As the ceremonies occurred, protesters tried to push their way there, and the inevitable clash with authorities ensued. Two cops suffered minor injuries, but no protesters were harmed.

Here’s my thinking, okay?

Vancouver’s a leftist city. If you want to live here, you probably shouldn’t be a conservative-minded person. We don’t have a lot for you that way.

Greenpeace was born here. Charities and human rights organizations thrive here, volunteerism and activism are big. Lonely Planet claims our Commercial Drive is even Canada’s counterculture capital.

And I fucking love it.

I love living in a city that believes in a better world. I love living in a city that wants to be a part of the solution, that embraces the arts and humanities.

Maybe the city management needs to get on page with those qualities more, but I believe they have been gradually headed there — in the last decade anyhow, more so in the last year.

Mayor Larry Campbell began some good things in Vancouver. He quit, the post went to the next victor, Sam Sullivan, who I really hated in a lot of ways, but Sam continued Insite, the safe-injection heroin site responsible for the lot of positive developments on our Downtown East Side, the area notorious for heroin, AIDS, crime, and third-world poverty. Now we have “Mayor Gregor” Robertson, who’s already trying to make small but important changes on the East Side. More beds are available for homeless, a lofty environmental plan has been born, and the city’s on the verge of its most leftist, humane era ever. IMHO, anyhow.

People around the world NEED to realize that Vancouver’s Downtown East Side is a horrible place to have to live your life — in some ways — but it’s also a community with a strong and vibrant heart. A broken society doesn’t mean the broken people can’t offer an amazing contribution to society — and it’s breathtaking to see the positive steps the DES has taken in the seven years since the Games were won by Vancouver.

There have been a LOT of improvements. And there’s SO far to go yet.

So, I absolutely support ANYONE’s endeavour to improve the DES. I support a lot of issues the “protesters” are rallying against during these games.

I just don’t support their methods.

I can HATE the way their fight is being waged while supporting the causes at heart — not as rabidly as they do, but enough that I feel their voice is necessary.

So, sure, I support the arguments to an extent, but what don’t I support?

I don’t appreciate angry protesters who shout down opponents. I despise activists who have moral superiority because of the virtue of their political views. I deplore people who seek remedies to their causes while failing to respect the rights and allowances of others they deem as being “better off”.

I hate hypocrisy.

And that’s a lot of what I see in the “professional protester” class of agitator here in Vancouver.

It crushes me!

THESE ARE SERIOUS ISSUES. They need to be heard! They need to be shown! The world needs to see that we have a homeless problem, because it’s the rest of the country shipping their homeless here for our “mild” climate that has caused our problem. Our federal government NEEDS to be accountable to all its citizens, and BC can’t foot the bill for “transplanted problems” from other provinces.

Yesterday, the agitators decided they wanted to BLOCK the torch relay. So what’d they do? They made the torch relay have to divert from the worst area of the Downtown East Side.

For other Olympics, they try to avoid their shame. Here in Vancouver, we had a route planned that would run through the most impoverished areas of the city, including ALL our citizens, showing the world a city can be fractured and yet together.

Until, that is, protesters decided they knew what was right for the whole of the Downtown East Side, and they blocked the torch, prevented the route from going through, and instead of torch commentators around the world saying, “Hey, wow, Vancouver’s showing us their famed DES, the torch is running past homeless people, being carried BY a homeless man!”, we found ourselves just talking about these asshole protesters.

And that’s the problem. The protest isn’t even about the people anymore, it’s about hearing their own voices.

When you fight your fight with little or no regard to what’s important to other people that you’re NOT fighting for — instead of fighting FOR something, you start fighting against everything.

Please, if you see wrongs in the world, SAY SOMETHING about it.  I goddamned well do, and you know it.

But don’t disrespect others. Don’t hurt others. Don’t shout down people to their face. Don’t damage property. Don’t assume you have the moral high ground. Don’t mock others for disagreeing. Don’t think you’re always in the right.

Don’t be a fucking asshole.

I mean, dude, it’s a short list.

Fight from a place of respect. Fight from a place of righteousness, but not arrogance. Allow that society can be a place that accommodates many viewpoints.

And once you master how to fight properly, please, for the love of god, don’t go developing shortsighted vision.

Don’t only look at how far you have left to go for succeeding, but remember how much worse it was before you began.

I’ve lived here. I know the DES is a bad, bad place sometimes. But it’s a far better place than it was. There’s hope there now. There’s change happening. Yes, it’s slow, but any productive, longterm change does take a long time to implement if it’s going to be done well.

Life’s filled with enough assholes. I don’t care if you have great political causes — if you disrespect people to make your point, you’re an asshole.

Yesterday, I stopped to listen to protest speeches at the Art Gallery. I’m glad I did! I appreciate their viewpoint, I admired their passion!

But when I saw protesters crossing the Art Gallery lawn and yelling ragefully at pro-Games people, my appreciation stopped.

Then, my “Who the FUCK do YOU think YOU are?” mentality took over, and I stopped caring what they said. I stopped supporting it.

And these issues are far too important to be fought by people so intent on angering the other side.

It’s tragic.

That’s why I’m so pissed off. I want the fucking idiot agitators to shut the fuck up so the people who know how to passionately argue their point, who are intelligent and accessible, who know the issues and don’t use propaganda to spur their points — I want THEM to get screen-time on coverage. I want THEM to be heard by the world. I want THEM to offer opposing views that make people think worldwide.

When people HEAR these issues we have, they have empathy. This is not a hard-sell set of social problems! You tell someone “Hey, this guy can only afford a $200 room every month, it’s crawling with roaches, the water’s unsafe, people are shooting crack, heroin, and leaving needles everywhere” — it’s pretty hard for them to go, “Oh, whatever.” The reaction is the same, that we all deserve better.

The MESSAGE isn’t a hard sell.

So why are these assholes selling it so hard, assailing others, disrespecting anyone who isn’t with them? They’re the George Bush “if you’re not with us, you’re against us” types of the protesting world.

But agitators, they’re not going to get an audience. They’re not going to win this fight. I don’t know if they’re even gonna make any headway at all.

And that’d be a fucking tragic crime. The world’s here. Get your shit together, make your point constructively, and please, let’s gain something from all this and find a way to attain a new goal we need to work together toward as a city.

Spraying pepperspray at cops when there’s no fucking reason to… what’s that accomplish?

There’s protesting and there’s agitating. It’s time BC’s demonstrators figure that out and stop including the assholes who make them all look bad. ‘Cos we all know it’s a small percentage who are this brand of fuckwit, and it’s unthinkable that they’re preventing these protests from resonating.

Don’t like my viewpoint? Fine. Don’t tell me I’m against freedom of speech. I’m not. Have you seen the amount of balls-all-out postings I’ve written on politics and everything else? I value my freedoms.

I’m not against freedoms.

I’m against selfish assholes who think they’re morally superior to everyone that disagrees with them — whether they’re on the right OR the left.

That’s what I’m against.

[Photos are shot by me.]

I voted “YES” in the Olympics plebiscite “back in the day,” when we lowly democratic peons had the chance to vote on the once-every-four-years-party that, you know, would cost a few bucks to put on.

Now, I know, that voting day was such a sunny, beautiful day so many years ago that we didn’t even have a majority of our citizens turn out.

You know what? Not MY problem.

Because I fuckin’ voted. I did my job.

And I’ve lived and paid my taxes in this city my entire life, so, y’know, I feel entitled to that vote & the smugness that comes with.

Now, here we are, the day before the Games. There are more people supporting them than not, but now we have a new cry arising from the anti-Games protestors.

They think us “Pro-Games” people are trying to quel their “freedom” of speech.

No, you know what we’re trying to do?

We’re trying to get you to shut up, or at least be more constructive in your message.

Quite a different thing altogether.

See, we shut up and let you have your say for years. No harm, no foul, man! Say whatcha gotta say. Democracy in action, man.

You know how you get a few hundred people at your rallies, at best? In a city of 2 million? Well, we’ve letcha have your say. Loudly.

And good for you! You’re keeping democracy alive!

But here’s the thing.

Protesting the Olympics now? TODAY? TOMORROW?

That’s like standing at the bottom of a mountain with an avalanche of spring snow rushing at you and being pissed it has the indecency of crashing your picnic, throwing your arms up passionately, and bellowing “STOP! I COMMAND THEE!”

You can TRY, but… Nice fuckin’ try, chump.

Why not use the opportunity of having the world at our doorstep to protest things you CAN change? To use your voice to rally others to take up causes that WILL affect others?

Fighting the Games now? Just fucking dumb. Sorry if that insults your intelligence, but it’s kinda my blog and that’s the way it rolls in these far-too-blunt parts.

The Games are here. Why not err on the side that, you know, a party costing $6 billion might be a fun one to show up at?

It’s not a party for the “rich.” Do you have ANY idea how much of the Games are free to see? Probably close to half. That’s a party for the PEOPLE, man.

Oh, and there’s another point. Psst, the “Games” didn’t cost $6 billion. Infrastructure we needed cost a lot of that money.

Like the fancy new highway that was famously one of the deadliest heavily-used highways in Canada and needed upgrades for safety, but never had a chance of being approved for improvements to the extent that it was improved, not without a mega-project like the Olympics spurring it on.

Or the schmancy new train that’s changed MY life so much for the better.

Or the incredible public areas along the Olympic village and road upgrades throughout the city?

That’s not “for the rich.” That’s for all of us. Yeah, the city will eat a loss. And this is unusual for Olympics how? Wholesale improvements to ANY area tends to result in loss before it pays off. Those payoffs tend to occur in intangibles that defy measuring, too.

The real advantage of the Olympics is the profile Vancouver will receive. With our medical system, no matter WHAT they approve in the States, we still offer major incentives to industry — but there are a lot of delusional ideas about what life in Vancouver will mean. Like igloos. Or salmon-smoking shacks in every yard.

When the world gets a load of people wandering around in t-shirts when the sun emerges next week, preconceptions about Canada will shatter around the world. You can’t BUY that kind of publicity.

Or, well, actually, you can. When you win the chance to host something as coveted as the Olympics, a party so exclusive you gotta wait four years between ‘em. I hear the going rate’s about $6 billion. -Ish.

I’ve lived here ALL of my life. I’m one of 26 people, give or take, in Vancouver who can say I was born and raised here. I know what this town looked like with the population a fraction of what it is today.

I’ve seen the changes. All of them.

Some break my heart.

But some make me so proud.

And through it all, my city’s remained beautiful, has become an incredible multicultural paradise, and maintains something uniquely Canadian about it at the same time.

I want the world to see what I have. I want the world to know what Canada offers. And I’m not sorry for it.

Protesters, we let you have your stage. You’ve fought the Olympics for years.

We’re not telling you not to protest wrongs, we’re just wanting you to focus your protest more constructively.

You had your floor. Even though you lost years ago, we never tried to shut your soapbox down. Authorities might’ve, but we citizens kept our mouths shut and let you do your thang.

Now the world’s here, and it’s our floor, and we want it to be the best goddamned party we can throw.

Protest homelessness, arts cutbacks, anything you goddamned well want, but just don’t impede the torch, don’t crash the opening ceremonies. Play nice!

Let us have our time in the sun, too.

We’ve quietly waited for years.

We’re just not being quiet about it anymore.

And it’s not censorship. It’s a request. From one neighbour to another.

Let’s enjoy our block party. Heck, I’ll buy you a beer.

In two weeks, it’s over, and it’s civic unrest as usual for you — but nothing left for us, except possibly the bitterness that might linger if we feel we were robbed of our very expensive moment in the limelight.

So, today, we’re asking. Let us enjoy the moment. It’s our turn.

Regards,
Steff.

You know why CBS should have rejected the Mancrunch ad? BECAUSE IT’S A FUCKING STUPID AD.

It’s bad acting, bad writing, cheap filming, lame directing, and zero spent on production values.

The Superbowl is where the best commercials in the world come to play, not stupid frat-boy humour shot for $20 and a bag of Kush, all right?

Gay rights activists getting panties in a twist over this ad have got to give their heads a shake. Seriously. I cannot even BELIEVE this has become an issue.

First of all, it looks like shit. I could’ve filmed a better ad with a 7-11 rental video camera when I was 12, in 1985, okay? They raided a Value Village for wardrobe, stole furniture from a thrift store, and filmed it with the cheapest camera set-up they could find.

Second, it’s an absolute stereotype. It suggests being gay is “catching” or something that happens on a whim, and not something that is a biological condition one is born with. It reinforces the ideas in the Stupid Asshats who think that being gay is something that can be indoctrinated or deprogrammed, depending which way you’re wanting to go.

Third, the writing is crap. It’s total crap. There’s nothing witty, it’s not fall-down funny, it’s not shocking. It doesn’t even look pretty.  It’s just stupid. It’s like the guys at Animal House were asked to come up with their best idea of a dating commercial for a gay dating site.

If Mancrunch is serious, then come up with a serious ad. This is crap. Put the fucking bong away, and have some serious ideas. Respect homosexuality, give it a little credit.

This is NOT CBS assailing gay rights. This is CBS standing up for the reputation of the Superbowl having the BEST ADVERTISEMENTS all in one brilliant afternoon.

As a fan of great and witty advertising, I applaud them for maintaining those standards.

You want to play at the big boy’s game? BRING your game. Don’t fucking phone it in with crap advertising like this, then play the “OOh, poor us, we’re being discriminated against because we’re G-A-Y” record yet again.

Shut the hell up, Mancrunch. Get a real ad. Then we’ll talk. And, activists?

Use your fucking brains. You should be offended by this attempt, too. For all you’ve fought for, THIS is how gay romance is depicted? As a stupid whim that can only happen when alcohol and impulse kick in? That it’s always meaningless and just a thoughtless act that happens? Yeah. Way to look out for your agenda. Way to support the stereotype that gay men are promiscuous and think only with their cock and nothing more.

This is not a controversy.

That everyone’s already forgotten about Haiti, that’s a controversy. Or a scandal.

So let’s talk about the important issues. All right? This is not one.

[PS: I agree with others that this is an obvious attempt by Mancrunch to get free word-of-mouth advertising. Way to fall for it, media.]

I was raised to believe in the magic of Christmas. We’d have a houseful of people singing carols, Dad would make his famous cardiac eggnog, the house was full of decorations and laughter, and us kids would even have visits from Santa, who brought every child there a gift. It really was magical.

When my mother died in 1999, I was pretty sure Christmas would never feel that Magical again. And, yeah, I was right — it hasn’t. But my life isn’t over, and “dreams” don’t always have to be big, flashy, and involve a credit card. Sometimes they can just be about getting back to the heart of what made your life wonderful and good once.

Not everyone has had a magical Christmas. Not everyone has known what that kind of good will and cheer and boisterous fun can be like. At least I had that — and in childhood, where a memory can last a lifetime, and provide a framework for that which you aspire throughout that lifetime.

These days, I don’t aspire for magic — I just aspire for a little joy, goodness, and friendship.

This year, there will be people left alone, doing anything they can to avoid everything Christmas-related on television, trying to convince themselves it’s anything BUT the most magical night of the year.

Because, for them, it’s not magical. For them, it’s a reminder of their loneliness, their wants, their desperation, and maybe even where they’ve gone horribly wrong in the last year.

It’s a time during which a lot of people WILL realize it’s the first time they’re celebrating the wonder of the season without a loved one, or in the fresh light of a divorce, or with a debilitating new health condition that limits their ability to enjoy it. The first time always cuts the deepest. I know, I’ve been there for a few “firsts”.

I’ve experienced heartbroken Christmases, the kind of loneliness that’s left me standing at the window of my apartment, gazing at the lazy morning of happiness unfolding in apartments across the way. But the difference for me was, I’ve sort of believed deep down that my loneliness would be short-lived and it was what I needed to experience, for whatever reason, at that time.

But what of the people who can’t have that perspective? Those who are devastated by the loneliness? What of those who are waiting, slowly hoping for their own Christmas miracle, unsure of how to ask the right people in order to bring it about, but who instead wait on a wing and a prayer, hoping the magic simply unfolds without provocation?

And why does it matter to you?

It doesn’t. Not really. But you can choose to let it.

Because that’s what Christmas REALLY is.

It’s not Hallmark and batteries-included. It’s not diamonds and slippers and mugs of hot mulled wine. It’s about the very nature of humanity and what it is that makes being human such a marvellous thing — it’s about everything good that we as a people are capable of.

This time of year, I talk to more strangers. I smile at the people who seem to need it, I linger if they make small talk, I look them in the eye. When I can’t afford it, on a cold and brutal day, I’ll find a nice homeless fella to buy a giant hot chocolate for.

It doesn’t take a lot to remind people that kindness exists. But that reminder can be more powerful than I hope you will ever need to know.

It doesn’t take a lot to remember that this season is about goodness — not just to those you know, who can thank you later, who’ll be in your life day-in, day-out, who you might just be placating with that gift or visit, but ALSO to those who don’t experience goodness often.

There are those who, over the course of this past year — for whatever reason — may have lost their hope in the future. They may have lost their belief in their friends. They may be feeling alone and like any good in life has forsaken them.

You should never, ever assume their condition is permanent.

Kindness can change the world. Show some. Be the change you want to see in the world, let it start now, this week, this season. Don’t wait another day.

See if there’s some good person who’s without a Christmas dinner this year — you have a week left. Invite them. Make them welcome.

If you can’t invite someone and let them into your life for the night, maybe then you can show them kindness in the days before the holiday, and after.

It’s like Armistead Maupin wrote in the inimitable series Tales of the City: There’s no morning of the year that waking up alone feels more isolated and lonely than that of Christmas morning.

There’s something palpable in the air on Christmas day — that moment that comes but once a year, with weeks of hype and glory leading up to its passing. And it’s magnificent when you have people you love in your life. It’s unbeatable when you have the perfect Christmas day filled with food and family and fun.

And when you don’t?

There’s no day upon which your losses, heartbreaks, loneliness, and neediness shines more brightly.

This year, for my Christmas present, in thanks for all the writing I do for you for free all year round, I’m asking that you look for a small, real way to improve someone else’s life, if only for a moment.

Tell me what you’ve done, if you wish, or keep it in your heart for only you to know (the method I usually prefer) — I don’t care. But, please, BE Christmas this year.

Some ideas:

* Offer a homeless person a hot lunch, a sandwich, a beverage, anything — don’t just throw coins in their cup. Interact, ask them what they’d like, and then give it to them. It’s really not much, it’ll cost you five dollars, but the mere act of asking that they WANT or NEED validates that they’re a human, not just someone to throw pity at. It’s not about the pity, it’s about the humanity — something they don’t get often when people walk past, scowling at the indignity of that homeless person having the NERVE to sit on THAT sidewalk. Be better than the heartless, indifferent, skeptical throngs.

* Invite a lonely friend or co-worker to enjoy Christmas with those you’re gathering among. If they can afford it, ask them to bring something so they feel included, a part of the event, rather than some lonely fuck who’s been invited out of pity.

* Instead of throwing blankets and coats into another donation bin, experience the feeling of choosing & giving it to someone on the street. Remember, just because they’re where they are now doesn’t mean they haven’t lived an incredible life and have stories worth telling. See beyond the dirty, needy face before you, and accept the person within.

* Pick a family one of your friends or coworkers knows, or someone from your church or any other organization, and put together a great food box so they don’t have to be scared of where the festive meals are going to come from, and instead of milking the moment, just be sure the box discreetly finds its way to the people in question.

* Smile at people who seem miserable and grumpy, overlook their short moods, and just try to indulge them a little — just because YOU don’t know how hard this time of year can be for some people doesn’t mean you can’t be understanding of it when you see its less agreeable side.

Remember, while you’re in a panic about getting gifts for people or time-managing your way through to the big night, others are in a panic about how January 1st’s rent will be paid, how they’ll explain to their kids that Santa values them less and gives THEM smaller toys than their friends, or even panicking over whether the little food they can buy will stretch through the week.

Christmas is about more than big meals, gifts, and lofty drinks with high times and good friends.

It’s about love, community, sharing, understanding, hope for the year to come, reflecting on the year gone by, and a belief that, yes, Virginia, there is a better person inside us all.

Please, with the week you have remaining before Christmas, remember that this season is about MORE than just you and your family — live it, show it, share it. Don’t just spend it in malls and parties.

This Christmas, be MORE.

Thank you.

I love the sense of ironic humour in how Roman Polanski was arrested for his 1977 rape at long last — he shows up to collect a lifelong achievement award, and the cuffs get slapped on. Beautiful. A crime he’s spent 30+ years evading, he’s finally going to be held accountable for. It’s existential poetry. Justice comes at last.

The reaction on the Polanski thing baffles me. Many in the public — probably because they actually KNOW the one in four people who’ve likely been raped — seem elated Polanski’s going to receive sentence for a crime he was long ago convicted for. Hollywood seems to be rallying behind their chosen director-boy.

Like Whoopi Goldberg on The View. Whoopi, in her infinite hit-the-nail-on-the-head articulate genius, said: “I know it wasn’t rape-rape. I think it was something else, but I don’t believe it was rape-rape.”

So, Polanski isn’t guilty of “rape-rape”, just, you know, not-very-nice sex. Maybe he should have sent more flowers.

Apparently, if you make REALLY good art, you’re not a “bad” person, because how can your aesthetic vision be so skookum-good when your intrinsic values are so fucking heinous?

Roman Polanski, in 1978, got the fuck out of Dodge because he realized that, hey, stuffing a 13-year-old full of Quaaludes and booze, then stuffing his cock into her teeny vagina and ass, and getting oral sex coming-and-going wasn’t gonna fly in America, even if the Sexual Revolution was still going pretty strong.

Like the sick coward he is, as soon as his easy deal looked like it might be in jeopardy, after the public began reacting to the soft punishment he was getting for a plea deal, he ran. He basically admitted his guilt to the harsher charges. You don’t live abroad for 30 years because you have a difference of opinion with the border guards, okay? You fight it, and you fight it publicly. When you’re guilty, you shut the fuck up and find ways to stay out of the wrong hands.

I’d like to applaud Switzerland for doing what Canada failed to do in 1986 — helping American authorities in finally making the pursuit of justice viable in this case.

Apparently the victim wants the charges dropped. Why, because she thinks he’s paid his price? Or because Hollywood has indicted her for the last 30 years over the fate of its Golden Child director, the man who reinvented horrors with Rosemary’s Baby and tore up the screen with the ever-brilliant Chinatown? Or because Polanski paid her to shut the hell up?

And why is Hollywood so dismissive of this bullshit? Because the guy knows how to put a film together? Because illicit sex defines Hollywood? Because any female who goes into modelling or acting after the age of 13 was (and is) often EXPECTED to put out in order to be successful?

Who knows.

But it’s time that we ignore what victims want in cases with rich, intimidating, powerful defendants. When they “drop” the charges or don’t wish to file, yet it’s something like this crime here, I think we need to stand back and go, “No, it’s NOT cool that this happens on our watch. 13-year-old girls aren’t old enough to consent when filled with Quaaludes and alcohol. Anyone in his 30s and beyond should know this.” After all, we all know it’s just defendants paying victims to make charges go away. Who’s kidding who?

That aside — what makes a girl, just because she works as an actress or model at the age of 13, somehow more VIABLE as a fucking vehicle? Why is SHE okay to manipulate into sex and a grade 8 field hockey player isn’t? It’s not right. All our children deserve to be protected, and if their innocence vanishes too young through no fault of their own, we still have to protect them.

Polanski is a rape-rapist. He’s a powerful man, a fantastic director, and a rape-rapist. He deserves to pay for his crimes that he was found GUILTY of instead of being a glamourous posterboy for How To Rape A Child And Live An Exotic Life on the Lam While Being Praised Worldwide for Being a Genius.

If ANYONE deserves to pay for his crimes decades after the fact, it’s anyone who makes rape look cool.

I don’t even know what kind of a sentence I want imposed on the fucker. I might even be happy with a token 9-18 months. I just want to know he’s paying a price beyond having had to live the horrible life of an exile in the — gulp – savagery of France. All that stinky cheese and horrible wine, I just don’t know how he could do it. Jail will be a cakewalk in comparison, I’m sure.

If ever there was an instance in which the law asserted that, no, money and glamour do NOT get you off the hook in crimes, a jail sentence in the Polanski case would be the way to prove it.

My nights were usually spent falling asleep to David Letterman’s wise-cracking punnery and stupid human tricks. There are something comforting about Dave. A friendly face every night. I sure as hell didn’t have Mom’s there anymore.

When, in January, 2000, I heard Letterman had been rushed off for and emergency quintuple-bypass, I was horrified. I’d just lost my mother. NOT DAVE TOO.

When, in 2001, the Towers were taken out by terrorists and Americans died in the thousands, it wasn’t the President or the Pope I spent my time waiting to hear from as the heart of America lay barely beating on the dusty New York sidewalks — it was Dave, Mr. New York City.When Dave finally took to the air after 9/11, no theme song played, no fanfare was made, no cheering or applauding was heard. It was this guy with a lump in his throat and a quiet uncertainty about what to say. He didn’t know how to return to work — just like none of us knew how to go back to our lives.

But he was trying. And so, we did too. In that moment, many of us felt closer to Dave than we’d ever felt before. Sure, he’d landed all the largest contracts in television history and was famous for chomping on big, fat Cuban cigars, but he still seemed like he was more like Us than he was like Them. After Dave came back to the air, within a couple days, so did Leno, SNL, and the Daily Show and everyone else. But they all waited for Dave.

Naturally, there are Dave-hating people in the world, but some kids torture cats. Whatcha gonna do? Can’t win them all, right?

And now Dave’s on the other side of the fence. Instead of everything flying off of Dave, he’s got himself in a sticky wicket.

First, he takes on Palin. Or, rather, he does his JOB and makes jokes about the stupid twat — since, if you’re going to make jokes about a stupid twat, she’s pretty much FIRST IN LINE for those honours — and she gets her panties in a twist and tries to take him on. Well, he’s still on the air and she’s quit politics, so I’m not really sure how that worked out for her. Dave, however, lost a few Republican viewers, which I’m sure had him crying in his decaf.

But then the bombshell’s dropped this past week. Doozy!

Dave screwed Vicki! Err, Stephanie Birkitt.* DOH! Okay, first, when I heard it was HER that was the woman he’d slept with on staff, I thought, “OH, I KNEW IT.” The chemistry was always there — she was always a bit uneasy and shy yet really comfortable with her, and he was always totally amused and giddy when she was around. Not a big shocker to know there’d been a long-lasting relationship there. And, uh, what a duplicitous mastermind — shagging a woman he kept having on the air in skits on the show!

That’s not the big issue, is it? He’s one of the most powerful men in television and he’s slept with underlings. OH, BIG SURPRISE.

That NEVER happens. Yawn. Wake me up when there’s a real news story, okay?

But then he ADMITTED IT. On TELEVISION. LIVE. Before an ACTUAL AUDIENCE. And he was CHARMING about it. Then he APOLOGIZED.

And, like, ohmigod, people still like him and he still has a television show. What the fuck? Now that’s news.

You know why?

Because honesty counts. What’s more? Accountability is rare, and, when finally seen in public places, a thing of beauty to be beheld.

Here’s the thing, folks. When you fuck up, admit it. Because everyone’s fucked up, and when you admit it, offer no excuses but genuinely try to learn from it, it’s almost universally accepted as People Being People.

I know my propensity to admit my asshattedness amongst friends and family ultimately endears me more to them. There’s nothing like defusing someone’s angst by admitting to everything and stopping their accusations cold. “Yes, I did that. I was an ass. I apologize. Every word is true. It never should have happened. It never will again. What do we do now?” But being funny somewhere in there, that helps.

Dave has mastered that ability and seems earnest about it.

It’s funny, there’s two celebrity “sex scandals” in one week and there are columnists out there including them in the same story, trying to gauge why public reaction is so muted against David Letterman, one of the most trusted men in America, while the rage simmers against Roman Polanski.

I have thoughts on Polanski, and I guess I need to finish the draft I began in which I assert that he’s an evil fucker who deserves far more than the price he’s so far paid for his crimes, but here is not the place to air them. There is no FUCKING WAY that what David Letterman has done — had consensual sex with women who find him funny and charming — belongs anywhere NEAR to a column that’s about what Polanski did — which was ply a 13-year-old girl full of booze, Quaaludes, and other substances, then rape her anally, orally, and vaginally.

RAPE against a child? Not a “sex scandal”, columnists. It’s a crime. Next to murder? It’s the WORST CRIME THERE IS. Because, unlike murder, they get to live with the consequences. Worst? When it’s a child? It defines how they will perceive the world for the rest of their life: Like violation is always a possibility, every day.

Why is the angst against Letterman so muted?

Because what he did was just sex.

We also don’t know if he really has an open relationship with his wife, but given the lack of response from her, and his lack of addressing his relationship in the “scandal” context, we can pretty much assume he does, indeed, have an understanding with his spouse.

In which case, it’s not much of anyone’s business.

Personally, I’m sick of the whole “no sexual harrassment in the workplace” thing meaning I can’t get shagged by way of my job. HELLO, it’s one of the only ways we get to meet people in the modern era. If you can’t fuck workmates, then why can you shag fellow students or other club members?

Is it SMART? Hell, no! But what’s SMART got to do with anything when it comes to the matters of the heart, anyhow? If we were SMART when it came to dealing with love, Shakespeare never would’ve had a career, man, and world peace would’ve been a lot easier.

Letterman had sex. At work. With people lower than him on the payscale. Shocker. Problem is, when you’re one of the most powerful TV men who’s ever lived, the words “beneath you” pretty much includes everyone.

But he came clean. He minced no words. He said he did what he did, denied nothing, and accepted all the blame. He didn’t turn himself into a victim, he didn’t get snivelly, he just laid it out there, and that’s that.

THAT is how you deal with accepting responsibility, people. Most politicians come off like assholes despite the fact that most of us realistically KNOW a lot of political marriages are political and extramarital encounters par for the course. Why? Demeanour and believability. Dave’s got it, they don’t. Too bad. Politicians spend too much time trying to seem perfect and not enough time being real, but that’s another story.

Thank god they don’t teach those skills in political-school, because at least Dave uses his powers for good — to make us laugh.

For that alone, I say he gets a stay of execution. My giggles’n’snorts are far too important to me in these less-than-sunny times.

Polanski, however, well, stay tuned for my thoughts on that.

*As for Birkitt, I woulda shagged Dave a decade ago, too.

I’ve sort of smack-talked Vancouvers “social media” scene when I read the always-awesome Raul/Hummingbird604’s blog post on same [Where is the Diversity...?] earlier today. First off, I should say I think that getting out to “tweet-ups” through Twitter, as a social tool, is one of the best choices I’ve made in years. I am making great new friends. I love what it’s doing for me.

But there’s a definitive class-system out there, and its obviousness at tweet-ups is GLARING. So I’m tackling my two cents from a different, more pointed perspective here.

I am a very anti-social person by nature, I’m a loner, but NOT when I’m in a crowd. I can, and will, probably meet every person in the room. I’m not effusive and bubbly and cuddly and shit, I just don’t go that way. I’m more the sly smile, twinkle-in-the-eye type. But I connect.

And there have been people at tweet-ups who are just unbelievably hard to connect with. You can, and do, hear about people who show up all excited to a tweet-up, then get snubbed entirely by those who are there because the rest of the people know each other. What? How rude.  Seriously, people, lighten up. You blog and you Twitter, so what?  Woo-woo. Any chimp can do this. Trust me.

I had 5,000 hits a day three years ago, okay? This blog’s* had over 1.5 million hits. I was in the top 6,000 blogs in the world for a while there. I made money, even. So what? It’s GONE now. Shit happens, man. Sure, it takes incredible with-it-ness to keep a blog going long-term, but the reality is, sometimes other things are just more important. Me, I walked away because I know where my priorities lie. Not with writing for a “public”, but rather, with writing.

Despite no “readers” compared to my OLD stats, I wrote for myself when I needed to, and, no, it wasn’t very good, because I didn’t care to edit it. And people rightfully continued to stop reading. So? Humility is always a lesson one needs to wring out for everything it’s worth. I think I’ve done so. I’ve managed also to remember that I made the write choice. And the right choice.

In the time I’ve been “gone”, I lost 70 pounds, rediscovered life, rediscovered myself, overcame debilitating injuries, kept myself afloat without anyone’s help when I’ve only been able to work full-time for maybe 20% of the last five years. Um… redecorated my home, took my cooking up a notch by learning to do it healthily and still kicking ass. Uh…  Fell in, and out, of love.  Boy, what else? Too much. I haven’t even touched on jobs. And through it all, I’ve written. Now I have this incredible reference of some amazing thought-processes I underwent while making some fucking awesome changes in my life, and THAT is kind of what blogging is about.

The point is, just because some of us don’t obsess over the social order, or don’t give a fuck about being seen with the “right” people (because there are so MANY to choose from, kind of like a friendship-buffet… why confine myself only to meat or potatoes or, god forbid, green things?), we shouldn’t have to feel like we’re some sort of extraneous part of the “social media” crowd.

Just because I’m not GEEKING about social media doesn’t make me irrelevant.

In FACT, I should be MORE relevant. Why? Because I care about social media for two reasons — it’s social, and it’s media. I’m reaching out. For me, being READ is more important than selling adspace, even when I’m killing myself trying to just get by, let alone pay down debt. I don’t CARE about ads or branding or any of that. I care about being read, period.

I want people to read what I have to say. I value my voice. I think you should, too. And you will, given the chance. I think I have an interesting perspective. I work hard to try to live the original examined life. I feel OBLIGATED to share my experiences in DEEPLY personal ways — because I’ve been through harsh versions of some pretty common themes in life, like survival, loss, and overcoming odds, and I think that if anyone can experience less intense turbulence as a result of maybe reading something I’ve written, then that’s powerful. Or, if I can make the hardships they’re enduring make sense, then that’s awesome too.

A woman once donated me a few hundred bucks (only time a BIG gift like that happened) for writing a posting about my mother’s death. After a couple years of her mother being dead, she could finally have a way to express to friends how it really felt — by paraphrasing me, or sending my link.

I made her pain easier to bear. Fuck “regular” advertising money! That’s awesome! That these new internet-driven social tools are allowing us to connect on deeper, less superficial planes like that, wow… this is some seriously powerful stuff.** This can change the way our world rolls. If we use it the right way.

Not if these tweetups continue being akin to high school at times, where little cliques cuddle and huddle. Don’t you get it yet? The intrawebs are for spanning the globe and shattering culture block. It’s about trying to see how we’re all the same, not amplifying how we’re different.

Blogging and social media have saved marriages, changed lives, prevented suicides, interceded in the same, revolutionized business, expedited news and information, eroded cultural divides, and, what else?

Then what’s with the whole cliquey deep-inside-it’s-grade-11-all-over-again thing? No, I don’t get it. I’m better than that. Judging by all these blogs and tweets, they’re all better than that. So let’s cut the shit and BE better than that. Let’s include people and expand experiences.

So, for a while, I’ll continue being cautious of who I align with. I’m trying to be like Switzerland, friends with everyone… and holding the really good chocolate. I’m the new kid on the block, remember? “Choose wisely, grasshopper,” I think I heard some old man on a corner whisper.

I honestly believe blogging and social media can change the world if we don’t let it all become the soulless hack of an entity that the corporate world has become. Social media isn’t just about money, it’s about shaping a new world for ourselves. It has to be kept real. Fight the power. Get past these social divides. Take the unity that we create on the web and transpose it to reality… anything less? We’ve failed.

These are pivotal times we live in.

Choose wisely, grasshopper. Live boldly.

*But this blog was called The Cunting Linguist at that time, and I do still own the URL. Thinking about making the big change back. :)

**And, let’s face it, it’s a much more appealing way to get sex & relationship advice, this internet thing. Let’s get that ball rolling again. Got any pressing questions I should try answering? Try dropping me a line. Smuttysteff (at) gmail [dot] com.

For about $110, I’m completely reinventing my living area. That includes building a new pantry for storage with MDF shelving, a gallon of primer, a gallon of paint, and some paper filing boxes. I’m also using leftover paint from last year.

I have a few pieces of furniture I’ve reused several times. My kitchen table has gone from glass-topped and clear pine to fake stained glass and white wood, after having been green for a while. My filing cabinets got some fancy brown kraft-type paper slapped on them with collage glue slathered over it for effect, and in the end now look just like leather. Mirrors have been painted several times, as have a few other pieces of furniture, always resulting in a bigger change impact than I’d have suspected. New drawer pulls and a two-tone paintjob turned a 35-year-old side table of my mother’s into a beautiful accent piece, and it cost less than $10 to do.

This isn’t just about being cheap and practical, it’s about changing the way you view your place, and your accountability, within the world, by making practical at-home decisions with greater impact than you can realize — that is, until you stand back and imagine what an impact 6 billion people making similar decisions would have upon this ball in space.

Sure, you can donate old furnishings to charity and it will, in theory, be used by someone else, and this is better than the alternative, but that still means you’re buying something, that you’re contributing to this endless cycle of production in industry today.

Becoming environmentally-friendly means not just disposing of what you have in a responsible manner, and buying less, but also buying less often, or not at all, when possible. Everything we buy takes energy to get to us; it takes fossil fuels to transport, electricity to create, raw materials to make.

It’s this cycle of more-more-more that needs to change for us as a society before we can get to a safer ecological standing.

Turning your light off and chucking cans into the recycle bin are a great start. But it’s just a start.

Now you have to stop replacing your toys with every new version release, switch to rechargeable batteries, buy products with less packaging, try to reinvent your furnishings before resorting to replacing them, and a whole lot of other little things one can do to help the planet.

When I had to get rid of a couch last year because I’d bought one that was cheaply made as a temporary fix, it was an eye-opening experience for me. I’d contributed this massive, horribly made, useless to anyone, bad-ass no-support sofa to a landfill, and it was going to be a part of the problem for years to come. When I purchased my new sofa, I decided to go into debt and buy something very expensive, leather, with a lifetime warranty. Now I can rest assured my purchasing decision will be solid for at least 20 years, whether I keep it or sell it down the line. Now that’s a happy landfill!

In the next week or two, I’ll be done with my home fixes, and I’ll have some great photographs to share with you from the process.

And when I do, you’ll be boggled by just what $110 can accomplish in the modern home. Cosmetic fixes that you, and Mother Earth, can love, on the cheap. It’s a beautiful thing.

*No, I’m not turning this into a Martha Stewart column. If you want to know how to repaint furniture, fuckin’ Google it, honey!

Let’s do something different here for a change. I’m gonna weigh in on some of the things Twitter and tabloids have been talking about from the last month or so.

MICHAEL JACKSON

I was winding through BC’s mountains on a Greyhound coach when I received a text message, “Michael Jackson’s dead!”

My heart went through the bottom of the bus. I couldn’t believe how that one hit me. I was a huge Michael Jackson fan until he started becoming Whacko Jacko in the ’90s.

What killed me, I guess, wasn’t so much that he was dead, but that he’d come so close to what he said would be his redeeming day. I wanted him redeemed. I wanted him to have some of his former glory. I’ve long believed he was a misunderstood guy and slowly drifted into a weird, weird altered reality, and the drugs never helped.

The record industry is changing, it’s never going to be the same, and it’s arguable that, with a new, more scattered, more freeform recording world, there will NEVER be someone who dominates pop culture to the extent of Michael Jackson and the way he did when Billie Jean exploded into interstellar territory back in ‘83.

THE DRUGS SCANDAL BEHIND JACKSON

If he’s found to have ingested any of the highly verboten surgical painkillers, etc, alleged in some reports, and considered illegal to prescribe, I’d like to see the doctors who got them for him to be charged with murder.

As someone who has enjoyed marijuana in the past, I loathe the hypocrisy that exists in the legal world regarding very destructive drugs like OxyContin and Vicodin that are prescribed like they’re candy, while something passive like marijuana is cracked down upon with the same vengeance as a horrific drug like meth is. I don’t get it.

And physicians who are operating like these fuckos who are overprescribing drugs that are turning America into land of the distracted zombie, they’re flat-out shattering their Hippocratic oaths. They promised to do no harm. NO harm. Fat chance.

Now we’ve lost both Heath Ledger and Michael Jackson to these negligent overprescribing fuckwits, and countless other unfamous ordinary people who got medicated out of existence. Yeah, murder. They need to start paying for their neglect and apathy. Charges of murder and manslaughter work for me. Not fines, not suspensions. Time. Lots and lots of time. Behind big fat bars.

JON & KATE + 8 = SO THAT HAPPENED

Know how marriages stay together after kids? With private time. And sex. And communication. And shared duties. And mutual respect.

In a little house with 10 people, 8 of them being high-maintenance energetic toddlers, crammed with TV cameras and stage hands, it’s not surprising that this marriage lost a certain je ne sais quoi. But why everyone’s so surprised is beyond me. I’ve never been a fan of the show, I watched maybe 2 episodes when I had cable, but the little I saw screamed of a loveless marriage.

Any onscreen interview, there was easily a foot, maybe more, between the couple on the couch. They never turned their heads to look at the other while the other spoke, they never touched in a tender way. I don’t give a fuck what happens in the show, when they’re on that couch, THAT body language, THAT tells you everything.

Because look at America’s golden couple, the Obamas. They sit next to each other. They often touch in subtle but tender ways. But they always look at each other when the other speaks in an interview, but more importantly, you can see them actively listening. They don’t drift off when the other’s speaking, they actually give a shit.

The problem with the viewing public is, they take the story they’re given and don’t look at the human elements. Their divorce was there onscreen a long time ago, people.

As for how it’s being handled? WHEW. The show should go off air. It never should’ve gone ON the air. Those children didn’t consent to growing up in front of the camera. That’s plain wrong. I am hopeful in the next few years some kid from some reality show grows up and sues the SHIT out of their parent and says, “I NEVER asked for my life, my flaws, my weak moments, my embarrassments to be piped into the homes of millions of viewers.” Right to privacy should exist for kids.

The divorce needs the respect it deserves, it needs to be a real and careful transaction conducted with respect by two parties who don’t see eye-to-eye anymore. Not a fucking gong show so adspace can be sold.

WALTER CRONKITE

The last of Murrow’s great truthspeaking men has left us. An era of golden journalism has come to a close.

I’m told by a good many people that one of my most endearing qualities both as a blogger and on Twitter, never mind in real life, is my tendency to Say It Like It Is. I mean, it’s true. You want an opinion? This is the girl to ask. But I’m also a fierce fighter for public good when I think I see injustices. I’m an opinion-editorial writer at heart, and it shows all the time. I cannot edit my opinion out of myself. I launch into rants in nearly every conversation I have in real life, too. Even ask my coworkers. It’s me, to my core.

I got a journalism degree way back when, stuffed in some box somewhere. I got it on the idealistic principal that journalists could still change the world. Like how Cronkite came back from Vietnam, said the war was wrong and America had lost its way, and the President heaved a sigh and said “If I’ve lost Cronkite, I’ve lost the American people.”

Because once upon a time, some journalists — Mencken, Murrow, Cronkite — believed the two most valuable assets of a journalist were their integrity and their commitment to the truth.

Journalism may be well and good these days, with the advent of bloggers and the dichotomy of investigation that exists between the corporate and the rogue indie worlds out there, but there is no irrefutable source like there used to be. There’s no one you can turn to and go, “No, absolutely, they’re right. THAT’s what I believe, because I KNOW I can trust them.”

Sure, some folk will tell you there are journalists they trust implicitly, but I can’t think of any who hasn’t been at the helm under some factual gaffe. I can’t think of any yet who has proven he’s really in it for the Kantian “greater good”, that truth wins. Why? Because they fucked up under George W. Bush and failed to speak truth to power in the dark days after 9/11, when America needed someone to stand up and say, “I know you’re hurting, I know we’re all rah-rah-America, but what we’re doing is wrong, this war is wrong, the facts don’t support it, we don’t trust what our government is telling us, and we don’t think you should, either, and here’s why.”

And none did. Not for years. They failed that test. They failed The Big Test in America’s Darkest Days. They failed to ask the right questions of banks and businesses that kept reporting unlikely and inexplicable profits. They failed to warn America it was headed into dubious financial waters as things started going strange in recent years. Journalism has failed us. Period. I don’t give a fuck WHO you love, they all failed us when we needed them the most, in 2001-2004.

Journalists today are personalities. I have high hopes for the ilk of Brian Williams and Anderson Cooper, and time will tell, now that they had their asses handed to them for their roles in the negligent journalism of the last decade. I thought Tim Russert would carry the mantle, but that didn’t go so well.

All we can hope is that telling the truth, effecting change, and keeping your word will be sexy to the new generation of soothsaying anchors and bloggers.

Look at Cronkite. That’s how journalism is done. Objective until being objective hurts the people — when he realized the war in Vietnam had lost its purpose and the losses did and always would outweigh the gains, he spoke up. When he felt the government was doing wrong to the people, he said so. For eight years, the American press slept at the wheel while personal freedoms were eroded, laws were bent and broken, and coverups were de rigeur. Cronkite lamented it. He spoke up.

See, that’s the trick with speaking truth to power, oh Journalists of Today — it requires you actually SPEAK.

It’s just a chair. A measley little chair I see out my window every day, and yet when I really crunch the memories as I scour it down from up-close, a world I’ve lived through in eight years come washing over me. It’s just a chair. Wow.

Imagine if everything had that kind of conjuring power? But then I log into Facebook.

A whirlwind of old faces I thought I’d moved past come popping up in my “present-tense” friends page. Who’s kidding who? They’re not my friends, and I’m not their friend. I’m an existential notch on the belt of their life — at best, and they’re lucky if they’re the same in mine.

We shared some times. Likely some laughs, probably some pains, and maybe more. But the only thing we all know is real is, that was then and this is now.

Yet we delude ourselves into thinking the past is more than prologue; that it’s more than then; it’s ongoing. And maybe, in this digital age, it is. Maybe it shouldn’t be.

Maybe it’s not wrong of me I don’t want my ex-lovers in my life, or those who’ve scorned, mocked or hurt me to be in my world today. Still, I often approve those friendship requests a part of me would rather decline. And why do I? Especially when I think it’s the modern equivalent of slowing down for a car wreck? Because a part of me remembers all that was good for a time.

In reality, though…

Hmm, why, yeah, sure, I remember the last time I saw you — in my rearview mirror as I sped away after the incredibly hurtful fight that ended our relationship. Of course you’re a “friend.” Step right back into my life, “friend.”

Or you, who never called me back, never reached out for get-togethers, never replied to my email or my attempts back then to be in your life, you’re such a “friend.” Glad to see you there, ever-present on my “friend” page, even though you’ve never, ever been there in flesh on the page of my actual life.

Sure, you’re all my friends. Let’s go ahead and kid ourselves. Honesty is SO the worst policy.

But for all its fakery and delusions, Facebook does give me social closeness with a network of friends who do use it as a means of better organizing their social lives. That’s an incredible benefit to my life, and I quite enjoy its usefulness in that context.

I just wish I didn’t have to contend with all the superfluous bullshit that comes from pretending friendships exist where ones so often don’t.

And much as it might seem I’ve completely closed the door on possibly changing that — via rekindling friendships or taking things into reality where they haven’t existed for a decade or more — that’s not the case. I’m open to having these people be players in my life again.

But I’m not the one who added them as friends.

They came to me. They befriended me. I accepted.

And then nothing.

See, if you want me to be a player in your life, the reality is, there’s a whole long time, and a lot of choppy water yet to pass under a bridge, that needs to be addressed. I’m not talking about some United Nations committee meeting that needs to transpire with signing of truces; I’m just saying a “So THAT happened!” conversation probably needs to take place, or else this is just more of the skirting-the-truth bullshit that seems overly abundant in today’s society.

All I really am to you, friend, is a name on a screen to indicate that, at one point in my life, I approved of you as a person. I’m not anything more, not unless you want to make an effort and see that happen.

Let’s everyone just get real and accept that becoming “friends” on some fucking social media site doesn’t mean the past really is the past. No, the past is just being really efficiently ignored because there’s literally a screen in front of it.

It’s funny. We’ve got more ways to connect, more ways to tap into “reality”, more ways to communicate than we’ve ever had before… And yet we’re saying all the same nothing we’ve always said. We’re just faking it better.

Maybe it should be called Fakebook.

It’s too bad, too. I always thought I had pretty awesome taste in people. It’s a shame these “reconnections” are all so falsely promising. It’s just some fleeting electronic encounter, more reason to wonder why everything changed, and more reason to accept that maybe some cliches are true, like never being able to go back.

Unfortunately, it seems like going forward is out of the question too. Limbo, however, is entirely in play.