Owning Absurdity

Tonight my good friend and I decided to take in a movie. We tossed

The Wolf Pack. See that's a funny picture.

around many ideas of what to see as we had no plans and this has become an almost weekly outing. We the merits of venturing to the latest Shyamalan travesty; After Earth. That was an early veto when it became clear that neither one of us could stomach a foray in to the twisted travesty that surely another Shyamalan piece would be. We ultimately decided to venture into the abyss of a threequel and went to see Hangover III. 

Both of us, many winters ago, went to see the dark sequel to the original masterpiece and we were fascinated by the prospects of further adventures of the Wolf Pack. We had heard that this new film was dark and quite unforgiving. Some critics had suggested that devoid of humour. When the projector (do they use projectors anymore?) began to roll and the audience was taken by the flashing wallpaper to become distracted from their mouthfuls of popped corn, I was surprised to find a very odd experience. This Hangover rejected the premise of the last two other films and decided to go on a kind of screw ball fantasy journey. This film decided to follow the North By Northwest premise and place its heroes in a state of unknown persecution.

Somehow this is less funny. Hangover III Wolf Pack.

In the past two films, the group was already in a position of play as they had awoken from a night that was forgotten in a drunken (roofie) filled nightmare. The room around them was nothing but a mishmash of evidence from the last night’s escapades.  The Wolves had to become ‘Morning After Sherlocks. This led them on a series of odd adventures and scenarios that not even Hunter S. Thompson could imagine. This was a situation that focused around one of there greatest foils from the last two films played by that brilliant Korean-American comedic force, from CBS’ Community, Ken Jeong. All of these changes to classic narrative of the two last films added a refreshing take on the gritty drug-filled chaos of the last two films. 

The comedy, in the previous two movies came from the hunt to track down the previous night’s goings on. III is focused on the present. This should have worked and nearly did. It ultimately failed.

When walking along the squalid streets of Toronto’s answer to San Francisco’s multicultural hellhole Chinatown, Spadina and Dundas, we, my diminutive but nevertheless brilliant friend and I arrived at the conclusion that it was not the failure in chaotic humour that hurt this movie. Its failure stemmed from the need to instill an unneeded and depressing reality into the film’s world. When the flurry reached a moment of true chaos the film pulled back into the very real reaction. There was always some very real consequence to the absurd action. A character would make an outrageous move then suddenly shocked by realistic results of his action. So the audience followed suit. They could sense a comedic payoff coming but it was suddenly and cruelly slaughtered like a pack of humourless butchered cows. For example, death is hilarious. A child crying out of grief is not. Hell, at one point a character witnesses a death and has an outrageous childlike reaction which is befitting his man/boy status, but then is immediately undercut when he wets his pants. The wetting of the pants should be uproarious but because of his choice to play genuine embarrassment (or the director’s) served to only undercut the comedy and make it not okay to laugh.

In comedy a commedian must embrace the absurdity of the situation and

One, very accurately, can see the dynamic. 

not comment on it. In Michael Caine’s second memoir, which I’m reading like a bat out of hell at current, that old Cockney brings this very point up. When he was shooting with Steve Martin on set of the brilliant film Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Michael was forced to play opposite to Steve Martin in his prime. A man who was right the middle of Steve Martin’s epoch of comedic genius. Michael found this insanely difficult so he soon found that he was drowning. Therefore Michael resolved to play everything completely straight. He partnered Steve, sometimes stealing scenes from him, by making no comment on the performance and treating his behavior as being completely normal. What this did for the film was create a relationship that was even more absurd. It was and is an instant of comedic genius. 

Likewise, in the first Hangover film, the Wolf Pack did the same, they did not explain the insanity. They had bigger fish to fry then exposition. Hell there was a baby lying on the plush vomit covered carpet of the Las Vegas bachelor suite! They excepted the absurdity and added. They went with it.

Comedy is ‘owning it.’ Going with it no matter how absurd. Tragedy is fighting against the environment and finding that you can’t win. Comedy is freedom. Tragedy is rules. Freedom is tougher then Rules.  

My trek through Trek (Part II) - Going Where No Man Has Gone Before

This is what crossing forcefields will do to you. 

What we’re watching: Where No Man Has Gone Before- Second Pilot. Episode Three of Season 1 (1966)

My Rating out of 5 Tribbles: 3 1/2 Tribbles...... Who can read your mind. OOOOWEEOOOOWOOO!

A Snapshot of my after episode thoughts: “Kneel before Mitchell!”

Pros: Captain Kirk. A quirky villain. Great space sequence. Mysterious. Vulcan Spock. A great sense of humour

Cons:  A slow and messy 4th act. Self important dialogue. Lack of motivation for Kirk's revenge. 

I conceived of this journey through Star Trek I debated for a long time, 3 or four hours which is a long time for a guy like me, in what order I would tackle the episodes and movies. There are three different ways one can travel through the Trek, canonically,  chronologically by broadcast date and chronologically by production date. Each order poses different problems. If I chose to view canonically I would have to begin with Enterprise, which would mean I would jump into a fresh series for me as I didn’t watch it when it was on TV. I was timid at this because I am not if I will like the show and ultimately abandon my project before it has begun. The broadcast order poses its own problems as it confuses the development of the series. Following that order would make  this episode the third in succession. This position is incorrect as Where No Man Has Gone Before was intended as a second pilot. I ultimately decided to go ahead and view Trekdom in its production order. This order may not be optimal if I want guidance and illumination into the history of the Federation, but it does offer insight into how this world developed. This is a far more interesting order for a young director in training like myself  This will cause a problem when I enter the The Next Generation when the episodes loose canon when watched in production order, but we’ll navigate that Nebulae when and if we cross it for I possess a legendarily short attention span. 

To understand the monumental importance of Where No Man Has Gone Before, one must first ask Lucille Ball. No

Every Trekker owes a debt to Lucy!

kidding here. Fricken Wah Wah Lucy. Without Lucille Ball there would be no Star Trek past the Jeffrey Hunter sweater epic that is The Cage. The story is as follows. After the failure of The Cage, Gene Roddenberry continued to shop around his idea for a Sci-Fi epic. No one was buying, until Lucille Ball, a friend of young Gene, somehow saw the pilot and said in passing to the president of NBC that they should greenlight a second pilot and actually air it to get sample of audiences  reaction. This testing was not done with The Cage which wasn’t broadcast until 1988. Long story short NBC did. Gene under NBC guidance overhauled the show, hired a young Canadian actor cutting his teeth on Sci-Fi on shows like The Twilight Zone to replace Jeffrey Hunter who had returned to his career as a matinee idol and the rest is history. Trekkers love Lucy indeed. 

All right, boring nerd history aside, let’s talk about pilot deux. 

Right at the top one can tell that this is a different beast then the terrible first pilot. It does not overwhelm with pretension of Jeffrey Hunter and Martian Spock. Instead we are greeted with a comedic battle of wits between the colder more logical Spock and the charismatic Kirk. Snide jokes are being traded back and forth between two friends. Friendship is the core of this episode and indeed every good Star Trek episode hence forth. 

From this point forward the vision of the future is very different. It is cleaner, more sleek

and spartan. This is reflected in the redesign or perhaps clean up the Enterprise set. As the episode progresses it becomes well understood that this is not a cluttered claustrophobic war vessel but a visionary bastion of human exploration. 

You may recall, if you read the last entry, that I in my ineloquent manner I made a big storm of the inefficient women on the bridge. I put the blame in no small manner on psychedelic sexualization of every skirt. The women of this episode’s enterprise are night and day (as far as can be under the moral lens of the 60s). Dr. Elizabeth Dehner is a women of wry humour, with a constant upturned grin that seems to suggest that she is secure with her womanhood and her life. When Gary Mitchell throws some 60s style degradation at her, she easily makes mince meat of the crass helmsmen. You can still see the 60s female role peep through this episode though. When the Enterprise crosses the forcefield, a sleek and suspenseful sequence that evokes thoughts of ancient mariners falling over the edge of the Earth, the young blonde clad Yeoman raises her hand inexplicably to hold onto the strength of male courageous limb.  Even the damsel in distress exists on the bridge of the Enterprise. 

The bridge is populated by many other firsts. George Takei makes his first appearance as Sulu, but is curiously in charge of physics, Jimmy Doohan sits at the helm in his Pseudo-Scottish presence as Scotty and there is even an unnamed man of colour sitting there pushing buttons. Spock stands for the first time in his mainstay location just to camera right of the Captain’s chair. His performance bares more similarities to iconic Spock, yet at one point he yells in a very un-Spock-like manner. Un-Nimoy-Spock-like, for Quinto is all over the place vocally.  It is clear that Nimoy and perhaps Trek itself is still unclear as to the role that this character will play. 

What the creatives of Star Trek are sure of in this episode is the power of discussion. All the characters clearly set out the issue of sudden powers in a human and this conflict is not one centered on the destruction of a threat, but rather the ramifications of evolving before our time. Gary Mitchell is a human who is suddenly given the ability to grasp all the information that his brain can handle and then some. This imagines what happens to humans when they are suddenly offered a surplus of information. Can we handle too much information? A timely question for us now that we have all the thoughts of human kind (and pornography) at the touch of our finger tips. It’s obvious Gary cannot handle this as his mind explodes in a myriad of godlike powers conveyed in some cheesy yet surprisingly effective effects sequences. Most noticeably in  the really good and probably simple telekinetic sequences. 

"You cannot kill me. So let's discuss why."

Where No Man Has Gone Before is not without its flaws. The final act is hampered by self important dialogue that seems to slow the conflict between Kirk, Mitchell and Dehner into a staring contest (at least we get great views of the expensive contact lenses). The final standoff plays as a thought experiment of the evils of an imperfect god, a debate upon the illogic of praying to deities that ask for obedience for no reason and are perhapss political allegories of deflection of human inadequacy on their creations. Namely the gods they pray to. A common anti-religion theme that pops up many times later, even in the feature films. This “climax” takes the teeth out of an otherwise fascinating episode, but manages to satisfyingly convey a timely criticism of human development.

Flaws in an unfocused climax aside, Where No Man Has Gone Before is a grand episode that makes it obvious why this show was able to greenlight three more series. What can be said is the greatest element that adds to the future success of Star Trek, is the addition of William Shatner’s Kirk. Say what you will about the man but he is willing to go for it. Throwing himself convulsing when he wishes and essentially oozing charisma, where Jeffry Hunter oozed nothing but an eel like aura. Certainly Hunter would not throw himself to the floor in flailing turmoil. The Trek trek is on!

"I just don't get green blooded humour." 

My trek through Trek (Part 1) - Escaping The Cage

What we’re watching: The Cage - Pilot of the Original Series (1964)

Martian Spock and Surly Pike molest some Talosian vibrating
flowers. Notice Pike seems ticked these flowers aren't women.

My Rating out of 5 Tribbles: 2 Very Small and Sickly Tribbles

A Snapshot of my after episode thoughts: “Roger Sterling commands the Enterprise and  proves that sexism and surliness make for a boring journey.”

Pros: Talosians are cool. Yeoman Colt is stunning and perhaps one of the most beautiful woment to stand on the bridge of the Enterprise. Majel Barrett has more then three lines and doesn’t hit on Picard once.

Cons:  Jeffrey Hunter. Emotional Spock. Creepy rapist Doctor.   

Recently I saw Star Trek: Into Darkness. This experience caused me great distress. Not only was it a shoddy film, it also did not resemble a Star Trek movie beyond having the same characters (and vaguely at that). I resolved then in the cacophony of explosions and Cumberbatch diphthongs to rewatch all of Star Trek from the beginning to the end. I intend to watch from the Pilot, right through the films, Next Gen, DS9, Voyager and Enterprise. Enterprise will be most interesting as much to this Trekker’s shame, I never watched it when it was on the air. I intend to put my finger on what  the soul of Trek is. Tonight, I began my journey into the rich galaxy of the Federatio with a review of The Cage. I also remembered that I had a blog (that I rarely use because of some unpleasantness) and I thought I’d keep a journal record of this trek. (Ok. I’ll attempt to cut down on my usage of the word Trek. Trek. Trek.) 

It is alienating to go back and look at The Cage knowing all that we do now about the Federation universe. Not only is the Enterprise populated by strangers, Spock, perhaps the protagonist of Star Trek as a whole, is unlike Spock. Aside from the Vulcan pointy ears, Spock is petty much unfamiliar. He even cracks a smile at one point. It is amazing how uninteresting Nimoy is in the pilot. He seems like a young school boy actor whose energy is flying all over the screen.  On the other, what Spock became in the later episodes is embodied by Majel Barett’s Number One. She instead is the cold logical advisor. Alas, there also something disjointed in her character. The soul of the Enterprise is missing. That soul is the Captain. 

The role of “the Captain” has always been integral to Star Trek. Much like Doctor Who’s Companion, the Captain is the human character the audience can draw in on to help them navigate through the absurdity that is high Sci-Fi. Hunter’s Christopher Pike fails in  almost every regard to do this. He lacks any form of humor; the one joke he cracks at the end to the Doctor, is frighteningly disgusting.  As a commander he seems lost and more interested in selfish pursuits of pleasure. The first goal he declares is that he wants to quit! The majesty of the universe is to be guided by a man who has lost his passion for adventure. When he first descends to the Talosian surface it seems like this is a job requirement, not an expedition for knowledge and after all happening of this episode he begrudgingly returns to the bridge. 

Pike and his harem of women. 

Ok. I am sure you are saying “Julian you are wasting your breath harping on about  characters.” You are right, but I found myself feeling disconnected to the plot as frankly I did not care if Pike made it back to the Enterprise or not. 

The most striking thing I take away from the episode is the inherent sexism. I forgot that at the beginning of this widely ahead of its time show, it was a bastion of orchestrated 60s moralism in space. Yes, there are at least two women in the main crew, and this is ahead of its time. But the yeoman   character is largely the classic airhead women of sixties television.  Number One, a women of power, does not make a single decision for herself as commander, which would not make her a women of much power. All decisions are made for by the smiling Mr. Spock or the nameless male yeoman is the blondest guy I have ever seen and I am pretty blonde. It is amazing how timid The Cage is compared to the episodes that followed. It’s a miracle the show ever made it past the Pilot. 

I have knowingly not delved into the themes and philosophies of this episode because I will engage with those again when I reach The Menagerie episodes later in the first the season. These episodes present the same ideas with far more thought and investigation then The Cage ever throws a blue Talosian flower at.

Sports Fans what can we say about The Cage? It is a good thing Jeffrey Hunter thought Trek was beneath him and returned to a very short film career. He is unlikable and a dinosaur. His leering at the female characters would have stunted any of the political commentary of the later episodes. It is a great thing that Roddenberry was able to creep out of the overbearing fists of network executives and produce the genius that is only episodes away. The Cage should remain where it is, at the beginning and stuck behind a forcefield under the Talosian surface. 

The Brains of the Organization. (See what I did there?)

Deferral: A Meditation

Don't actually. 

Ladies and Gentlemen have you ever given thought to the word ‘deferral?’ I am not sure why, but this morning when I awoke from my twisted bed sheets after a bothered sleep, this word was stuck in my mind. It was hanging there by the threads of memory like the last beer you drank before you shuffled off into dreamland or the final uncomfortable statement one says before he leaves a boozy party. There it was to greet me as I awoke. 

“Why is this the thought that I am given when I awake?” I said to myself. I actually did. Yes, I do often speak in asides.

It was random. Rather absurd. Let’s investigate it. 

During my many years wasting my time in the forests of Mississauga, this word had negative connotation. One filed ‘a deferral’ if they wanted to stop their education and galavant off into the world to sow their seeds. It was an unfocused word. One that meant this person was flighty and could not be relied upon. I had many contacts with this sort of unfocused Forestian. They were always laying about playing Guitar Hero or wasting my time with idle chatter about this style of music or that style of comedy. 

I was forced to defer my life to play lip service to who ever was discussing idle ideas to defer their next action. 

As I grew older and left the forests of the kingdom of Hazel McCallion, this word began to take on a different meaning.  It was now largely positive. It meant that I could relax and catch up with my thoughts again. I could grasp the terror of my life without the safety net of school and again feel free. It is important always to defer the stresses of the world and collect your thoughts. If you don’t, you are likely to fall pray to stress demons. 

Another use of the word ‘defer’ is supplication or the ‘Royal pass off’ of responsibility to another. This is both negative and positive. It could be a ‘pass off’ of responsibility for something you do not wish to deal with.  It could also be used in the sense of passing something you feel you cannot handle to someone who can. Shared responsibilities or ‘help,’ is kind of deferral.

Help is something I have often had trouble allowing myself to ask for. I often motor ahead and attempt to take the world on my concave, out of shape shoulders, only to crumble under the weight of the abstract burdens of life. I do mean to correct this, by asking for help once a week, but that is a different post. 

Deferral. Root: Defer. Origin from the Latin: defferre meaning literally ‘to bear down.’ ‘To bear down.‘ That is important to repeat. ‘To bear down.‘ It is a tactic. A verb. It is ultimately a strategy to handle stress. Perhaps, it is that very use that spurred on  my early morning thought. Perhaps ‘I must bear down,’ but I defer to the future for any concrete reason for this meditation. 

My Ho-Hum Return

A Recent Picture of Me at my New Job. 

Ladies and Gentleman you may have noticed a decided decrease in my blog postings of recent. You may recall, in the beginning of this journey down punditry corridors, when I managed a post every day. There is a simple reason for this sudden decrease; after my graduation, which I am told occurred sometime in November, my life fell to shambles. I was not able to hold a job (with no small fault being my own and this blog) and was not even able to attend my own commencement as I could not afford the ticket. I am sure I missed nothing but an accepted right of passage which I have no doubt holds little importance after you traverse the hardwood stage to receive a piece of paper that gets you nothing but a Part-time job and years of mortgage sized debt. 

Self immolation of last month's woes put aside, I now proclaim my return to blogging. I am not sure what I will write now as life continues to be tough though there is some light at the end the tunnel. Perhaps, I’ll continue with my talk about actors. Frankly I got bored of that. Perhaps more political calls to arms, like the post about Jack Layton. Perhaps, more artistic discussions, which are often ill informed and preachy. Perhaps, more banal proclamation like the posting about my hat which I have stopped wearing for no known reason other then fact my relationship with the article has grown tenuous at best. Perhaps.... I don’t know. 

We both shall see where this further writing takes me. I am excited to see what shall poor out of me now especially since physically, financially and mentally, I am a mess. Stay tuned...motherfuckers. (My journey to Django Unchained still hasn’t warn off.)

A Circle Jerk for Actors: The Curtain Call

What I feel like when I do a curtain call. 

Ladies and Gentlemen I hate curtain calls. They are inane, uncomfortable and purely exist for the vanity of the artist. 

It is often said that actors are vain in their need for approval. They make so little financially that they pay themselves with the glowing applause the spews forth at the end of a play. However this is not my experience. I hate them. I never enjoyed being seen in full costume while being 'out of character.' I hated being subjected to the cavalcade of percussive slaps that apparently tells you  you have done a good job on the stage. 

Sadly It has become common for the audience to applaud even if the show wasn’t good or the actor flubbed his way into an eternity of shit stained gobblety gook. This is similar to the patronizing tip given to a terrible server, because you know they get paid hardly enough to keep their stomach’s full of ramen noodles. One applauds the actor mainly to tip the actor. This is not a good thing. 

Applause should not be saved for the tail end of the play but should be sporadic through out. Only then the actor knows the audience’s thoughts on the play and the how she is doing.

Recently, I began work as an usher at that bastion of Tyrone Gutheriesque repertory performance; Soulpepper. The first play they had me corrale the aging cattle into is Samuel Beckett’s Endgame. This is serendipity because this is one of the plays that I know off by heart. It is only fitting that it begins my foray into the blue haired world of Toronto Rep. I was interested see how a Canadian company full of many talented and not so talented artists would tackle the decomposing symphony of nothing, that is this play. 

Well after having seen it five times....It’s adequate. 

Ham and Clov. Not at Soulpepper. These actors
are far too engaged. 

They follow the script. Nothing is out of the ordinary for a Beckettite. It lacks energy, yes, but what doesn’t in Toronto. Eric Petersen’s Nag is brilliant. Matamoros' Clov is less so. Joseph Ziegler’s Ham is practiced, boring and utterly uninteresting, but what Ziegler performance differs from this? (Maybe his Loman?) Vacratsis’ Nell is depressing and disjointed makes her wonderful. The show on the whole, mediocre, but one that follows the Beckettite code. Except of course for curtain call at the end. 

Yes, you heard me. There was a curtain call. The Star’s review said there wasn’t and perhaps not in the classic sense, meaning a wall of beaming actors parading across the playing space to bow at a painstakingly low speed, but there was a call.

At the end, the lights burst on to show a stage where the actors all stayed in their final positions. The only reason for this post show tableau is to relieve the audience of the confusion of when to clap and therefore leave. The moment evokes that scene in Amadeus where the kappelmeister accuses Wolfgang of being a poor composer because he does not write  two ‘bom boms’ at the end of his arias to tell the audience when to clap. My problem with this moment is not so much the inherent vanity of the act of the curtain call, but the fact that it negates the production itself. 

Beckett’s absurdism has been read into by many competent critics from across the spectrum, from psychology to astrophysics. All them share the goal of attempting to read pattern into the seemingly meaningless attributes of his plays. Yet, Beckett himself through the guise of his characters and indeed in later interviews about his works stresses that meaninglessness is the very point. It should begin, go on, then end as suddenly and pointlessly as it began.  Ham even states this clearly in countless soliloquies within Endgame. 

By the imposition of the ending curtain call, as simplistic as it is, the production proscribes rules on a chaotic entity. It gives meaning where none is meant. The production allows the audience to read into it and begin to think of this play in a chronological narrative form; which it is not as nothing happens. It is the separation between Absurdism and standard Existentialism. Existentialism holds that nothing is authentic while Absurdism goes much further and suggests that meaning is only construed by the individual. A curtain call gives a play this play a conclusion; showing the audience that this was a play and now you must clap.   Endgame should be allowed to just dissipate into nothingness. 

I must make it clear that I am not bashing this production. I am quite happy that Soulpepper even attempted to do this play for a crowd that really does not like something unless it nurses them along. I am pointing out the problem with presenting a play that does not fit a mould, in a mould. If a company cannot produce a play as intended, then why produce it? 

It was common place in the American Theatre of the 1860s and after to produce half productions or copy productions of plays. For instance you would get Othellos in the US that sang Coon Songs in amongst Shakespearean soliloquies to better entertain the Northern American audience. Here a Coon Song negates and down plays the status of Othello the commander and undermines the narrative. A curtain call does the same to Beckett. 

Is Daniel Brooks (the director) trying to read narrative where none exists? 

Sadly, no. I do not think Daniel Brooks is even thinking about the play in this decision. I think he is thinking about the accepted rules of a performance. In the Canadian Theatre mind, or at least the one that functions in this house,  a play must have a curtain call so the audience can wake up from their lolled slumber and clap. Therefore there must be one to round out the confusing dialogue driven ninety minutes of this play or the Canadian theatre gods (many of which live in the hallowed bricked walls of Soulpepper) will smite the theatre to ashes. This curtain call is a vanity nod to bloated actors on its stage. 

Actors should realize that the curtain call is worthless and not do them. Yet many don’t. Why? As I have been working in and learning about the field I have realized a terrifying trend. Actors are losing their passion for the work and merely doing the work for gratification from others. They are proving Freud right. For lack of a better word, they are doing it for possible ‘fame.’ Perhaps this is the real reason I find the act of the curtain call so reprehensible. It is the personification of vanity. Have we not learned anything from Bottom? Art for the sake of self gratification is not art but masterbation and is foolish.  

Actors, next time you stand out for a bow look at what you are doing. 

You are masterbating. 

Canada's Sleeping Peasants

The Sleeping Peasants by Picasso. An accurate depiction of the
the everyday Canadian. 

Ladies and Gentlemen as many of you know I am a political person. Sometimes too much to function. Lately I have become less political. Why? Not because politics isn’t important to me anymore. No, I still feel it is one of the most important things to understand if you want to be a functioning adult. As a sidebar, I am often surprised to find how many of my compatriots and indeed, people I call my friends don’t have the slightest clue about how politics influences their lives. Some cannot even name who the current Prime Ministre is. It’s Stephen Harper by the way. Moreover  we are no longer friends. So pack up your idiocy and go. Lately, I have found my fascination with politics, especially Canadian politics, a bitter pill to swallow. There is a poison that permeates the practice now and I find myself emotionally vomiting every time I either watch the CBC or pick up my daily Star.

On the municipal level, the city is not even functioning. The council seems to have more similarities with a Battle Royalesque jungle arena where Adam Vaughan wields a broadsword and Karen Stintz cltuches a cross bow, while the Mayour has taken to cannibalism. The city council is made of series of ignorant prats that think if one wants to be a good politician, one must constantly assert his/hers opinion to the point of absurdity rather then over coming their differences to find compromise. Compromise is not possible when the folks that one represents are as navel gazing as the representative.

Provincially things are even more dire. The great nine year Premiere has felt himself too hot and pulled himself inexplicably out of a place of leadership. This should be a good thing, as he was a corrupt beast who had more ghosts then a British Mansion from a Bronte Novel. It is not. It seems he thought the Germans were invading and deployed a scorched earth policy worthy of Eastern Front Soviet tactics. He, for no reason other then the fact that he no longer wished to lead the Liberal minority government, prorogued Queen’s Park. For the uninitiated, that means stopped work for the entire government (Also why are you still reading? We are no longer friends. See first paragraph). How can this happen without widespread angry backlash in the streets? When Charles I prorogued the legislature in seventeenth century England, a ten year civil war ensued. Sure that is a bit of an over simplification of the actual event but I draw the comparison to emphasize how bad of a blow to democracy Premiere Dad’s move was. 

Premiere Dad took a page from the Feds, for Harper’s government showed Canada exactly how prorogation should be used by the corrupt politician. When you’ve misled Canada, stop parliament. I could go on for seven thousand words on the egregious poisons of the Feds, but I won’t do that. Just look up a great Canadian political commentator called Chantal Hebert. She can say it way better then I can ever hope too. 

Politicians are wronging me and all of us. We are wronging them. One of the major tenements of a functioning democracy is an informed voting pool and face it folks, we are uninformed. Why? It is because we spend, and myself is included in this, too much time looking at our own lives than at the collective good. The Dark Ages have been over for eight hundred years, we no longer need to focus all our energies on protecting ourselves and our livestock from marauding Nordic pirates. We can now look out for our neighbours. We are too busy bemoaning the loss the our beloved hockey teams or, more aptly in my case, a misperformed Shakespeare play, then holding our politicians to the fire of scrutiny. 

I am sure you are saying to me “Julian well this is the same old shit everyone gripes about: the uninitiated political voter. We can’t do anything.” 

You are right. 

That is the truth. 

How do we fix this? 

I am not sure. I have no conclusions. I have nothing to offer and this is why I have trouble following what was once for me, an every day interest. I look at Canada and I see corrupted leaders and a population of sleeping peasants. Perhaps the Dark Ages have returned.... Best get the livestock into the barn.