Politics going to the dogs

I am sure you have heard the expression 'going to the dogs.'
It can apply to things that are going downhill, in decay (because dogs love to eat and roll in decaying stuff I guess) or in general it means things are not going too well.
In this case, it is politics that is going to the dogs. I know I will have to be a little more specific. It would seem a member of New Brunswick's Progressive Conservative Party voted to select a leader of the rival Liberal party using his dog's name.
The man registered his hound to vote in the leadership race by providing a name, address, phone number and birthdate.
He was then able to vote in the leadership showdown without so much as a phone call to check the authenticity of the name he provided.
He said he could not use his own name because he is a power player in the PC party, so he listed his dog. Needless to say he is thrilled with the Liberal blunder that is calling into question the integrity of the party.
In their defence, an N.B. Liberal spokesperson said they did call the number, but no one in their office spoke schnauzer so they could not verify the authenticity of the voter information until someone fluent in dog could be found.
Actually, the party official said they try to call everyone on the list, but this one was missed blah-blah-blah, or no one was home blah-blah-blah, it won't happen again blah-blah-blah.
The man who set up the ruse is charging forward like a drunken rhino and can see only good things coming of this for his party.
He is blasting the Liberals with both barrels.
In an effort to deflect some of the embarrassment, the Liberals fired back saying the ruling party should spend more time looking after the province than conducting the shenannigans of signing up a dog to vote.
Nice try, Liberal party of New Brunswick, but you were busted with your proverbial pants down (which has happened to politicians in a more literal manner on more than one occasion.)
Letting a dog vote, what's next? If you let dogs vote, then cats will want to vote, then all of a sudden every animal out there will want a say in who will run the country.
It is hard enough getting people to vote, but a dog would just want to sniff and pee on everything. And a cat could care less, making them more like real voters.

All of this silliness got me thinking (which is often a bad thing.)
Perhaps we should turn the voting over to the animals. If an octopus can predict who will triumph in World Cup soccer (football for all of our European readers) then maybe cats and dogs can pick the best leader for the country.
As far as that goes, maybe they should even start running for office. Have you ever met a dog that did not have integrity? Or a dog that was not loyal and faithful?

A dog would also be happy with whatever accommodations they were provided and not demand to be upgraded to a five-star facility where a glass of orange juice is $200 - unless the dog is named Oda that is.
And of course Canada would have to find dogs that can bark in English and French.

Obviously dogs cannot run for political office, but perhaps our human elected officials should go to the dogs as they are a fine example of how to behave (aside from the licking themselves part I mean.)

I must admit high-level politicians are not my favourite people in the world (as if you could not guess that already) but there are several political figures I actually believe are doing the best they can, some of whom are actively serving their constituents in this riding as we speak and they are doing so with an honest desire to make the country a better place to live.

To them I say ‘Good boy.’

 

It's Halloween, gimme candy

It's almost that time of year again. The leaves are turning their magical colours, the air is crisp with a hint of frost glistening off the hood of my car as I head off to another day in the salt mines.
Yup, it can only mean one thing: Halloween is just about here.
I love Halloween. I always thought it should be a stat holiday. How can a kid concentrate when he or she knows there is boundless amounts of candy waiting for them at every door?
I know when I was a wee lad the school day was pretty much a write off. Kind of like most days actually, but this time I had a legitimate excuse for not paying attention.
All sorts of hideous creatures with their scary faces and foul stench were seen roaming the hallways at my school, and some of those people dressed up for Halloween as well. There were always a few kids who were too cool to wear their costume to school, but later that evening, when all that free sugar was being handed out, they were jostling for position with the best of them.
You are never too cool to get free candy.
The spooky commercials and TV shows would start a few weeks before the big day adding to the excitement.

Is it just me, or was the world a lot less weird back then? Some of the stuff coming out in the form of horror movies these days is downright disturbing.
I never saw it in the theatre – I was way too young – but I can remember hearing about The Exorcist and how scared people were. I can remember news stories on how people were terrified about being possessed.
Now days, it would likely be viewed more as a comedy than a horror, but back then it was some scary stuff.
I know I am rambling on like an old fuddy-duddy, but movies seem to have crossed the line from being scary to being gross and filled with mindless violence.
But then again, I am sure older people said the same thing about the horror movies I used to go to as a teen.

Either way, horror movies and Halloween go together like Denny's and fat people.

TV is also besieged by ghastly ghouls of every description and that is just the political debates.

Every show has to get in their Halloween special featuring everything from cute and cuddly monsters to some scary beasts that devour humans like Elvis on a deep-fried doughnut.
Before the invention of TV, people used to sit around in the dark and tell scary stories to frighten each other.

“So beware. The beast is out there. It is waiting for you. It is horrible, strong and terrifiying. We call it HST for short.”

Eeeek, that monster is bad enough to rile up an entire province and end political careers.

TV and movies have replaced the telling of stories, with visual effects that could not even be imagined a few decades ago.
The costumes available today are also way more intricate than when I was a kid. My friends and I had to suffer those thin plastic masks with elastic band straps that depicted vampires or werewolves or other ‘scary’ creatures.

The problem was, the only scary thing about those masks was when your friend ran up and pulled on it before releasing his grip and laughing as the mask smashed into your face. It is amazing how many times that would happen in a single night.
But no matter how things change, the more they stay the same. Halloween is still about dressing up, having fun and getting a bag full of free treats.
So like clockwork, every Oct. 31, parents dress their children up, send them into the dark of night and encourage them to take candy from strangers.

I can hardly wait.

Invention can be a real mother...

Many people may not know this, but I am a bit of an inventor.

I have not solved the riddle of cold fusion, or developed a machine to tell what women are really feeling (cold fusion is easier), but I have had a few ideas rattle around my cranium.

Along with The Missus, we have come up with some brilliant and ground-breaking ideas that were sure to change the world and make us so rich we can vacation with Bill Gates.

Well, maybe not that rich, but rich enough that our annual family vacation can be spent in an actual exotic location, instead of a camper in my inlaw’s driveway.

The first idea we came up with was sure to be a hit with dog lovers.

The idea struck us like a bolt of lightning while watching our hounds jump around the back seat of our car like a couple of hyper, yapping bouncy balls.

The dogs would jump from side window to side window just to see what was there and to make sure they barked an adequate amount before the subject of their attention was gone.

Having two dogs barking in the backseat of a compact is like sticking your head in a steel drum and hitting it with a stick – only more annoying. We could tell them to be quiet, but the jumping around back there was a little harder to control.

So it was in that moment of inspiration the doggy seat belt was born.

The idea was to use the existing seatbelt and a custom-made webbing that would keep the mutts secure and stop them from bouncing all over the place.

In the event of an accident, it would also keep the hounds from becoming canine projectiles. We talked about the idea at length and could see dollar signs floating in front of us.

So why didn’t we patent and develop the dog-belt system that was sure to attract animal lovers from around the world?

Someone beat us to it and had already developed the doggy seatbelt. I am not sure how, but I suspect they had spies watching us and had our home wired with audio and video so they could steal our idea.

Just because you are paranoid, does not mean they are not watching you.

Our second get-rich invention was for the ladies.

No it was not a spray that would make husbands want to do housework, which is too bad because that would have sold like crazy.

We called it ‘The Air Bra’ and it involved a bra that could be expanded by pumping air into it.

I know, brilliant isn’t it?

It could have changed the face of the world, or some other parts anyway, and now that I think about it, it might have helped in the housework department as well.

“Hubby, would you please vacuum for me?”

“Not now, I am busy watching the game.”

Pump. Pump. Pump.

“How about now, big boy?”

“You betcha honey. Anything for you.”

The Air Bra would have a little pump in it similar to those found in certain over-priced sports shoes that would allow the wearer to expand their um, er, ah, attributes to whatever size they felt necessary.

Of course a limit would have to be put on the device to prevent men from hooking up an air compressor and taking things to a whole new level.

But once again those spies learned of our idea and beat us to the punch. A couple years after we had the idea, a company started making and marketing bras with the exact same idea.

I guess we didn’t keep our secret from Victoria.

Currently I am working on yet another invention, but this one is geared more toward men.

I am trying to come up with a contraption that, when applied properly, will nullify the sounds of the incessant chatter of mother in laws.

So far the only idea I have come up with is a well-placed blow with a croquet mallet, but that is temporary and somewhat illegal.

Gentlemen, I will keep you informed of my progress.

Darren Handschuh can be reached at therudemonkey@gmail.com. For more of his ramblings, check out his blog at www.therudemonkey.blogspot.com.

Terrific teens and their big brains

The lead of the story said "What were you doing when you were 14?"
It got me thinking about life 30 something years ago and what I was doing - riding my dirtbike, playing hockey and figuring out that girls really weren't icky after all.
Pretty typical stuff I would imagine. My friends were all doing the same thing so I assumed that is what you did at 14.
However, my teenaged antics were put to shame by some modern youths.
Teen No. 1 went beyond typical high school achievements - way beyond.
It would seem the young man in Texas has invented a contraption that attaches to a bicycle that when peddalled desalinates seawater via reverse osmosis. One hour of pedalling produces 20 gallons of drinkable water.
Wow, and my parents were proud when I brought in a solid C in science class.
This next lad is comes in at the ripe old age of 15. The genius in jeans came up with a medical procedure that has doctors around the world sitting up and taking notice.
According to the news story, the young man from Maryland, "created a test for pancreatic cancer that is demonstrably much faster and more accurate than current diagnostics by using carbon nanotubes that can be specially activated by applications of the signature pancreatic-cancer protein, Mesothelin."
I had to look up what half of that stuff was, but before I could get a good understanding of the concept I was distracted by a shiny object.
Now, let me think. What was I doing when I was 15? Still riding dirtbikes, playing hockey and chasing girls. When I was 16 I was driving a beat up little car, riding dirtbikes, playing hockey and chasing girls. When I was 17, well you get the idea.
Those are some pretty amazing kids. My parents were just happy if I did not get a police escort home on a Saturday night.
This next one is not about brilliant kids, but bonehead administrators.
The controversy surrounds a four-year-old with hearing challenges. His name is Hunter and he is proficient in using sign language, which make sense considering he can not hear.
What doesn't make sense is how officials reacted to the way he signed his name. Because his name is Hunter, his fingers make the shape of a gun which violates the school's anti-weapon's policy and his parents were told he would have to stop doing it.
I hope his parents showed the administrative uptights what they thought using a little sign language of thier own. The parents were understandably shocked at the school's response and have launched an official protest.
Having grown up with a sister who has physical and hearing limitations, I understand how important any form of communication can be. My sister used sign language and I knew a few words so I could connect with her. Without that sign language, my sister had her communication with the rest of the world effectively shut off.
Now little Hunter is being told he can not sign his own name. How is a four year old supposed to figure that out?
He can use sign language for regular communication, he just can't tell anyone what his name is.
I am all in favour of anti-violence rules in schools, but this seems a little over the top.
The last story I read on the subject was the parents were fighting the school and the boneheads, er, I mean, administrators who are hassling a kid who has enough challenges in his life already.
Good luck to them.

Me not so smart

I am the first to admit my wife is smarter than I am - a lot smarter

If we were in the fish world, she would be a dolphin and I would be a sea sponge. I know that technically neither one are a fish, with the dolphin being a mammal and the sponge being a, well, I don't really know what a sponge is, but the comparison still stands.
She be smart, and I be not so smart.
It is not very often I am called upon to help the kids do their homework. When it comes to math I am about as sharp as a river rock and twice as dense. Me and numbers just do not get along. We never have and likely we never will.
My wife on the other hand is very good with numbers and can figure out where X goes and what it means.
All I know is X goes between W and Y and is not a member of the numerical family. I also know that if you put three Xs together, you are looking at something you probably shouldn't.
But for those with a mathematic capacity greater than that of a turnip, X can mean all sorts of things.
It can mean a variety of numbers and solutions to some of the worlds greatest math challenges. But often you have to mash several letters together to come up with a brilliant mathematical answer that I would not be able to figure out if I had X number of days to do so.
When it comes to helping the kids with math, it is The Missus who shoulders the brunt of the work. She is also in charge of the family accounting. If it were up to me, our finances would show us somewhere between being broke and having a million dollars in the bank.
But I do step in when it comes to English and social studies - both were courses I did well at in school.
English was by far my favourite course all through high school, mainly because I barely had to show up and I still got decent grades. If I had actually studied and applied myself I probably would have received good grades, but being young and not overly bright I decided to just skate my way through English.
I suspect the editor proofing this column wished I would have tried a little harder as well. I did finally knuckle down and study, but it was not until I reached college that my brain finally decided to learn a few things.
My high school math marks were barely passable, and I do mean barely. Once out of the seventh level of hell, er I mean high school, I tried to avoid all math equations that insisted on substituting letters for numbers.
In sharp contrast to my little brain, my wife's big brain brought in a bevy of brilliant grades. She was on the principal's list more than once.
I too made the principal's list one semester, but for an entirely different reason.
We both made the list based on what we were doing in class, but unlike my wife, it was strongly urged I stop doing it.
Anyway, my wife is very smart and that is a good thing. It has rubbed off on our children and with her continued help with their homework, my kids will continue to do well despite my intellectually inferior genes dragging them down.
But in my own defense, I am not a knuckle-dragging Neandrathol with the IQ of a toaster. I was smart enough to graduate high school - barely - and I actually did very well in college.
My grades were near the top of the class both years by actually applying myself and studying.

Perhaps my brain is not so small after all. Who woulda thunk it?

Keep the fame, just give me the money

I would much rather be rich than famous.
I think being famous would really suck.
Being rich might suck as well, but I am willing to give it a try, so if there is anyone out there with a lot of money they are tired of holding on to I am more than willing to take it off your hands for you.
If not, I am also willing and able to work for my money. So if there is a job out there that pays a truck load of cash that I somehow qualify for, just let me know.
But making a ton of money quietly, away from the public glare would be pretty sweet indeed.
That way you can quietly go about enjoying your money and not have to worry about people recognizing you. If you win the money on the lotto your name and face is splashed in newspapers across the land and suddenly you will have more friends than you know what to do with.
People you have not seen in years will be 'your best friend.'
"Hi, you remember me, right? I sat behind you in third grade for a month. We were great friends and seeing as how we are such close friends, can i have some money?"
Family members will also be eager to spend time with their 'favourite relative in the whole wide world,' even if you have not seen or spoken to them in years.
Weddings, funerals and winning a huge chunk of change are guaranteed to bring the family together.
Like I said, it would be better to be rich than famous.
Once you reach a certain level of fame your life is no longer your own and no matter how much money you have, you can not buy privacy.
You also can not buy love, but having a boat load of cash would sure make being lonely a lot more fun.
It would also make being miserable a lot more enjoyable. You have admit, it would be a lot more fun to cry in a BMW than to weep on a 10-speed bike.
But with fame, you could not do either one without a lot of people knowing about it.
And there are some very unscrupulous people who will do whatever it takes to make a buck off of your fame.
The royals have long been a favourite target of the paparazzi. Poor Princess Diana was virtually hounded to death.
The paparazzi just loves to catch someone famous with their pants down - literally.
Prince Harry of the Buckingham Royals was recently photographed playing a game of 'strip pool.' But c'mon, this is Harry the wildman of the royal clan and based on the support he received, his showing off of the 'royal jewels' did not exactly have the masses in an uproar. It would seem people really didn't give a darn that Harry was frolicking naked with members of the lady pursuasion. Many people took to the Internet to show their support for the royal bad boy by posting pictures of themselves in a compromising states of undress.
However, there is another royal who is being 'exposed' by the rags. Kate, Prince Williams beloved, was snapped wearing nothing more than a skimpy pair of bikini bottoms.
Her royal attributes were on display for all to see and someone with a camera and a very long lens managed to get some blurry pictures of her, um, royal pair.
But unlike the boys-will-be-boys attitude people took towards Harry, people are upset about the Kate nudie pics
Many people are in an uproar, as well they should be. Kate was at a private beach and was photographed from a long distance away by some sneaky person with a telephoto lens.
Don't get me wrong, I am all in favour of boobies, but she was not prancing around the shores of Okanagan Lake, nor was she flashing the crowd at Spring Break. She was at a private estate where she should be able to frolic with her husband like any other married couple enjoying a sunny getaway.
The bozo with the camera had no right to take such an invasive and embarrassing photo. But for future reference, Kate when you have the potential to be the future queen of England, perhaps its best if you wear your entire skimpy bikini.

Bald is beautiful baby

They say you don’t really appreciate something until it is gone
I don’t really know who ‘they’ are, but ‘they’ are right, because at this moment I really miss my hair.
Yes, I am a follicly challenged individual. There are many of my forehead-enhanced brethren running around out there and I am sure they have faced similar woes.
I know in the grand scheme of things, losing one’s mop of locks is not exactly an earth-shattering crisis – at least that’s what we keep telling ourselves.
I started losing my hair shortly after high school and I decided then to not worry about it. I would go bald gracefully and embrace my inner Kojak. (The younger people have no idea who I am talking about.)
I vowed never to do a comb over, wig or any other feeble attempt to hide the fact I am losing my hair.
I have known people who were very upset they were losing their hair at such a young age and would carefully craft their locks to look like they still had plenty.
At first this is possible. You can change your hairstyle to hide the fact your hair is abandoning your head at an alarming rate, but only for so long.
Eventually you reach a point where it doesn’t matter how you cut or style your hair, it is obvious you are going bald.
As the years march on and the hair falls out, the only person you are fooling is yourself. But you do give other people a good chuckle as you strut around with your ‘full head of hair.’
My hair started falling out when I was 20. There was nothing I could do about it and I did nothing to try and hide it, but that does not mean I was thrilled to be future a chrome dome.
Now, as the F-years slap me around, I am a chrome dome.
Being over six-feet tall and having less hair on my head than my 78-year-old dad has made me realize hair plays more of a role than just something that sits on top of your head and looks pretty.
Hair acts as a sensory shield to give you a split second warning you are about to crack your cranium. I cannot count the number of times I have smacked my head on something. Actually, considering how many blows to the head I have taken it is amazing I can count at all.
However, if I had a glorious, flowing head of hair I would have that warning system and been able to avoid cranial interaction with immovable objects.
But I dislike being hair challenged the most when it is raining outside. When a bald man tells you it is raining, believe him. We know when the moisture is falling from the heavens because we have this weather panel at the top of our bodies that detects rain and harsh sun with a sensitivity hair-enhanced people do not enjoy. It’s kind of a bald dude super power.
And I am taller than most people so the rain will hit my bald spot (which is pretty much my entire head) before it reaches the height-challenged masses.
There are solutions to the rain dilemma. I could get an umbrella, or even use the Hair Alternative Treatment – commonly known as H.A.T. I do own such devices, but there are times when I do not have either with me when the rain starts a falling.
That is something all the hairy people don’t have to worry about because where ever you go, your hair goes with you.
You never have to think, “Hmmmm, now where did I leave my full head of hair?”
Nope you just head out the door confident your head is covered with the protective shield that will keep the rain from pounding your bean.
Meanwhile us baldies are gathering up hats, umbrellas, newspapers, cardboard boxes or whatever else we can get our hands on to save our noggin from a splashing.
Oh well, at least I save money on shampoo and conditioner.