Democracy, now it's easier than ever.

I had the chance, as a citizen of 'Duel', to vote in the last US election. I ended up voting in my grandfathers state, Ohio, so there is little doubt that the republican counters took one look at the Canadian return address, and flushed that ballot so far out to sea it's currently a grossly scribbled Atlantian's grocery list. Nevertheless, I am a consummate voter. In fact, I will never forget the only time in my adult life when I WASN'T able to vote, which was after coming home from Japan. I arrived home 2 days before the last general election, so I didn't bother to vote abroad because I was already registered at home, and would actually be there for the big shebang! Except, I was in Vancouver, so I figured, no problem, I will go to North Vancouver, which as a riding covers over 400 square kilometers, including my dingy provincial town, and does the awesome job of representing the simultaneous political interests of both Donkey Punchers and Retired Yuppy Douche-bags alike.
Our MP was convicted of 200'000 dollars worth of fraud almost 6 months ago, and goes about his business of representing the masses like nothing happened because government has poured so much money in the Olympics that it can't afford a by-election; but that is a rant for another time. In any case, I went the mall to vote with all the other zombies, only to be told that even though I was in technically in my riding, I had to vote at my assigned polling station, and no, I couldn't just re-register.

I felt like I had been stabbed right in the democracy (which anatomically is located behind and to the left of the spleen).
Then there was the indignity of seeing Harper's satan-crusted lips curved into a fanatically grin as he won a minority government that I COULD HAVE PREVENTED IF ONLY THEY LET MY VOTE IN!

Still, for an age where democracy is sooooooooooooo threatened, it is ironic that political participation is the easiest as it has ever been. I am the member of countless groups who email me anytime there is something fishy going down, and all I have to do is sign the pre-fab letter, add my own personal statement of disgust, and send it off.

They even send me "thank you for taking action" replies that make my chest swell with righteous pride, though it could be partly acid-reflux.

But I am always bothered by the sense that this isn't really what political participation is all about. Both Lenin and Gandhi would certainly agree.

Real political action has a certain element of sweaty masses marking in the streets and maltov cocktails to it that modern democracy is sorely lacking. The teamsters knew that if you wanted to stop the corporate bastards from laying off the union guys and hiring scabs for half the wages, the best way to stop them was to head down to the dock and burn their warehouses to the ground, not write a snivelling, annoyed letter to their MP.

In our present model of democracy, we seem to have forgotten that elected officials are not direct conduits from our individual will to the power of parliment. No one speaks for us but ourselves, and our responsibility for our fate and future lies in our ability to take action by ourselves, not in our ability to break out the laptop and pass the buck.

So I have taken "real" action, in the form of a petition against bill C-51, the anti-naturopathy bill that has, in it's wording, the capacity to make garlic illegal (for more info, go to www.stopc51.ca)

It took exactly 10 minutes to put the thing together and distribute it to five different stores. But now, I'm RESPONSIBLE FOR DEMOCRACY. I almost chickened out when I paused to consider that having collected all these signatures, I would actually have to record them and mail them off, and Oh, the postage (swoon). Worse than that, I would have, in my butterfingers, the political will of the masses which they fully expected me to forward to higher powers. But this feels good, like good sweet, goodness.

So, if you want to enjoy the smug satisfaction of feeling like you actually made a witch's tit of a difference to your political scene, start a petition: it's easier than baking a pie!
If that is too rich for your blood though, you can always sign up for and answer the calls-to-keyboard for our fair liberty and freedom to buy shit whenever we want, without leaving the comfort of your very own home from the following websites: www.rightoncanada.ca, www.nrdc.org, www.greenpeace.org, www.moveon.org.

Democracy: it's worth, like, five minutes of your time, dude.

Non sequitor: Why the hell do headlines always read "Troops deployed to stop violence". When has deploying the troops ever ended the bloodshed?

ooh what a world, what a world

Give me back my cockring, you asshole

I know you are all dying to hear more about my Japan trip, sorry again to be so skimpy on the tell-tales and doodads, but that was almost 2 weeks ago, and like Slavery and the Holocaust, it's totally behind me. Nothing bad happened, I had a great time, and spent many hours riding the trains without getting molested, even once. Would you really like to hear more along that vein, or instead, treat yourself to the sore tale of pot of stupid I have bubbling in the present? No contest.

A little background first; I must admit I lied some months ago when I stated unequivocally that I was going to stop using a certain ubiquitous personals site because of all the bastards on it. I kept using it, and met someone I thought I might have good chance of mutual happiness with. I was contacted, we met, we talked, we laughed and made merry and dated for a month; everything was going so well. Apparently, he had seen me a work and had wanted to ask me out for months, and the website provided the perfect opportunity. I could imagine joking with folks at the wedding about the crazy story of how we met and our hi-larious first impressions of one another while everyone in the circle giggled and sipped box champagne. And then...we broke up. Quite suddenly. The reason given was that we should break up now to avoid the pain of having to possibly break up down the road, and we might have to break up later because one day I might want my own biological children and you can't provide them, so we'd have to break up then anyway. Bitch slap me please, because that was way too theoretical for me. We had been dating for a MONTH, you don't start thinking about shit like that until the bowl is nearly full.

I came the conclusion that had to be bullshit, because not one single line of reasoning there was applicable at all in the here and soon reality that we all occupy. Naturally I was angry that I had been broken up with without just cause, and I communicated that. The next thing I know, we can never be friends and I never want to see you again. Just to reiterate, we have not been involved deeply enough for anything even approaching such animosity to be born. But what the hell, obviously the objects in mirror were closer than they appeared. He returned the DVDs I had left at his place in the mailbox so he wouldn't have to see my offensive mug again, I likewise returned his belongings. Then I decided that I really wanted that cock-ring back.

I had gotten him a cock-ring while I was abroad, on the assumption that it was more of a "mutual" gift, that we were both going to share in naughty pleasures with. I am not usually one for Indian-giving, but I got only one night out of that cock-ring, and I felt I should have it back that we might explore greener pastures elsewhere together. After all, those things are expensive, and if that relationship had been a watch, I would have returned it to the store, receipt in hand, for a full refund after it crapped out on my ass less than a week from purchase. So I broke out the old email and asked for the cock-ring back, politely.

The response the came back was, 'I destroyed it. A low request".

Destoyed the cock-ring?! Like 'with fire and anvil' destroyed? I didn't think it was possible for us to come so soon and without event to the point where the enemity was such that destruction of mutual property was on the menu, even as an appetizer. My ex, with whom there was far more history and opportunities for such revenge, never did anything like that to my person or property, and having encountered the worse end, I am starting to re-think my definition of a bad break-up. I am still so completely flabbergasted by the sudden change of attitude, that the destruction of the cock-ring has made the whole thing far less tragedy than comedy, and made me thoroughly grateful that the bloom went off the rose before I went and bought a couple dozen.

At least now, I have established several criteria for cutting a new relationship off at the knees:

1) Never date anyone who speaks unforgivingly badly about their ex, and gives very forgivable examples of how bad said ex was.
2) Never date anyone who just wants to focus on their "career".
3) Never date anyone who finishes every sentence with "so I told him/her to fuck right off"
4) Never date anyone who says "I've thought about it, and I just haven't done anything wrong".
5) Never date anyone who listens to art rock.

And don't be fooled by the overconfident either, because despite the chaotic posture, it is amazing easy to dig your own grave with your head up your ass.

A contented mind is a perpetual feasts

Sorry for the long absence faithful readers, all 3 of you, but I have been living the guu raifu for the past couple weeks in my second home, Japan. And when I say "second home" I mean that in the way that the orphanage was a second home to Oliver Twist. Or at least it used to be. Imagine Oliver, all grown, returns to that grey-bricked prison locked in the busy, angry cold of London one day to find all the children laughing, running barefoot and smelling of patchouli, and the nuns strumming guitars and singing Joan Baez. My return to Japan was something like that.

I lived in Japan for almost 4 years, and only two of them had been whole heartedly voluntarily; the last two years were consigned to love and money, neither of which held their market value, and I left oh-so bitter like so much chinese melon, never daring to return and least of all to give Japan a single more red yen. All the time I lived there, I also did preciously little in- country travel, since it would have meant giving my money to the bastard Japanese. The list of things I hated about that country would have covered the circumfrance of Rita MacIntires waist several times around, but I am relieved to say that after a 2 year break, some perspective and a Japan Rail Pass, I am ready to let Japan, causiouly, back into my heart again. Platonically.

I started out at my friend Tanya's place and got the usual ears full of what was going on and how annoying Japan generally is to those still living there. I spent the next day perusing Tokyo for good eats. Tokyo is the kind of city that has so much of everything that is singularly impossible to find or do anything. Take book stores for example, which was another thing I was looking for. Any attempt at hyperbole would be ironically accurate, cause Tokyo has, like, a million book stores, so many that no knows where one is. In my mind, no where should need more than 3 books stores, one for new books, one for used books, and one for comic books and magazines, and perhaps a 4th for all their massive stash of pornography. But that is it. Nevertheless, the city boasts only 5 vegetarian restaurants, and only one of those serves raw food, so I didn't suffer too much searching it out. After I had my fill, I then had to do something with the rest of my day, and the only thing I saw from the train ride in that was large and singular enough to make a good target was the Edo-Tokyo museum. This is the bitch.

It looks like a giant lego tortoise.

As I headed up to the stair case, I had the vague feeling that I had been there before, which was offsetting, because not remembering a trip to a museum, by definition an exhibition house of all that is most interesting about humanity, almost certainly means the museum is duller than King Georges' tomb, and my lack of memory served me very right in this case. Edo Tokyo museum has about as much history and atmosphere as a your average McDonald. There were several displays that were really grasping for the most tenious connections to Japan, as Japan, despite boasting almost 1300 years of civilization, either couldn't or wouldn't fill their museum with their OWN history, and had turned over the main exhibition hall to nothing less than David Bowie! Why? Because he had performed in Tokyo in 1972 and wore some pretty funky outfits. Like this one.


I was way to mature to notice the bulge.

Or perhaps not, because the next stop was the porn shop I noticed right outside of Ryogoku station; entered somewhat accidently as the sign read "book store", catergory 4 obviously. Porn stores with proper toys and things are also bizarrely difficult to find despite Japan's international reputation for perversion, and this one was truly a blessed find. For 1500 yen, I managed to walk away with a "very comfortable item for the woman", the flashing magic eight pleasure. I seriously contemplated grabbing a DVD while I was there, but I had just gotten back and should well have remembered how bad Japanese poor is, all full of eels, "ouch ouch it's too big", and cold cum. I actually ran into a monk upon exiting the shop. Bad karma.

And so ended my first day. More adventures tomorrow. I had pumpkin for dinner, and now to bed.