Thank you and Happy New Year

Twenty seventeen will arrive one second later than expected, thanks to the addition of a leap second added to balance the atomic clocks with the Earth’s actual time. One more second for my readers to browse, I suppose, although 2016 was such an awful year that few folks want it to stay around any longer. One more second of Donald Trump or Brexit is unbearable for most of us, but there it is.

For my readership, however, 2016 was good; the number of visitors was up 15% overall from 2015 and continues to climb. Thank you, everyone: I hope my humble scribblings entertained and maybe even informed you. At the very least I hope they opened the door for conversations. And this year I met and conversed with several regular readers, and even received a gift basket as a thank-you for exposing the ugly underbelly of local politics. First time that has ever happened.

To date, I have written 918 posts (this is 919) with over 1.4 million words in them. The longest is post more than 8,700 words. I know, I know: I’m a yappy bugger but writing is what I love to do and when I can bolster it with research, why, I’m in intellectual heaven. That count doesn’t include the words I pound out for my work, for my novels (several in the works, none likely to see publication), for my published articles, what I write on social media, or my Machiavelli blog, or my correspondence. Several tens of thousands of words were written outside this blog. That’s why this blog is called Scripturient: having a strong urge to write.

A lot of readership in 2016 came from my posts about local issues: the unethical, immoral or even illegal behaviour of the group of seven on our local council we call The Block (so named not simply because they block vote, but because The Borg was already taken and much over-used). Sadly, much of that activity was either ignored or glossed over by the local media. But I believe it’s important the public is made aware of the shady dealing, the secret meetings, the conniving and scheming, the nest-feathering, the personal agendas and vendettas of this group. They are aggressively destroying so much of this great town, and as a result of complaints they are under investigation by the Information & Privacy Commissioner, the Ombudsman and the Ontario Energy Board. And possibly the police (if rumour proves true). Our reputation with our neighbours and developers has never been lower. But I digress.
Continue reading “Thank you and Happy New Year”

On growing old

The first senior's moment

No man is so old that he does not think himself able to live another year. (Nemo enim est tam senex qui se annum non putet posse vivere)

I was thinking of that line from Cicero this week when I attended a friend’s drop-in post-Christmas party. Most of the many people in attendance were my age or older. Few were under 50. All were active, engaged, alert, conversing and despite the relentless march of time, as alive that evening as they had ever been in their lives. And I suspect most, like me, believe they have many more years, even decades of life ahead of them. We all do, no matter how old we get.

And Canadians have good reason for that optimism, given our high standard of living, our clean air, water, our access to good, healthy food, our civil society, and our excellent publicly-funded health care service. In Canada old age in reasonable health and mental acuity is available for most of us, not just the rich.

As a generation, we are, I think, changing the conversation about aging; changing the social and cultural context around growing old and the inevitable death we all face. It’s in part because the Boomer generation has reached the threshold where death is not some distant possibility and we recognize that. It’s here. Nearby. We read the obituaries of contemporary friends and pop icons almost daily.

But because we have approached our lives more actively and energetically than many previous generations, we bring our optimism to aging. And for many a more pragmatic, accepting approach to death.

I just finished reading two translations of Cicero’s book Cato Maior de Senectute – variously translated as On Aging, On Growing Old or as Philip Freeman gives us, How to Grow Old, written in 44 BCE when Cicero was 62. I recommend it to everyone for its clear, practical approach to old age and dying.

It’s not really a manual, as Freeman’s title suggests (and his, I believe, is the best translation), rather it was written as a series of conversations between an older man and two younger men. Cicero puts his own thoughts and reflections on age into the mouth of the late Cato the Elder (Marcus Porcius Cato) to “give my essay greater weight” as Cicero himself wrote. You can read a Loeb Classic translation from 1923 here.
Continue reading “On growing old”

The vulgar crowd

HoraceProfanum vulgus. The vulgar crowd. Not, however, as you might suspect, an apt description of the remaining few supporters of The Block that rules Collingwood Council. While perhaps appropriately described, to me that small handful are better described as naïve, gullible and even intellectually vulnerable, moreso than merely vulgar. But that’s not what this post is about.

Odi profanum volgus et arceo. The words open the first ode in Horace’s third book (Carminum Liber Tertius): I shun the profane crowd. Or the uninitiated crowd. The rabble, or mob. As A.S.Kline translates it:

I hate the vulgar crowd, and keep them away:
grant me your silence. A priest of the Muses,
I sing a song never heard before,
I sing a song for young women and boys.

True, the poem has a subtle political context that might make one think of the Block and their disingenuous election campaign, as Kline translates:

It’s true that one man will lay out his vineyards
over wider acres than will his neighbour,
that one candidate who descends to
the Campus, will maintain that he’s nobler,

another’s more famous, or has a larger
crowd of followers: but Necessity sorts
the fates of high and low with equal
justice: the roomy urn holds every name.

The poem is really about the equality that death brings everyone and the pointlessness of our base pursuits. That roomy, capacious urn at the end of the line is where we all eventually end up regardless of our status and wealth. Horace also contemplates how little riches and rank offer in comparison to his small Sabine farm, and says how content he is with his lot.

But as usual, Horace isn’t that simple; the poem has more to contemplate than just one notion. I’m trying to understand it all and the choice of words in the translation matter.
Continue reading “The vulgar crowd”

TEOTWAWKI, New Year’s Eve

The angry hand of god. Or is it the hand of angry god?Some religious wingnuts aren’t planning to celebrate the ringing in of the New Year, 2017. Nope: they’re going to await the arrival of their zombie deity who, one can only suppose, will be bringing the champagne to his own party when he returns from the dead. The end of the world party, of course. And another day that, for the rest of us, will pass by with nothing happening, end-of-the-world-deity-arising-wise.

According to a story in Christian Today (which judging by the click-bait ad content and non-stop video ads is not all that serious about its religion but sure likes the income from less reputable sponsors…), a so-called “computer programmer” (no evidence of this claim is given) named Nora Roth predicts,

…the second coming of Christ will happen on New Year’s Eve, The Gospel Herald reported. Her findings, written on her blog “The Mark of the Beast,” are based on her calculations and analysis of the 70 “sevens” prophecy mentioned in the book of Daniel.

This date is apparently the result of some fancy but opaque numerology she conducted on biblical verses, maybe with the help of a ouija board, after which she decided,

In the fall of 2016 the 6,000 years of sin on earth will come to an end, everlasting righteousness will be brought in, and Jesus will come again.

Beats me how she gets the 6,000 year thing, but then I was never into magic numbers. 2016 minus 6000… that gives us a date of 3984 BCE, smack dab in the Chalcolithic or copper Age, that murky, pre-literate period between the Stone and Bronze Ages and the origins of many civilizations. This is a couple of millennia even before the earliest Egyptian pyramids and Abraham and the early Hebrew patriarchs (Abraham is sometimes dated somewhere between 1900 and 1600 BCE), but we have lots of archeological evidence of life back then in the 40th century BCE – and, of course, much earlier, too. Six thousand years is a mere hair on the world’s timeline, and even our human timeline is much, much longer than that (2.8 million years, give or take a few).

3984 BCE is about 3,400 years before the first books of the Old Testament were compiled. Long, long, long before the Hebrew god even shows up on stage. Some wingnutty biblical literalists have 3984 BCE pegged as the date for the creation of Adam, that mythical first man from Genesis, which may explain it.

Christian Today also has a story titled, “Is Donald Trump the Messiah or His Forerunner?” so you can judge its credibility by that headline alone. The site references the same story on another click-bait site, Gospelherald.com and it’s been shared online by numerous conspiracy-prone sites, plus the Daily Mail (which at least had the sense to call her idea “bizarre”).
Continue reading “TEOTWAWKI, New Year’s Eve”

More council Christmas carols

A few preliminary verses for your consideration this holiday season… perhaps my readers might like to offer their contributions or extend the verses below.

To the tune of The Holly and the Ivy:
The folly of our council,
So evident to see
Fumble, flail and bumble
Of this we all agree.

O the rising of our taxes
And consultants not a few
The lawyers that they hired
Block vendettas to see through.

To the tune of: We Three Kings of Orient Are:
We the Block of Council votes are
Conflicts of interest we bring from afar
Sell our airport, sell the utilities
Follow our CAO…

O we don’t need your public voice
No consultation or input
We know what’s best, we know what’s right
The meeting door stays closed shut

To the tune of Silent Night:
Silent night, in camera night
All is secret, that’s our right
Round yon interim CAO
Gather and listen to what he says so
We do his bidding, we must
In his deep wisdom we trust

To the tune of Good King Wenceslas:
Cam Ecclestone he raised his hand
And voted to defeat it,
When recorded vote was called
He stood. It was approved.
Could not recall his vote that night,
When the media asked him.
Brian had to lecture him,
On The Block’s agen-en-da.

To the tune of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear:
The Block they went in camera
They wanted no public to hear.
When selling our utility
Their private agendas were clear.

To the tune of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer:
Kathy’s a happy councillor
Her expenses she thinks are fab
She flies around the country while
Taxpayers pick up the tab.

All of the other Blockheads
Voted for her to play
She parties without restrictions
While the rest of us must pay.

Council’s 12 Days of Christmas

Collingwood Council
On the first day of Christmas my council gave to me:

An interim CAO.

On the second day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the third day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Five insults to the CGMH, four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Six airport rejections, five insults to the CGMH, four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Seven hundred dollar an hour lawyer, six airport rejections, five insults to the CGMH, four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Eight outside consultants, seven hundred dollar an hour lawyer, six airport rejections, five insults to the CGMH, four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Nine ethical violations, eight outside consultants, seven hundred dollar an hour lawyer, six airport rejections, five insults to the CGMH, four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my council gave to me:
Ten in camera meetings, nine ethical violations, eight outside consultants, seven hundred dollar an hour lawyer, six airport rejections, five insults to the CGMH, four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my council a gave to me:
Eleven phony reports, ten in camera meetings, nine ethical violations, eight outside consultants, seven hundred dollar an hour lawyer, six airport rejections, five insults to the CGMH, four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my council gave to me:
Twelve attacks on Collus, eleven phony reports, ten in camera meetings, nine ethical violations, eight outside consultants, seven hundred dollar an hour lawyer, six airport rejections, five insults to the CGMH, four integrity investigations, three sole-sourced contracts, two tax hikes,
And an interim CAO.