My head’s gonna explode …

I had a different blog post prepared for today.

But on Saturday night a good friend of mine (with whom, when I lived in Montreal, I used to have the most intense, interesting and fabulous conversations on just about every topic you can think of, but especially politics) sent me an email about some articles she’d read in the Globe & Mail.

She wondered what my thoughts were, she was incensed about one of them, which was written by Jeffrey Simpson.

Frankly I hadn’t read them.  Margaret Wente, an OpEd writer for

This isn’t gonna win me any popularity contests …

… because I know it’s not really any of my business, me being a Canadian and all, but I’m just too sad, and too shocked, to keep it to myself.  What in the world is going on?  This isn’t the America I grew up loving.  This isn’t the America I grew up envying.  This isn’t the America I wished Canada would be more like.  This isn’t the America where I wished I could live.

What the bloody hell!

Before ya’all get all up in arms (trust me, no pun intended), I know there are plenty of good guys in the U.S.  I truly believe there are more good guys than bad guys.  But I’ve gotta tell you, from where I’m sitting it looks like the bad guys are winning.

You elected a black President.  Twice.  Once by an absolute landslide.  But from the instant that man moved into the White House, probably before his personal belongings were even unpacked,

Day 333. Yankee Doodle

Yesterday was Independence Day in the U.S.  In fact, it was on July 4, 1776 that the Declaration of Independence was apparently signed.  I say “apparently” because the date has been disputed for years and years and years and years.  And years and years.

All that matters is, regardless of the day, the U.S. was no longer under British rule.

I’ve always enjoyed the celebrations.  I like the patriotism.  The pomp.  The parades.  The fireworks.  The partying.  The hotdogs.  The beer.  All of it.

From the time I was nine, I went to a summer camp in Vermont.  In Poultney, Vermont to be precise.  A pretty, little town, on Lake Champlain.  Not far from Montreal.  Maybe a couple of hours, max.

Camp Kinni Kinnic.  An all-girls camp, it was owned by a judge of the juvenile court.  Aunt Jeanette, as we affectionately called her.  Her full name was Jeanette Brill.  She had a son, Herbert, who took it over when she

Day 82. Hush Now

Honestly, I can’t take it any more. You cannot open a newspaper, or watch television, without being absolutely bombarded with political opinions. The pundits are dissecting every word, every nuance, every stance, every plan, every wink, every blink, every smile, every frown, every step, every misstep, every platform, every remark (snide and otherwise), every criticism, every accusation that is coming out of anyone’s mouth.

They’re commenting on the opinions of other pundits, other networks, former politicos, the candidates, members of congress, celebrities and businessmen and women. They’re even commenting on what Mr. and Mrs. average American citizen is saying, as they’re interviewed coming out of malls and movie theatres and parking lots.

No wonder people are confused. How are you supposed to think with all that noise?

This is not my country, I’m talking about. It’s not my election. Mitt Romney and Barack Obama are not my candidates. I can’t vote. But I do vote here, in Canada. So this I know.