At Home in Hespeler: December 2008

at 5:00 PM

If you can't stand waiting for Santa to show up, here's a few links to wile away the interminable wait until midnight:

If you are wondering where Santa is, don't worry. Big Brother, who seem to have no currently pressing issues, are tracking Santa for you.

http://www.noradsanta.org/en/home.html

And while you are there, visit the North Pole, a great interactive place to play some Christmas games, including a Reindeer game or two.

http://www.noradsanta.org/en/countdown.html

No Christmas travelling is complete without a visit to the North Pole.

http://www.northpole.com/

And no Christmas eve is complete without a little caroling.

http://www.chebucto.ns.ca/~ai251/xcarol.html.

at 9:00 AM

This is the third annual annual At Home in Hespeler Dec. 24th gift for my friends of the left. (ribald version, here):

In The Workhouse Christmas Day, by George R. Sims

It is Christmas Day in the Workhouse,
And the cold bare walls are bright
With garlands of green and holly,
And the place is a pleasant sight:
For with clear-washed hands and faces
In a long and hungry line
The paupers sit at the tables,
For this is the hour they dine.

And the guardians and their ladies,
Although the wind is east,
Have come in their furs and wrappers,
To watch their charges feast:
To smile and be condescending,
Put puddings on pauper plates,
To be hosts at the workhouse banquet
They’ve paid for – with the rates.

Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly
With their 'Thank'ee kindly, mum's';
So long as they fill their stomachs
What matters it whence it comes?
But one of the old men mutters,
And pushes his plate aside:
'Great God!' he cries; 'but it chokes me!
For this is the day she died.'

The guardians gazed in horror
The master's face went white;
'Did a pauper refuse his pudding?'
'Could their ears believe aright?'
Then the ladies clutched their husbands,
Thinking the man might die
Struck by a bolt, or something,
By the outraged One on high.

But the pauper sat for a moment,
Then rose 'mid a silence grim,
For the others has ceased to chatter,
And trembled every limb.
He looked at the guardian's ladies,
Then. eyeing their lords, he said,
'I eat not the food of villains
Whose hands are foul and red:

'Whose victims cry for vengeance
From their dank, unhallowed graves.'
'He's drunk!' said the workhouse master.
'Or else he's mad, and raves.'
'Not drunk or mad,' cried the pauper,
'But only a hunted beast,
Who, torn by the hounds and mangled,
Declines the vulture's feast.

I care not a curse for the guardians,
And I won't be dragged away.
Just let me have the fit out,
It's only Christmas Day
That the black past comes to goad me,
And prey my burning brain;
I'll tell you the rest in a whisper, -
I swear I won't shout again.

'Keep your hands off me, curse you!
Hear me right out to the end.
You come here to see how the paupers
The season of Christmas spend.
You come here to watch us feeding,
As they watch the captured beast.
Hear why a penniless pauper
Spits on your paltry feast.

'Do you think I will take your bounty,
And let you smile and think
You're doing a noble action
With the parish's meat and drink?
Where is my wife, you traitors -
The poor old wife you slew?
Yes, by the God above us
My Nance was killed by you!

'Last winter my wife lay dying,
Starved in a filthy den;
I had never been to the parish, -
I came to the parish then.
I swallowed my pride in coming,
For, ere the ruin came,
I held up my head as a trader,
And I bore a spotless name.

'I came to the parish, craving
Bread for a starving wife,
Bread for a woman who'd loved me
Through fifty years of my life;
And what do you think they told me,
Mocking my awful grief?
That "the House" was open to us,
But they wouldn't give "out relief".

I slunk to the filthy alley -
'Twas a cold, raw Christmas eve -
And the bakers' shops were open
Tempting a man to thieve;
But I clenched my fists together
Holding my head awry,
So I came home empty-handed,
And mournfully told her why.

Then I told her "the House" was open;
She had heard of the ways of that,
For her bloodless cheeks went crimson,
And up in her rags she sat,
Crying, "Bide the Christmas here, John,
We've never had one apart;
I think I can bear the hunger, -
The other would break my heart."

'All through that ever I watched her,
Holding her hand in mine,
Praying the Lord, and weeping
Till my lips were salt as brine.
I asked her once if she hungered
And as she answered "No,"
The moon shone in at the wondow
Set in a wreath of snow

'Then the room was bathed in glory,
And I saw in my darling's eyes
The far-away look of wonder
That comes when the spirit flies;
And her lips were parched and parted,
And her reason came and went,
For she raved of her home in Devon,
Where her happiest days were spent.

'And the accents, long forgotten,
Came back to the tongue once more,
For she talked like the country lassie
I woo'd by the Devon shore.
Then she rose to her feet and trembled,
And fell on the rags and moaned,
And, "Give me a crust - I'm famished -
For the love of God!" she groaned.

I rushed from the room like a madman,
And flew to the workhouse gate,
Crying "Food for a dying woman!"
And came the answer, "Too late."
They drove me away with curses;
Then I fought with a dog in the street,
And tore from the mongrel's clutches
A crust he was trying to eat.

'Back, through the filthy by-lanes!
Back, through the trampled slush!
Up to the crazy garret,
Wrapped in an awful hush.
My heart sank down at the threshold,
And I paused with a sudden thrill,
For there in the silv'ry moonlight
My Nancy lay, cold and still.

'Up to the blackened ceiling
The sunken eyes were cast -
I knew on those lips all bloodless
My name had been the last;
She'd called for her absent husband -
O God! had I but known! -
Had called in vain and in anguish
Had died in that den - alone.

'Yes, there in a land of plenty
Lay a loving woman dead,
Cruelly starved and murdered
For a loaf of parish bread.
At yonder gate, last Christmas
I craved for a human life.
You, who would feast us paupers,
What of my murdered wife!

'There, get ye gone to your dinners;
Don't mind me in the least;
Think of your happy paupers
Eating your Christmas feast;
And when you recount their blessings
In your smug parochial way,
Say what you did for me, too,
Only last Christmas Day

at 8:30 AM

One day a friend of mine says to me, "The wife wants me to create a web site for the cat. What am I supposed to put for content on a cat's website?"

So I went off and wrote A Cat's Christmas for him.

Other years I have offered a taste, and a link. This year I am going to present A Cat's Christmas in a five part series, starting today and ending Christmas morning. Enjoy:

A Cat's Christmas
By Button Noseworthy
Part 4

I slowly make my way down the stairs. It is dark and quiet. Christmas is over for another year and Chris and Janet are sitting on the couch drinking a glass of wine. I see space between them, not much just an inch or two, but it's enough. I crawl between them and snuggle in, purring like an idling Honda. Chris reaches down and starts stroking my back, I let him, but only because it's Christmas. Janet also starts petting me too, scratching under my chin. The tree still smells like a tree, giving the room a pine forest aroma. There is a fire on the fireplace that Santa came down last night. Somewhere in the background Christmas carols play, but quietly, nicely. This is nice, the Cat's meow in fact.

I love Christmas!

Day One: Button and the Present
Day Two: Button Meets Santa
Day Three: Button Meets Santa

at 8:00 AM

The BBS Blogging Tories Site of the Week for the week of December 21st is:

ChuckerCanuck 2.0

Today's Rebel Is A Conservative

This year's Canadian Blog Awards has just finished and Chuckercanuck is already getting a start on the Best Blog Post Series for next year:

A Canadian Christmas Carol, Chapter 1

A Canadian Christmas Carol, Chapter 2

A Canadian Christmas Carol, Chapter 3

at 8:00 AM

One day a friend of mine says to me, "The wife wants me to create a web site for the cat. What am I supposed to put for content on a cat's website?"

So I went off and wrote A Cat's Christmas for him.

Other years I have offered a taste, and a link. This year I am going to present A Cat's Christmas in a four part series, starting today and ending Christmas Eve. Enjoy:

A Cat's Christmas
By Button Noseworthy
Part 3

Chris is the first one up, and he wakes Janet immediately. "Merry Christmas honey," he says and gives her a kiss.

"Merry Christmas" she says back. I walk between them, purring and rubbing my head on the bottom of Janet's hand. "And Merry Christmas to you too Button" she says in her cute baby talk voice. The women is an accountant, you'd think she could talk to a cat without reducing herself to inanities. She can't, however, and I have to take them as I find them. I purr an acknowledgement of the day and let her pet me for a minute.

We gradually make our way downstairs, and they head immediately for the stockings. I think I detect relief from Chris, no doubt he was expecting a potato or a lump of coal. He avoided that fate, however deserved I think it would have been, and happily digs into his treasure. Janet comes over a minute later with coffee for two and settles into her prize.

Once the stockings are exhausted and the coffee done, we go to the tree. Janet sits beside the tree and digs out a present for herself and one for Chris. I don't want to miss any of the fun, so I settle myself on Janet's lap, at least until there is some free wrapping paper I can play with. Soon, they are opening with vigour and I am playing merrily with a sheet of wrapping paper that has ribbon taped to it. It is then that I hear Janet say, "here's something for Button. Chris, did you buy this for Button?"

"Yea right," says Chris, "like I would actually buy the cat a Christmas present."

"Then where did it come from?" says Janet "I didn't buy it." Santa's parting words last night come back to me and I jump on to Janet's lap. It is a plastic stocking with a toy mouse, a package of soft dry food, and a catnip ball, whatever that is. I don't care what it is, I am the happiest Cat in town and I dive for my toys as soon as Janet gets them out of the stocking.

I leap on the mouse and start batting it around the room. Pouncing, jumping and whacking at it like I am playing a game. I chase it out of the room, and then back into the room. It bumps into the catnip ball and I pounce on the ball. Wait a minute, what's that smell? Something smells incredible, a smell unlike anything I have ever smelt before. It's definitely coming from the ball, and I grab the ball in my mouth to have a taste. Wow! This must be the catnip. This is incredibly, and I now chase the ball all around the room, grabbing it my mouth every chance I get.

Soon I am no longer Button the Cat. I am Queen Button the Lion. I climb to the top of the Christmas tree and wait for prey. It is not long before a warthog comes sauntering along. I wait patient and silent until he is in just the right spot. Claws out, teeth ready, I seize upon the warthog. Not a warthog! Chris!! Surprisingly, he acts like a wounded warthog and I find myself sliding across the floor of the room like a bowling ball. Good thing it's a wood floor, carpet would burn. I jump to my feet and race into the kitchen where Janet is eating breakfast at the table. I jump up on to the table and slide across it, landing on the floor on the other side of the table. Now I could use some carpet.

I don't know what's going on, but I feel great. I run into the living room grab my ball and run upstairs, only falling twice, to chew on some more catnip. I leap up on the bed and … miss? I hit the side of the bed with some authority, and decide the floor is a good place for a nap, thank you very much.

Day One: Button and the Present
Day Two: Button Meets Santa

Tomorrow: Christmas Night

at 3:15 PM

When I didn't hear from the Prime Minister by the weekend, it was occurring to me that he was going to look elsewhere for Senate talent. Who would have thought the politician that owes the most to the blogging world, and the least to the traditional media, whom are always bitching how much he hates them, would put two members of the latter group in the senate? Seriously Prime Minister, your bread is buttered on the other side.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your 2008 Senate Appointments:

Mike Duffy, host of CTV's Mike Duffy Live

Pamela Wallin, the former host of CTV's Canada AM
Fabian Manning, Former Conservative MP
Fred Dickson, a lawyer
Stephen Green, a former chief of staff to Nova Scotia Premier Rodney MacDonald
Michael MacDonald, a Nova Scotia businessman
Percy Mockler, a former Conservative MLA in New Brunswick
John Wallace, a former Conservative party candidate and lawyer
Patrick Brazeau, the national chief of the Congress of Aboriginal Peoples
Suzanne Fortin-Duplesis, a former MP for Louis-Hebert
Leo Housakos, the co-founder of the Montreal Hellenic Chamber of Commerce
Michel Rivard, a former MNA for Limoilou, Que.
Nicole Eaton, director and vice-chair of the National Ballet of Canada
Irving Gersetein, an Ontario business man and chair of the Conservative Fund of Canada
Nancy Green, an alpine skier
Yonah Martin, a former Conservative candidate in New Westminster-Coquitlam
Richard Neufeld, B.C.'s former minister of Energy, Mines and Petroleum Services
Hector Daniel Lang, a former Yukon MLA

at 8:00 AM

One day a friend of mine says to me, "The wife wants me to create a web site for the cat. What am I supposed to put for content on a cat's website?"

So I went off and wrote A Cat's Christmas for him.

Other years I have offered a taste, and a link. This year I am going to present A Cat's Christmas in a five part series, starting today and ending Christmas morning. Enjoy:

A Cat's Christmas
By Button Noseworthy
Part 2

It's Christmas Eve and the house is silent. What's the poem say, "not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse"? I can personally attest to the fact there are no mice in this house, stirring or otherwise. The people are upstairs sleeping, visions of sugarplums no doubt dancing in their heads; I never could figure out what a sugarplum is or why it would be dancing. No dancing down here though, everything is quiet. Unlike other nights, however, it won't stay quiet for long.

I do a quick circle of the main floor to make sure everything is in order. The outdoor lights are on so that Santa can find the house and the Christmas tree is left lit so Santa can find it in the dark easy enough, good. The stockings are hung by the chimney; as usual, however, there are only two stockings. But what about that ball that fell off the tree. Better see if I can fix that. Unfortunately, every time I try and lift the ornament it rolls away from me. Soon I am chasing it around the living room, batting at it with my paws and pouncing on it, batting and pouncing.
I don't hear him come in, the first I realize I'm not alone in the room is when I hear him Laugh. "Oh, ho ho ho. Button, you are such fun," says Santa. "I am glad to see you again." By way of greeting I rub my head against his big black boot, and he reaches down and strokes me behind the ear. He immediately sets to his work, and before you know it Chris and Janet's stockings are stuffed full. Silent as a cat, Santa walks to the tree and starts piling presents under it. On his way back to the chimney, he notices the milk, cookies and carrots that Janet left out.

"What's this then?" he says, as he lifts a cookie to eat. A minute later the cookies are eaten and the glass of milk is half-empty. "I bet you wouldn't mind a bit of this Button." He pulls over the plate that only a minute before had held three big cookies and pours a bit of milk on to it. I quickly run to the plate and lap up the milk as fast as I can, purring my pleasure at developments. Santa laughs and re-fills the plate before leaving. "And don't you worry Button, I didn't forget you live here."

I look up from my milk wondering what that means, but he is gone. I can hear him on the roof feeding the reindeer Janet's carrots, and then he is off. The excitement is over and I go upstairs and make myself comfortable at the foot of the bed. Sleep, however, comes difficult as Santa's parting words to me run through my head and I try to make sense of what they mean.

Day One: Button and the Present

Tomorrow: Button Meets Santa

at 8:00 AM

One day a friend of mine says to me, "The wife wants me to create a web site for the cat. What am I supposed to put for content on a cat's website?"

So I went off and wrote A Cat's Christmas for him.

Other years I have offered a taste, and a link. This year I am going to present A Cat's Christmas in a four part series, starting today and ending Christmas Eve. Enjoy:

A Cat's Christmas
By Button Noseworthy
Part 1

"Button! Get out of that tree!"

That's twice. And he's walking this way. Chris. He's not even my person, he's Janet's person, and Janet is mine. None the less, Chris is walking this way and the second time was louder than the first so I have to respond; I look at him like he's grown an extra eye in the middle of his forehead.

"Button!"

That's three and he's almost at the tree. I jump down and run to the other side of the room. Stop. Lick my paw, just to show I didn't get down because of any old person told me too. I got down because I had some dirt on my paw that had to be dealt with right away.

"Janet! Your stupid cat has been playing with the presents!"

Now this is a bit tricky, he wasn't supposed to notice that. What do they expect though? Has he ever stuck a piece of thread in front of me that I don't play with? They know my weaknesses. So now he wraps up presents and puts shiny ribbon around it, and I'm supposed to know it's not for me? It's probably better if I just leave, but with dignity. No running away, walk slow, tail in the air to let them know I'm appalled by the accusations being made against me. Some things must be done right; just as a ballerina must point her toes when doing a pirouette, a Cat must raise her tail when leaving a room amid accusations and slanders.

I walk slowly out of the room, stopping at my food dish. Empty! Who do these people think I am Gandhi? Not in this life, although maybe in my last life I was Gandhi or Mother Theresa or Elvis. How else do you explain that I am a Cat in this life? I give off an indignant meow to protest the service at this establishment, but the staff here could care less.

Chris goes running past with the present I had been playing with ten minutes ago, wrapping paper, ribbon and bow torn to shreds in his arm. He must be planning on re-wrapping that one; this could be fun. He's taking it downstairs so I follow behind, stealthily so he doesn't see me. He sits at a table and pulls out wrapping paper, new ribbon and a new bow. I want the ribbon, but timing is everything when you're a Cat. I settle about two feet behind him and start licking my paws; it is most important to be cleaning, in case he notices me here. My attitude must be as if I am saying 'I always come here to clean, and what are you doing here?' Of course, we both know what he's doing here; he's re-wrapping Janet's present and he's just putting the tape on. That means the ribbon is next, so I move directly under his chair. He wraps it around once, then crosses the ribbon and wraps the other direction. Just as he's about to tie it, I pounce. He never saw me of course, until I was on the present and grabbing at the ribbon. Grabbing and chewing furiously I completely ruin another wrap job for him before running back up stairs. He throws the roll of ribbon at me and yells "Button! You stupid cat!" The ribbon misses, but it's close enough that I pounce on the end and roll downstairs, all the while fighting off the offending ribbon. Once at the bottom of the stairs I jump back up on the stairs, being sure to go around the balustrade at the bottom. Success! I have completely un-wrapped the roll of ribbon and it winds up and down the stairs looking like the stairs had been decorated for Christmas by a dog.

Chris's yelling brings Janet to see what is all the fuss about, and finds that the fuss is her Cat is being cute and her person is allergic to cute. At least that's how I explained it, but these simpletons can't, or won't speak Cat, thus I come off sounding much worse than I was. She's sympathetic to me anyway, and says, "She's just playing Chris." She's technically right of course but she's made a minor error of distinction: She thinks I was playing with the ribbon, but I was, of course, toying with her person. I don't bother sticking around to correct her impression and I'm certainly not helping to clean up the mess I've created, so I walk upstairs and take a comfortable spot under the tree for a nap.

I love Christmas!

Tomorrow, Button Meets Santa.

at 3:01 PM

An annual repeat post from Dec 23rd, 2006. All links are still active:

The Sun and Canoe.ca have produced a downloadable version of Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol. It is newly illustrated by the Sun's Pam Davies and is in pdf format. The illustrations are quite nice, and it is a beautiful and clear copy of my favourite Christmas story.

Written in 1843, this Christmas classic is amongst Dickens best work. The first of five Christmas books Dickens would release between 1843 and 1848 (Christmas 1847 being the missing year), A Christmas Carol tells the story of the reclamation of the miserly Ebeneezer Scrooge. It was immediately popular, selling all 6,000 copies by Christmas 1843, having been released on December 19th.

Christmas was apparently in decline in the mid-1800's, one description saying it "wasn't commonly celebrated as a festive holiday." A Christmas Carol is commonly acknowledged to have "helped revive popular interest in many Christmas traditions that are still practised today." With Christmas seemingly under attack in our own time, it is a story we would all do well to read. And once done, be sure to employ some Dickensian traditions in your own Christmas. Me? I always fret about the quantity of flour in the Christmas pudding, never mind overdoing it on the rum punch (or as Bob Cratchit said, "I make rather merry").

Most of all, enjoy. This is a great ~~Christmas~~ book, and yes Virginia, it is better than the movie. I especially recommend it to everyone who just isn't in the spirit quite yet (don't sweat it Joanne, Dickens was known to question the politicians in his time - some things never go out of style).

The Sun's downloads are:

Chapter I MARLEY'S GHOST
Chapter II THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS
Chapter III THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS
Chapter IV THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS
Chapter V THE END OF IT

If you don't like pdf files, an HTML version of the story (not the sun's version) is available here (click on the book):

arley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.
The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate...

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind- stone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dogdays; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.
External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often "came down" handsomely, and Scrooge never did.
Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?" No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind men's dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, "No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!"
But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Scrooge.

Once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve -- old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already -- it had not been light all day: and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale.
The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.
"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.
"Bah!" said Scrooge, "Humbug!"
He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
"Christmas a humbug, uncle!" said Scrooge's nephew. "You don't mean that, I am sure."
"I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."
"Come, then," returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."
Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said "Bah!" again; and followed it up with "Humbug."
"Don't be cross, uncle!" said the nephew.
"What else can I be," returned the uncle, "when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"
"Uncle!" pleaded the nephew.
"Nephew!" returned the uncle, sternly, "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."
"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it."
"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"
"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew. "Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"
The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded: becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.
"Let me hear another sound from you," said Scrooge, "and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerful speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew. "I wonder you don't go into Parliament."
"Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us tomorrow."
Scrooge said that he would see him -- yes, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first...

at 10:12 PM

Keef.

It's hard to imagine that Rolling Stone guitarist Keith Richards lived to 65, and it would be easy to fire off a cockroach and Keith Richards joke and call it a birthday greeting. But I'll leave that to others.

It would be easy too, and entirely consistent with the tone of this blog, to comment on Keith Richards the guitar player. Maybe note that he is very underrated, talk about his use of open tunings, his sense of timing. But that's not what I'm going to do.

All fun aside, when your feting Keith you have to discuss the body of work from 1971 to 1974 at the least, from Sticky Fingers to It's Only Rock and Roll. Perhaps you could extend it backwards to 1969's Let it Bleed or 1967's Their Satanic Majesties Request or generously extend it forward to 1978's Some Girls.

But I will stick with 1971 to 1974, when Keith Richards was the driving creative force behind some of the greatest Rock and Roll ever produced, at any time, by anybody. It's for Gimme Shelter, Ain't Too Proud to Beg, It's Only Rock and Roll, Angie, Wild Horses, Brown Sugar and Can't You Hear Me Knocking to name a few. Great Rock and Roll that bears the creative imprint of Keith Richards more than any other person.

At Home in Hespeler wishes an unqualified happy 65th birthday to Keith Richards. However you got here, enjoy the day and thanks for the music.

at 4:46 PM

Work is done for the year and I'm in the middle of my Christmas postings. Today, here's an old favourite from children's author, songwriter and poet Shel Silverstein. I first saw this one about ten years ago, and have always remembered it.

Christmas Dog
Shel Silverstein

Tonight’s my first night
as a watchdog,
And here it is Christmas
Eve.
The children are
sleeping all cozy
upstairs,
while I’m guardin’ the
stockin’s and tree.

What’s that now—
footsteps on the
rooftop?
Could it be a cat or a
mouse?
Who’s this down the
chimney?
A thief with a beard—
And a big sack for
robbin’ the house?

I’m barkin’, I’m
growlin’, I’m bitin’ his
butt.
He howls and jumps
back in his sleigh.
I scare his strange
horses, they leap in the
air.
I’ve frightened the
whole bunch away.

Now the house is all
peaceful and quiet
again.
The stockin’s are safe
as can be.
Won’t the kiddies be
glad when they wake up
tomorrow
And see how I’ve
guarded the tree.

at 9:00 PM

... if you want to survive here, you have to learn how to handle the curve ball.

Other than that bit of nit-pickery, this is my favourite Canadian Christmas Song (Yes, even more than Honky The Christmas Goose). A nice message and three top notch musicians, Murray McLaughlin, Paul Hyde and Tom Cochrane. Great stuff.

at 8:28 PM

I hesitate. Yet I can't not do it. It came to my attention today that commenting was a problem for some people. I find comment moderation, commenting permission &tc. to be a tricky juggling act, and I'm always playing with it.

As of now, comments are wide open, and unmoderated. However, I have reservations about this. I don't like moderating because I'm often away for long stretches of time - what with having a job and all. It kills the conversation if comments don't appear for 10 hours. So unmoderated it is.

I'm less pleased with the idea of unregistered users. But it appears it prevents some people from commenting at all, and that's no good. So I will try it.

I offer this warning once. Anyone who comments anonymously, and just shoots off a smart ass remark, calls people stupid, &tc. will be deleted. No questions asked! I don't like it, and it won't do. Any racist comments of any kind will be similarly deleted.

OK Ron, comment away.

at 4:57 PM

Last night I posted that the effects changes to Employment Insurance in the mid-90's had a dramatic cost on the auto Industry, the payments for which have now come due. Mere hours later, The National Post hit the street with a front page comment by John Ivison that expands on my thesis.

Significantly about federal government plans to add stimulus through the EI system, Ivison notes:

...he expects the government to create a more level playing field across the country when it comes to who qualifies for EI, so that an unemployed auto worker in Southern Ontario can access the same amount of benefit, for the same length of time, as an unemployed fisherman in Newfoundland. At the moment, Ontario workers are disadvantaged when it comes to coverage and benefit period.

Lets be clear, when Ivison talks about Ontario workers, he means the auto industry.

Now here's what I had to say on EI, just last evening:

Paul Martin balanced the budget in part... on the back of the auto companies, who every party now seems to agree need a bailout...

When Stephen Harper sits down to sort out the EI mess that Paul Martin & The Supremes have just handed him, and Jack Layton calls him to ask what he's doing about the auto jobs, he should look at the changes made to EI that affect the auto companies and consider undoing them.

So you see Mr. Harper, I write tomorrow's headlines, today. The perfect candidate for team Harper up in Ottawa. Why would you give a red velvet seat to some Toronto Red Tory?

at 8:00 AM

The Blue Blogging Soapbox Blogging Tories Site of the Week for December 14th is:

Fuschi's Canadian Forum

"They that can give up essential liberty to gain a little safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety." - Benjamin Franklin

My friend Rick with his pitch for a Senate seat.

Further let me identify some advantages inherent to my candidacy. I do not own a Mexican villa and will not be able to identify its upkeep as a necessary reason to avoid Senate meetings. I am not a hockey player. Aside from a temporary bout of Trudeaumania, have never exhibited any of the characteristic ravings of a liberal. Also, my selection to the Senate will insert a Conservative federal representative into Windsor’s back door - a door to which the local union-sponsored monopoly on parliamentary representation, does not have a key. Hence we would have a Conservative spokesman to offset the drivel flow of misinformation from Windsor’s NDP MPs.

at 10:00 PM

I know what it's like to worry for your job, so I have sympathy for the people at Sun media today:

It didn’t take long for Pierre-Karl Péladeau to assert himself at Sun Media.

... the Quebecor president announced 600 people will be laid off...

The company said in a statement that the cuts represent 10 per cent of Sun Media’s workforce

According to Toronto Sun Family the layoffs in Toronto include:

Ernest Doroszuk, Dave Abel, Dave Ellis, Calvin Reynolds, Debbie Holloway, Ken Winlaw, Jane Stevenson, Amy Chung, Jenny Yuen, Brynn Weese, Don Peat and Jason Buckland.

I have complained bitterly about The Sun of late, swearing off buying it at inflated out-of-town prices and have even called it "a deteriorating product." It is, and names that stand out as to why aren't on the list above.

Memo to Pierre-Karl Péladeau: the reason your "current economic environment is deteriorating," has nothing to do with Jane Stevenson or Debbie Holloway. You need to look further up the chain of command to names like Paul Berton and Rob Granatstein if you want to have a chance to staunch the bleeding.

********
Update: Pierre-Karl Peladeau, along with Erik Peladeau, Jean Neveu and Jean La Couture have resigned from the Quebecor board.

Further Update: I finally got this whole Quebecor thing figured out. There are two branches to Quebecor, Quebecor World Inc. and Quebecor Inc. Quebecor used to be one company, but they have split into two. Quebecor World is the printing side of the former company, Quebecor the newspaper side. Pierre-Karl Peladeau resigned from the board of the printing company, but remains on the board, and in charge, of the newspaper side of things. Erik Peladeau, Jean Neveu and Jean La Couture also resigned from Quebecor World Inc., the printing arm of the company.

The resignations have, as far as I can tell, no effect on the running of the Quebeecor Inc. newspaper holdings, including the Sun newspapers.

*******
...ier: More names added to the list of employees gone from the Toronto Sun lineup, including
money editor Linda Leatherdale, entertainment desk editor Derek Tse and new music critic Jason MacNeil. Leatherdale in particular is a big name. Full list of Toronto Sun employees let go is here.

******
Nod to readers of the Toronto Sun Family Blog, which is doing a remarkable job of covering this story. For further updates on the bloodletting at the Sun, they are, far and away, the best source for news.

at 6:44 PM

The last few weeks a couple of things have happened. One is that the Parliamentary opposition, including the Michael Ignatieff led Liberals, have screamed for stimulus, in large part to the auto industry. Another is the Supreme Court ruled that the Liberal run Government of Canada of the 2002, 2003 and 2005 illegally rolled Employment Insurance surpluses into general revenues.

The two stories are connected.

Many years ago the unions negotiated a benefit called Supplementary Unemployment Benefit (SUB). It is, in essence, a guaranteed income supplement, that promises the company will top up EI funds to 85% of the workers wage. Back when it was negotiated it meant a small weekly stipend for the company during lean times and they could maintain their work force for good times.

As an example, the first time I wound up on temporary lay-off, EI (or UIC as it was then called) sent me a cheque for something in the $400's, SUB for less than $100 ($85 I think).

In the 90's Jean Chrétien's Liberal government revamped the Unemployment system, making it more expensive, harder to access and with a decrease in benefits. As an example, somebody who collects EI two years in a row must repay 15% the second, and every subsequent year. When announcing the changes to EI, Finance Minister Paul Martin talked about companies using EI to supplement their workforce.

The result is predictable and generally what was desired. If I get laid off now, the EI cheque is still in the $400's, the SUB cheque for an amount greater than the EI cheque. Furthermore, it didn't take long for the unions to argue that the 15% claw-back meant the employees were making less than 85%, and the companies began reimbursing it.

The result is that for the auto companies to temporarily lay-off their work force for re-tooling or inventory adjustment, it now costs them somewhere in the neighbourhood, and probably in excess of, 50% of the employees wage.

I don't present this as evidence for or against the SUB plans. They are a reality in the automotive industry and the companies themselves used the plans to supplement their labour costs when cyclical demand for their product was low. Paul Martin balanced the budget in part by illegally using the Employment Insurance fund as a tax revenue, and he did so partly on the back of the auto companies, who every party now seems to agree need a bailout. When the companies you built policy on ten years ago can get an all party consensus that they need bailed-out a decade on, your legacy takes a hit.

When Stephen Harper sits down to sort out the EI mess that Paul Martin & The Supremes have just handed him, and Jack Layton calls him to ask what he's doing about the auto jobs, he should look at the changes made to EI that affect the auto companies and consider undoing them.

at 4:00 PM

... by bunnies

at 4:23 PM

...by Dylan Thomas

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.

It was on the afternoon of the Christmas Eve, and I was in Mrs. Prothero's garden, waiting for cats, with her son Jim. It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats. Patient, cold and callous, our hands wrapped in socks, we waited to snowball the cats. Sleek and long as jaguars and horrible-whiskered, spitting and snarling, they would slink and sidle over the white back-garden walls, and the lynx-eyed hunters, Jim and I, fur-capped and moccasined trappers from Hudson Bay, off Mumbles Road, would hurl our deadly snowballs at the green of their eyes. The wise cats never appeared.

We were so still, Eskimo-footed arctic marksmen in the muffling silence of the eternal snows - eternal, ever since Wednesday - that we never heard Mrs. Prothero's first cry from her igloo at the bottom of the garden. Or, if we heard it at all, it was, to us, like the far-off challenge of our enemy and prey, the neighbor's polar cat. But soon the voice grew louder.
"Fire!" cried Mrs. Prothero, and she beat the dinner-gong.

And we ran down the garden, with the snowballs in our arms, toward the house; and smoke, indeed, was pouring out of the dining-room, and the gong was bombilating, and Mrs. Prothero was announcing ruin like a town crier in Pompeii. This was better than all the cats in Wales standing on the wall in a row. We bounded into the house, laden with snowballs, and stopped at the open door of the smoke-filled room.

Something was burning all right; perhaps it was Mr. Prothero, who always slept there after midday dinner with a newspaper over his face. But he was standing in the middle of the room, saying, "A fine Christmas!" and smacking at the smoke with a slipper.

"Call the fire brigade," cried Mrs. Prothero as she beat the gong.
"There won't be there," said Mr. Prothero, "it's Christmas."
There was no fire to be seen, only clouds of smoke and Mr. Prothero standing in the middle of them, waving his slipper as though he were conducting.
"Do something," he said. And we threw all our snowballs into the smoke - I think we missed Mr. Prothero - and ran out of the house to the telephone box.
"Let's call the police as well," Jim said. "And the ambulance." "And Ernie Jenkins, he likes fires."

But we only called the fire brigade, and soon the fire engine came and three tall men in helmets brought a hose into the house and Mr. Prothero got out just in time before they turned it on. Nobody could have had a noisier Christmas Eve. And when the firemen turned off the hose and were standing in the wet, smoky room, Jim's Aunt, Miss. Prothero, came downstairs and peered in at them. Jim and I waited, very quietly, to hear what she would say to them. She said the right thing, always. She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, "Would you like anything to read?"

Read the rest here

at 6:00 PM

It's been a great week here at Home in Hespeler. Last Sunday I posted that I had finished writing the NaNoWriMo novel. It was my hope that writing the novel in a tight time frame would kick start some writing, and that this blog would be the beneficiary. It did, and it is.

On Monday I posted a three-year blogiversary post, which prompted he Mayor of Mitchieville to offer me a cabinet position. Being the good politician he is, he then put me on the back bench. No complaints here, though. I'm pleased to be included in such an illustrious list.

While writing the three year post, I noticed I had added the Picture of the Day feature just three days into starting the blog. So on Thursday, I wrote a post, Three Years in Pictures. I linked to many of the pictures of the day, and re-showed nine of them. One of them caught the attention of James Bow, of The Waterloo Wellington Bloggers Association, who wanted to post the picture as one of the Associations banner images. Pleased? I was downright chuffed, and still am. Here's the picture in question, titled Walk in the Woods over at WWBA, but technically titled Bridge Over River Grand.

The same day, I began my push for a Senate seat, which is going very well, thank you very much. The Facebook group dedicated to the cause, Brian Gardiner for Senate, has over a dozen members, some not even family. Stop by and join, lets keep the movement going so Stephen Harper can't ignore the populist candidate, who might be out of a job soon anyway.

Saturday at 10:21 AM, At Home in Hespeler passed the 50,000 visitor mark. Somewhat pathetic for a three year run, but with the numbers I've had this week, I could hit 100,000 in another six months. (click on image, right, for full size)

That's a pretty good week, yet today I woke up to the highest honour I have ever received as a blogger. Late last night I sat penning the regular feature, The Freedom of Music. This weeks music was a couple of new Christmas songs, including Mark Steyn (yes that Mark Steyn) and Jessica Martin's A Marshmallow World. I date stamped it for an 8:00AM posting, and crawled off to bed, visions of marshmallow dancing in my head (and lets be honest, what is a marshmallow but a cooked sugar plum). I woke this morning to find Mark Steyn had pulled a quote from me to promote the song. Mark Steyn linked here. I'll make it a tourist attraction (Thank God I finally figured out how to spell his name). Here's the quote:

In Boston WTKK's Michael Graham calls the CD "terrific", but Brian complains: "This song has infested my brain."

It doesn't get much better than that. What a week. Wonder if I can do it again next week?

at 1:54 PM

at 8:00 AM

One likes to believe in the freedom of music.
Rush - Spirit of Radio.

Christmas always brings with it novelty songs. Whether it's Irish Rovers singing about Grandmas and Reindeer, or Bruce Springsteen warning of Santa Claus's imminent arrival. Corey Harts Rudolph phase or anybody and everybody going for a Sleigh Ride, Christmas is littered with music that would never get made otherwise. It is one of the things I love about Christmas.

This year is like any other with a plethora of new Christmas music, whether your taste runs to Melissa Etheridge, Faith Hill or Cheryl Crow there's a Christmas CD for you. Sadly, this year seems to lack the heavy metal title to make it interesting, unlike 2006's Twisted Sister entry into the canon.

This years more interesting Christmas music are of the single song variety. There are two, specifically, that have caught my attention this year. Two songs that sit at the opposite end of the musical spectrum, as different as the Pogues and Bing Crosby (although the Pogues probably did a song with Bing Crosby at some point; everyone else certainly seems to have done). In fact, my two favourites from 2008 are being compared to The Pogues/Kirsty Mccall and Bing Crosby.

The first I heard about on a gossip mailer I get called Popbitch. They referred to the new Cyndi Lauper and The Hives song, A Christmas Duel, thus:

This week we are listening to Xmas songs:

1. The Hives v Cyndi Lauper:
The new Kirsty MacColl/Pogues?

For those unfamiliar, The Pogues song being referred to it is Fairytale of New York, a wonderful song that blends wonderfully the romance of Christmas, New York City and those old Bing Crosby movies with punk sensibilities, a verse full of insults and an opening stanza that occurs in a drunk tank. A deft bit of writing and a magical performance have made it a Christmas favourite among the under 50 set.

The Hives v Cyndi Lauper on the other hand, is just a song of two people fighting. A load of insults, some sexual innuendo, an unapologetic drunk and a death threat finished off with a promise to "spend-spend-spend this Christmas together." A different take on Christmas it certainly is; the best thing Cyndi Lauper has done since, well ever, very possibly (What is it with the Brits anyway? If you were a Minor celebrity once, 20 years ago, you're a celebrity forever?); The new Kirsty MacColl/Pogues? Not a chance.

All that said, it's listenable, it's fun and it has one of the all time great lines in song:

So whatever you say, it’s all fine by me
Who the f@#k anyway wants a Christmas tree.

So I'll take it, I'll listen to it with a sly smile, and I'll turn it off when my mother-in-law walks in the room. But it's no Fairytale of New York.

The second song comes from a different world altogether. Canada's Conservative savant, Mark Steyn has teamed up with comedienne Jessica Martin in a duet of A Marshmallow World. The 1949 song originally popularized by Bing Crosby has induced MacLean's

magazine to call Steyn, "the new Bing Crosby." It's a fun song, a catchy ditty and Steyn is an alright singer, for a writer. In truth, it's enjoyable because of the spirit of the thing more so than the singing talents of Mark Steyn (Jessica Martin on the other hand is not a bad singer).

I offer fair warning, however. This song has infested my brain and it won't shut up. If you want to go around between now and Dec 25th with Mark Steyn warbling "It's a marshmallow wooooorld," incessantly playing in your head, by all means blow $0.99 on the MP3. Although it has been noted I seem in an awfully good mood the past few days: don't say you weren't warned.

at 10:18 AM

In the news in the last week, the release of some tapes by the Nixon Library of conversations prior to a Dec 6, 1971 between then President Nixon and Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau. It is the same meeting after which Nixon famously (and perceptively) referred to Trudeau as a "pompous egghead."

The same week, several commentators were comparing current Prime Minister Stephen Harper with Richard Nixon.

Finally, this week the Liberals anointed Michael Ignatieff to be their fearless one. Some have even go so far as to compare Ignatieff to Trudeau.

At Home in Hespeler looks forward to the day when Stephen Harper refers to Michael Ignatieff as a "pompous igghead."

at 8:00 AM

Saturday Fluffernutter - all the fluffy news about those nutty celebrities.

I spent the better part of a week in the summer of 1977 in the back seat of a white

Thunderbird with black vinyl roof going to Florida and back. For entertainment I had dad's really lousy radio stations, and a Cream magazine. I read and re-read Lisa Robinson's account of Led Zeppelin's 1977 tour, a review on Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers upcoming debut album, and a story on a hot new girl band, The Runaways. Joan Jett at 16 (remember, I was 14), Lita Ford, and the gorgeous Cherie Currie fronting the band in bustier and stockings. That was a long drive.

Now comes word that those Runaway days will be immortalized on celluloid with a 2009 movie adaptation of the bands success. Twilight star Kristen Stewart is slated to play Joan Jett, who is listed as an executive producer.

Jay Leno has agreed to do a show at 10:00 every weeknight after he stops hosting the Late Show next spring. This means NBC is out of the one-hour drama game, and into the sucking up to Jay game. It was announced previously that Conan O'Brien would replace Leno in the spring. Leno had previously announced his retirement, but has since decided that he would rather stick around. There were rumours that he was going to do a show for rival ABC. We'll let Leno tell the rest:

Those were rumours started by a disgruntled employee - me.

Like I said, NBC is now officially in the sucking up to Jay game.

Jennifer Aniston, 40 and looking great, has appeared on the cover of this months GQ magazine wearing nothing but a tie. Let me repeat for the men: Nothing-But-A-Tie.

New Rule on the Britney Spears tour if your a back-up dancer - mandatory drug tests. That's right, the constitutional right to drug test employees, which was once a point of debate for fire fighters, large equipment operators and others on whose job performance the lives of others depended, is now being applied to dancer: Britney Spears.

Because if a dancer falls doing a spin-a-rama, look out!

Bettie Page (1923 - 2008). Betty Page was an original it girl, a 1950's sex bomb, pin up of the kind Jennifer Aniston aspires to be. She passed this week at the age of 85. For a true memorial from a real fan, my old friend Wonder Woman did a fabulous tribute. And the Bettie Page Memorial Site is a treasure trove for those who are interested.

at 4:00 PM

What are the actual qualifications for Senate? you might ask. Here's the list:

The Governor General appoints senators on the recommendation of the Prime Minister. To qualify for a summons to the Senate, the nominee must:
• be a Canadian citizen;

• be at least 30 years of age;

• own $4,000 of equity in land in the home province or territory;

• have a personal net worth of at least $4,000; and

• live in the home province or territory.

Canadian Citizen - check

At least 30 years of age - check and then some

Own $4,000 in equity of land in the home province - check

Net worth of $4,000 - check

Live in Province (Ontario) - check

Prime Minister, my bags are packed I am ready to serve at your leisure.

If you're on facebook, join the group Brian Gardiner for Senate. I figure if I get 50 - 100 people the Prime Minister who swears he wants a democratically elected Senate can hardly ignore such an outcry from the people.

at 8:00 AM

Much like winning an Oscar or a Cy Young Award, to be considered for a Senate seat a person usually has to wage an internal campaign for their red velvet chair. With that in mind:

why should I be a senator?
Let me count the ways...

I have a degree in economics.

I earned my degree while working full-time, shift work. Over much of the time I was doing my university work, I was working 48 hours a week and had two infants/toddlers at home. I understand the struggle people have to get ahead and I'm not afraid of work.

On the other hand, if you think that makes me overqualified for Senate work, I'm a lazy autoworker.

I could play guitar, acoustic or electric, lead or rhythm, bass and/or mandolin in the Senate band.

The blogging community is under-represented in the Senate.

The government is about to hand billions of dollars to the auto industry, shouldn't there be someone in some capacity within government who's actually been on the floor of an auto assembly plant?

I can multi-task (see above)

The Senate is a chamber of sober second thought; upon sobering up I often have second thoughts.

I'm computer literate (everybody puts this on their resume).

It would drive Buzz Hargrove nuts seeing a CAW member not named Buzz get the job.

***************

Update: Phantom Observer makes a point: excluding grammar (and speeling), I have written nothing on this blog that is indefensible.

Welcome to the race Chucker Canuck

at 12:13 AM

Are apparently now being written by Achmed the Dead Terrorist.

at 12:27 PM

Prime Minister.

Since it looks like you are going to be appointing a number of Senators in the next month, I thought I'd throw my hat into the ring. You see, I work for Chrysler, so it seems likely I will need a job soon. Don't think of it as patronage, think of it as one less auto worker on EI. But, of course you ask, why me?

Well, Mr. Harper.... Stephen... Good buddy...

First, consider it repaying a favour. You see, it was I who got you your present job in the first place. As I pointed out then:

Back in November when the election was called, you sat at 28%-30% in the polls, a full 10 points behind Mr. Martin. On December 8th, I began "At Home in Hespeler", and soon thereafter your fortunes began to rise. ... Stephen, Mr. Prime Minister, Sir, it wasn't until I got in the game, and I got comfortable and found my blogging voice that your numbers improved. Today, you are the Right Honourable.

And then there's all the advice I have provided:

Well since the CBC, Dalton Mcguinty, David Miller and a cabal of detractors feel entitled to give you advice, so shall I. If you are smart you would print it out, take it to the P.A.M.S. Coffee outlet in Lincoln Fields Shopping Centre. Throw in a couple of bucks and you'll be good for a White Chocolate Mocha Latte, which is truly excellent on one of those cold Ottawa winter days.

I trust you enjoyed your coffee.

Lets not forget that we are old friends you and I. When we met, I didn't bother you with pesky questions about policy, about Arctic Sovereignty or Free trade, I enquired about the family. (Took some heat for that too, but what am I supposed to ask in thirty seconds?)

Anyway Stephen... Steve. I might just need a job, and you might just have a job, seems like a good fit. I have worked 20 years in "the real world," showing up for work rain or snow. I'll not embarrass you by not coming to work. I even like Ottawa.

So Mr. Prime Minister, return a favour here, and consider At Home in Hespeler for a senate seat.

at 12:00 PM

Mark Steyn had a piece yesterday on the UN's Human Rights Day, and points out a bunch of human rights that Canadians celebrating this UN-est of days don't want you to have:

Today is Human Rights Day, the day that commemorates the United Nations' adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights exactly 60 years ago - December 10th 1948. To be honest, I had no great interest in a day dedicated to human rights until agencies of the Canadian state started trying to deprive me of mine, and any professed respect in this space for the UN Declaration is, frankly, largely tactical...

Article 6
Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law.

Not in Canada. Chief Commissar Barbara Hall of the Ontario "Human Rights" Commission pronounced Maclean's and me guilty without troubling herself to hear from the accused or to allow us to appear before her "court".

Article 7
All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law.

Not in Canada. Under Section 13, wealthy lawyers such as Richard Pieman and lavishly endowed lobby groups can sue penniless nonentities unable to afford any legal representation at all, while the plaintiffs get their tab picked up by the taxpayers.

Article 8
Everyone has the right to an effective remedy by the competent national tribunals for acts violating the fundamental rights granted him by the constitution or by law.

Not in Canada. There is no "effective remedy" for Section 13's sustained violation of the supposed constitutional right to free expression.

Article 10
Everyone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing by an independent and impartial tribunal...

Not in Canada. The "human rights" tribunal is not impartial but a de facto subsidiary of the "human rights" commission, which is why there has never been a single Section 13 case to come before the Canadian "Human Rights" Tribunal in which the defendant has been acquitted.

Article 11
1. Everyone charged with a penal offence has the right to be presumed innocent until proved guilty according to law in a public trial at which he has had all the guarantees necessary for his defence.

Not in Canada. Under Section 13, there is no presumption of innocence. Indeed, there is a presumption of guilt, and truth is no defence. Nor has a defendant any of "the guarantees necessary for his defence". There is no due process at all. The rules are arbitrary and, as I saw first-hand in Vancouver, improvised on the spot to favour the plaintiff.

Article 12
No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.

Not in Canada. In Ontario, the law attacks your "honour and reputation", as Commissar Hall did when, despite being too gutless to hold a trial, she declared me and Maclean's to be racist and "Islamophobic". Furthermore, under the new powers foolishly granted to her by the Government of Ontario, Commissar Hall's stormtroopers have the right to enter your premises without a warrant, seize "any document or thing" (as the relevant legislation puts it), including correspondence, and hold it for as long as they want.

Article 18
Everyone has the right to freedom of thought...

Ha! Tell it to Reverend Stephen Boissoin, ordered by the Province of Alberta to make a public statement recanting his thoughts on homosexuality, and prevented by law from ever expressing them again even in private e-mails.

Article 19
Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.

Not in Canada. You have the right to government-regulated opinion and expression, which isn't the same thing at all.

Article 21
2. Everyone has the right of equal access to public service in his country.

Not in Canada. The Dominion's "human rights" regimes service a select number of favoured "stakeholders" and ignore those who don't meet their approved criteria. In effect, the CHRC runs a restricted admission country club.

Article 27
2. Everyone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from any scientific, literary or artistic production of which he is the author.

Not in Canada. At the British Columbia "Human Rights" Tribunal, not only does the law not protect the "moral and material interests" of the author, it puts them on trial and accords itself the right, if necessary, to criminalize his work.

Got all that? That's 11 fundamental human rights that Canada doesn't enjoy. And whoops, didn't he miss one?:

Article 17.

(1) Everyone has the right to own property alone as well as in association with others.
(2) No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his property.

I've been bitching about this one since Paul Martin started ranting about cherry picking human rights, i.e. you couldn't deny the newly invented human right of gays to be married, but you could deny the fundamental human right, according to the UN, of owning private property. Or as I put it at the time:

Rights are fundamental and cannot be cherry-picked or they are not. Property rights has been clearly spelled out in international law, so why are you against it? And even if you are against it, why have you not legislated it? Why is it not one of your priorities? Why are you cherry-picking this fundamental right?

I imagine celebrations of human rights day was somewhat muted in Canada!

at 8:00 AM

...how screwed up is the music biz?

Local sports fans are all knickery-twisty over some poor girl who sang the national anthem at last Sundays more money than brains bowl at the Rogers Centre, nee Skydome, nee the place where tax dollars go to die.

So who is this girl anthem butcher?

Rising Canadian pop star Kreesha Turner...

OK, hot young up and comer. Good. So what happened Sunday?

The 23-year-old Edmontonian... had never sang in front of a large crowd.

The singer, "Known for her hit song Don't call Me Baby," had never sang for a large crowd? How then did she become a "pop star?" No dues, no bashing it out in front of real audiences before somebody sank money into her career?

Next time the recording industry steps up to the whine bar over the trouble their industry is in, remember the name Kreesha Turner, an untested mediocrity who they packaged and branded as a star before she's ever played in front of a large audience.

at 12:30 AM

As noted Monday, At Home in Hespeler celebrated it's three year blogiversary this week. On day three of the blog, I posted my first picture of the day. It has proven to be a popular feature, so much so that I sometimes feel guilty posting them - I feel like I'm padding my numbers. That's especially true if I haven't been posting much, then a picture that gets 200 hits feels like cheating.

Nonetheless, I posted that first one, when nobody was paying any attention, because I like taking pictures, and part of what I decided to do when I started this blog was share some of those pictures. So guilt or no, Picture of the Day stays.

The format of Picture of the Day hasn't changed since that first one, with one small exception. Somewhere along the line I replaced a dash between the words "Picture of the Day" and the title of the picture, with a colon. Otherwise it's a title, and a picture, centred. You can always click on the picture for a larger image, but I have never figured out how to increase the picture within blogger without distorting it.

There are no categories for the pictures, but there probably could be. Travel has been a favourite theme. I have travelled more than ever before in the past three years, and there's been no shortage of pictures. New York has been a favourite destination,

but there's also been Washington, London * and Paris.

And while we're travelling, sometimes there is just nice scenic shots. Whether it's somewhere on the drive between a guitar festival in Upstate New York and Times Square, or somewhere on the bike ride between Hespeler and Parry Sound, in town, or down river (or is that up river? I'll have to ask Stockwell).

Just down the tracks or in my own backyard.

And sometimes the nature shots are less scenic, but more flighty.

Sometimes the pictures have a patriotic bent.

Sometimes they're just for fun.

Some pictures are athletic, some are more serene and some are a little of both.

Two favouriote themes have been Christmas (or Festivus) and pets * * * *

And every December I get to combine the tw o.

at 4:00 PM

What were you doing 365 days ago - to the minute. It's not often you can answer that question with any accuracy, but today is one of those days. It was exactly one-year ago today, at exactly 9:00 PM (4:00 PM shitty snowy Toronto time), that Led Zeppelin walked on the stage at London's 02 arena.

Led Zeppelin's legendary stage shows and relatively short career run meant that for many people, this was the concert they waited a lifetime for. I was one of those people. Their last American date was on my 14th birthday, their last Toronto date six years earlier. Seeing Led Zeppelin had always been a pipe dream.

I came close once. I arrived in London on Aug 4, 1979, the day of the legendary 1st Knebworth concert for a family vacation when I was 16. My aunt had arranged a ticket with a neighbour who was my age, but a delay in our flight meant I was too late. It would be my last chance to see Led Zeppelin for 28 years.

I wouldn't see London again for 28 years either, and it seems a fitting close that I should return to the city where it almost happened, and in the same year the Sex Pistols would reunite, to finally make it happen.

London was abuzz with the Sex Pistols in 1979, with Led Zeppelin in 2007. Taxi's adorned ads for the new CD compilation, Mothership. In stores, people were talking about the concert, asking us about it. The news covered the ticket line up the day before the show. It was an occasion as much as a concert.

It was a concert first, however. That was what it was all about, the show, the music. And on that front, more than any others, there would be no disappointment. The show! We sat patiently through an array of artists playing one, maybe two songs: Chris Squire and Alan White from Yes, Keith Emerson from ELP and Simon Kirke from Bad Company playing ELP's Fanfare for the Common Man opened the show. Magic, that was. Paul Rodgers was worthy of mention too. Strangely, they stopped the show for a twenty minute setup before Foreigner came on and Foreigner played one song, I Wanna Know What Love Is. "They tore down one drum kit, set up a second," I have joked to more than one person, "and the drummer pulls out his brushes!" One lousy ballad from the band that gave us Feels Like the First Time and Double Vision. You'd be disappointed if you weren't waiting for them to get off stage so Led Zeppelin could get on.

Zeppelin promised a 9:00 start (4:00 SSTT), and they came on exactly at 9:00 (4:00 SSTT). After a short video about the 1975 Tampa show, they hit with Good Times Bad Times, lights flashing to the intro, Jason Bonham paradiddling to his old man's beat, Led Zeppelin were back.

The first chills up the spine, the I can't believe it moment, came surprisingly during the next song, Ramble On. Never a favourite, at this moment, this exact point in time, it was perfect. The concert is, like many concerts, a blur of moments: more chills during In My Time of Dying, watching Jimmy Page strutting, yes strutting at 63 years old, playing that old slide blues guitar; Watching Jimmy strap on the double neck and knowing what was next - Stairway to Heaven; The legendary surrealness of No Quarter, blue lights coming through the stage fog; The never before played For Your Life from my favourite Zeppelin album, the vastly underrated Presence; Kashmir, lush, expansive mesmerizing. It was the true gem, true musical highlight of any show
I have seen; The young couple screwing (yes, you read that right) to Since I've Been Loving You in the seat in front of me redefining the slow minor key blues masterpiece; Whole Lotta Love, especially the moment when it seemed they were going to go old school, go int

o Elvis' Boogie Mama, and beyond like in their prime; Rock and Roll, ending with deceased John's most famous piece, his son Jason supplicating himself in a "I'm not worthy" manner before the boys at the end of it all.

From start to finish, magical. Jason Bonham indeed was worthy, whether the rest of us were so is an open question.

The trip to London was marred by a bad cold that kept me from being my best. The beer I couldn't quite digest, and in fact had to go to the flat warm stuff to survive. The food gave me trouble, and I stayed in a couple of nights, much to my travel partners disappointment, to try and keep myself going. But on this night I couldn't rest. Back at the hotel the bar was full of fellow travellers, revelling in post-Zeppelin ardour. The bar closed down, so we kept the night porter busy chasing beer for us to drink in the lounge. Sleep would be difficult coming, the night too perfect to let end.

People have asked since, was it worth it? What if they tour, was it still worth it? Yes and yes, is the answer. Every minute, every penny. And since the likelihood that Led Zeppelin will ever tour now seem as remote as ever, it was worth it more so now than then.

Worth every minute, worth every penny.

Crossposted to Ramble On

original review here.

at 1:07 PM

at 8:00 AM

The Blue Blogging Soapbox Blogging Tories Site of the Week for the week of December 7th is:

Secrets of Vancouver

“Where Being Conservative Means You'll Need To Keep It Secret.”

at 11:58 PM

... some people are Gerard Kennedy.

At the last Liberal leadership convention, Gerard Kennedy was king maker, throwing his support to Stéphane Dion on the convention floor. This has worked out, shall we say, less than satisfactorily for the Liberal party.

Jump ahead to yesterday, while Dominic LeBlanc was making merry endorsing Michael Ignatieff, Gerard Kennedy was at Bob Rae's office throwing his support behind the defender of democracy. Within twenty-four hours, Rae would pack it in and concede to Ignatieff.

That's twice it has come down to Ignatieff and someone else, twice Kennedy has chosen someone else.

Look for Gerard Kennedy to occupy an office as far away from the new, acclaimed leader of the Liberal Party as Garth Turner once did from Stephen Harper.

at 10:41 AM

True democracy only has one choice. Therefore, Bob Rae is bowing out of the leadership race.

Bob Rae has told his supporters in a conference call Tuesday that he will end his bid for the Liberal leadership, CTV News has learned.

CTV's Ottawa Bureau Chief Robert Fife confirmed Tuesday that Rae will not challenge frontrunner Michael Ignatieff -- virtually ensuring that Ignatieff will become Liberal leader.

Rae is expected to formally confirm his withdrawal from the race at a press conference at 3 p.m. ET in Ottawa.

I don't like Bob Rae, and Michael Ignatieff may be the best choice for leader. But if I'm a Liberal today, I wonder what happened to my party that a guy who lived and worked in the United States his entire adult life, is the only guy in the race to lead my party.

Frankly, the Liberals talk about renewal, but without the debate that a leadership race brings, how do you achieve renewal?

History may show that Stéphane Dion did far more damage to the Liberal party than can currently be imagined.

at 9:16 AM

If you're a Chrysler worker, like say... me, this morning there's more than snow falling from the sky:

Chrysler Canada Inc. has warned Ottawa and Queen's Park that it could close its two assembly plants in Canada, eliminating more than 8,000 direct jobs, and shift the work to the United States if the two governments fail to provide $1.6-billion in emergency financial help.

A submission for government money and the best business case these guys can come up with is blackmail?

Meanwhile, in the US, Chrysler has hired bankruptcy specialists, with expectations that they can't make it to the end of the month:

Chrysler LLC has hired a prominent law firm to provide counsel on a possible bankruptcy filing, people familiar with the matter said, adding to concerns the auto maker could go into default by the end of the month.

It's worth noting that Chrysler is owned by Cerberus Capital Management, L.P. one of the largest private equity investment firms around. They have mucho dinero, but won't move money into the Chrysler arm. The question the Canadian Government needs to ask itself: if Cerberus won't throw good money after bad, should you?

Interestingly, in the comments to the Globe article sentiment is running at almost a consensus to let them fail.

I'm not going to comment further, because I can't possibly be objective, but I will add this: Previously production decisions were made on a month to month basis, even quarter to quarter. Recently, that changed to week to week. It now appears to be day to day. Whatever their plan is, it's not long term.

at 9:09 AM

Then as it was, then again it will be
An' though the course may change sometimes
Rivers always reach the sea

It was three years ago today that I began my At Home days here in Hespeler. The first year was a remarkable success, one in which the blog grew, and it got updated daily. On the one year Blogiversary, I hit a snag. Blogger started messing with my head and it would be February again before I was back in real business. I never recovered.

None the less, today is a celebration, At 9:09 PM on Dec 8, 2005 I first noted:

Welcome to At Home in Hespeler, my little Blog Spot. Here I will focus on Politics, with drifts into music and movies. The political focus will be Canadian, with a definite Conservative slant.

I think, if nothing else, I have stayed fairly loyal to that original manifesto, Politics, with drifts into music and movies.

On December 8, 2005 we were in the middle of a federal election campaign that would mark the last days of the Paul Martin government. Stephen Harper would be Prime Minister within six weeks.

I would post the first picture of the day three days later, on Dec 11.

Picture of the day has continued since, although lately a Mozilla/blogger problem has kept me from posting pictures, it will continue to be a feature for as long as I have this place. The last one was a picture of the statue of "Sir" Duke Ellington, which sits on the North East corner of New York's Central Park. The next day, I posted this:

The upper East Side at Sunrise.

Otherwise, I've had fun, I've written some serious stuff, published a cartoon and done a thing or two with the stink of prescience.

And funnily enough, the Liberals had a leadership race. Gee, I hope they have another one soon.

In the first year I began my Sunday morning music musings, and Saturday Fluffernutter, both regular features still (in fact, I decided on fluffernutter pie for my Blogiversary cake). And frankly, I've had the Zeppelinist blog in the conservative blogosphere.

Most importantly, have been the people. There's so many good people out there, including a few to thank: Richard, who got me started; Joanne, the first person to recognize me, back when she was just a small blog starting out herself; Paul, who one day saved this blog; Gerry, who's just such a nice guy, and says such nice things; and Ron, (below right, with Dylan) who posted here for a while and helped me keep on top of events.

And to anybody who has read, bookmarked, linked or otherwise visited here. Thank you for you patronage. I have often felt honoured that people are interested in what I have to say.

at 12:04 AM

Discounting the results of an election held two months ago, that's fine, but an immediate vote to allow the Liberal caucus to elect a temporary leader?:

The idea of taking away the vote from tens of thousands of grassroots activists in every part of Canada, and reducing the franchise to just 76 men and women seems so out-of-step with the modern world. It makes you shake your head. Here’s just a quick, off-the-cuff list of things that struck me as wrong about this idea...

It’s up to us to put a stop to this hasty, ill-considered idea for electing our leader. I am raising my voice publicly for your right to vote. Please help me by raising yours as well.

Well Bob, last week you didn't give a rats ass about my right to vote. But now that it goes against you, that's undemocratic?

As for Bob Rae complaining about things coming from left field:

I thought I’d seen a lot of politics over 30 years of public service, but this one really came from left field.

Your the Fu*&ing left fielder, you moron.

He got one thing right though, the Liberal caucus is "out-of-step with the modern world." Alas, Bob Rae is out of step with reality, so he's not really one to judge.

h/t Freedom is my Nationality

at 11:28 PM

I mentioned last month that I was participating in this years NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month.

The goal? Write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. I came in at 50,006 words on November 30th, and the completed story was just over 50,000 ( a short novel).

We now return you to the regular blog

at 5:13 PM

What an apt choice by Governor General Michaelle Jean to prorogue Parliament: It would hard to find a larger gallery of rogues, and, as Brian Mulroney would tell ya, they're a pack of old pros.

at 8:00 AM

The Blue Blogging Soapbox Blogging Tories Site of the Week for the week of November 30th is:

Political Staples

Steve hasn't been posting too much lately, but when he does, it's always worth reading.

at 12:15 AM

The Coalition of the Treasonous is supposedly upset about a lack of fiscal stimulus in the recent federal update. Other countries, they proclaim, are ~~jumping off the Brooklyn bridge~~ providing stimulus, so we have to too. Here's a suggestion for PM Harper: do what the Brits are doing. Lower the GST a couple of points:

BRITAIN'S contribution to a global effort to add a shot of fiscal adrenaline to ailing industrial economies was delivered by Alistair Darling, the chancellor of the exchequer (finance minister), on Monday November 24th. He produced an emergency winter budget, which had been preceded by a deluge of leaks, to the House of Commons...
The scale of the giveaway certainly sounded impressive. The centrepiece of the fiscal package was a big reduction in the main rate of value-added tax (VAT), which is charged on most goods and services, from 17.5% to 15%.

For those who don't know, the British VAT is the equivalent to our GST.

Oh wait, did that two years ago. Maybe that's why Canada's "GDP rose an annualized 1.3% in the third quarter." Because the stimulus is in the system.

Since Britain is copying Canada's success on the lower consumption tax, maybe someone at CTV can send Craig Oliver a memo: Reducing taxes does put money in peoples pockets.

Don't believe me, ask the British Labour Party.

at 10:48 PM

As Clear Conservative Thought points out tonight, the media and the lefties are deciding for Conservatives that we don't support Stephen Harper anymore.

This blog unequivocally supports Prime Minister Harper, regardless of what acts of treason Stéphane Dion or Jack Layton commit.

As CCT says:

I am calling upon all bloggers who support our Prime Minister to voice it clearly, lets send a message to these hacks that their idea of Harper facing a leadership crisis is absolute bull.

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