the daily snivel
More on police misconduct.
Now, believe me, I cannot emphasize enough that the job of a police officer is a difficult and demanding one, and the actions of police officers who break the law should not be a taint on the entire force of a whole. However, no one will respect police or the justice system if they believe the police will not treat them fairly. Not long ago, I wrote about a constable on the Ottawa Police Service who plead guilty to assaulting a woman while arresting her. Now, unfortunately, a Toronto police officer has also been found guilty of an assault while making an arrest, again due to the fact that the beating was videotaped:
Here we have someone who, while assaulted by a police officer, was charged with assaulting a police officer. It was a police officer's word against his as to what happened. Again, without the videotaped evidence of the assault on Mr. Jama, I find it highly unlikely that his version of events would have been believed. We are lucky the events were videotaped, but what message does this send the larger community? Would justice have been done had not the assault been caught on tape? And what does this say about the respect we as citizens are supposed to maintain for the police?
Credibility of an accused and of witnesses are a key issues in deciding ultimate guilt or innocence, and our system is predicated on the word of a police officer being afforded a high level of credibility. The credibility of the police is tainted here, and that does harm to future cases in which the word of a police officer must be weighed against another witness or an accused. It lessens the public trust in the police when their cooperation is sought to help solve a crime.
In one sense, we can be thankful that the true story came out, and that justice was done, but this only raises the question of how many times an injustice is not videotaped. It is even more shocking that a person who is innocent of the crime charged (such as assaulting a police officer, which was alleged here and which judges tend to treat especially harshly) was put in jeopardy because a police officer lied in accusing him.
Thursday, July 28, 2005 A Toronto police officer who was caught on videotape as he punched a Somali immigrant during an arrest in 2003 has been found guilty of assault. He is to be sentenced on Friday.
Const. Roy Preston was charged after Jama Said Jama complained that he was beaten by police at the scene of a fight in a northwest Toronto coffee shop parking lot. The 21-year-old landed immigrant said he had been trying to break up the fight.
...
Jama fled after being punched in the face. He was arrested a short distance away and charged with assaulting police and causing a disturbance. He could have been jailed and deported had he been convicted.
...
Police at first said he had been injured in another incident before he was arrested. The charges against him were dropped, and Preston was charged instead, after a videotape of the confrontation taken by tourists from Ottawa surfaced.
It showed an officer punching Jama, who did not appear to be resisting.
Here we have someone who, while assaulted by a police officer, was charged with assaulting a police officer. It was a police officer's word against his as to what happened. Again, without the videotaped evidence of the assault on Mr. Jama, I find it highly unlikely that his version of events would have been believed. We are lucky the events were videotaped, but what message does this send the larger community? Would justice have been done had not the assault been caught on tape? And what does this say about the respect we as citizens are supposed to maintain for the police?
Credibility of an accused and of witnesses are a key issues in deciding ultimate guilt or innocence, and our system is predicated on the word of a police officer being afforded a high level of credibility. The credibility of the police is tainted here, and that does harm to future cases in which the word of a police officer must be weighed against another witness or an accused. It lessens the public trust in the police when their cooperation is sought to help solve a crime.
In one sense, we can be thankful that the true story came out, and that justice was done, but this only raises the question of how many times an injustice is not videotaped. It is even more shocking that a person who is innocent of the crime charged (such as assaulting a police officer, which was alleged here and which judges tend to treat especially harshly) was put in jeopardy because a police officer lied in accusing him.
Malapropism of the week
"I could care less"
I'm stretching the definition of "malapropism" a bit here by using it to refer to a misused turn of phrase (as opposed to a single word), but I still think it's appropriate in the context of the error made here. This is an expression that's become increasingly common on television and in everyday conversation, but really means the opposite of what people intend when they say it.
Saying "I could care less" really doesn't mean you don't care. It means you do care. It means "I care more about this than that thing I couldn't care less about.
So stop saying it.
Now, this expression could come in handy someday if you ever want me to stop hanging out with you and let leave me feeling like I haven't been dumped: use either this expression or the linguistic blunder "irregardless" and just watch me start making excuses that allow me to get as far away from you as I can.
I'm stretching the definition of "malapropism" a bit here by using it to refer to a misused turn of phrase (as opposed to a single word), but I still think it's appropriate in the context of the error made here. This is an expression that's become increasingly common on television and in everyday conversation, but really means the opposite of what people intend when they say it.
Saying "I could care less" really doesn't mean you don't care. It means you do care. It means "I care more about this than that thing I couldn't care less about.
So stop saying it.
Now, this expression could come in handy someday if you ever want me to stop hanging out with you and let leave me feeling like I haven't been dumped: use either this expression or the linguistic blunder "irregardless" and just watch me start making excuses that allow me to get as far away from you as I can.
I hate e-mail forwards
Normally, I hate being on those mass e-mail forwarding lists, where people send you videos of kittens doing cute things (nothing against kittens doing cute things -- just people who forward them. They can die and go to hell) or chain letters that tell you to "pass it on to 15 friends" or credible sounding alerts that two seconds on snopes.com would have told you are e-mail hoaxes.
I make exceptions for content that is timely and appropriate, or really of specific interest to me. When someone sees something they think is really important, or too funny to pass up, and send it to you alone or at most five other contacts -- and most importantly don't do it with every last goldurned thang to be forwarded into their mailboxes by others -- I am of course, quite pleased because some thought actually went into sending it along.
This is one of those occasions. You may have seen it (a similar version went around when Dr. Laura relied on the Bible to justify her obsolete views), but it's very biting and exposes the hypocrisy of claiming that the Bible forbids some activities as abominations (say, gay marriage) but is perfectly OK on all the other abominations that would otherwise inconvenience you personally or conflict with the laws we all agree make society bearable.
Jesus wouldn't judge others, kids. Nor should you.
P.S. Redemption is through a life of good works, not just faith. Anything less is just jiving the Lord.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005 I make exceptions for content that is timely and appropriate, or really of specific interest to me. When someone sees something they think is really important, or too funny to pass up, and send it to you alone or at most five other contacts -- and most importantly don't do it with every last goldurned thang to be forwarded into their mailboxes by others -- I am of course, quite pleased because some thought actually went into sending it along.
This is one of those occasions. You may have seen it (a similar version went around when Dr. Laura relied on the Bible to justify her obsolete views), but it's very biting and exposes the hypocrisy of claiming that the Bible forbids some activities as abominations (say, gay marriage) but is perfectly OK on all the other abominations that would otherwise inconvenience you personally or conflict with the laws we all agree make society bearable.
Dear President Bush,
Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from you and understand why you would propose and support a constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage. As you said, "in the eyes of God marriage is based between a man a woman." I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination... end of debate.
I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.
Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?
I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanness - Lev 15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.
When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?
A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there "degrees" of abomination?
Lev 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?
Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev 19:27.
How should they die?
I know from Lev 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them (Lev 24:10-16)? Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev 20:14)
I know, President Bush, you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I am confident you can help.
Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.
Jesus wouldn't judge others, kids. Nor should you.
P.S. Redemption is through a life of good works, not just faith. Anything less is just jiving the Lord.
No TV and no oil make George W. Bush something something.
Let's drive the Preznit nuts. I was referred to this petition by a good friend after she and I watched this cute commercial from the World Wildlife Fund spoofing a Paid Political Announcement, complete with a down home folksy Old Rich White Guy telling us it would be OK if there were oil spills because all those birds would just soak it up on their downy, downy feathers.
Anyway, as much as I know that astroturf campaigns don't always have a lot of political weight, it certainly can't hurt to add your name to a petition trying to get the Prime Minister to gently remind our American friends thatdrilling exploring for oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge is no kind of energy plan at all.
Though I would wholeheartedly approve of drilling the fuck out of that Refuge under (and only under) the following conditions.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005 Anyway, as much as I know that astroturf campaigns don't always have a lot of political weight, it certainly can't hurt to add your name to a petition trying to get the Prime Minister to gently remind our American friends that
SAY NO TO OIL DRILLING IN THE ARCTIC NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE!
WWF-Canada has launched a campaign to focus attention on the U.S. government's plan to open up oil drilling in the pristine Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. The refuge is home to thousands of migratory birds and to the 40,000 porcupine caribou calves that are born there every year. Drilling will have a devastating effect on this delicate Refuge - disrupting the Porcupine Caribou's ability to reproduce and rear young, decimating nesting grounds for countless birds and even putting at risk the livelihood of the Gwitch'in people of north Yukon, who rely heavily on the migrating caribou herds.
Let the Prime Minister's Office know you're against the drilling. Encourage him to act on his government's stated opposition to this legislation now before Congress. The prime minister must take the strong message to Washington that drilling in this refuge is wrong.
PASSAGE OF THE BILL COULD BE ONLY WEEKS AWAY. WE MUST STOP IT NOW!
Join your friend and sign our petition today! Your voice will make a difference!
--------------------------------------------------------------
SIGN THE PETITION NOW!
Visit www.DoNotDrill.ca or copy and paste the following URL into your Web
browser: http://www.donotdrill.ca
Though I would wholeheartedly approve of drilling the fuck out of that Refuge under (and only under) the following conditions.
Police officer pleads guilty to assault
In 2000, Constable Martin Cardinal of the Ottawa Police Service made an arrest. A woman was intoxicated and disruptive, and neighbours had complained to the police. In making the arrest, he handcuffed her and bent her over the front of the cruiser. During this apprehension, he grabbed her by the hair and repeatedly slammed her head against the hood of the cruiser. Unbeknownst to them, a neighbour videotaped the incident from his balcony. The officer claimed that when arresting Julie Cayer, she resisted and was rearing back against his hold, and he was simply pushing her back down. Her testimony in concert with the video indicated that she was deliberately beaten. Moreover, it was only because of the video tape (which went straight to the media since the cameraman testified he feared the police would have suppressed it had he given it to them first) that the incident ever came to public attention. Ms. Cayer testified she would not have come forward with a complaint otherwise, doubting anyone would have believed her. I personally doubt very much that, in the absence of the tape, her testimony about being assaulted would have been given any weight.
The officer was convicted of assault in 2003, but a retrial was ordered when his lawyer successfully appealed on the basis that too much weight had been given to the video evidence. Today, at the beginning of his second trial for assault, the officer changed his plea and entered a plea of guilty to assault.
I am going to be entering the criminal defence bar, and believe strongly in the rights of an accused and the presumption of innocence. In this case, however, I feel an equally strong sympathy for the victim. Throughout the media frenzy surrounding this incident and the first trial, Ms. Cayer's criminal record and past incidents of intoxication and unruliness were trotted about to both justify the officer and discredit her testimony. Any good lawyer is going to jump on a shady witness, of course, since this can be the difference between a conviction and an acquittal, but I confess I'm given pause to reflect when a victim of police misconduct is blamed for the incident, directly or indirectly. The police have a difficult job and deserve our respect, but the justice system is only worthy of that respect when we can be confident that no one is above the law -- and certainly not police officers who swear to enforce the law and protect society. Anything less only brings the administration of justice into disrepute.
What remains of course, is the sentence, and whether the Constable will be allowed to remain with the Ottawa Police Service at the conclusion of this matter. And, furthermore, whether the police are actually effective at policing themselves when the public makes complaints, or whether an independent civilian commission is required to investigate (or, for that matter, if the only way justice will be done is so long as everyone videotapes everyone else).
Okay, and since I just can't resist ending with a pompous and "Springer's Final Thought"-esque last word like "who will police the police?" I am instead swiping this quote from the Simpsons episide, Homer the Vigilante:
Exact same thing.
Thursday, July 21, 2005 The officer was convicted of assault in 2003, but a retrial was ordered when his lawyer successfully appealed on the basis that too much weight had been given to the video evidence. Today, at the beginning of his second trial for assault, the officer changed his plea and entered a plea of guilty to assault.
I am going to be entering the criminal defence bar, and believe strongly in the rights of an accused and the presumption of innocence. In this case, however, I feel an equally strong sympathy for the victim. Throughout the media frenzy surrounding this incident and the first trial, Ms. Cayer's criminal record and past incidents of intoxication and unruliness were trotted about to both justify the officer and discredit her testimony. Any good lawyer is going to jump on a shady witness, of course, since this can be the difference between a conviction and an acquittal, but I confess I'm given pause to reflect when a victim of police misconduct is blamed for the incident, directly or indirectly. The police have a difficult job and deserve our respect, but the justice system is only worthy of that respect when we can be confident that no one is above the law -- and certainly not police officers who swear to enforce the law and protect society. Anything less only brings the administration of justice into disrepute.
What remains of course, is the sentence, and whether the Constable will be allowed to remain with the Ottawa Police Service at the conclusion of this matter. And, furthermore, whether the police are actually effective at policing themselves when the public makes complaints, or whether an independent civilian commission is required to investigate (or, for that matter, if the only way justice will be done is so long as everyone videotapes everyone else).
Okay, and since I just can't resist ending with a pompous and "Springer's Final Thought"-esque last word like "who will police the police?" I am instead swiping this quote from the Simpsons episide, Homer the Vigilante:
Homer: So I said to him, "Look, buddy, your car was upside down when we got here. And as for your Grandma, she shouldn't have mouthed off like that!"
Lisa: Dad, don't you see you're abusing your power like all vigilantes? I mean, if you're the police, who will police the police?
Homer: I dunno. Coast Guard?
Exact same thing.
No fat chicks
Via the inimitable Pandagon, we learn that Richard Roeper (yes, that Richard Roeper) admits that he has a problem. He can only get it up when he's looking at pictures of boney, angular, fantasy women in their underwear. Worse, he thinks that the problem isn't just with him -- it's actually with women who aren't fantasy-thin. In fact, he says, all men, everywhere, are also shallow, superficial, and sexist. After all, he says so. Well, why don't I just let him explain it in his own words:
There you have it. He's a man, men are shallow, superficial, and sexist, and therefore it's "unsettling" to see billboards of women in their underwear -- unless they're a size 2, that is. Then it's alright. Real women, however -- you know, the ones you actually see outside the carefully airbrushed pages of Maxim and don't have eating disorders -- are so grotesque that the very sight causes his blood to flee the superfluous vessels in his shriveling member. Which is odd, since you'd think in that case it would head back to the brain. Nevertheless, "chunky" women just don't do it for him, so isn't it a shame that Dove has spoiled it for men everywhere by suggesting that women on the street ever escape their muumuus and burlap sacks and the paper bags they kept over their heads and show a little skin.
Take a gander, if you dare, at these hideous wretches unfit for the eyes of men:
As much as Mr. Roeper has the right to his opinion, he expressed it in public and that makes it a fair target for fair comments from women and men who take exception to the fact that he has painted all men, everywhere, with an insulting and sexist brush, and he has effectively labeled average, healthy women as unfuckable. I think men have a responsibility to call out stupid things like this. It demeans everyone to suggest that men don't find real women attractive, and enforces a continuing pattern of superficiality that ought to be decried. And given that the reaction by Mr. Roeper to a campaign stating "it's time to show real women's bodies (*) and recognize their very real beauty" is: "Oh, God, look at how fat and ugly they are!" you see why such a turnabout of the Kate Moss standard of beauty was so badly needed in the first place.
As I said, I think men have a responsibility to call out stupid statements about women and men. So I'll go on the record as saying it: I love real women. I love women, period. We all have buttons that can be pressed by certain body features, but couldn't you be swept off your feet by the right woman regardless of these arbitrary preferences? All of the women in the Dove ads are gorgeous, and what's more, they're all out of Mr. Roeper's sorry league. The female body has been celebrated for years in portrait and sculpture as the essence of beauty, and it's only in recent years that we as a society have turned against curves and softness and decided that angular bodies and boyish features are really beautiful. Myself, I'll happily smooch any woman who's funny, intelligent, healthy, and happy with her body, and I bet most real men would agree with me.
And to the bleating that men in mainstream advertisements are just as "genetically blessed" as the women, well, are they really? Yes, they're very good looking, but so are the women in the Dove ads. The difference is that men in ads are allowed to have a healthy size. They've bulky with muscle, not slender. I don't have a perfect body, but I stay in shape by going to the gym regularly, and I'm getting hotter with time. At the gym, there are a lot of fit, healthy, men and women. Most of the men you see at the gym have bodies would fit in place in an Obsession advertisement or other glimpse of scantily clad men. (especially if you airbrush the blemishes and get rid of the body hair). Most of the women you see at the gym don't. Both have average builds, but the women, with round hips, feminine curves, and sexy muscle tone, are the ones that make Mr. Roeper queasy.
As Amanda Marcotte over at Pandagon concludes:
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Chunky women in their underwear have surrounded my house.
Billboards of chunky women, that is. If you've been downtown lately, you've no doubt noticed the ads for Dove soap, featuring regular-sized women in bras and panties. It's part of a nationwide "Campaign for Real Beauty," and it's drawing waves of attention from the media.
...
Now here's where I'm supposed to say that I find it refreshing to see "real people" on billboards, given that our culture is so obsessed with youth and beauty, and that most billboards feature impossibly gorgeous, ridiculously thin women who have been airbrushed to a level of perfection that 99.9 percent of the population can never reach.
But the raw truth is, I find these Dove ads a little unsettling. If I want to see plump gals baring too much skin, I'll go to Taste of Chicago, OK? I'll walk down Michigan Avenue or go to Navy Pier. When we're talking women in their underwear on billboards outside my living room windows, give me the fantasy babes, please.
If that makes me sound superficial, shallow and sexist -- well yes, I'm a man. And I'll have to point out that most of the men who appear on billboards and in magazines and on TV commercials are just as genetically blessed as their female counterparts.
There you have it. He's a man, men are shallow, superficial, and sexist, and therefore it's "unsettling" to see billboards of women in their underwear -- unless they're a size 2, that is. Then it's alright. Real women, however -- you know, the ones you actually see outside the carefully airbrushed pages of Maxim and don't have eating disorders -- are so grotesque that the very sight causes his blood to flee the superfluous vessels in his shriveling member. Which is odd, since you'd think in that case it would head back to the brain. Nevertheless, "chunky" women just don't do it for him, so isn't it a shame that Dove has spoiled it for men everywhere by suggesting that women on the street ever escape their muumuus and burlap sacks and the paper bags they kept over their heads and show a little skin.
Take a gander, if you dare, at these hideous wretches unfit for the eyes of men:
As much as Mr. Roeper has the right to his opinion, he expressed it in public and that makes it a fair target for fair comments from women and men who take exception to the fact that he has painted all men, everywhere, with an insulting and sexist brush, and he has effectively labeled average, healthy women as unfuckable. I think men have a responsibility to call out stupid things like this. It demeans everyone to suggest that men don't find real women attractive, and enforces a continuing pattern of superficiality that ought to be decried. And given that the reaction by Mr. Roeper to a campaign stating "it's time to show real women's bodies (*) and recognize their very real beauty" is: "Oh, God, look at how fat and ugly they are!" you see why such a turnabout of the Kate Moss standard of beauty was so badly needed in the first place.
As I said, I think men have a responsibility to call out stupid statements about women and men. So I'll go on the record as saying it: I love real women. I love women, period. We all have buttons that can be pressed by certain body features, but couldn't you be swept off your feet by the right woman regardless of these arbitrary preferences? All of the women in the Dove ads are gorgeous, and what's more, they're all out of Mr. Roeper's sorry league. The female body has been celebrated for years in portrait and sculpture as the essence of beauty, and it's only in recent years that we as a society have turned against curves and softness and decided that angular bodies and boyish features are really beautiful. Myself, I'll happily smooch any woman who's funny, intelligent, healthy, and happy with her body, and I bet most real men would agree with me.
And to the bleating that men in mainstream advertisements are just as "genetically blessed" as the women, well, are they really? Yes, they're very good looking, but so are the women in the Dove ads. The difference is that men in ads are allowed to have a healthy size. They've bulky with muscle, not slender. I don't have a perfect body, but I stay in shape by going to the gym regularly, and I'm getting hotter with time. At the gym, there are a lot of fit, healthy, men and women. Most of the men you see at the gym have bodies would fit in place in an Obsession advertisement or other glimpse of scantily clad men. (especially if you airbrush the blemishes and get rid of the body hair). Most of the women you see at the gym don't. Both have average builds, but the women, with round hips, feminine curves, and sexy muscle tone, are the ones that make Mr. Roeper queasy.
As Amanda Marcotte over at Pandagon concludes:
"Roeper never explains why it is that requests that he refrain from demanding that all advertisements, even those aimed directly at women, conform to his sex fantasies is somehow a demand for an apology for the fantasies themselves. He can dream of fucking a cardboard cutout of a skeleton stolen from someone's Halloween display for all I care, but that doesn't mean he has to petulantly insult women who maintain a body weight sufficiently high enough that they don't need a fleet of doctors following them to make sure their heart continues beating.
And of course, being told one is too fat to fuck for daring wear a size 6 should cause peals of laughter of the good-natured sort. You're right, Richard! I'm hideous! I hate myself, it's so funny! But women are sensitive babies, I guess. (If Roeper reads this, I'm sure he's dying laughing now that I've said the thought of him naked puts me off my lunch. Well, at least he's helping me get closer to acceptable to be seen in my underwear."
* -- Admittedly, a campaign aimed at the heart of women who still need to buy creams, potions, and magic elixirs in the endless pursuit of cosmetically-enhanced beauty and ultimately physical perfection.
For the peace of mind of all my future clients...
... I did very well indeed on the criminal law exam for the Bar Admissions Course, beating the pass/fail point by a huge margin. I am now over halfway complete the academic process and thus presumably halfway competent to become a lawyer myself in a year's time.
Saturday, July 16, 2005 Collect 'em all
Well, those darn kids have done it again.
My sister was called to the Bar at a ceremony at the National Arts Centre on Wednesday, July 16, meaning that she is an honest-to-gosh lawyer now, and can hereafter sign our passport applications and be pestered at parties for free legal advice. Of course, it also means that four years of tremendously hard work have come to fruition. It goes without saying that I'm extremely proud of my sister (I'm saying it anyway), and that she's been a big help to me as I followed along a year behind her in law school. Along with our brother Scott, we had a great time drinking to her health at the Dominion Tavern later that night ,and our mother was so proud of Tammy's accomplishment that she placed an announcement in the Saturday edition of the Ottawa Citizen announcing both her Call and my graduation. Thanks to the magic of scanners and Photoshop (newsprint is a bitch to scan clearly), I'm sharing it with you:
These are the kinds of things that make me appreciate how special my family is -- especially our mother who, for all her many (lovable) quirks, raised us on our own and has four brainy, talented, well-adjusted kids (none of whom is a serial killer or drives an SUV) to be really proud of. Without help, without privilege, without connections, we've all done really well for ourselves (so, uh, eat that, all you rich, connected, privileged people!). Most importantly, we use our powers for good.
Now if only I had a high school reunion to go to...
Tuesday, July 12, 2005 My sister was called to the Bar at a ceremony at the National Arts Centre on Wednesday, July 16, meaning that she is an honest-to-gosh lawyer now, and can hereafter sign our passport applications and be pestered at parties for free legal advice. Of course, it also means that four years of tremendously hard work have come to fruition. It goes without saying that I'm extremely proud of my sister (I'm saying it anyway), and that she's been a big help to me as I followed along a year behind her in law school. Along with our brother Scott, we had a great time drinking to her health at the Dominion Tavern later that night ,and our mother was so proud of Tammy's accomplishment that she placed an announcement in the Saturday edition of the Ottawa Citizen announcing both her Call and my graduation. Thanks to the magic of scanners and Photoshop (newsprint is a bitch to scan clearly), I'm sharing it with you:
These are the kinds of things that make me appreciate how special my family is -- especially our mother who, for all her many (lovable) quirks, raised us on our own and has four brainy, talented, well-adjusted kids (none of whom is a serial killer or drives an SUV) to be really proud of. Without help, without privilege, without connections, we've all done really well for ourselves (so, uh, eat that, all you rich, connected, privileged people!). Most importantly, we use our powers for good.
Now if only I had a high school reunion to go to...
If it were a horse, I'd shoot it.
Says Rob the vegetarian, who wouldn't really hurt a horse no matter how lame it was. But still, you get the Western analogy.
Nevertheless, my bicycle has been causing me great aggravation this summer, and costing me money to the point where I probably could have purchased a new one and left the old fella out to pasture with a sign that says "steal me" (or as my sister's boyfriend discovered last year, leave it on the balcony of my third floor apartment in Toronto, where the bike thieves are even more a clever a gang of rascals as its legendary raccoons). On the way home the other day, I heard a "ping!" and felt my rear wheel start to wobble madly. I was just able to get it home, but discovered that two spokes had snapped.
It's back on the road now, thankfully only after spending $12 on some new spokes, but I actually spent $80 on a new wheel just a month ago, and it's only a matter of time before I have to bring it in for a $90 procedure to get the gears replaced. Granted, after five years of almost daily rides from April to November, I'm willing to accept that there's going to be wear and tear (like the brake pads I've had to replace), and the fact that my chain skips. But it's been in the shop three to four times each summer for the past three years, which boils down to a lot of time off the road. The guy at the bike shop suggested I now buy a hand-made wheel from him, given the problems we've had back there and the fact that there's no warranty on factory-built wheels.
I think the bike is cursed. At the very least we have a turbulent and Harlequin-esque relationship (you know the formula: "He's so brash and arrogant! I feel nothing for him! And yet..."). I rant and rave like a madman about it when something goes wrong, and pine like a jilted lover when I can't ride it and am forced to take the hated bus. There's nothing quite so frustrating as being stuck in traffic on a hot, crowded, humid bus that is crowded past the point of "standing room only" and moved on to "where do you think you're putting that crotch?" while you watch carefree cyclists roll on by, generally getting wherever they're going faster than you do. When you're traveling downtown, a bicycle is simply the best way to get around. And yet... and yet... I can't help but wonder what new technical difficulties will surprise me on some trip in the not-too-distant future. So far we've gone through blowouts, broken spokes, chewed up tires, bad bearings, clicking pedals, and broken cables together. It's a rocky love affair, me and my shiny red bicycle, but at least it's never thrown me.
Monday, July 11, 2005 Nevertheless, my bicycle has been causing me great aggravation this summer, and costing me money to the point where I probably could have purchased a new one and left the old fella out to pasture with a sign that says "steal me" (or as my sister's boyfriend discovered last year, leave it on the balcony of my third floor apartment in Toronto, where the bike thieves are even more a clever a gang of rascals as its legendary raccoons). On the way home the other day, I heard a "ping!" and felt my rear wheel start to wobble madly. I was just able to get it home, but discovered that two spokes had snapped.
It's back on the road now, thankfully only after spending $12 on some new spokes, but I actually spent $80 on a new wheel just a month ago, and it's only a matter of time before I have to bring it in for a $90 procedure to get the gears replaced. Granted, after five years of almost daily rides from April to November, I'm willing to accept that there's going to be wear and tear (like the brake pads I've had to replace), and the fact that my chain skips. But it's been in the shop three to four times each summer for the past three years, which boils down to a lot of time off the road. The guy at the bike shop suggested I now buy a hand-made wheel from him, given the problems we've had back there and the fact that there's no warranty on factory-built wheels.
I think the bike is cursed. At the very least we have a turbulent and Harlequin-esque relationship (you know the formula: "He's so brash and arrogant! I feel nothing for him! And yet..."). I rant and rave like a madman about it when something goes wrong, and pine like a jilted lover when I can't ride it and am forced to take the hated bus. There's nothing quite so frustrating as being stuck in traffic on a hot, crowded, humid bus that is crowded past the point of "standing room only" and moved on to "where do you think you're putting that crotch?" while you watch carefree cyclists roll on by, generally getting wherever they're going faster than you do. When you're traveling downtown, a bicycle is simply the best way to get around. And yet... and yet... I can't help but wonder what new technical difficulties will surprise me on some trip in the not-too-distant future. So far we've gone through blowouts, broken spokes, chewed up tires, bad bearings, clicking pedals, and broken cables together. It's a rocky love affair, me and my shiny red bicycle, but at least it's never thrown me.
Rob vs. The Big Freak Out
So I've started to pack.
I've been quietly freaking out of late about the fact that I'm supposed to move in a month and a half, have not yet gone to look for a new apartment, have not yet booked a truck, and do not have the required driver's licence to DRIVE a truck yet, for that matter. I mean, I did actually look at the U-Haul website so that I could reserve a truck, and when I realized it would cost me $600 just to rent a truck to move to Toronto all on my own, I started panicking and required several minutes to compose myself. I closed the site down without making the reservation, wembling as I was over things like "am I really moving on the 31st? What happens if the apartament I eventually get isn't available until the next day? Or is available sooner? I've never driven to Toronto -- I've never driven anywhere. Maybe it would make more sense to hire movers after all?" I also don't have any money, rendering all of these things moot in a way, and causing super duper extreme freak outs on my part. I have to borrow some not insignificant sum from relatives if I'm ever going to make a deposit on an apartment and afford a move, making the process even more daunting and terrifying.
Nor had I started to pack, and as I surveyed the humbling collection of books and knickknacks all around me yesterday, I realized that the only way to escape this feeling of helplessness and panic was to start packing it up. I started with the books in my room. This was something of a challenge, since I have been forcing myself to suppress my packrat tendencies in recent years, but nevertheless have been living here for six years and things do have a way of accumulating. Oh, mercy yes. I had to force myself to look at each and every book carefully to make sure I truly wanted to bring it with me, and would truly have a use for it besides.
It was easiest to cull the herd of textbooks from my undergraduate degree -- in the end I only took two -- and the rest are going to be given away. It's a sad end to what probably adds up to at least $2000 of books over the years, but when you look at those outdated old psychology and sociology texts -- not to mention the dusty (literally) and forgotten linguistics and philosophy texts from those crazy electives, and the computer science books from the abortive cognitive science degree I thought I wanted until third year -- you just realize that they contain naught but apocrypha and clip art. I also found some antiquities nestled snugly in my bookcases, like copies of Windows 3.1 and DOS 5.0 from my very first computer (a 386 that I only finally got around to freecycling last year, thanks to some serious purging with my helpful friend Celeste). I bet if I were ambitious I could unload those on eBay for an entire buck. Sadly, it's off to a box on the curb for you as well, my pretties. Free to a good (or bad) home.
I even found some artifacts from high school. It's been eleven years and I still have my high school binders. Time to throw those away -- though I couldn't bring myself to part with some old stories and things I wrote in OAC (grade 13 to you non-Ontarians).
Hardest of all are the personal books and "this might come in handy someday" materials from law school like cases and coursepacks. I tried to be as picky as possible, getting rid of anything I can find again if I need it, and keeping what I found useful or would enjoy reading again. Most of the personal books came with me, of course, but I recycled the old Adbusters magazines and got rid of a copy of the Book of Mormon given to me by one of their earnest young missionaries several years ago. Anyway, in the end I packed up seven boxes, and my room looks as full as ever, but I feel more accomplished. One of my roommates just moved out (the good one, unfortunately), so his room is serving nicely as a storage/staging area. Had I gotten a job in Ottawa, I had this dream of taking over my 3-bedroom apartment and turning that room into an office. Such a shame that all I can do is move boxes around in it like a big game of Tetris.
I suggested to a friend, of course, that maybe while I have that room I should do something like roll around naked in it and really make it mine. You know, one does what one can. And whatever I do will be nothing compared to the profane rituals I perform once the bad roommates move out.
It's still nice to be feeling like I'm making some progress. I haven't moved in so long that it seems quite daunting, and so the sooner I pack and the less stuff I bring, the better off I'll be.
So -- do any sweet, helpful people out there want to help me purge the accumulated clutter of the past 10 years?
Tuesday, July 05, 2005 I've been quietly freaking out of late about the fact that I'm supposed to move in a month and a half, have not yet gone to look for a new apartment, have not yet booked a truck, and do not have the required driver's licence to DRIVE a truck yet, for that matter. I mean, I did actually look at the U-Haul website so that I could reserve a truck, and when I realized it would cost me $600 just to rent a truck to move to Toronto all on my own, I started panicking and required several minutes to compose myself. I closed the site down without making the reservation, wembling as I was over things like "am I really moving on the 31st? What happens if the apartament I eventually get isn't available until the next day? Or is available sooner? I've never driven to Toronto -- I've never driven anywhere. Maybe it would make more sense to hire movers after all?" I also don't have any money, rendering all of these things moot in a way, and causing super duper extreme freak outs on my part. I have to borrow some not insignificant sum from relatives if I'm ever going to make a deposit on an apartment and afford a move, making the process even more daunting and terrifying.
Nor had I started to pack, and as I surveyed the humbling collection of books and knickknacks all around me yesterday, I realized that the only way to escape this feeling of helplessness and panic was to start packing it up. I started with the books in my room. This was something of a challenge, since I have been forcing myself to suppress my packrat tendencies in recent years, but nevertheless have been living here for six years and things do have a way of accumulating. Oh, mercy yes. I had to force myself to look at each and every book carefully to make sure I truly wanted to bring it with me, and would truly have a use for it besides.
It was easiest to cull the herd of textbooks from my undergraduate degree -- in the end I only took two -- and the rest are going to be given away. It's a sad end to what probably adds up to at least $2000 of books over the years, but when you look at those outdated old psychology and sociology texts -- not to mention the dusty (literally) and forgotten linguistics and philosophy texts from those crazy electives, and the computer science books from the abortive cognitive science degree I thought I wanted until third year -- you just realize that they contain naught but apocrypha and clip art. I also found some antiquities nestled snugly in my bookcases, like copies of Windows 3.1 and DOS 5.0 from my very first computer (a 386 that I only finally got around to freecycling last year, thanks to some serious purging with my helpful friend Celeste). I bet if I were ambitious I could unload those on eBay for an entire buck. Sadly, it's off to a box on the curb for you as well, my pretties. Free to a good (or bad) home.
I even found some artifacts from high school. It's been eleven years and I still have my high school binders. Time to throw those away -- though I couldn't bring myself to part with some old stories and things I wrote in OAC (grade 13 to you non-Ontarians).
Hardest of all are the personal books and "this might come in handy someday" materials from law school like cases and coursepacks. I tried to be as picky as possible, getting rid of anything I can find again if I need it, and keeping what I found useful or would enjoy reading again. Most of the personal books came with me, of course, but I recycled the old Adbusters magazines and got rid of a copy of the Book of Mormon given to me by one of their earnest young missionaries several years ago. Anyway, in the end I packed up seven boxes, and my room looks as full as ever, but I feel more accomplished. One of my roommates just moved out (the good one, unfortunately), so his room is serving nicely as a storage/staging area. Had I gotten a job in Ottawa, I had this dream of taking over my 3-bedroom apartment and turning that room into an office. Such a shame that all I can do is move boxes around in it like a big game of Tetris.
I suggested to a friend, of course, that maybe while I have that room I should do something like roll around naked in it and really make it mine. You know, one does what one can. And whatever I do will be nothing compared to the profane rituals I perform once the bad roommates move out.
It's still nice to be feeling like I'm making some progress. I haven't moved in so long that it seems quite daunting, and so the sooner I pack and the less stuff I bring, the better off I'll be.
So -- do any sweet, helpful people out there want to help me purge the accumulated clutter of the past 10 years?
From the Department of No! They'd Never Do That!
Here in Ottawa, Crown (federal) lands are managed by the National Capital Commission (the "NCC"), which is a Crown corporation chartered with the responsibility of keeping our parks, heritage buildings, monuments and recreational pathways a source of national pride. It has helped with the city planning for generations, emphasizing a Greenbelt through the city, and organizes major festivals in Ottawa, including Canada Day celebrations (held on July 1) and Winterlude. In recent years, it's also been under a lot of pressure to run a profit.
In preparation for this past Canada Day, the National Capital Commission was renting out information booths to organizations interested in informing the public about their activities and goals during the festivities. One non-profit group, the Canadian Renewable Fuel Associations, had reserved an information booth at Major's Hill Park (near the Parliament Buildings). Their spokesman, "Corn Cob Bob," was ready to make an appearance to promote the use of ethanol to reduce airborne pollutants. Unfortunately, Shell Canada, a major oil company and a sponsor of the celebrations, decreed that the alternative-fuel mascot wasn't welcome, and insisted that the NCC revoke their right to participate in the Canada Day Celebrations. And revoke it they did:
I like the NCC's approach of the deathbed confession. They get to screw the environmentally responsible non-profit group, keep the big bucks from the gigantic petroleum corporation, and still pull off a presto-chango face-saving turnaround days later when no one cares any longer because the party's been over for days.
So, who's more to blame: the wretchedly callow development commission that would do anything for money so long as it doesn't upset its sponsors, or the monstrous corporate behemoth that sweats hydrocarbons and pushes the aforementioned callow commissions around with meaty fistfulls of dollars in the first place?
Remember, kids: hybrid cars, biodiesel, clean energy, and ethanol blended fuels make oil companies scream. You know what you have to do.
Monday, July 04, 2005 In preparation for this past Canada Day, the National Capital Commission was renting out information booths to organizations interested in informing the public about their activities and goals during the festivities. One non-profit group, the Canadian Renewable Fuel Associations, had reserved an information booth at Major's Hill Park (near the Parliament Buildings). Their spokesman, "Corn Cob Bob," was ready to make an appearance to promote the use of ethanol to reduce airborne pollutants. Unfortunately, Shell Canada, a major oil company and a sponsor of the celebrations, decreed that the alternative-fuel mascot wasn't welcome, and insisted that the NCC revoke their right to participate in the Canada Day Celebrations. And revoke it they did:
CBC NEWS – The National Capital Commission has apologized for banning an alternative-fuel mascot from its Canada Day celebrations at the request of a major oil company.
...
The association had secured an information booth at Major's Hill Park through the NCC, which had even offered a 50-per-cent discount on the usual fees.
But last Wednesday, the commission called to cancel the arrangement after pressure from Shell Canada, a key sponsor for the Canada Day celebrations in the capital.
...
"They said they were very sorry but they said one of their major sponsors had indicated there was a conflict between the message that we were promoting and their company's interests," he said.
Teneycke says the NCC shouldn't be in the business of caving into corporate pressures and curbing free speech.
...
The NCC called Monday afternoon to apologize to the Canadian Renewable Fuels Association, and invited the group to attend next year's Canada Day celebrations.
A Shell spokesperson said the company's arrangement with organizers meant it had exclusive rights when it came to fuel products.
I like the NCC's approach of the deathbed confession. They get to screw the environmentally responsible non-profit group, keep the big bucks from the gigantic petroleum corporation, and still pull off a presto-chango face-saving turnaround days later when no one cares any longer because the party's been over for days.
So, who's more to blame: the wretchedly callow development commission that would do anything for money so long as it doesn't upset its sponsors, or the monstrous corporate behemoth that sweats hydrocarbons and pushes the aforementioned callow commissions around with meaty fistfulls of dollars in the first place?
Remember, kids: hybrid cars, biodiesel, clean energy, and ethanol blended fuels make oil companies scream. You know what you have to do.
The Leader is good, the Leader is great. We surrender our will as of this date.
Across the street from my beloved legal clinic (where I spent the bulk of my law school years and now the bulk of my summer as a graduate and an employee) is a humble vegetarian restaurant that is universally known by all who attend the University of Ottawa Faculty of Law as "the cult place." Inside are a number of willowy young women in saris who serve (admittedly delicious) vegetarian cuisine with a serene smile and glassy eyes. The restaurant itself is festooned with prints, photographs, and quotations from the Leader of the order, Sri Chinmoy. He is depicted performing great feats and a source of great compassion, and no doubt has a great following of... eerily content young, slender, white girls.
Anyway, imagine my surprise when I stumbled across a blog entry by a writer based Chicago who writes about another creepy restaurant that also credits its good food and serene bliss to the Leader:
It describes my own feelings about our own cult place perfectly. I confess, I had their vegetarian potato skins there once (with a friend who dug into hers and proclaimed -- "Look! I found a Leader bean!") and they were dee-licious. Even so, I've rarely braved it (the exact number of times I've attended being three in as many years), even though I probably am not in danger of assimilation, given that I am definitely not a young, impressionable, slender white girl. I'm sure they mean absolutely no harm, but still -- what serene sect of enlightenment and compassion and total devotion to a loving, messianic leader ever does?
When you think you may be in a cult restaurant, you probably are.
Is there a Sri Chinmoy divine enterprise in your town? Please let me know in the comments.
Sunday, July 03, 2005 Anyway, imagine my surprise when I stumbled across a blog entry by a writer based Chicago who writes about another creepy restaurant that also credits its good food and serene bliss to the Leader:
... Over the speakers, his music played. On the tables, the plastic insert holders usually telling of drink specials contained instead copies of his paintings, abstract art pieces which, to my untrained eye, looked like thick globs of powder blue paint covered by tangerine blobs of paint that looked like Goldfish crackers. The painting was entitled "Forgiveness" and had a loosely-drawn pen illustration of a bird next to the handwritten title.
Chinmoy, Chinmoy, Chinmoy, and the occasional frilly pink sari. Fliers in between the salt and pepper shackers announcing when the next meditation would be taking place.
If I didn't know better, (and I don't) I'd say this was a cult restaurant, the only cult restaurant I've ever seen. I looked carefully at the diners. The restaurant was crowded, and they all sat around chatting animatedly. Nobody was creeped out, so I could only conclude that either they'd all been eating too much Inspiration Soup or I'd been living in the suburbs for too long.
The veggie wrap I'd ordered was tasty, but not tasty enough to shake that weird cult vibe the place had going on ....
It describes my own feelings about our own cult place perfectly. I confess, I had their vegetarian potato skins there once (with a friend who dug into hers and proclaimed -- "Look! I found a Leader bean!") and they were dee-licious. Even so, I've rarely braved it (the exact number of times I've attended being three in as many years), even though I probably am not in danger of assimilation, given that I am definitely not a young, impressionable, slender white girl. I'm sure they mean absolutely no harm, but still -- what serene sect of enlightenment and compassion and total devotion to a loving, messianic leader ever does?
When you think you may be in a cult restaurant, you probably are.
Is there a Sri Chinmoy divine enterprise in your town? Please let me know in the comments.
Obligatory Bar Admissions Course update
I feel I had to mention that, once again, I passed my last examination for the Bar Admissions Course, which was civil litigation. What's more, I passed the exam with a stunning 92% -- 49 correct answers out of 53. It's important to emphasize that the exams that followed the professional responsibility module (which was fairly challenging, requiring a lot of reference to the Rules of Professional Conduct, the Solicitors Act and the Society By-laws and written in short answers) are open book and multiple choice, but that said, I've been told that some 200 people out of all the law students writing it in Ontario managed to fail the real estate exam, so clearly it's possible to screw these things up. Still, I'm officially at the point where I'm not freaking out about these things any longer (though in fairness it's hard to say I ever did freak out about them).
On the other hand, we'll see if the Dark Lord of Irony causes me to now fail the criminal law exam on Wednesday as the consequence of my hubris.
On the other hand, we'll see if the Dark Lord of Irony causes me to now fail the criminal law exam on Wednesday as the consequence of my hubris.
