Turd Party

William F. Buckley Jr, apparently still alive, posits that the Iraq war may end up killing the Republican party.

I don't think it's impossible, and there is a recent precedent north of the border. In five years, from 1988 to 1993, Canada's Progressive Conservative party went from ruling power and majority to non-existence. (See here and elsewhere.) In our case it was a binding hate, for one reason or another, of one Brian Mulroney. As with Bush if it happens for you, those feeling the wrath of the voters were hapless followers, not the criminal-in-chief.

While your system seems pretty much rigged against the emergence of a viable third party, it's obviously not impossible. Plus it's time, obviously, what you have is more of a one party system with two choices. (And please, this isn't an abortion post.)

I think what any third party needs first and foremost is an exceptional leader. Without that you're not going to get off the ground. Necessary characteristics I think include intelligence, honesty .. no, forget that, or fill in the list yourself, it's too obvious. In addition to all that the person needs to be an ultra-charismatic larger-than-life leader, because he's got to take whatever new party from nothingness to viability.

Not really going anywhere with this, more of a question for y'all: is there somebody, anybody, out there who could be that person right now? I mean blue-sky the thing, no roadblocks at this point .. who could be the person?

My vote below.






















Barack Obama: not perfect, and tied to the system, obviously, but those sort of traits. Maybe if Hillary gets in, and does to Bush what Bush has done to Saddam, 2012 is the year

Me and my Luger

It started innocently enough, My mother had asked me casually, Do you want to show it to your friends?

I’m not much for guns, though at one time I was okay with a BB gun. But my two brothers-in-law are fanatical about guns and rifles. Family get-togethers they disappear into the basement for hours and I know it’s about guns. Plus they kill, deer and such, that time of year can’t happen too soon for them. So yeah, whipping it out during one of those conversations in which I'm normally a bystander sounded kind of cool.

This gun had been my father’s, a trophy of sorts from post-war Germany. The story was that he had gotten it for a pack of cigarettes. I’d never seen it, but it turned out he’d hidden it with the bonds and stock certificates, so after he was gone, there it was sort of thing.

I inherited it a couple of months ago. First question: what do you do with a gun? I was at her place, and I didn’t want it up in the front seat with me so I threw it in a gym bag in the trunk. Now I have two gym bags back there: one with clean shirts and towels and the like (and it never leaves the car), and one that I take in with that day's stuff to the squash club.

Now at the squash club I don’t bother with a lock because I never have anything of value: I leave my wallet in the car, so just my keys, the phone maybe, and perhaps some loose change. Most players are the same, and the bags come out with you and usually are left lying casually around the hall, the viewing benches, whatever, just outside of the courts. Of course it’s unattended while you’re playing, though you can see it and it you through the back glass wall. There are always people milling about watching, waiting, kibitzing, etc. Bags left on the bench (like mine) often get picked up and moved over as more people show up and are looking to sit down.

I had kind of forgotten about the gun, or when I remembered I was never around the car so I was basically remembering to remember to bring it in next time I’m out at the car.

Here is the gun by the way, I’d been calling it a Luger but realize now that it’s not.

Anyway, today it finally clicked: I remembered about it and I was at the car, getting my stuff ready for a squash game actually. But horrors! No gun! Now what? I’m in the parking lot, it’s snowy and cold, and I can’t find my Luger!

Cold sweat. Glances over the shoulder. Could it have fallen out? But my trunk’s not a mess, I don’t see it, and the likelihood of it worming it’s way down to the spare or something is next to zero.

But wait a second, genius, how about checking your other bag, that flimsy little thing that you take into the club and leave lying around (unattended) for everybody to see? Like at least a dozen times since making it my luger’s temporary home? (Here, take my luger, people, more interesting than my squash game.)

I won’t learn though. It’s still in the car, but in the other bag now. Cold for sure, and maybe a little more lonely knowing it won’t be accompanying me to my games, nor waiting patiently for me afterwards, guarding my shoes and pants while I shower.

A favourite story

Anybody remember the short story about the kid who was so fast, so amazingly, unbelievable fast that he couldn’t lose.

He dreamed of the day of the race when all would see his blinding speed. Running home on his own, he measured his winning margin. It grew by the day. Sometimes he would toy with the rest of them, slow down to let them think they had a chance, then laugh and burst away like a superman. Finally, the day of the race. He exploded off the starting line, how could others not wonder in amazement? Already he was alone, the rest would race for second. In his rapture he closed his eyes, and ran even faster. The wind pushed his face, pressed his eyes and screamed through his hair. He smiled to himself. A few more steps and he would open his eyes, and bask in their glory.

Well, we know what happened (ain’t no ribbons for fourth).

It’s a favourite, I think, because lots of things make me think of that story. This was the latest.