Chinese democracy, one fiction at a time...

That nuanced thrash-metal philosopher, Axl Rose, famously spent a decade trying to spit-glue together his Chinese Democracy album, an assault on the fictional nature of that concept.

Predictably, it was banned in China, spiritual home of the Staged One-Party-State News Event. North Korea may beg to differ, but I digress.

Here in Canada, between: the PM gettin' his freak on over heavy-handed message control, such that even most senior ministers are only allowed to read canned statements lashed together by half-smart li'l ReformaTory twerps in the PMO's rapidly-expanding Stephen Harper Information Torquing machine (The acronym says it all. But I digress again. To make up for not doing it last post, Ms. Zoom, ma'am...); Other ReformaTory twerps ginning up SunTV as a de facto party organ (heh...); And Immigration Minister Jason Kenney ordering his hapless civil servants to cobble up a, ummm, very special, immigration affirmation ceremony for his very special pals over at that self-same party organ, "And make it snappy!", we might seem to be well on our way toward a solidly domestic version of the Chinese democracy that it took Axl 10 years just to wrap his heavy-me(n)tal bandanna around and write about.

In maybe only a little more than half the time.

An overpowered media vehicle is doing its very best to impose a series of fictions about the current government's deeds, and the country as a whole, upon the mass consciousness. Those fictions, swallowed, would supplant something beautiful, real, and far more inconvenient and messy for current government inclinations.

The hilarity, for the rest of us, comes when that vehicle - inevitably - fishtails violently, busts loose, and screeches, upside-down, into the ditch. Witness the yuks when some StunTV (news?)weasel's brave statement, "Lets do it! We can fake the oath!" was dredged into the actual sunlight. Despite the best efforts of the PM and his gang to make the (real) media lie down, roll over, and beg, they apparently ain't cowed to the point where everybody can look away and ignore authoritarian absurdity.

In the spirit of fairness and balance, I should point out that the immigration minister has disavowed all knowledge. Cool. This has all sortsa well-worn precedent, established by both the fictional Secretary of the Impossible Mission Forces and the possibly-fictional minister's all-too-real spin doctors. Whenever a fiction-based scam goes sideways, the offishul playbook says to pile more fiction onto that sucker like crazy, then hoof somebody who isn't you under the bus. And self-righteously pretend to all and sundry that that little PMO-approved set piece dealt with it completely.

People, repeat after the coyote: "Repetition does not make an untrue thing, right!". Remembering that grouchy semi-mythical coyotes was born with their long pointy noses, where the minister appears to be growing his... as he speaks.

At long last having pulled out a majority. . .

. . .Stephen Harper revealed his grand vision for the country to Canadians

My biggest fear...

...upon hearing rumours last night that some poor, misbegotten, and likely well-muddled schmuck was apprehended sparkin' a, ummm, small puddle of undefined burning liquid on the sidewalk outside the Prime Minister's official residence at 24 Sussex, was that this obviously dastardly crime of national import would go unreported.

Whew! Glad that's been taken care of! (1) (2) (3) (...)

Now they can jug up said schmuck in a real prison instead of an unreported one. Or worse yet, instead of the mental hospital he most likely needs. Because now is obviously the time to get tough on crime...

Unless of course, it was Maclean's Magazine columnist Paul Wells... I'm just sayin'.

Alrighty, then! Let the judiciary commence with the important book-throwing formalities. Everybody else, back to your Sunday morning hangovers, crappy take-out coffees, and matching breakfast sandwiches!

Putting the "Anti" into Social Networking. . .

Mister Sloppy had left an urgent summons in my voicemail. Wise coyotes do not casually deny evil geniuses of his calibre. I hoofed it across Centretown.

When he buzzed me in, I followed the whooping to his secret subterranean lair, where his manic keyboarding – two computers at once – gave me pause. So did the plethora of vintage mega-sized Jolt Cola empties. He only cracks his stash when he's kickin' coding old-school. Which is never good for the state of world.

"Ummm, so, how long you been at this?" I asked.

"Since the Prime Minister got hisself posted on YouTube three days back" he said, keyclacks barely slowing. "If Jurassic politicos are pretending to use social media, it's finally jumped the megashark. They think they’ll go viral, I’ll give ‘em freakin’ viral! It's almost ready!"

"What is, Sloppy?" I asked.

Fevered blue eyes blazed.

"The Next Big Thing!" He purred, grinning, well, evilly. In capital letters. "AntiSocial Media! Facebook and Myspace are tossing net privacy under the bus, people are sick of tweeting, dorks who don't understand social media are trying to warp it back into old paradigms they do understand. So it comes to this! Is my new Antisocial Networking site not genius?"

He waved at his monitors. "Here! You can only set your relationship status to, "Alone", "It's complicated" or "None of your damned business"! It automatically rejects all friend requests! And the only reject options are, "No response"; "Ewwww"; an LMAO emoticon; or an autogenerated phrase saying, "I'd rather...." followed by a random act of self-mutilation!

His speed and pitch rose.

"You can’t control your own friends list, but all other users can remove anyone from it! When you comment on someone's status, or insult ‘em on a comment thread, it’s visible to anyone except them!

"And get this! There's no way to just follow anyone. It's only got a "stalk" option! A bot program pops up your photo on every website they browse. An automatic search for every web photo of them slams together a tribute album site that auto-links to every page that references them. The album background wallpaper can be either candles or hand-scrawled protestations of love.

"And only by paying for a premium license do users gain the power to file virtual restraining orders on their stalkers! But they only limit how many times your stalkers’s pictures pop up on websites you browse – you can never block ‘em entirely! Cool app, or what!!??"

"I love it!" I yelled, trying to match his fevered tone as I edged back up the stairs. "For masochists!"

He didn't notice. At the rate he was going, I figured he might safely pass out in a few hours. At least until I heard another Jolt fizz open. Ol' Slop was bellowing, somewhat musically, something like, "Yo ho ho, I'm gonna rule the w-o-o-oooorld!", as I let myself back out.

I hadda admit right then, that insanity other than my own can be kinda disconcerting...

Turn, turn, turn

Dimwitted coyote I may be, but there's nothing wrong with my efficiently pointy snout. Lately, the whiffy scent near this burg's sundry halls of power has smelled powerfully like, well, crap.

I keep hearing politicos make these sorts of claims:

• "It's a terrific idea! It died because we didn't explain it right!
• "The public is far too dumb to understood this idea. If they really got it, they'd love it!"
• "Only a vocal minority is against us. The Silent Majority is on our side!"

Et cetera. But is it coincidence that the guy who used that Silent Majority argument most famously was an utter scoundrel...?

Actual, you know, good ideas, seem to be irrelevant. Now, the game is all spin.

Political guys in the last few decades have turned increasingly to spin doctors to help them sell their agendas. Mind numbing repetition, bad propaganda worthy only of tinpot tyrannies, slung mud, outright lies, and stifled democratic debate are all in the toolkit. Screw honest debate in a democracy! The public needs what's good for it, even if it doesn't know what that is. And spin doctors are happy to supply their dubious commodities. It brings in a very nice buck or six.

Problem seems to be that spin doctors by any other name totally drive the bus these days. And, sadly, lotsa politicians', ummm, wonderful ideas are, ummm, unsupported by facts. Or repugnant to the majority, silent and otherwise. Take your pick of recent federal sales jobs. Or city ones. Check the spin. Comfortable?

If you aren't, many politicians apparently are. Bathed in the lush suds of their own spin cycles ever more often, they don't seem to see that, pretty often, the public understands what they're on about just fine. And hates it. Spin may sway people some of the time. It does not, cannot, make shitty ideas brilliant.

The spin technique I spot most often in the public discourse of late is called, I believe, "putting lipstick on a pig". If you've ever gotten close enough to a pig to contemplate putting lipstick on it, ya have an idea of what anybody with that job smells like... and we're all downwind.

Ottawa River Crash: What They're Hiding

In the past couple of days, humorous speculation on this very blog has stumbled uncomfortably close to the truth. Ummm. Confession, here. Somebody's been a very bad dog. Again.

It all started earlier this week, when I realized I had only days to remove a, ummm, surplus military vehicle, acquired more or less on the up-and-up in the 1960s, from the sorta disused garage where I stored it (maybe a little less on the up-and-up) at Rockliffe Air Base. Which sadly, is closing July 31.

I just want to say that back in the 60s, I definitely scooped the cream puff. The low-flying lemons went to the US Air Force and the Smithsonian Institute. In fact, for some reason I strangely can't remember, they thought the thing never flew that well. Heh. It's come in really handy. I mean, how the hell do you think I keep evading Temporary Mayor DT's coyote posse?

It's been parked most of this summer - convertible, y'know, and all this rain. But when I started it up and backed it out that night, headed toward a new rented garage in in the west end, it totally purred. It ran so well, I scooted it up to eight or ten thousand feet and started honking up the Ottawa River in the dark. Much like the local Canada geese.

Up there, I am afraid, my natural semi-mythical exuberance got the better of me. When I remembered the parachute flare in the glove box, it just seemed natural to light it off the cigarette lighter and toss it over the side.

Big mistake.

Sigh. You know most of the rest of it. 911 calls. Constabulary and flashing lights and rescue boats and divers and stuff, all over the place. Then the beefy guys with sunglasses and black suits showed up. You know, the ones with inexplicable military license plates on their black Suburbans, and little radar scanners on top. I rather think the cops were politely asked to lay off for reasons of, ummm, national security.

It's all glossed over now, but I'm pretty sure they haven't stopped looking for me. Forty-five years, and they're still cranky about losing their saucer. Some people never know when to give up. Don't tell, 'kay?

A Sign that Might Not Work as Intended

I look like a slob, but I actually try to be tidy. When I was relieving myself the other evening while reading this sign, it didn't make me less tidy. It didn't even distract me from "aiming". It did tempt me to be oppositional. But I yielded not to that temptation because I am trying to get better at doing exactly what I would have done even if someone hasn't instructed me to do that very thing.

I wondered though if these signs work on the people who aren't tidy anyway.

Because I'm thinking the swinging dick crowd would see them as more of a challenge than a reasonable request.

Live Long and Oppose - Google Poem

• Life is too short to have an affair.

• Life is too short to think small. So live large.

• Life is too short to be somebody, so be yourself.

• Life is too short to pout All the time.

• Life is too short to be bitter.

• Life is too short to be ordinary...

• Life is too short to sulk. So turn around.

• [...] life is too short for me to have people in my world that pull this crap on me.