bottle back in, zap-strapped it and wired it to the cage, and took the box out.

I felt guilty about Booker not having "house" material. Hedgehogs like to be in or under something most of the time. Christine didn't help much with her non-stop "poor Booker, you took his house away, poor, poor Booker..." So I gave him a paper bag......it lasted until 4:00 AM, when the crinkle, crinkle, crunch I had listened to for hours finally drove me over the edge, and yes, I again took his house away.

I'm a bad, bad hedgehog mommy.

I was determined to find my surly spiked "son" a house that we all could live with. I put a small cardboard box in his cage, and it seemed okay, but I wanted something sturdier and more permanent. I found a large, heavy "hidey hole home" (I did not make up that name, so don't blame me) that I thought would be the solution to our little problem.

Yeah, 'k.

Last night. Christine jerked awake at some ungodly hour in a panic about a loud banging. Sure enough, it was Booker, throwing this huge, heavy cardboard roll at the wall. He has a thing about cardboard tubes since he got his head stuck in a toilet paper roll last month....
So I open the cage and picked up the roll (which, by the way, weighs more than the hedgehog) but Booker would not let it go. He grabbed it with his paws, then his teeth, and just held on. It took me five minutes to disengage the little creep.

I've had two other hedgehogs, Nikki, a sweet, loving, totally cuddly little creature, and Tucker, who was a bit more aloof than Nikki, but still a sweetheart. Booker is the anti-sweetheart. He bites, he growls, he huffs 24/7......he is the Quentin Tarantino of hedgehogs.

How does one train a hedgehog?

Life at a Casting Call for Deliverance

And the gods laughed......

Let me give you a snapshot of life at Lakewood Terrace.....

12th Avenue is closed from Nanaimo to Fraser from now until the end of August. City crews are replacing the sewer lines, which, in Vancouver style, were antiquated before they were originally installed. Today they were listening to Vanilla Ice. Need I say more?

Lakewood Terrace is having the building envelope removed and rebuilt, and a new roof installed. This is a nearly two year long project. *sob*

This place looks and feels like a cross between the set of a Doomsday film and the casting call for a remake of Deliverance!

It's not so much the fact that both crews start making enough noise to wake the dead at 7:30 AM, or that there is no getting away from the dust, the mess, the construction materials and the total inconvenience and resulting short tempers and headaches.

Nope, it's really about the fact that our space has been invaded by Uncle Dad and the Goomba family.

Last week, one entire lunch break was dedicated to figuring out how much money a developer made when he sold 300 units for $100 000 each. The brain trust came up with seven or eight different answers, all of them wrong, and ended the debate with the decision that it didn't make a lot of difference how much money it was, it would buy a lot of beer.

I've heard one braniac explain to his buddy that the only way to make sure the buddy and his girlfriend conceived a male instead of a female embryo was for the guy to wear blue socks when they had sex.

Four guys were talking about geography yesterday. One poor dim bulb tried to convince the other three that the US has 51 states. The other three were all certain there are 49 states. Dim bulb would not let it go, Puerto Rico is the 51st state, he insisted. They went back and forth for at least five minutes before deciding that maybe Puerto Rico is the fifty-first state, but if it isn't, then there are forty nine states, just like they said.

One guy, Dave, looked like he was having a nervous breakdown on Monday. I was mowing the grass and he was totally panicked, so I asked him if he was okay, or if he needed help. He said that his car had been stolen. I suggested he call 911 to report it, which he did. He then called his wife to let her know that he would be late, since their only car had been stolen.
I'm pretty sure it nearly killed him to tell me, and then the police, that he had forgotten his wife had driven him to work that morning, and every day the week before.

I wonder how some of these people dress themselves every morning. They are responsible for rebuilding our homes.....pretty scary since they seem to have a collective IQ of 75.

With any luck this project will be a success, and our homes will be waterproof and mould free....one can dream.

My Guardian Angel.

When I was ten years old, my family moved from an urban area to "the country". It was a difficult move, for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that I left behind all my safe places, and my coping strategies disappeared.

The culture shock involved in relocating to farm country from an inner-city neighborhood was immense. The fact that there were no safe places or safe people took precedence, though. Survival has a way of getting one's priorities straight, leaving little time or energy for a lot of naval gazing.

From this new, foreign, uncomfortable landscape emerged the defining relationship of my childhood.

I met Helen when I was ten and she was sixty-eight. She was unlike any adult I had ever known, not only because I had never experienced life in a farming community, so didn't know farmers, but she sang opera, was a very gifted potter and painter, made hooked rugs, baked glorious pies and cared for her mother (Gram was ninety years old when I met her) and two grandsons while running a large farm. And she looked like a female version of Andy Griffith. Her husband was alive at the time we arrived in the community, but he drank himself to death a few years later.

Helen never, ever treated me as anything but an equal. The day we first met found me looking for a place to hide my little brother and me. Helen saw my desperation, recognized that I needed help, and gave it. She let us stay with her until it was safe to go back home. She asked no questions and gave no advice, but she did give me a key to her house and the permission to let myself in whenever I needed to.

The world was a different place in the seventies. Families in trouble were, by and large, left to deal with their problems their own way. That left children terribly vulnerable. I now know that the entire community knew what was happening at our house, and nobody did a thing to make it stop. This is not about condemning a community, though, it is about celebrating one woman who made a difference.

Helen never confronted my father. She never called the police or social services. She never suggested I run away, "tell someone" or try to get help. What she did do is far more valuable. She cleaned my wounds. She told me I was smart, strong, and capable of doing anything. She fed me. She taught me about plants and flowers, stars, oceans and nature. She told me I was loveable and proved it by loving me. She talked to me about everything....politics, religion, history, travel, honour, truth, unfairness, pain. She cried for me when I couldn't cry for myself. She took me to the hospital when I needed to go. She taught me about the art of pottery. I made about a thousand pinch pots before we both admitted that my creative talents lay elsewhere.

Helen kept me sane. No matter what was happening at home, her house smelled like cinnamon, she smelled like lily-of-the-valley, there was always food in the fridge and a warm hug to chase away the terror.

I don't know why she took me under her wing. I was a chore she could have easily avoided, and God knows she had enough chores to keep her busy, but she welcomed me, damaged, distrustful and defiant, into her world.

Helen was not perfect, I'm sure, but as a child I would have defended her honour with my life had I been forced to. As an adult, I have had ample opportunity to look at our relationship in the cold light of day, and yes, she should have called the authorities, she should have stopped what was happening, but she couldn't, for whatever reason, and that bothers me a little. Not nearly enough, though, to make me change my feelings for her one iota. She felt powerless to change my reality, so she helped me adapt so that I could survive until I could escape. She did all she could.

Our relationship changed, of course, as childhood melted into young adulthood and then adulthood. Helen shared more of her own history as I became mature enough to appreciate it. Her life was hard, but she saw the beauty in simple things, and was always willing to lend a hand to anyone who needed help. She chose to see the best in people, even when she had to look deep to find even a hint of goodness. She wasn't a wealthy woman, but she shared everything she had.

After I escaped my childhood home and went to University, I continued to see Helen and Gram daily. Helen let me borrow her car to drive my mother to Detox. I would spend a day with Gram so that Helen could visit friends, shop, get her hair done, keep a doctor's appointment. We would play Scrabble for hours on end. I mowed her lawn. She was my only guest at my graduation from University.

As Helen aged, she grew lonely for the companionship of a partner. She remarried at eighty. I didn't like her new husband, he wasn't good enough for her, but I was thrilled that she found happiness, and always treated him with the respect due Helen's husband.

When Helen was struck with Rheumatoid Arthritis and then Alzheimers Disease, she changed. Gone were her ability to play the piano, do pottery, rug hooking, gardening, painting. Without her creative outlets she became depressed and angry. We decided, she and I, that her family history needed to be recorded for posterity. Our two year project cemented our adult friendship. She dictated her history, and I wrote it, longhand. She told me stories her own family had long since become tired of hearing. She sang songs of her childhood, painted pictures with words. We spent every one of my free hours working on her book of remembrance.

We finished the project just before forgetfulness morphed into something more sinister. Dementia turned into the diabolical Alzheimers, and I lost the Helen I loved, but gained an opportunity to support my supporter, nurture my nurturer, and accompany this woman, who taught me the definition of "grace" on her journey to the end of her life.

I loved her then, I love her now. I will love her always.

Breast is Best

A local newspaper columnist, a woman no less, recently wrote a piece about breastfeeding, and the fact that she was "uncomfortable" with women who weren't "modest" enough.

Breastfeeding is one of the most natural, loving, beautiful acts between a mother and infant. Any mother who can and does breastfeed is giving her baby a head start in life. It is a selfless gift from parent to child, and should be encouraged and celebrated.

The writer suggested that one woman, seen breastfeeding in a public area, should have used the womens' washroom instead.

'scuse me?

Why on earth should a woman and her baby be asked to hide in a potentially dirty, germ-ridden public restroom to breastfeed, and would people still not see "the act" taking place? Or is this loving mother supposed to sit on a toilet, in a stall, with the door closed in order to ensure nobody is offended by the sight of her mammary gland at work?

The writer argued that men can be uncomfortable seeing a woman's breast. Oh my, where to start?

Are these the same men who buy soft porn magazines so that they can ogle womens' breasts in the privacy of their own darkened homes? Are these the same men who are so enamoured of breasts that they can't seem to look women in the eye? The same hyper-sensitive guys who call breasts a woman's "rack", or "hooters", "jugs" and "boobs"?

The writer also said that breasts are, of course, sexually stimulating. Okay, so be it. That is not the most important function of breasts, but it is certainly true. So poor, helpless men can't stand to see a woman feeding her baby because breasts are sex toys for them, not a source of nourishment for an infant? Big boys get choked because the baby gets to do what they want to do??

Women all over North America are told that breast is best, and that they owe it to their newborns to try breastfeeding, even though it is a time-consuming, inconvenient, often uncomfortable and sometimes very painful. Women are then asked to leave shopping malls, restaurants, swimming pools and many other venues because some busybody sees a flash of breast, decides to be uncomfortable and pushes her will onto others.

To all people who seem to enjoy being offended: Get a life!

Simple solution time here. If you don't want to look at a woman breastfeeding, in public, in private, anywhere at all, DON'T LOOK! Mind your own damn business and move on. Don't expect women to breastfeed in bathrooms, storage rooms, closets or cars. Don't expect them to tent themselves under shawls, blankets or sheets. Don't expect them to express milk at home so they can use bottles in public.

Get over it, people.

Perhaps Love.....

I'm in love.

Of all the places one can find herself during a lifetime, in love is about the best.

I came to love late. Real love, true love, healthy love almost eluded me, but my guardian angel, who is as real and important to me now as she was when she was alive, found a way to help me overcome the obstacles I faced, and I found my soul mate.

Christine.

Here I sit, in tears, in our warm, peaceful, safe and happy little home. The tears are okay. More than okay, they are welcomed. Sometimes the emotion I feel when I think about the blessings I have received just spill. I'm good with that.

I know there are no accidents. I did not accidently meet Chris at a Lesbian discussion group. I only attended the group because I told someone who cared about me that I would go. I planned to skip the meeting, but didn't want to disappoint the woman. Christine had all but given up on the group, and planned to stop attending after that fateful day. The group totally sucked, but that's okay. It resulted in the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Long story short, we connected, we made it past the second "date" (that's the one that generally involves a U-Haul for Lesbians) even though I lied about liking Chris' chile. I moved into her bunker-like apartment, we moved into a house that had more mice than charm, we adopted Madison, then Kirby, plus we fostered probably a dozen dogs. We adopted Nikki the hedgehog. We moved from Calgary to Burnaby, then to Vancouver. We adopted Tucker the Hedgehog. We had a Commitment Ceremony. We lost Tippy, we adopted MacKenzie and added Jasmine to our family. We adopted Clio. We got Bella. We met new people, we made friends.

We got married.

Through all of this there were highs and lows. Some serious lows. We worked at our relationship, we made compromises, we adjusted, changed, grew as a couple.

And now I am truly, madly, deeply in love. This love makes me a better person than I once was. It gives me strength and courage. It gives me the power to change things...thoughts and ideas that I have long held, my future, the present.

I never felt that I was worthy of love before Christine. I had been taught, and grew to believe that I deserved pain, fear and self-loathing. I thought sheer survival was all I had to look forward to. Chris gave me the gifts of hope and confidence, a powerful one-two punch in my fight against self-hatred. I now understand that to survive is not enough, I deserve to thrive.

I tease Chris mercilessly. I give her a hard time about so many things, but she knows I adore her and will do anything I can to keep her happy, safe and healthy. When she graces me with her laughter, I am like so much putty in her hands. I can't imagine my life without her and our furry little family (which now includes Booker the Hedgehog).

Christine is beautiful, inside and out. She is an intellectual heavy weight with the compassion and understanding required to make her native intelligence work for her. She is funny, generous, hard-working and honest. She is patient, gentle and sensitive. Christine is as decent a human being as I have ever known.

One of my definitions of love is very simple. Love is doing for your partner something that you both absolutely hate doing, even though your partner is totally capable, just because it will make her life easier.

Perhaps love is not the be-all and end-all of life. Perhaps love is something we can live without. Perhaps love makes us dumb and careless.

Perhaps love can save the world. It saved mine.

The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth.

Angelina and I enjoyed a night out at the theatre this evening. These days I get most of my culture via yogurt, so this was a chance for me to act civilized and behave like an adult. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The show we saw is titled "Ghosts in Love". However this is not about the show, really, it's about accordians and the people who play them.

One of the musicians appearing in Ghosts in Love is Moshe Renert. We saw his accordian before we saw him, but we both knew, before he ever picked up his instrument, that he was the accordian player. He is, among other things, a mathmatics educator. Oy vay! An accordian playing math teacher.....

My darling Christine, the light of my life, was an accordian player. Now she plays the piano, and I, thankfully, will never, ever have to listen to her get through a polka. Chris is also an uber-techie. Computers, iPods, video games, anything electronic makes her swoon.

See where I'm going with this?

Just like 40 is the new 30, geeks are the new hotties. Everyone wants a geek or two (one for back-up in emergency situations) in their circle of friends. Computers are the great equalizer.....and geeks rule!

But I digress......

Can you imagine the horror a parent must feel when a child comes home from school (probably late, having stayed for chess club or non-credit honours ancient history) only to announce that she/he wants to take up the accordian? The poor parent thought it was bad enough when her/his kid begged for braces, insisted on carrying a Bill Nye the Science Guy lunch box....in the eleventh grade, started knitting, then insisted on private latin lessons as well as his/her tap dance classes, but now the final straw, the accordian.....patron instrument of geekdom. What would the neighbors say?

My own personal geek has a Master's degree in History. She drives a Grand Marquise that looks like a police ghost car, and brags about its "solid American steel". She wears a Tilley hat with the brim turned up (think Gilligan) and would still wear her god-awful white Sorrel winter boots if they hadn't managed to finally get "lost" in one of our moves.

She is obsessed with computer weather alerts, even though she hates to go outside. She's addicted to Super Mario. She loves the music of folk singers only seven people in the entire world have ever heard....the more earnest the singer, the more torturous the lyrics the better. Add to this the Sleep Apnea machine and all its accompanying gear, the night splint for Plantar fasciitis, the addictions to lip balm (we almost had a national crisis when recently we couldn't find a store with Natural Ice lip balm in stock) kleenex and hand cream, and you understand my dilemma.

I've lost Christine to the Geek Side.

I have one piece of advice to parents out there....

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be accordianists.

North American Man/Boy Love Association.

NAMBLA....the acronym that causes disgust, fury and hatred.

And rightfully so.

The North American Man/Boy Love Association could (and maybe should) be called Pedophiles Anonymous, except that these criminals don't want to change their aberrant behaviours, these child molesters feel justified in their abuse of children, and that is what makes this group so repulsive.

Any adult with respect for children should be outraged that a group like NAMBLA exists, and that any and all members are not serving long sentences in maximum security prisons for their crimes against children. Any member of the Queer community should be incensed that this group of sexual deviants dares to attach itself to the GLBT2QQI population in order to gain credibility. Our community has fought a long battle with the hateful stereotype of child molesters. The fact that most child molesters are heterosexual men never seemed to stand in the way of those small-minded people who are hell bent and determined to make all homosexuals into monsters. My brother is one of those people. I will never be permitted to spend time alone with my three neices because their father, my brother, the boy I spent my entire childhood protecting from our father, thinks that I am a child molester.

Having NAMBLA attempting to soil the Gay and Lesbian community with their filth in order to be protected from gay bashing and hate crimes is an affront. I do not know any child molesters, none of my friends would associate with child molesters, but many of us are survivors of childhood sexual abuse. Do not expect us to sit idly by while our reputations are damaged by the thought that we have anything in common with them. NAMBLA should be the enemy of all moral adults.

Churches as Charities? I think not.

How did mainstream churches ever gain charitable status?

Many churches hang tight to the ancient practice of tithing (compelling the parishioners to give 1/10th of their worldly goods to the church each week) and others have a less structured "collection", wherein some of the faithful give regular, calculated amounts, but others give undetermined sums.

If a church is being given donations of money, and if churches are charities, they should be bound by the same rules other charities face, namely: accountability. Where are the receipts for donations given? Where are the transparent and public bookkeeping practices? Where are the annual reports outlining income and the percentages actually spent in purely charitable activities?

And why are some people refused help, comfort and services from these "charities"?

If churches were considered privately run businesses, as they should be (churches are in the business of religion, and make no mistake, religion is BIG business, just look at Billy Graham Inc.) then they would enjoy the freedom to make their own rules. As long as they did not infringe upon any citizen's Charter rights, or break any laws regarding hate crimes, they would be welcome to pick and choose whom they served.

As charities, churches rely on the public tax system and are given special treatment by governments. If churches want to benefit from priviledges that other charities enjoy, they must be expected to stand up to the same scrutiny that other charities face.

Uh-Oh.

That means churches must marry any couple with the legal right to do so.

That means churches have to bury the dead, including suicides, the homeless, the disenfranchised.

That means church run schools must welcome any child, regardless of race, colour, creed or ability.

That means that churches cannot discriminate based on race, colour, ethnicity, financial status, health status, gender or sexual orientation.

Houston, we have a problem. Churches want it both ways. They want full financial public support, they want the protection of governments, they want freedom to take advantage of any and every program available to charities, but, on the other hand, they want to be able to discriminate, exclude, judge, and lobby for their own interests.

Churches simply can't have it both ways.

Are they political institutions with the right to force their agendas on the secular public or are they charities with a responsibility to serve the public?

In the name of God, pick one.

Michael Jackson: Poster Child for Seriously Screwed Up Adults.

Sometimes, when I am at my least charitable, I say someone is a "walking ad for birth control".

Michael Jackson totally fills all the requirements.

He will not be found guilty of child molestation by a jury of his "peers". Peers? Wacko Jacko has no peers! How many adult men pay to be disfigured so that they can look like Diana Ross? How many adult men name all their sons Prince Michael? How many adult men dangle one of the Prince Michaels from a balcony as a publicity stunt? How many adult men spend hours, days, years hanging with a Chimpanzee named Bubbles who happens to live in a private zoo on a child's fantasy ranch called "Neverland"? Then there's the surgical masks, the sequined gloves, the ruby slippers, the pyjamas in court......

And how many adult men truly believe that it is acceptable for them to have "sleep-overs" with little boys who share the adult's bed? (And what kind of parents allow their prepubescent sons to attend sleep-overs with adult men?)

Michael Jackson is pathetic. He is to be pitied, 'cause the wheel's still spinning but the hamster is dead. There are so many mental illnesses that this man-child obviously struggles with that reality can't be any further removed from his life than it is right now.

Is Michael Jackson guilty of child molestation? Oh yeah! The man is totally shameless, he thinks what he has done to the many boys who have shared his bed is "innocent" and ''playful". Every pedophile has an excuse, an explanation, a reason for their repulsive proclivities, this child molester is no different.

Unfortunately for the prosecution in this case, the victim's slimy, manipulative, conniving, dishonest mother lacks even a hint of credibility. I have no doubt Michael Jackson was inappropriate with this boy, but his mother is just as abusive in her way. MJ will leave the court a free man because the victim's mother crippled the prosecution's case.

What is to become of this poor defective creature? He lives in a fantasy world, and I don't believe his damaged soul can be redeemed. Or that he wants it to be. Michael Jackson appears to be under the impression that Peter Pan lives, and he is the latest reincarnation. How does one get through to the man inside the boy when that man is too weak and feeble to show himself?

There are no winners in this sad, twisted tale, only victims and losers.

Go Hide Your Light Under A Bushel!

It's time for a clear, decisive separation of church and state.

In Canada, a rich melting pot of world religions, everyone is entitled to worship her/his deities, gods, goddesses, heroes and spiritual leaders in her/his own way. In any crowded room there could be ten people representing ten belief systems, and those ten people are most welcome to "make a joyful noise" on behalf of whomever they worship.

Just keep me out of it.

There is no place for religious icons, religious teachings, religious beliefs or religious interference in public institutions. This includes governments, the court system, public schools, hospitals and prison systems. Religion is not scientific, beliefs can never be proven, which is why they are called "faiths". If an individual wants to pray at the site of the Virgin Mary's face reflected in an oil spill in a Canadian Tire parking lot, be my guest. If a group of people want to pervert "gospel" teachings in order to justify hate-filled beliefs, I can't stop them, as long as that hatred stays inside their private homes. When that kind of loathing is allowed to seep into the public arena, it becomes a whole different ball game.

Public officials, judges and politicians have a clearly mandated responsibility to be unbiased in their dealings with Canadian citizens. The recent discussions about whether Justices of the Peace should be allowed to refuse to marry same-sex couples is a case in point. As public officials their duties are clear, they are responsible for providing services to citizens. All citizens. They do not and cannot have the right to refuse to fulfill their responsibilities. The choice they have is to remain civil servants or resign.

The bible has no place in public forums. At times beautifully poetic, at times grotesquely violent, at times contradictory, the Bible is a fanciful set of object lessons put together by deprived, repressed, frustrated scholars in the middle ages. The bible is no more "the word of God" than Curious George Goes to the Hospital is an encyclopedia of primates. Even if the bible had been written by the christian God, it is not appropriate to use it as either a reference book or a club with which to bash people, depending on the whims of all-too-human zealots. Religion should be an intensely private relationship between the faithful and their God, Allah, Creator, Hashem, Mohammed, Tao, Krishna....not a public display of "my God is better (bigger, smarter) than your God". Personal opinions are just that, one person's belief, and to think that God shares anyone's opinion is the height of conceit.

If people believe abortion is immoral, they do not have to have an abortion. If people believe same sex marriages are immoral, they do not have to enter into a same sex marriage. The same goes for birth control, divorce, and any other legal activity of which we, as Canadians, have the right to partake, should we so choose.

What consenting adults choose to believe is up to them and them alone. I don't care whether people worship Homer Simpson, as long as they don't try to force their beliefs on one single other person.

D-oh!

Marshall, McCullogh, Milgaard, Morin, and Sophonow....

We all know that justice is blind, but in some cases, justice is also deaf, mute and beyond comprehension.

Karla Homolka's imminent release from prison has once again rattled the cages of Canada's bloodthirsty proponents of Capital Punishment. They scream for vengeance, they demand harsh penalties for murderers and they love the sound of their own vicious voices.

Even if there was a place for the death penalty in a civilized society, which there clearly is not, and even if justice treated persons of colour the way caucasians are treated (in Western society), which is absolutely not the case, and even if all persons, regardless of ethnicity, race, sex, religion, intellect, financial, educational and societal background were given rigorous defenses by highly qualified lawyers, which they are not, the fact remains that mistakes can be and are made. Frequently.

Donald Marshall Jr., Chris McCullogh, David Milgaard, Guy Paul Morin, Thomas Sophonow.

All of these men were falsely accused, falsely convicted, and falsely imprisoned. If Canada had the barbaric, antiquated death penalty, some of these five men would not have been alive to be released from prison when the horrendous truth that their collective Constitutional rights had been trampled by over-zealous, corner-cutting police departments hell bent on getting convictions.

Machiavelli was wrong, the ends do not justify the means. Convictions are certainly not worth the jubilation they receive when peoples' lives are destroyed through no fault of their own, and the real killers are free to walk the streets.

Yes, Karla Homolka is a vile human being, and yes, the fact that she won the lottery when it came to the infamous deal prosecuters made with her lawyers is hard to swallow, but even if there had been no deal with the devil, a death sentence for her crimes would have been morally repugnant.

There simply is no place for revenge and retribution in a court of law. Justice is supposed to be fair, impartial and civilized. Judges and juries are supposed to get it right, every time. One mistake, just one, is reason enough to eliminate any punishment that disallows correction when an error has been made.

One wrong verdict. In Canada there have been at least five, and probably many, many more.

McCullogh, Marshall, Milgaard, Morin, Sophonow.....

Cranium, or How to Separate the Winners From the LLLosers!

Today is my beautiful Christine's 40th birthday. In honour of the auspicious occasion, we had a party at a local restaurant. All of the people who mean the most to Chris were invited, and most were able to attend. Very cool.

Conversation waxed and waned, and, as happens at every event our friend Wendy and I attend together, the topic of the Great Cranium Massacre came up.

Cranium is a game that uses all parts of the brain. It involves humming songs, sculpting clay, drawing (with or without the eyes of the artist being closed) charades, trivia....it's a lot of fun, and a great mental challenge.

Wendy and I are the reigning champions at Cranium. We, quite frankly, kick ass. And whose asses did we kick?

That would be the team of Christine and our good friend Nancy. Now, it's only fair to mention that Nancy played under duress, she's not fond of games, but one could ask whether the fact that she didn't really want to play had any real bearing on the outcome of this game. I think not.

We ruled. I think part of my brain became psychic and meshed with Wendy's, not because we are so in tune with one another's thoughts, but because my will to survive is strong, and I needed ESP to get the clues she was sending, or I would face the wrath of Wendy. No good could come from that.

It was a stunning defeat, but Chris and Nancy bore it with grace.....sort of. Chris accused us of cheating, and Nancy said something along the lines of "Halleluja, it's finally over!" We were gracious in victory, too.....again, sort of. We did a great rendition of Queen's "We are the Champions", and we only called them LLLosers for a few hours.

Funny, they aren't pushing for a rematch.

PortaPotties...The Solution for the Downtown Eastside.

Good God!

The brain trust is at it again. A conservative estimate of 5000 drug-addicted persons living in a 10 block radius, and the powers that be are convinced that portable toilets will help.

Okay, I'll admit, feces and urine appearing on sidewalks and in alleys is not pleasant, and is bad for business, as well as being a health hazard, but these people need real help, not half a dozen Johnny-On-The-Spot self-cleaning toilets. People need toilets inside affordable, safe, clean housing units. They need addiction services that have proper funding, they need support: physical, emotional, spiritual and psychological. They need to be embraced by their communities, and made to feel a part of society. There are not enough beds in long-term addiction/recovery programs anywhere in this province, and the front line workers are overworked, underpaid, and constantly facing funding crises. The people who dedicate their careers to helping the most vulnerable of our citizens are always waiting for the other shoe to drop. How can they be expected to help people who cannot help themselves if they are forever fighting for the bare minimum in government support?

The Downtown Eastside is a war zone. The brave souls who try their best to eradicate the horror for one person at a time face an uphill battle. The public, by and large, turns a blind eye to the population that calls the area around Main and Hastings home. At best, people donate to the Food Bank or the Salvation Army and pat themselves on the back for helping "the less fortunate". At worst, predators hunt and harm those who are not strong enough or well enough to protect themselves. Most people just cannot, will not or do not identify with the drug addicted, the mentally ill, the sex trade workers, the throwaways, the runaways, the used, abused and abandoned. Too many believe that most residents of the Downtown Eastside "deserve" to be there. Who deserves to be reduced to defecating on a sidewalk? These citizens of Canada are people, not human garbage. They are daughters, sons, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts, cousins, and sadly, grandmothers and grandfathers. They were all somebody's newborn at one point in their lives.

The decision to install portable toilets as a solution to a gigantic human tragedy is a slap in the face not only to the residents of Canada's poorest postal code, but every person who dedicates her/his life to trying to help people escape this misery.

That this hellish pit of despair exists in this country is an abomination, but nothing will fundamentally change unless it is the will of the people. All people.

Pope Benedict Has Spoken. Yippee Skippy.

The Pope, hereafter referred to as "The Big P.", has added his voice to the chorus of small-minded, backward thinking fearmongers of the far right to condemn my right to be married. Quelle suprise!

The Big P believes that same-sex marriage is "fake". Unlike heterosexual marriages, more than 50% of which end in divorce....those are the real deal.

What is more fake than the office of "Pope"? He's a man, just like any other man (although a bit more judgemental, influential and therefore frightening). He was elected by a group of men who enjoy unearned priviledge. He is supposedly God's spokesperson on Earth, as if the Almighty needs an agent.

The church Pope Benedict represents is responsible for a great deal of the unneccessary suffering and grief on the planet. Patriarchal edicts about birth control and abortion have led to overpopulation in some of the world's poorest and most vulnerable countries. What loving God would advocate pumping new babies into families and communities that cannot feed, clothe, shelter, educate or provide medical care for them? A church that prevents women from assuming leadership roles has absolutely no business in preaching about what women should or should not do with their bodies. More than 50% of Catholics are unrepresented, and those same 50% + are the ones who live with the chauvenistic, paternalistic, misogynistic "Holy Father" telling them what he thinks God wants.

I think God can speak for Herself, and She did, by creating scientists who figured out how to stop unwanted pregnancies.

So the Big P., who is a lifelong bachelor (that's a different rant) thinks that he has a valid opinion about marriage. To bastardize a well known phrase, "those who can, do, those who can't, preach". The man knows nothing about marriage, heterosexual or homosexual. He worries that same-sex marriage will weaken the family. Huh? Alchoholism, infidelity, divorce, physical/emotional/psychological/sexual abuse, poverty, lack of opportunity, lack of education, hopelessness, helplessness, immaturity, drug abuse.....that's what weakens families. My wedding to Christine did nothing to weaken anyone's family, and strengthened her own family.

I'm sure the Big P. would like to return to a simpler time, say the Middle Ages, when peasants lived in fear of bitter, angry, power-hungry priests who could destroy them at whim, and did, often; when a priest's word was law in his little part of the world, and the Pope might as well have been God Herself.

That time is over, Big P. You lose.

December 6, 1989

Fifteen years and six months ago today, the following brilliant, beloved young women were ripped from the families and communities that nurtured them. Murdered, in cold blood, simply because they were successful, motivated, and determined. Murdered because of their gender.


Geneviève Bergeron, a scholarship student majoring in Civil Engineering. She was also a talented musician.

Hélène Colgan, only a semester away from graduating with a Bachelor's degree in Mechanical Engineering.

Nathalie Croteau, Mechanical Engineering student.

Barbara Daigneault, in her final year of Mechanical Engineering. Her father was a Mechanical Engineering professor at another Montreal-area Engineering school; Barbara helped him as a Teaching Assistant.

Anne-Marie Edward, Chemical Engineering student and member of the university's alpine ski team. Her family elected to bury her in her team uniform.

Maud Haviernick had a Bachelor's degree in Environmental Studies and was in her second year of Materials Engineering.

Maryse Laganière worked in the university's Budget Department. She had recently married.

Maryse Leclair, Engineering Materials student.

Anne-Marie Lemay, Mechanical Engineering student.

Sonia Pelletier would have graduated on December 7 as an Mechanical Engineer.

Michèle Richard, Engineering Materials student.

Annie St-Arneault, Mechanical Engineering student.

Annie Turcotte, Materials Engineering student.

Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz, Materials Engineering student.

May your souls be at peace.

Up Chocolate Creek Without a Popsicle Stick.

I'm a Lesbian. I prefer the word "Dyke", it fits me well, and it's comfortable, but "Lesbian" or "Gay Womyn" will suffice.

As a Dyke, I am automatically lumped into a category of people referred to as, get this:

GLBT2QQI

That, for the uninitiated, stands for: Gay, Lesbian, Bi-Sexual, Transgendered, 2 Spirited, Queer, Questioning, and Intersexed.

Pretty big label for one white bread Lesbian.

I have almost nothing in common with an intersexed person, aside from the fact that we are both human beings. I'm a womyn who loves womyn, I was a girl who loved girls. I am comfortable in my own body, feel quite normal, and I feel more kinship with my straight female friends than I do with intersexed people. The same goes for transgendered people......I do not understand the challenges they face to find a place in this world, and although I can sympathize with the struggle, I do not empathize, how can I when my reality is so far removed?

I hate being tossed into a big pot to be stirred into a huge mass of "other than". All of us who fall, often unwillingly, under the massive umbrella of GLBT2QQI are something other than straight. Lumping us all together snatches away our individuality and tars us all with the same brush. I'm not a Drag Queen, I'm not a Boi, I'm not Trans, Bi, Intersexed or questioning. My questions were answered long ago, when my best friend and I were six, and I informed her that we were going to be married someday.

I married my best friend, although not the same one. We live a relatively quiet life filled with dogs, friends, work, family, engaging in all the same "normal" activities that any other married couple does. No fetishes, no costumes, no strap-ons, no womyn with mustaches, no guys in dresses, no threesomes, no "this week I'm Lesbian, next week I'm straight".

I don't think I'm an exception, I think I'm a pretty typical Dyke. Maybe it's time to stop identifying every non-heterosexual as "other", and letting us all be ourselves.

Going, going.....gone.

Hear that? That's the sound of my Christine's youth disappearing into the ether.

She's turning forty. Forty, you may or may not know, is latin for "older than dirt".

I've already left that watershed far behind, but I neither look or behave like a forty year old, so I tend to forget I've put in four decades. Call it premature Alzheimers....

Chris, on the other hand, has been mistaken as the older of the two of us ever since we met. Once, at the White Spot Restaurant, she was thought to be my mother. I was thrilled....Chris, not so much. Nobody believes she is younger than me, least of all me. I swear Christine was born a little old lady.

Chris has had prematurely grey hair for years (well BEFORE she met me, thank you) and she comes across as "mature" (her word, not mine). I refer to her as "Gamma", and, to her horror, friends also use that nickname. What's funny, though, is when she refers to herself as Gamma. Love it, love it!

We will be celebrating this major milestone in fine style, with good friends, laughter and food. Chris will get to act like the matriarch she was born to be, at least for a little while. It'll prepare her for life at Shady Pines.....I just know she's going to be a crotchety old battle axe, but I'll visit her every Sunday anyway.....

It'll be a far cry from the decidedly immature, bratty whiney behaviour she is displaying in the days before the big 4-0! Can I have one of my presents early? Just one? Can I have a hint? How many of my presents didn't come from an electronics store? Please? Just one?

I'm not sure she'll be pleasantly surprised by the case of Depends and the support hose.......