Démocratie?

C'est l'année des élections municipales à Montréal et je m'inquiète de l'état de notre démocratie.

Première indication de trouble : le maire d'une des villes en banlieue a réussi à convaincre un candidat de l'opposition de se retirer, mais s'est trouvé avec un autre moins collaborateur. Son argument? Comme plusieurs des conseillers de la ville ont été élus par acclamation, donc ce serait un gaspillage d'argent d'avoir à mener des élections dans ces districts. Il paraît que la démocratie ne vaut pas les 20 000$ que ça peut coûter.

Deuxième signe de problèmes : les partis politiques qui changent leurs noms pour y incorporer le nom de leur chef. Le parti du maire sortant s'appelle maintenant « Équipe Tremblay - Union Montréal » et celui de l'opposition officielle « Équipe Harel - Vision Montréal ». Deux autres partis se nomment d'une manière similaire. Ça me fait penser que ce sont des partis non pas d'idées, mais de personnalités. Retour à l'école secondaire…

Troisième cri d'alarme : la nouvelle configuration de la représentation de mon arrondissement. Je suis installé dans l'arrondissement de Ville-Marie, au centre-ville de Montréal. Dans la plupart des arrondissements, chaque citoyen va choisir un maire d'arrondissement, un conseiller de ville et, dans certains, un conseiller d'arrondissement. Tous ces élus constituent le conseil d'arrondissement. Pas chez moi. En fait, je suis privé du choix de maire d'arrondissement, car c'est le maire de la ville qui assume automatiquement ce poste. De plus, mes concitoyens et moi vont élire ensemble trois conseillers de ville (dans les trois districts de l'arrondissement) et ils vont siéger avec le maire de la ville et deux autres personnes nommées à partir des conseillers de ville élus ailleurs dans la ville. La moitié de ma représentation locale aurait été choisie par les gens qui ne demeurent pas dans mon quartier.

Dernier gros problème : la non-participation. Je serais dans les 30% des électeurs qui vont participer à ces élections. C'est encore pire lors des élections scolaires, où je fais partie des 2% qui votent.

Devrais-je me contenter qu'il n'y a pas plus de monde dehors mon quartier qui va participer à choisir mon conseil d'arrondissement?

Mayan Y2K*

I've had my eyes on a film that is coming out soon: 2012

I even came face to face with the large version of the publicity for the film in the cinema.

It seems that the Mayan calendar is coming to an end and with it, so the theory goes, the WHOLE WORLD! Don't bother running for the hills — they will be going, too! And all because some ancient stonecarver neglected to indicate that the new calendar should come out a few months before the old one expired.

No doubt there will be all sorts of doomsday profiteers cashing in on the insecurities of the weak-minded. Some are even cashing in on the cynicism.

I'm reminded of the groups of atheists who have set up a post-Rapture pet care service to take care of the pets of the faithful after the Rapture (pets can't go to heaven and those providing the service guarantee that they are blasphemers and won't be going either). No refunds if the rapture fails to occur or if you get left behind!

And what will they all do if it fizzles like the computer Y2K? Or what if it's real?!

Like those who spent a whole lot of money to prepare for the computer Y2K, I have adopted a preventive strategy to head off any disruptions in my own life.

Some years ago, I switched to the Firemen Calendar, largely out of concern for burn victims (the calendar I buy benefits a burn unit). Now I find that this act of charity will also serve to protect me from the apocalypse. I am sure that there will be a Firemen Calendar in 2013, and that it will be out well in advance of the expiry of the previous one.

*Term stolen from someone I was in a meeting with this weekend. Thanks!

Now the Story Can Be Told

I have been living in fear and disgust since the weekend of Labour Day, when a most disturbing event took away my peace of mind.

I saw a rat. In. My. Apartment.

There were actually three sightings. Once from the corner of my eye, the kind of thing that you're not really sure is really there, but you could swear you saw something. I pinned my hopes on mouse, but thought it was a rather large mouse.

The next was unmistakeable and the most disturbing, as is zoomed across the stove and counter and down behind the fridge. Enraged, I moved the fridge forward a bit, grabbed the broom and did my best 'crazy person gonna squish that animal with a broom' moves. I heard, but did not see its quick dash to freedom.

Then the investigator hat came out. I found a little pile of crackers behind the fridge, which I quickly disposed of, and then I found the emptied box of crackers on the counter. I switched into panic cleaning mode (with some help — thanks Andrew! — and did that kitchen purge of clutter that I should have done long, long ago. A was most helpful in giving the critter a name — Benoit — which I later amended to Benoit XVII, successor to the current pope, perhaps? After Andrew left, I did the cleaning part and now have clean top surfaces, at least, and way more space without the clutter. I should note that every time I walked through my dining room, in which is located my stereo permanently fixed on CBC Radio One, there was almost invariably some kind of rat story being told, usually something about the province of Saskatchewan having an explosion in rat population. Or there would be the program As It Happens making dozens of rat-based puns. All a little too much for me to handle.

Sighting number three was a little foray back from checking on the state of its cracker stash (gone). I spent a rather sleepless night, considering that my bedroom is not far enough away from the scene of the crime.

I called the exterminator. Because my landlord was out of town, I got to choose, so of course called the cute one we used at my old work. (Bonus!) He had a look around, didn't see a lot of traces (so it hadn't been around long?) and left some lovely blue blocks of poison behind the major appliances, with some spares for my use.

I spent the day that day working at home in the front of my apartment. I happened to wander back to the kitchen and froze as I got close. One of the blue blocks of rat poison was now in the middle of the kitchen floor! I had a brief flash of a rat on its hind legs, throwing the block at me and telling me to eat the darn thing! Some quick sleuthing revealed that it was the one from behind the washer, so I put it back.

The next day, returning from work, I checked the block placement. The popular one from behind the washer was gone! Nowhere to be seen! I replaced it with a fresh one from my supply. I discovered the next morning that it was not, in fact, gone. It had been moved behind the fridge. Where once there was one, now there were two! (So glad I didn't see that the night before; I had slept on the basis of a rat gagging on poison somewhere outside of my apartment.)

Two days later, I went to see a movie in the evening and wasn't able to check until I got home much later. Big surprise! Nothing behind the washer. Nothing behind the fridge. That would be three missing blocks of rat poison. Surely that would kill it! I replaced them and went to bed with mixed feelings (yes, poison maybe consumed, but it had been there that day!).

A week went by with no sounds, no sightings, and no more moving blocks of poison.

The exterminator came by today for a follow-up visit and we found a few things. We did find one of the 'missing' blocks under the fridge, chewed upon, which is good. We also found the hole into which the rat was escaping, which had been a big mystery. (It was under the toe-kick of the cupboard, at the edge where there was just a filler board to make the cupboard flush with the wall.). Best of all, he found a body downstairs in the neighbours' outdoor closet thingy. Phew! I am allowing myself to sleep by believing that the body was the rat that was in my apartment and that there were no others.

But I'm watching. I'm monitoring the blocks. And I found some dollar-store steel wool to plug the opening of that hole. So I hope my ordeal is over.

And as for Benoit — and I do mean the pope this time — did you realize that his family name is…RATzinger?!!

Neglect

OMG! Almost two months since my last post!

I was away for a while, busy for a while and lazy for most of the time. I promise to get back to recounting my life and inane thoughts soon.

The thing that I can't neglect, however, is upon us! It is time for our annual AIDS Walk, Ça Marche, and I will again be participating, but have not yet decided who to walk with (since changing jobs, I am not sure that walking with my old group would be appropriate). Maybe I will muscle my way up front and walk with the Farha family and the other Star Walkers. At least that way, I won't come in last like I did last year (seriously, the police cars closing the walk were on my heels!).

The big thing about Ça Marche is the fundraising, so please do sponsor me. You can click here or on the image to the right at the top of the blog.

Thanks for your support!

Meet Grumpy Old Man

I realize that through various 'rant' posts I have revealed my not-so-hidden Grumpy Old Man persona. It's time to make this official by including it as a searchable topic and sharing those little things that set me off.

Well, internally, as I am still a WASP in control of his outward expressions.

Tonight's episode: the rules of the road.

We live in a society with certain rules that exist to protect us from each other. Some of the most delicate balances concern roads, streets, bicycle lanes and sidewalks, especially in a city like Montréal, where the rules seem to be something we don't necessarily follow, but that we love to point to when someone else's free spirit has inconvenienced our own.

Tonight, I took a bus home after seeing a movie at the other side of downtown. While waiting for the bus, I watched with some degree of amusement as four bicycle cops bore down on what they seemed to think was a drug deal in the park. It may well have been, but the small group scattered and that's all the cops succeeded in doing. Shortly after that, it seemed to be the end of their shift, and they set out eastward like a pack of dirtbikers, whizzing past me at the bus stop with mere centimetres to spare. Oh no, I was not perched on the curb; they were speeding from the park across the sidewalk right past me onto the street. Now that's respecting the rules of the road, no? And by the people who are charged with ensuring that the rules are followed.

It gets better.

The configuration below might be familiar to many: the crosswalk. (In Montréal we tend to think of these as 'targeting zones' and don't really believe the cars will stop for pedestrians at them. We are usually not disappointed in our assessments.)

At the corner of my street where I get off the bus, debarking passengers must cross a bicycle path to reach the sidewalk. Luckily, there are crosswalk stripes painted across the bicycle lane at both bus door locations. Do you think my mad cycling police officers stopped to allow me to cross? Not a chance! They whizzed by as I pointed at the crosswalk with my own cross look directed at them.

Good thing they were wearing their sunglasses with the anti-glare feature or they might have been withered by my look.

Thanks for showing us all how to respect the rules of the road, boys!

Guerre des journaux

Il est revenu. Le journal que je déteste, que personne ici ne veut et dont j'ai pensé avoir mis fin à la livraison…est de retour.

Mercredi passé étant la journée nationale de déménagement au Québec, ils auraient dû pensé que la femme qui y était abonnée il y a plusieurs années a décidé de revenir s'installer à nouveau dans son ancien logement. Non, ça ne fait pas de sens, et ce n'est pas le cas.

Donc, je passe à la prochaine phase de ma lutte contre le Journal de Montréal, cet espèce de déchets produit par des briseurs de grève que je trouve devant ma porte chaque matin depuis jeudi. C'est la phase où je livre ce même journal chez eux, par un moyen qui va leur coûter chaque fois qu'ils livrent chez moi. Je les mets dans une enveloppe sans timbre, avec leur adresse comme destinataire et comme source, et je les mets à la poste. J'inclus une note avec chacun qui lit comme suit :

« SVP ARRETEZ DE LIVRER VOTRE JOURNAL AUX [omis] À MONTRÉAL

IL N'Y A PERSONNE VIVANT À CES ADRESSES QUI VEUT LE RECEVOIR

LES JOURNAUX NON VOULUS REPRÉSENTENT POUR NOUS UNE MÉNACE À NOTRE SÉCURITÉ, CAR ILS ANNONCENT DES LOGEMENTS PRÊTS POUR LES VOLEURS

DE TEMPS EN TEMPS, VOUS LIVREZ AVEC LE JOURNAL UNE FACTURE AU NOM DE [omis]. CETTE FEMME NE DEMEURE PAS ICI DEPUIS AU MOINS 4 OU 5 ANS

VOS JOURNAUX VOUS SERONT RETOURNÉS PAR LA POST, NON TIMBRÉS POUR QUE ÇA VOUS COÛTE, CHAQUE FOIS QUE VOUS LES LIVREZ »
Et comme partout, la guerre n'est pas gratuite pour moi : j'ai eu à acheter des enveloppes assez grands pour envoyer ces journaux. Espérant que mon investissement porte fruit.

Mixed Message

The 30th Montreal International Jazz Festival is underway, and the zone in which it is traditionally held is in full construction mode.

The location of the welcome banners is obviously pre-determined and did not take into consideration the street closures for construction work. Here is what greets people at the intersection of de Maisonneuve and St-Laurent:

…and a close-up of that barrier fence across the "entry" way:

Welcome to the Festival indeed!

I guess we will find out later what the purpose of the work depicted below will be, but it started out with the removal of some rather lovely flowering crabapple trees that outlined the two little triangle-shaped parks flanking that section of de Maisonneuve, between Clark and St-Urbain.

And I didn't even take pictures of the demolition of the Place-des-Arts parking structure (just to the right of this view of the big hole) or, to be fair, the part of Jeanne-Mance that was apparently completed in time for the Stevie Wonder concert last night. Or mostly completed…