Daily Archives: January 19, 2009

Happy Barackobamaday

It’s got a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?

It’s Obama Tuesday and the end of an old regime is being punted far and wide. We must not forget to thank George Bush. After all, he’s given us such lovely catch phrases as “axis of evil,” “war on terror,” and not new to him alone but well beaten into the ground: “weapons of mass destruction,” except these ones were make believe.

But then, George should have known what they looked like because which country is the only one to have ever used a weapon of mass destruction? Why the US of course, on Hiroshima. And therefore you’d think he would have a few fellas who would know what they looked like, but even they couldn’t find any in Iraq.

We can thank George for invading other countries, for incarcerating prisoners of war in Guantanamo without voice, counsel or aid because he called them terrorists. Sure, some may have been but without any legal aid, how do we know? George’s voice and his catch phrases made me cringe so much I couldn’t stand listening to him.

We can thank George for bringing the US dollar to its lowest point in recent history. And though it could be argued he’s not directly to blame for these things, I’m sure there is lots of correlation between the highest price of oil, the financial crashes, oh and the highest number of troops dead since Viet Nam. Thanks, George. You’ve made sure you won’t be forgotten and you’ve replaced tricky Dicky as the most reviled president ever. Yep, that makes you number one. In fact, Al Capone kinda looks nice in comparison.

Let’s not forget that Georgie has also brought us very close to World War III, with threats to Iran and Korea. But that’s all right, he knew he was right and God was on his side (weren’t the Crusaders saying this as they skewered men, women and children too?), and he has remained unrepentant. There’s seems to be one light burning in the dim fog of George’s eight-year folly; he did supposedly bring more aid to a beleaguered and often overlooked Africa. No one is pure evil (I hope.)

In Vancouver, pubs and cafes are planning on holding Barack parties tonight. Remember, this is Canada where we don’t make a fuss if a movie star walks by us and we don’t party crazily for our own (lackluster) politicians, let alone a US president. But let’s face it, next to George Bush, even Nixon could have done better. That Barack Obama is charismatic, good looking and a great orator certainly doesn’t hurt. That he seems to have integrity and is of mixed race is even better. He will hopefully not be (possibly never could be) as bigoted as Bush’s regime. (Does anyone remember hurricane Katrina and the reticent aid there?)

But Barack has a huge pile of doo-doo to clean up and George even wrecked the shovels. That’s a lot to carry and he’ll be walking a tightrope between not fulfilling the wild dreams and wishes of Americans and in doing what he can with a now much more limited budget. I doubt he’ll be perfect. We are, after all, human. But I really hope Barack will keep his religion far from his politics. It’s fine to be religious, just not to push that into your governance.

Barack, I wish you well. The hope of not just a nation falls on your shoulders, but the hope of the world. We know you’ll pull us back from the brink of suicidal, egomaniacal war. But you have corrupt systems left, right and center to deal with (let’s see, car companies, oil companies, CIA, FBI, weapons manufacturers, fundamentalists, NRA, etc.) and they make up some of the foundation of good ole America.

I’ll raise a toast to Barack tonight as a light that can only get brighter. And I’ll say so long, Georgie. Don’t let the White House gate whack your ass on the way out. Hope your resume is up to date. But who knows, maybe we’ll see you in the news again when they charge you with war crimes.

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Outhouse Terrors

I talked about squat toilets and scary, dark toilets last week. They’re their own form of horror but none of them were that rustic, wooden box called the outhouse.

Many years ago when I was but a wee tyke, we visited some relatives out in Lac la Biche, Alberta. (I think it means deer lake in English.) They had a farm replete with chickens, cows, cats, hat and raspberry canes. And of course, like many farmsteads, there was running water in the house but it was built in an era before plumbing, and the toilets were outside.

I suppose as biffies go, these were probably higher class. There was a wooden boardwalk from the house to the outhouse. And it was a two-seater with toilet seats. My relatives were obviously comfortable sitting side by side and doing their business.

And so were my sister and me. During the visit we had to go out to the outhouse, at night. We took the flashlight and while sitting in the outhouse we were shining the lights about and making shadow puppets. I’m not sure how old we were. I’m thinking I was six and my sister twelve.

Anyways, after we were done peeing and playing, we went to leave…and couldn’t. The door was latched tight. On the outside was a simple wood toggle to keep the door shut when no one was in it. It had fallen down while we were inside and we started pounding and yelling. My sister, ever one to freak out easily, was screaming and crying, and of course I followed along. Here we were stuck in the dark, in a dreaded outhouse (luckily the fumes weren’t so bad) and with visions of perishing there.

Obviously that wouldn’t have happened. Someone would have missed us sooner or later and we weren’t going to die in there. But we were in the moment and hysterical. Of course the adults were inside yukking it up, talking and laughing and heard nothing until there was a lull in the conversation. They eventually came out (I’d say it was twenty minutes but it was more likely ten) and let us fly free, tear-streaked an terrified.

They laughed long and hard, and it’s laughable in retrospect but I wouldn’t go in an outhouse until I was about twenty-two. Scarred from that early memory, I refused any time we went to Banff or any outing, to use an outhouse and insisted on restaurants and gas stations. I was resolute. But as an adult, I met friends who had a cabin in Clinton, BC and of course, it was rustic. It took some effort but I finally got over my fear of outhouses, although they don’t rate highly on bathroom experiences as they are almost always smelly to downright gagarific, and often dangerous to tender skin.

In a pinch I can use whatever is available, including the great outdoors. I should also note that although I had been in Wazuubee of late I hadn’t gone to the bathroom there. I was there again the other night and they have in fact put brighter track lighting into their bathroom (although the whole place really needs an overhaul–it’s pretty shabby) so yay, less horrors there.

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