Civic Duty Completed? Check

I got the strangest feeling today after I walked out of my designated voting stations ... I felt a rush of patriotism. I was struck by how often we walk through our days underappreciative of just how beautiful and exhilarating our marvelous country truly is -- flaws and all. We have created and successfully defended a system where each individual can walk into a church or a community hall or a school gymnasium and say who they want to speak on their behalf. Some may be able to walk a few blocks to their designation voting station. Some may have to travel for some distance from their isolated homes to a communal designation voting station. But this is a day where each one of us actually count, in a time where not all world citizens can say the same. When I walked out of the voting station, I felt a connection with all the people I walked past on my way to the grocery store (the voting station was on the way to the Safeway -- I was already out, might as well fit in a few chores along the way).

It was really weird.

Now those who know me know I am horribly jaded about politics. I believe the politicians shine themselves up for a few weeks and tell us what they think we want to hear, until they get our votes. Then they do whatever they want in accordance with whatever will serve their own purposes or those of their greatest political/financial supporters. And by political supporters, I in no way mean the voters at large. And by "they", I mean every party. If it is a political party, it is on that stage for its own self-preservation.

Even believing all that -- and I do -- I get my say. And no matter who wins, no matter who is my Prime Minister this evening, I voted

... so I can complain all I want if it doesn't go my way!

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A Picture Puzzler

A friend sent me another picture from the wrap party. As I looked at it, and recalled the good times, I was struck by something really unusual. See if you can spot it: I'll give you all some time to guess...

And they called me mad when I bought the bunker in the woods!

I had heard that one way of thwarting telemarketers was to make them think the number they have dialed is in fact a fax machine. I've tried different tones on my cordless phone, all to no avail. Then I had an epiphany: When I turned sixteen, my sister bought me a new-fangled telephone. It had push buttons, but it was still just a rotary phone - when you pressed each button to dial, you still heard the rotary "tat-a-tat-tat-tat" with every number. I had held onto this phone ever since. It's cute. It works. There was no reason to get rid of it. I was willing to bet that, in this day and age of advanced technology rendering yesterday's device obsolete on a daily basis, a telemarketer - who is likely going to be decades younger than my phone - would be unable to even identify a rotary phone by sight much less by sound. And voila! Answering the phone with my rotary phone, and constantly pressing the buttons, the telemarketer kept repeating "Hello?

Batten down the hatches -- we're in it for the long haul!

Given that the weather reports for Edmonton this weekend are grim grim grim (lows of minus 33, highs of minus 25 -- with wind chills of around minus 35 to 40), I woke up early this morning to get all errands for the weekend out of the way in one fell swoop. I barely needed a coat this morning as I headed out to my car to embark on my mission. With each passing hour, the thermometer dipped a degree or twelve. By time I was done driving around (and paused to catch a movie at the neighbourhood googolplex), it was chill-lay outside. I am now snuggly boarded up in my apartment, with no plans to so much as peek my nose out my window until Tuesday (when the temps shall return to a balmy minus 15). Groceries? Check. Toiletries? Check. Magazines to curl up with? Check. Christmas Presents? Check. Lessee, I got my father what he's been asking for since I was old enough for him to give me his Christmas wish list: And I think my mother will enjoy her bungalow by the stream: For my sister and he

A Skewed View

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