Anti-Platforms

Yesterday the student council president, Sean, and I organized a mock Mayoral election for students. The night before, after we had photocopied and organized ballots, we realized that most students wouldn't be familiar enough with all--or any--of the fifteen mayoral candidates to legitimately and purposefully vote (as opposed to outright guess). And so we went on the local newspaper's website to see if we could find a summary of each candidate to include in the voting packages.

What we discovered there seemed satirical, and I'm still not convinced that it isn't. One candidate, Edward H.C. Graydon, has a platform that consists, almost in its entirety, of hating the local CFL team: "I cannot stand football and believe that the people who go to the games are a minority. As your candidate for mayor, I want the voter to know that I have never gone to a game and I never will, (sic) I don't like it." Oh, and he also threatens to sell our steel plants to the Chinese.

Another candidate, Andrew Haines, has a subliminal image of Abraham Lincoln flash underneath his personal photo on his website. Perhaps he's campaigning as the abolitionist mayor? Then he goes on to quote Jimi Hendrix (non-sequitor?), and to lament the loss of his web graphics company called, aptly, "420 designs," and to explain the respective failures of his small business and his marriage, and how he moved back in with his dad. Oh, also, he loves marijuana and karaoke, specifically after dropping off his partner Rhonda's kids in Niagara Falls and then "go[ing] out for dinner and follow that with a trip to the Clifton Hill Karaoke Patio between the Thriftlodge and the Pizza Pizza on the North side of Clifton Hill"--just in case you were wondering where. He has few bragging rights of his own, with no political experience, seemingly no humanitarian work, and no post-secondary education, but he does manage to brag about his his late grandfather, a lawyer; his father, a police officer; and his deceased mother, an active volunteer. Great job on having an awesome family, Smokey McBongwater, but this says nothing of your own personal merits.

Michael Baldasaro, of course, wants to grow marijuana across the city and use it for everything--food, fuel, clothing. This might appeal to some voters, if only he didn't openly advertise that he is a "Minister Plenipotentiary" of the Church of the Universe, and send Twitter messages that read "If I was in jail, I wouldn't bend over in the showers."

Oh, Hamilton; we've been together now 29 years. And oh, how I love to hate you.

Thanks a lot, Di Ianni

I was driving home from work yesterday at about 5:00pm, which is a common hour to perform such a task, and so I expected the Linc to be busy. Not only was it busy, but there was a full-on traffic jam by the Garth Street exit that forced me to slam on my breaks and the two cars behind me to swerve onto the shoulder. Now this was particularly inconveniencing because I had encountered one of those days so busy that you have time to neither eat nor relieve your bladder. And so I was anxious to get home and do both. Clearly I assumed that someone had had an accident, so of course I wasn't angry to have to stop. I always worry about who could be ahead of me, whether they're okay, and how frightened they must have been that split second before their car collided with another one. I crawled along every few seconds aside everyone else, patiently waiting in a nearly stopped car as it took a carefully timed seven minutes to drive just one kilometre. It was comforting to realize that I hadn't heard any sirens, which suggests that it was a minor fender bender.

That was until I looked up. And saw the true cause of the traffic jam.

Di Ianni.

Mayoral candidate Larry Di Ianni had asked (paid?) some of his supporters (homeless people?) to stand atop the Upper Wellington overpass holding his campaign signs and waving at the now enraged drivers. Drivers had been slowing down to see what was going on up there--was someone going to jump? Why were there children leaning dangerously close to the railing?--before realizing that it was just an arrogant local politician (crook?) who either didn't realize or didn't care that these schmucks standing up there trying to get drivers' attention would turn out to be a hazard. And the worst part about it is that Di Ianni himself didn't even seem to be up there I considered honking to show my disdain, but realized the begrudging sign holders might mistake my contempt for support. And so I sped the rest of the way, bladder full, stomach churning, forehead vein throbbing.

Feminists and White Men

If you have been following Hamilton's mayoral race, then you will notice something that may strike some as odd in such a diverse and culturally developed city as Hamilton: of the exorbitant number of candidates--fifteen--only ONE is a person belonging to a visible minority group and NOT EVEN ONE is a woman. Thus, there are fourteen white men, albeit with varied platforms, interests, and characters, competing to represent us, Hamiltonians, the majority of whom are NOT white men.

Now, you might be wondering, 'what does she have against white men'? Nothing. I happen to love white men just as much as I do anybody else--so much so that, in fact, I married one. But despite taking legal vows to him, I certainly don't want him to be the only voice representing my unique needs as a woman--nor do I think he should be the only voice representing a city whose population is comprised of more than 20% of citizens who were born outside of Canada (half of whom were born in Asia or the Middle East).

Feminism isn't about being 'against' a particular gender--namely, men--and equity isn't about coming down on any particular race--namely, whites; to think so is to egregiously misunderstand what feminism or equity is. On the contrary, I am quite happy for those candidates who are running in the mayoral race, regardless of race or gender, but I am unhappy that there isn't a more diverse collection of voices added to the repertoire. This being a democracy, however, I guess I shouldn't complain--I should run.

It's Always Sunny at Summer Heights High

After a long hiatus, I have resumed blogging alongside my second batch of Writer's Craft students. Right now we're about to embark upon a short "Writing for the Media" unit (within a larger fiction unit) and I'm going to be showing an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia for what I consider to be impeccable writing. This show is offensive--there is no denying that. But the writers seem to push the boundaries of what is 'tasteful' not to serve some kind of political agenda, but to maintain a spectrum of creativity that allows them to experiment with their writing in ways that avoid cliches and challenge conventional comedy styles. The show centres around four frenemies (two of whom are fraternal twins) who work together and co-own a bar. I would describe the show as Seinfeld-on-crack, with characters who aren't so much 'imperfect' or 'immoral' as amoral, outrageously self-centered pricks with an embarassingly flawed worldview who make their Seinfeld counterparts look like a clique of Girl Guides. It is worth watching for those who don't demand realism in their TV-viewing experience: each episode stands alone and there is no follow-up explanation or resolution, for example, after two of the characters become crack-cocaine addicts in order to qualify for welfare. The next episode simply begins anew as if nothing outlandish ever happened. This kind of postmodern viewing is an acquired taste, but the experimental style makes any absurdities well worth it.

Oh, and it's got Danny Devito as the twins' equally effed father--or, not their father. You have to watch to figure that one out.

p.s. I didn't end up showing this show to my class: I may, but I haven't yet.

Also, I initially intended to write about Summer Heights High as well here, but clearly lost focus--hence the confusing title. Summer Heights High, if you haven't already seen it, is pretty much a gift to all teachers who can relate to the overzealous but preoccupied teacher who is busy lamenting the loss of his former professional glory; the behaviourally-challenged but lovable (and hilarious!) at-risk student; and the sixteen-going-on-thirty-year-old teenaged girl who (thinks she) knows everything, especially how extraordinary she is. Watch it.