Harpergan's Isle

(To the tune of the theme from Gilligan's Island)

He goes each year, way up north you see
He hopes to make a name
He says it's about arctic sovereignty
But in truth it's just a game, in truth it's just a game

The resignations he wants to avoid
The tightening of his grip
The ministers don't dare speak out
And if they do they're flip, their shoulders all have chips

They seem to think they're in control
The Liberals are weak
(There's no disputing this last point)
Our prospects are just bleak, not hopeless, but they're bleak

He doesn't believe in climate change
The theory's just a trick
So ask why there is no ice
And the polar bears are sick, and mosquitoes are so thick

We reserve the right to spew forth smoke
And foul the northern lands
'Cause nothing should slow down our growth
We need the old tar sands, it's all over our hands

He'll spend a bunch on bomber planes
And building prisons strong
But don't speak up for women's rights
Because you'll get the gong, 'cause women's rights are wrong

However will this sad tale end?
Is there a quick way out?
When will we all stand up to him
And kick the bastard out, he needs to cry and pout

Before he guts equality
And wrecks the evidence
Before he lets his pals buy guns
And shoot things off a fence, without any licence

Before he cancels everything
That doesn't make some cash
Before he smites his enemies
Or those whose words are brash, he'll get you in a flash

Before he rolls back time to when
We didn't care a pile
Before he comes for you, my friend
And puts you in a file, let's not see that forced smile

So go up north and just pretend
That all that water's ours
Play darned expensive army games
And accumulate powers, they feel better than flowers

But one day we will all wake up
And get a chance to vote
Here's hoping that some thought goes in
To getting Harper's goat, 'tis he who will be smote

Until that day, we watch and note
And ready for the trial
Where reckoning will come to pass
Here on Harpergan's Isle….

T. Immaculatum Update

My doctor just phoned me with the news that my most recent blood tests have shown no sign of the immaulate infection.

I suspect that there is a lab tech somewhere who will not be having as good a day as I, and I am at home nearly immobilized by a back problem!

Annoyance

All right, here's how a good day goes bad, then recovers again.

I had a lovely day at work, a little late, and then planned to leave a little early to pick up some new batteries for my two cordless phone handsets (bad feeling starting to set in: I just replaced these batteries about a year ago, so why can't they stand to be talked on for more than a half hour without beeping rudely in my ear?).

Check the bus schedule online before stepping into the heat and bright sunshine. Bus is scheduled to arrive at 16:52, the next at 17:02, and it's only 16:50, so I ought to make the first one. The first one doesn't come. The second doesn't come. The third doesn't come, or is it the third that is arriving in a convoy with the fourth, itself late? If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have spent 30 minutes in the hot direct sun that I really don't need, especially with my complexion. Now very angry.

Go to Bureau en gros to inquire about the battery, with the previous batteries on hand so there's no way I can describe them wrong. Heck, I can even get them to dispose of the old batteries in an environmentally responsible way. That assessment, of course, before running into the ill-motivated and passive clerk behind the counter. She glanced helplessly toward the battery carrousel that is notably behind the counter, well out of the reach of customers, and told me she thought they didn't have them. With my margin of time narrowing, I really didn't have time to insist, so I completed her half-formed thought for her: "Donc, c'est non." And just walked out.

Walked quickly to my only other choice in the neighbourhood, The Source, which sold me the original phones and the substandard replacement batteries. No one in the store, except the two clerks. One heads into the back, the other is talking on his cell phone. When he finally finishes his call and meanders over, asking if I need some help (why else am I standing at the cash?). He needn't have offered, as he had none to give.

I go home with only my worn-out batteries, hot from the temperature and humidity and frustrated all around.

In the meantime, I ordered something online a few days ago and had had a "You weren't home" notice from UPS the day before. When I called their number, it took me ten minutes to work my way through their phone system, hoping in vain to be able to speak to an operator to arrange redirection of my package. No such luck. When for the third time I heard the automated voice encourage me to go to the website, I hung up and went there. Smoothly entered all the information to redirect the delivery to the office. But that was yesterday.

Today, coming home angry, tired and frustrated, I climbed the stairs to my front door and found my package just sitting there on the doorstep. Is that redirecting the delivery to my office? Is that doing everything you can to ensure that I actually get my package? No and no. And not the day for this to happen either.

I seriously considered blowing off my dinner plans, but was talked out of it. I'm glad I went to spend some time with friends and had a lovely dinner with them.

Treponema Immaculatum

A terrible injustice just took far too long to unfold in my life. Shall we start at the beginning?

A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling quite sick. A little fever and diarrhoea on the Saturday (I never manage to break out the thermometer when I feel feverish, but let's just say that it was hot and yet I felt the need to pull up my down comforter as I napped in midday). Plenty more diarrhoea and gas over the next few days and the rather disturbing change in colour of my – er – stools. By the time I got to the following Friday, I made myself go see my doctor, who ordered some blood tests and asked me to call in for results the next Tuesday.

Over the weekend, things cleared up and went back to normal. On Tuesday I called and got a bit of a surprise: awaiting confirmation on a test for syphilis.

This might not be a big surprise for a sexually active gay man these days as public health panics us with the pronouncements of a large increase in syphilis cases among gay men (shot all the way up to 300 or so, which seems a little small compared to the many thousands of Chlamydia cases among youth these days). It is, however, a rather big surprise for me, as I have not had sex in approximately 5 years. Except with myself, and I had tests every three months during all that time that showed nothing of the sort.

There is something very annoying about being diagnosed with a sexually transmitted infection without having had sex. All of the notoriety, none of the fun. It all just seems unfair somehow.

Add to my frustration the amount of time that it took for the confirming test to come back: three and a half weeks after the drawing of the blood. Good thing it isn't typhoid, or my neighbourhood would have been wiped out!

Now I think that we all believe that medical science is a lot more precise than it actually is. Like they pour the blood on a little test strip which then turns a particular colour or flashes a "+" to indicate a positive test. It just isn't that simple. There is interpretation involved and I suspect that someone has misinterpreted this result. Either that or the 20 previous results. Which of those scenarios sounds more likely? I think we'll find out more certainly when I have my next round of regular blood tests next week.

In the meantime, public health gets notified and will likely contact me (can't wait to see how long that takes) to ascertain my behaviour. I honestly don't know how they will react to my account, but I don't have another one: just the truth of my lack-of-self-esteem-bad-body-image-inspired chastity. The interesting twist is that I go to meetings with these people in the context of my work.

So where did it come from? A mystery, one might even say a Holy Mystery (hence my clever renaming of the responsible bacteria in the title). Call the Vatican! This is surely a miracle, albeit a negative one. I credit (or blame) Brother André. I think he got it from one of those young boys with whom he is rumoured to have chastely shared his bed. With saints like that….

Now lest anyone think that I don't have all the theology straight in my head, let me remind you that my short-lasting conversion to Catholicism occurred when I was a young adult, so I am down with the dogma. The Immaculate Conception refers not to Mary and Jesus, but Anne and Mary, so that Mary could be born without original sin and be in a position to say "Let it be done to me" when accosted by an angel or archangel.

And while I may have uttered those words, or at least thought them, countless times in the past, I have not done so in about five years. And therein lies the injustice.