I don’t want to beat a dead horse, but c’mon. They’re making it necessary.
When the comprehensive list of MLAs expense claims was released this past Wednesday, I read through every last extravagant detail with such incredulity and disbelief that I could barely process it all. I spent many hours trying to figure out how to put my thoughts into words in a way that would succinctly address the new developments and still make my point.
I failed. There is such a hornet’s nest of backpedalling and blatant gall at the heart of this situation that a regular person like me, always a voter and news-watcher more so than writer-of-things-political, is too blinded by the abuses of the system to have any regard for the preposterously unsound rules that the people in government are using to justify their actions. “The Speaker’s office approved it,” is not enough to make it all go away, at least not for me.
So, in the wake of this scandal, I’m going to ask a few questions. I understand the answers might not ever come, but I need to put them, the reasons for asking them, and a few general statements, out into the universe. As a citizen, not a writer.
First, when an MLA leaves office, where does their furniture and office equipment go? To give an example of what I’m talking about, I’ll use Judy Streatch. She was elected in 2005 to fill a vacant seat and then again in the June 2006 provincial election. In January of 2007, she claimed approximately $3000 for a desk, a loveseat, and a chair, not to mention another $6400 in furnishings before she was defeated in 2009. So my question is – what was she using for furniture in the office from 2005 until she bought all the new stuff? Did it disappear? And if so, where did it go? Do MLAs completely refurnish offices after every election? Are there no inventory procedures?
The reason I ask is because the report indicates the MLAs have free reign over how they design their office space. There exist claims for furniture that I couldn’t fathom, as someone who has not only furnished a home, but who has also equipped an office from scratch. Is there no cap on what they can spend on furniture and décor?
Because Karen Casey thought a $300 fireplace might look nice in her office, does that mean she can run to out and buy one? If she thinks a marble credenza would be nice, does she get to bill us for that, too?
Did John MacDonell get a $900 vacuum because it has magical powers? I’ve had the same $100 vacuum for the better part of eight years and it does the job. What is it about the floors in his office that renders a standard vacuum useless? Or did he buy it simply because he had the opportunity?
After Clarrie MacKinnon is gone from office, what will happen to the six monogrammed armchairs he purchased for over $2000? Do they go home with him, or are they kept in storage until someone else with the initials “CM” is elected?
I don’t want to harp all day on furniture, but give me a break. A comfortable chair, a desk, filing cabinets – those are all reasonable political office expenses. Fireplaces, $900 vacuums, and monogrammed armchairs are not, in my opinion. Not reasonable for people preaching to Nova Scotians about how times are so tough.
Next, what is this business with the generators? Richard Hurlburt resigned after reports of his having one installed at his house were criticized (don’t get me started), but what about the other two? These are big ticket items, not a box of pens. In one example, Carolyn Bolivar-Getson said she was the minister in charge of emergency management and was setting an example at her constituency office. That’s one expensive example.
“We need to realize that you do need equipment to run a constituency (office),” she says. I completely agree, but can the ministers (who, you have to remember, are mere regular Joes before they decide to put their hat in the political ring and attach “The Honorable” to the front of their names) just decide willy-nilly what’s necessary? Because I don’t know about you, but I have, and surely could again, effectively run an office without a big screen plasma television, a generator, an iPod, and plenty of the other ridiculous purchases listed on the report. Someone needs to step in, set and enforce strict guidelines as to what is necessary equipment and what is excessive, let’s-load-up-while-we-can shopping on my tax dime. It should not be the MLAs distinction to make.
I have plenty more questions for next week.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Big Spenders
Sometimes they make it too easy, those MLAs. This week in the news has been like Mardi Gras for writers and reporters.
Do we get furious and pull our hair out? Do we protest and demand change? Or do we just laugh as they try desperately to do damage control? I haven’t decided yet; maybe all of the above.
In case you’ve been buried in a hole for the past week and haven’t heard, the Auditor General reported last Wednesday that MLAs province-wide have claimed excessive or inappropriate expenses over the past 3 years. Since the public generally regards the government as “a bunch of crooks” I don’t think the A-Gs report comes as much of a surprise to anyone, but the details – the confirmation, if you will – are still enough to disgust voters.
I mean, where do you even start? How does one begin to outline everything that’s wrong with the situation that was exposed by the Auditor General? Perhaps I’ll start with the A-G himself.
Mr. Lapointe has simultaneously done us a great service and a great disservice. While he has called attention to the “weaknesses” (his word) in the funding system relating to members’ expenditures, opened the lid on particular incidents of inappropriate spending, and even requested repayment for certain claims, he’s as complicit as any one of the guilty parties by virtue of his refusal to release the names of the people involved.
Sure, most members have come forward to admit their “mistakes” (and I use that word very loosely), but it’s only because they knew that, eventually, the papers would find out anyway. The names of the big spenders should have been released with the rest of the details. If it were a single party responsible, the other parties would be scrounging for info like ravenous vultures and relentlessly demanding that “the public has a right to know the truth”. But, since in this situation one party is as guilty as the other, there was instead a wall of silence and various colorful speeches about “rights to privacy”. Had Lapointe worried less about embarrassing his buddies in the boys’ club and more about keeping individuals accountable to their constituents, the public might have been afforded some real transparency.
And, speaking of accountability, when do the Mounties come in? When do we see news footage of these MLAs’ unceremonious dismissals from office? They did, after all, bilk the public out of tens of thousands of dollars. Every now and then, a regular office employee uses company cash to invest or vacation, whatever the vice, and Steve Murphy chronicles the entire saga from arrest to verdict. No one lets them off the hook just because they claim it was an honest mistake and offer to pay the money back. It brings to mind a bit of 80s Nova Scotia government déjà vu, but in this case (apparently), an appropriate punishment applies only to the goose, while all the ganders get off scot free. It’s unacceptable.
Are we expected to believe that a functioning adult could ever mistakenly believe that 11 laptop computers is a legitimate constituency expense? Mr. Lapointe says, “(the rules) around expenses simply aren’t clear. (They are) so ambiguous, it’s hard to tell what’s right and what’s wrong.” Really? It’s hard? Maybe I’m over-simplifying, but if you can’t establish whether or not buying a 40” big screen television with taxpayer dollars is wrong, I doubt you could be considered qualified to chew gum and walk at the same time, let alone serve as MLA.
Granted, maybe some MLAs didn’t use their time in office to intentionally milk the province for all it was worth. But, since admittedly there hadn’t been a review of expense claims in over 15 years, there was nothing stopping people from claiming these ludicrous expenses and getting away with it.
If you had taken pens from work for 15 years and no one told you not to, you’d probably continue to take them. After awhile, you might even convince yourself it’s okay, no one’s getting hurt and no one even knows the difference. But, when you get caught, you can’t claim it was an innocent mistake. Especially if they’re $7000 pens.
Guess what, Province House: we’re wise to the “oh really? I thought I was allowed to claim that” charade; have been for years, actually. You’re not fooling anyone with fancily-worded accounts of innocent mistakes. Lapointe opened Pandora’s box, and you can be confident that this time the province’s purse-strings will be tightened if we have anything to say about it.
Best of luck come election time, by the way.
Do we get furious and pull our hair out? Do we protest and demand change? Or do we just laugh as they try desperately to do damage control? I haven’t decided yet; maybe all of the above.
In case you’ve been buried in a hole for the past week and haven’t heard, the Auditor General reported last Wednesday that MLAs province-wide have claimed excessive or inappropriate expenses over the past 3 years. Since the public generally regards the government as “a bunch of crooks” I don’t think the A-Gs report comes as much of a surprise to anyone, but the details – the confirmation, if you will – are still enough to disgust voters.
I mean, where do you even start? How does one begin to outline everything that’s wrong with the situation that was exposed by the Auditor General? Perhaps I’ll start with the A-G himself.
Mr. Lapointe has simultaneously done us a great service and a great disservice. While he has called attention to the “weaknesses” (his word) in the funding system relating to members’ expenditures, opened the lid on particular incidents of inappropriate spending, and even requested repayment for certain claims, he’s as complicit as any one of the guilty parties by virtue of his refusal to release the names of the people involved.
Sure, most members have come forward to admit their “mistakes” (and I use that word very loosely), but it’s only because they knew that, eventually, the papers would find out anyway. The names of the big spenders should have been released with the rest of the details. If it were a single party responsible, the other parties would be scrounging for info like ravenous vultures and relentlessly demanding that “the public has a right to know the truth”. But, since in this situation one party is as guilty as the other, there was instead a wall of silence and various colorful speeches about “rights to privacy”. Had Lapointe worried less about embarrassing his buddies in the boys’ club and more about keeping individuals accountable to their constituents, the public might have been afforded some real transparency.
And, speaking of accountability, when do the Mounties come in? When do we see news footage of these MLAs’ unceremonious dismissals from office? They did, after all, bilk the public out of tens of thousands of dollars. Every now and then, a regular office employee uses company cash to invest or vacation, whatever the vice, and Steve Murphy chronicles the entire saga from arrest to verdict. No one lets them off the hook just because they claim it was an honest mistake and offer to pay the money back. It brings to mind a bit of 80s Nova Scotia government déjà vu, but in this case (apparently), an appropriate punishment applies only to the goose, while all the ganders get off scot free. It’s unacceptable.
Are we expected to believe that a functioning adult could ever mistakenly believe that 11 laptop computers is a legitimate constituency expense? Mr. Lapointe says, “(the rules) around expenses simply aren’t clear. (They are) so ambiguous, it’s hard to tell what’s right and what’s wrong.” Really? It’s hard? Maybe I’m over-simplifying, but if you can’t establish whether or not buying a 40” big screen television with taxpayer dollars is wrong, I doubt you could be considered qualified to chew gum and walk at the same time, let alone serve as MLA.
Granted, maybe some MLAs didn’t use their time in office to intentionally milk the province for all it was worth. But, since admittedly there hadn’t been a review of expense claims in over 15 years, there was nothing stopping people from claiming these ludicrous expenses and getting away with it.
If you had taken pens from work for 15 years and no one told you not to, you’d probably continue to take them. After awhile, you might even convince yourself it’s okay, no one’s getting hurt and no one even knows the difference. But, when you get caught, you can’t claim it was an innocent mistake. Especially if they’re $7000 pens.
Guess what, Province House: we’re wise to the “oh really? I thought I was allowed to claim that” charade; have been for years, actually. You’re not fooling anyone with fancily-worded accounts of innocent mistakes. Lapointe opened Pandora’s box, and you can be confident that this time the province’s purse-strings will be tightened if we have anything to say about it.
Best of luck come election time, by the way.
The Glory Days of Television
I think it’s about time television gets a much-needed programming overhaul, don’t you?
I get that people love reality TV. My favorite show is American Idol, and it doesn’t get much more “reality” than that. As a matter of fact, Idol and Survivor have many times been blamed for the rise of reality TV and the downfall of scripted television.
The real explosion in unscripted fare came in the early 2000s, and has only grown since then. Seldom can you channel-surf during prime time without passing a reality show (that, and the 16 versions of Law & Order shows, the 24 NCISs, and the 408 CSIs).
Gone are the days of sitcoms, dramas, character-driven shows. Incredibly, even long-running soap operas are being cancelled in favor of short-lived talk shows and game show repeats. Instead of characters, we now have contestants, and instead of plots, we have challenges. It’s a shame, really.
I had some favorite shows growing up, during my generation’s glory days of television. They might not have been scandalous or high-octane, but they were excellent in their own rite. Every show brings me back to a time when we knew nothing about the shows’ actors and didn’t care, either, as long as they showed up on our living room once a week.
On the top of my list was Degrassi Jr. High. If you are a girl between the ages of 28-35, and claim to have never taken your teasing comb and hottest outfit (a.k.a., the outfit your parents had forbid you from wearing outside the house) in your backpack to change in the school bathroom, I will probably call you a liar. Every girl I knew tried to be Stephanie Kay, if only once.
Even guys loved that show, however reluctant they’ll be to admit it. I can’t really speak to the tendencies of Port Hawkesbury, but I know River Bourgeois and St. Peter’s were flooded with Joey Jeremiah wannabes and mixed tapes with The Zit Remedy.
Is anyone, let alone a majority of a generation, going to so easily recall those kind of details about America’s Next Top Model in fifteen years? I doubt it.
Another great one was Danger Bay. Doc Roberts, Nicole, and Jonah, on CBC - anyone? It was taped in Vancouver and heavily featured the Vancouver Aquarium in most episodes. I can still quote that show, which is at once sad and fabulous. There was always some sort of big environmental or marine emergency that Doc and his two teenaged kids would race to in the family speedboat.
What is the greatest game show in the history of broadcasting, you might be wondering? The answer is quite simple if you ask me – Funhouse. If you think people would give anything to be on shows these days, multiply that desire by about a trillion, and that’s how much I wanted to be a contestant in the slime-covered obstacle course, hosted by J.D. Roth. If the television gods were going to bring back any show, this is the one I’d pick.
Another sentimental favorite is Up Home Tonight, a kitchen party masquerading as a variety show on ATV. Grandma and I used to watch it when I’d stay overnight; it was on after The Tommy Hunter Show. It might not have had a lot of production value, and I’m sure I’d have no use for it today, but I can still remember the popular performers like Sugartime, The Boys in the Band, and The Diamond Trio, so at the very least, it was memorable.
Nothing reminds me of my childhood more than Sunday mornings and Switchback. Stan “The Man” was a fixture at our house, like everyone else’s, but I had a connection to the show that few others could brag about. Do you remember the gorilla? He was Stan’s “assistant”, if you will, passing The Man props and such from off camera. Nothing but the gorilla’s arm was ever shown, but I can tell you what was behind the scenes: the gorilla’s arm was none other than Paul Cormier, an employee of CBC.
I’m not sure exactly what Paul’s official role was on the show, other than serving as the gorilla, but that wasn’t important at the time. What mattered was, Paul had a summer home right next to my house and would bring that hairy arm to River Bourgeois every summer for me to see. I’m sure it sounds ridiculous now, but trust me – in grade 3, I was a class celebrity by virtue of my “close ties” to a TV star.
Those were the glory days of television. There will never be another Degrassi or Switchback, but I’d sooner see a hundred situational comedies try and fail than endure one more reality show.
I get that people love reality TV. My favorite show is American Idol, and it doesn’t get much more “reality” than that. As a matter of fact, Idol and Survivor have many times been blamed for the rise of reality TV and the downfall of scripted television.
The real explosion in unscripted fare came in the early 2000s, and has only grown since then. Seldom can you channel-surf during prime time without passing a reality show (that, and the 16 versions of Law & Order shows, the 24 NCISs, and the 408 CSIs).
Gone are the days of sitcoms, dramas, character-driven shows. Incredibly, even long-running soap operas are being cancelled in favor of short-lived talk shows and game show repeats. Instead of characters, we now have contestants, and instead of plots, we have challenges. It’s a shame, really.
I had some favorite shows growing up, during my generation’s glory days of television. They might not have been scandalous or high-octane, but they were excellent in their own rite. Every show brings me back to a time when we knew nothing about the shows’ actors and didn’t care, either, as long as they showed up on our living room once a week.
On the top of my list was Degrassi Jr. High. If you are a girl between the ages of 28-35, and claim to have never taken your teasing comb and hottest outfit (a.k.a., the outfit your parents had forbid you from wearing outside the house) in your backpack to change in the school bathroom, I will probably call you a liar. Every girl I knew tried to be Stephanie Kay, if only once.
Even guys loved that show, however reluctant they’ll be to admit it. I can’t really speak to the tendencies of Port Hawkesbury, but I know River Bourgeois and St. Peter’s were flooded with Joey Jeremiah wannabes and mixed tapes with The Zit Remedy.
Is anyone, let alone a majority of a generation, going to so easily recall those kind of details about America’s Next Top Model in fifteen years? I doubt it.
Another great one was Danger Bay. Doc Roberts, Nicole, and Jonah, on CBC - anyone? It was taped in Vancouver and heavily featured the Vancouver Aquarium in most episodes. I can still quote that show, which is at once sad and fabulous. There was always some sort of big environmental or marine emergency that Doc and his two teenaged kids would race to in the family speedboat.
What is the greatest game show in the history of broadcasting, you might be wondering? The answer is quite simple if you ask me – Funhouse. If you think people would give anything to be on shows these days, multiply that desire by about a trillion, and that’s how much I wanted to be a contestant in the slime-covered obstacle course, hosted by J.D. Roth. If the television gods were going to bring back any show, this is the one I’d pick.
Another sentimental favorite is Up Home Tonight, a kitchen party masquerading as a variety show on ATV. Grandma and I used to watch it when I’d stay overnight; it was on after The Tommy Hunter Show. It might not have had a lot of production value, and I’m sure I’d have no use for it today, but I can still remember the popular performers like Sugartime, The Boys in the Band, and The Diamond Trio, so at the very least, it was memorable.
Nothing reminds me of my childhood more than Sunday mornings and Switchback. Stan “The Man” was a fixture at our house, like everyone else’s, but I had a connection to the show that few others could brag about. Do you remember the gorilla? He was Stan’s “assistant”, if you will, passing The Man props and such from off camera. Nothing but the gorilla’s arm was ever shown, but I can tell you what was behind the scenes: the gorilla’s arm was none other than Paul Cormier, an employee of CBC.
I’m not sure exactly what Paul’s official role was on the show, other than serving as the gorilla, but that wasn’t important at the time. What mattered was, Paul had a summer home right next to my house and would bring that hairy arm to River Bourgeois every summer for me to see. I’m sure it sounds ridiculous now, but trust me – in grade 3, I was a class celebrity by virtue of my “close ties” to a TV star.
Those were the glory days of television. There will never be another Degrassi or Switchback, but I’d sooner see a hundred situational comedies try and fail than endure one more reality show.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Situation at TEC
I understand that working at an elementary school must be challenging. That said, I am very concerned with the situation at Tamarac Education Center.
Three times per week, I go to the school to drop my youngest off at Fun Time Pre-School, which is located in a classroom in the same wing as the younger classes. The pre-school doesn’t open its doors until 1pm, so the Fun Time crew waits in the hallway while students are milling about.
At TEC, assuming it isn’t too cold out, all kids are expected to go outside to play after they’re done eating lunch. By the time I get there, most kids are finished eating and in the process of getting their snow gear on.
Since the beginning of the year, I have spent a great many lunch hours helping kids, especially the younger ones, get dressed properly. There are supervisors (grossly outnumbered and overworked supervisors) and teachers who do their best to help as many students as possible, but since these people have to make their way outside to watch the kids on the playground, they can’t stay inside to attend to the kids who aren’t ready yet. And there are a lot of kids.
When I look at the students, I’m sometimes can’t believe they’re old enough to be in school. They look so small, so bewildered with all the chaos. Some of these kids are only 5 years old, and are now required to take on an unrealistic level of independence. They’re used to having Mommy or Daddy help them get dressed, or at the very least make sure they did it right themselves so that they’re fit to be out in -10 degree temperatures.
What they’re not used to is having grown-ups hollering for them to hurry up and get outside. And I’m sure they’re not used to having to search through mountains of belongings to find that other mitten, only to ask for help and be told, “too bad, you’ll have to go out with just one.” (That’s not an example; that’s something I heard a TEC teacher tell a young student last Wednesday. It was -8 degrees outside that day.)
A lot of the time, I spend my wait time zippering jackets, finding renegade mittens, and fixing ski pants. Other times, I’m asked by students to go get someone from the office, to find some toilet paper, or even to check why a little girl is crying in a classroom. I don’t mind at all, but I wonder who they would ask if I (or another Fun Time parent) wasn’t there. After the first rush, there usually isn’t anyone around to ask for help. Most times, there is seldom an adult to be seen until the bells rings at 1pm.
My little boy is scheduled to start grade primary in September, and I planned to start a full-time job while he was in school. After seeing the lack of supervision and assistance these young kids receive, I have decided to put off work for awhile so I can go help him (and others) at the school. This decision is forced; I’m not exaggerating the state of affairs for the sake of doling out criticism, and I’m not one of those crazy mothers who are at TEC every two minutes to complain about something.
What I am is a mother who, had I not been there to see the problems first hand, would have sent her little boy to school and assumed he’d be well taken care of, like I’m sure most parents do. I am also a mother who has reasonable standards for appropriate supervision and student assistance, which are not being met in that wing as far as myself and many others are concerned.
To be clear, it seems as though most of the current staff is doing their best in a difficult-to-manage situation. I don’t know whose problem this is to solve; do we need an on-site reassessment of staff-to-student ratios based on the needs of younger students? A funding increase from the Department of Education, to allow for hiring of more supervisory staff? Recruitment of volunteers to ensure the students’ needs are being met?
As a parent, I don’t have the tools to solve the existing problems. What I have is the luxury of being able to go to the school every day to make sure my own child is getting the help he needs, and helping as many other kids as I can in the process. I also have a voice, and I’ll use it to call attention to the problems at TEC until they are solved, on behalf of other parents who don’t have that same luxury.
Three times per week, I go to the school to drop my youngest off at Fun Time Pre-School, which is located in a classroom in the same wing as the younger classes. The pre-school doesn’t open its doors until 1pm, so the Fun Time crew waits in the hallway while students are milling about.
At TEC, assuming it isn’t too cold out, all kids are expected to go outside to play after they’re done eating lunch. By the time I get there, most kids are finished eating and in the process of getting their snow gear on.
Since the beginning of the year, I have spent a great many lunch hours helping kids, especially the younger ones, get dressed properly. There are supervisors (grossly outnumbered and overworked supervisors) and teachers who do their best to help as many students as possible, but since these people have to make their way outside to watch the kids on the playground, they can’t stay inside to attend to the kids who aren’t ready yet. And there are a lot of kids.
When I look at the students, I’m sometimes can’t believe they’re old enough to be in school. They look so small, so bewildered with all the chaos. Some of these kids are only 5 years old, and are now required to take on an unrealistic level of independence. They’re used to having Mommy or Daddy help them get dressed, or at the very least make sure they did it right themselves so that they’re fit to be out in -10 degree temperatures.
What they’re not used to is having grown-ups hollering for them to hurry up and get outside. And I’m sure they’re not used to having to search through mountains of belongings to find that other mitten, only to ask for help and be told, “too bad, you’ll have to go out with just one.” (That’s not an example; that’s something I heard a TEC teacher tell a young student last Wednesday. It was -8 degrees outside that day.)
A lot of the time, I spend my wait time zippering jackets, finding renegade mittens, and fixing ski pants. Other times, I’m asked by students to go get someone from the office, to find some toilet paper, or even to check why a little girl is crying in a classroom. I don’t mind at all, but I wonder who they would ask if I (or another Fun Time parent) wasn’t there. After the first rush, there usually isn’t anyone around to ask for help. Most times, there is seldom an adult to be seen until the bells rings at 1pm.
My little boy is scheduled to start grade primary in September, and I planned to start a full-time job while he was in school. After seeing the lack of supervision and assistance these young kids receive, I have decided to put off work for awhile so I can go help him (and others) at the school. This decision is forced; I’m not exaggerating the state of affairs for the sake of doling out criticism, and I’m not one of those crazy mothers who are at TEC every two minutes to complain about something.
What I am is a mother who, had I not been there to see the problems first hand, would have sent her little boy to school and assumed he’d be well taken care of, like I’m sure most parents do. I am also a mother who has reasonable standards for appropriate supervision and student assistance, which are not being met in that wing as far as myself and many others are concerned.
To be clear, it seems as though most of the current staff is doing their best in a difficult-to-manage situation. I don’t know whose problem this is to solve; do we need an on-site reassessment of staff-to-student ratios based on the needs of younger students? A funding increase from the Department of Education, to allow for hiring of more supervisory staff? Recruitment of volunteers to ensure the students’ needs are being met?
As a parent, I don’t have the tools to solve the existing problems. What I have is the luxury of being able to go to the school every day to make sure my own child is getting the help he needs, and helping as many other kids as I can in the process. I also have a voice, and I’ll use it to call attention to the problems at TEC until they are solved, on behalf of other parents who don’t have that same luxury.
The Only One Dreading June
In case I haven’t mentioned it before (ha!), I’m in love with American Idol. When most people are praying for a speedy winter and lingering summer, I wait all year for January and the promise of 80s music, cracking under pressure, and Simon Cowell. Some people make fun of me for enjoying such a contrived reality show, but I don’t care; I’ve been a faithful, perhaps even obsessive, viewer since the very beginning, and that isn’t about to change despite a bit of mocking.
That said, I think I’ve earned the right to put in my two cents about the recent goings-on in the American Idol sphere, and since I don’t make it a habit of talking about specific television shows (once a year isn’t overkill, is it?), I’m getting it out of the way now seeing as the premiere was this week. If you watch it, great, I love to talk to other fans about the different dynamics. If you despise it, bear with me while I get a few things off my chest.
First of all, I’m growing very tired of the blooper episodes. While I agree that Idol is as much about crushing dreams as it is about finding talent, I would much rather watch good and less-than-good auditions, rather than have to sit through hours of try-outs that waste everyone’s time with horrible singing that obviously and knowingly will never make the cut.
We get that bad singers who think they’re good can sometimes be funny, but bad singers who KNOW they’re ridiculous make for fruitless auditions and episodes that bore people to death, since the humor of their attempts disappeared many seasons ago. One blooper episode would be enough for me, and at that I might not even watch it. Idol is supposed to be about singing, not intentionally making a complete fool of yourself. (That’s what The Bachelor is for. Snap!).
By far my biggest issue with the show is the toss-up at the judges’ table. As we all know, everyone’s favorite mumbling, incoherent singing expert, Paula Abdul, failed to reach a contract agreement with the show and left for good. This development made me a little sad, not because I was going to miss the pearls of wisdom she’d give the contestants, but because she was both the comic relief and the softy over at the judging table.
When Randy bored me with his robotic evaluation and Simon was unnecessarily harsh, you could always count on Paula to tell the poor, sobbing mess on stage that she looked beautiful. At the very least, she could ease tensions in a heartbeat with one of her slurred diatribes that even Ryan Seacrest couldn’t help but snicker at.
(I haven’t mentioned the other judge, Kara Dio-whatever-her-name-is, because I haven’t yet accepted that she’s a judge on my favorite show. Since her arrival I’ve been in a state of denial that she’s an actual fixture and I keep waiting for the night when she’s just not there anymore. She doesn’t belong.)
To add insult to injury, not only did one of television’s Holy Trinity bite the dust, but TPTB (the powers that be, a common term for the wizards behind the Idol curtain) brought in someone to replace her. Had it been some other washed up pop star I might not have complained as much, but the replacement is Ellen Degeneres.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy Ellen as much as the next person. I think she has a fantastic show and does great philanthropic work, and she is even well-versed and knowledgeable about American Idol. I just can’t imagine what she’ll be like as a judge. While Paula’s “funny” was unintentional and spontaneous, I’m not sure there’s room for Ellen’s stand-up routine on the judges panel.
This is a show that people take somewhat seriously (well, at least some people), and we don’t want it turned into Yuk Yuk’s with karaoke. I’m hoping she proves me wrong and turns out to be a compliment to the whole production, but I foresee some really bad jokes, uncomfortable laughter, and a whole lot of eye-rolling from Simon’s chair.
Lastly, a bit of breaking news: this will be Simon’s last year on American Idol. He will be announcing his departure at the end of the season in favor of bringing his British show, The X Factor, to American television. And the kicker? Rumor has it that Paula Abdul will be judging along side of him. Chances are, I’ll be going where the talent is and leaving Randy and Ellen to enjoy the end of an era.
Until then, you can find me in front of the television Tuesday and Wednesday nights, dreading June.
That said, I think I’ve earned the right to put in my two cents about the recent goings-on in the American Idol sphere, and since I don’t make it a habit of talking about specific television shows (once a year isn’t overkill, is it?), I’m getting it out of the way now seeing as the premiere was this week. If you watch it, great, I love to talk to other fans about the different dynamics. If you despise it, bear with me while I get a few things off my chest.
First of all, I’m growing very tired of the blooper episodes. While I agree that Idol is as much about crushing dreams as it is about finding talent, I would much rather watch good and less-than-good auditions, rather than have to sit through hours of try-outs that waste everyone’s time with horrible singing that obviously and knowingly will never make the cut.
We get that bad singers who think they’re good can sometimes be funny, but bad singers who KNOW they’re ridiculous make for fruitless auditions and episodes that bore people to death, since the humor of their attempts disappeared many seasons ago. One blooper episode would be enough for me, and at that I might not even watch it. Idol is supposed to be about singing, not intentionally making a complete fool of yourself. (That’s what The Bachelor is for. Snap!).
By far my biggest issue with the show is the toss-up at the judges’ table. As we all know, everyone’s favorite mumbling, incoherent singing expert, Paula Abdul, failed to reach a contract agreement with the show and left for good. This development made me a little sad, not because I was going to miss the pearls of wisdom she’d give the contestants, but because she was both the comic relief and the softy over at the judging table.
When Randy bored me with his robotic evaluation and Simon was unnecessarily harsh, you could always count on Paula to tell the poor, sobbing mess on stage that she looked beautiful. At the very least, she could ease tensions in a heartbeat with one of her slurred diatribes that even Ryan Seacrest couldn’t help but snicker at.
(I haven’t mentioned the other judge, Kara Dio-whatever-her-name-is, because I haven’t yet accepted that she’s a judge on my favorite show. Since her arrival I’ve been in a state of denial that she’s an actual fixture and I keep waiting for the night when she’s just not there anymore. She doesn’t belong.)
To add insult to injury, not only did one of television’s Holy Trinity bite the dust, but TPTB (the powers that be, a common term for the wizards behind the Idol curtain) brought in someone to replace her. Had it been some other washed up pop star I might not have complained as much, but the replacement is Ellen Degeneres.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy Ellen as much as the next person. I think she has a fantastic show and does great philanthropic work, and she is even well-versed and knowledgeable about American Idol. I just can’t imagine what she’ll be like as a judge. While Paula’s “funny” was unintentional and spontaneous, I’m not sure there’s room for Ellen’s stand-up routine on the judges panel.
This is a show that people take somewhat seriously (well, at least some people), and we don’t want it turned into Yuk Yuk’s with karaoke. I’m hoping she proves me wrong and turns out to be a compliment to the whole production, but I foresee some really bad jokes, uncomfortable laughter, and a whole lot of eye-rolling from Simon’s chair.
Lastly, a bit of breaking news: this will be Simon’s last year on American Idol. He will be announcing his departure at the end of the season in favor of bringing his British show, The X Factor, to American television. And the kicker? Rumor has it that Paula Abdul will be judging along side of him. Chances are, I’ll be going where the talent is and leaving Randy and Ellen to enjoy the end of an era.
Until then, you can find me in front of the television Tuesday and Wednesday nights, dreading June.
To Bed, I Said
Last year I resolved to quit pop, and quit I did (it’s the first resolution I’ve ever kept, truth be told). Because I kept my promise in 2009, this year I’m giving myself a break as far as resolutions go, for the most part. Instead, I’m going to suggest a few for those people who haven’t yet thought of a good one (my crafty way of calling out a few annoyances). There are things that should be put to bed along with 2009.
Maybe it’s nit-picky of me, but I think there needs to be an overhaul in the human communication department. I can be a stickler about grammar and spelling; not because I’m perfect at it, but because I’m a firm believer that we’ve become so accustomed to seeing horrendous writing habits that we put up with it (and sometimes even adopt them ourselves).
You’d never say, “bulldog is there soup roughly”, would you? No, because, though every word in that sentence is definitely a word, together they create a sentence that makes no sense. “Your” is a different word than “you’re” and has a completely different meaning. Just because words sound the same phonetically doesn’t mean they’re interchangeable.
Though I realize how snooty this complaint might sound, there is an epidemic that needs to be addressed, and people like me get hives and stuff when we think about it. So, repeat after me: “I will attempt to make proper use of the English language when communicating with others, even if it means having to proofread.” My Facebook wall thanks you in advance.
I get that we live in the age of shortcuts and efficiency and all that, but come on, no one could possibly be so rushed that “whatever” (an already overused word, by the way) has been shortened to “whatevs”. It only has one less letter than the actual word. ONE LESS LETTER!
Has it really come to this? Do we believe our time is so valuable that typing a few extra letters will significantly delay our plans for the day? There is a fine line between shorthand and plain laziness, and unlimited mobile texting packages seem to have blurred that line. So, repeat after me: “This year, I will not reduce myself or my intelligence to a sentence, typed, texted or otherwise, that reads similar to, ‘Come str8 home n I’ll talk 2 U @ wrk 2day.’”
I’m not Martha Stewart; I use slang like everyone else, usually without even knowing it, which is why I thought of this next resolution. I find myself, on a regular basis, employing the most unrefined and fabricated slang word in the history of slang words. Are you ready for it? “You’s’ll.” Read it again and you might discover you’re guilty of using it yourself.
Pronounced “Yoozzle”, it is a double-contraction (there is such thing, but this one isn’t on any list of proper ones, and I’ve searched) and serves as a short way to say “you guys will”. What makes the word even more offensive is how it seems to be an expression exclusive to this area, and nothing says “backwoods” quite like pretend lazy-words. In rural Kentucky you might hear, “Y’all’ll have bushels of fun at the tractor pull.” Doesn’t sound too sophisticated, does it? Bad news is, “You’s’ll have to stop over next time you’re down,” is the Cape Breton equivalent. Say it with me: “I hereby eliminate ‘you’s’ll’ and other similar made-up words from my vocabulary.”
I’m on a roll and running out of space, so the rest will have to be short and sweet.
“I will never pester anyone to join Farmville, nor will I try to explain it incessantly.” Believe it or not, there is an entire world of people who don’t make-believe they’re on farm. They’re okay with you and your preference, they’re just not interested in it themselves. Carry on.
“I will not judge people for wearing second-hand clothes.” Whoever decided that consignment shops are for poor people should be ashamed. They’re for thrifty shoppers, rich or poor, and no kid should ever be made to feel embarrassed that their shirt didn’t cost as much as someone else’s. Newsflash: with the exception of VERY few things, all of which could not be purchased at a consignment shop for one reason or another, I haven’t made a retail clothing purchase in close to five years.
Speaking of clothes, I’ll sign off with this resolution: “I, being an established individual over the age of 15, promise to never enter a grocery store wearing what are quite obviously pajama pants.” Tell your friends.
Here’s to a fantastic, grammatically-correct, judgement-free, pajama pants-less 2010!
Maybe it’s nit-picky of me, but I think there needs to be an overhaul in the human communication department. I can be a stickler about grammar and spelling; not because I’m perfect at it, but because I’m a firm believer that we’ve become so accustomed to seeing horrendous writing habits that we put up with it (and sometimes even adopt them ourselves).
You’d never say, “bulldog is there soup roughly”, would you? No, because, though every word in that sentence is definitely a word, together they create a sentence that makes no sense. “Your” is a different word than “you’re” and has a completely different meaning. Just because words sound the same phonetically doesn’t mean they’re interchangeable.
Though I realize how snooty this complaint might sound, there is an epidemic that needs to be addressed, and people like me get hives and stuff when we think about it. So, repeat after me: “I will attempt to make proper use of the English language when communicating with others, even if it means having to proofread.” My Facebook wall thanks you in advance.
I get that we live in the age of shortcuts and efficiency and all that, but come on, no one could possibly be so rushed that “whatever” (an already overused word, by the way) has been shortened to “whatevs”. It only has one less letter than the actual word. ONE LESS LETTER!
Has it really come to this? Do we believe our time is so valuable that typing a few extra letters will significantly delay our plans for the day? There is a fine line between shorthand and plain laziness, and unlimited mobile texting packages seem to have blurred that line. So, repeat after me: “This year, I will not reduce myself or my intelligence to a sentence, typed, texted or otherwise, that reads similar to, ‘Come str8 home n I’ll talk 2 U @ wrk 2day.’”
I’m not Martha Stewart; I use slang like everyone else, usually without even knowing it, which is why I thought of this next resolution. I find myself, on a regular basis, employing the most unrefined and fabricated slang word in the history of slang words. Are you ready for it? “You’s’ll.” Read it again and you might discover you’re guilty of using it yourself.
Pronounced “Yoozzle”, it is a double-contraction (there is such thing, but this one isn’t on any list of proper ones, and I’ve searched) and serves as a short way to say “you guys will”. What makes the word even more offensive is how it seems to be an expression exclusive to this area, and nothing says “backwoods” quite like pretend lazy-words. In rural Kentucky you might hear, “Y’all’ll have bushels of fun at the tractor pull.” Doesn’t sound too sophisticated, does it? Bad news is, “You’s’ll have to stop over next time you’re down,” is the Cape Breton equivalent. Say it with me: “I hereby eliminate ‘you’s’ll’ and other similar made-up words from my vocabulary.”
I’m on a roll and running out of space, so the rest will have to be short and sweet.
“I will never pester anyone to join Farmville, nor will I try to explain it incessantly.” Believe it or not, there is an entire world of people who don’t make-believe they’re on farm. They’re okay with you and your preference, they’re just not interested in it themselves. Carry on.
“I will not judge people for wearing second-hand clothes.” Whoever decided that consignment shops are for poor people should be ashamed. They’re for thrifty shoppers, rich or poor, and no kid should ever be made to feel embarrassed that their shirt didn’t cost as much as someone else’s. Newsflash: with the exception of VERY few things, all of which could not be purchased at a consignment shop for one reason or another, I haven’t made a retail clothing purchase in close to five years.
Speaking of clothes, I’ll sign off with this resolution: “I, being an established individual over the age of 15, promise to never enter a grocery store wearing what are quite obviously pajama pants.” Tell your friends.
Here’s to a fantastic, grammatically-correct, judgement-free, pajama pants-less 2010!
A Visit With Amy
In August of 1984, I was at the River Bourgeois community hall with my mother, watching the festival princess pageant. During the intermission, a man asked my age, and I replied that I was five years old. He said he had a little girl who was also five, and that she would be in my class when school started the next week. He brought her over to say hello, and that was that.
That man was Arthur Doary, a man who’s house I would spend countless hours and days at over the next decade. And that little girl was his daughter Amy, the girl who would be my very best childhood friend.
Amy and I were pretty much inseparable all through elementary school. We were in every class together, sat beside each other, and played outside every recess. On weekends, our rendezvous point was usually church; either I had already spent the day at her house and went home after Mass with my grandparents, or I arrived at the church with Grandma & Grandpa but left with Amy since I was spending the night.
We spent so many afternoons and evenings eating her mother’s cooking, I’m getting fat just thinking about it.
Henrietta’s specialties weren’t just special , they were something I looked forward to and, later, something I missed. She’d make us vanilla sundaes with homemade chocolate sauce and brownies you’d be wise to trade your pancreas for. Make no mistake, for a skinny gal, that Amy could put away a fistful of peanut butter cups that would scare you to death.
One of the best parts of being friends with Amy all those years ago was the fun we’d make. We were girly-girls, but not your run-of-the-mill ones exactly. Instead of playing Barbies, we’d make up our own secret language, or maybe write acceptance speeches for awards we planned to win when we grew up, or even start a dance group.
Yeah, that’s right – the Amy I speak of was none other than one-third of the community-renowned Awesome Threesome, a travelling dance trio we founded when we were 11 years old. I can’t tell you how many hours we spent in her basement planning dance routines, lip-syncing to Bananarama, and memorizing Janet Jackson videos. We were going to be stars. Skinny, kind of awkward-looking ones with unfortunate taste in performance costumes, but stars nonetheless.
It was hard to imagine, back in the day, that Amy and I would ever be anything less than the very best of friends. We never had a falling out of any kind, but, as isn’t unusual, we started running with different crowds once high school started. We both made good marks, participated in lots of extra-curricular activities, and were even on the student council together, but we just weren’t in the same clique. I suppose it’s normal for people to drift apart somewhat as they get older.
It wasn’t a clean break, to be sure. As I grew up, I thought of Amy often and always wondered what she was doing, sending her good thoughts in the process. She was the friend that, even though I had gone away to school and trampled through the house with a million friends since, my grandparents would ask about on a regular basis, and who I would always be happy to hear news of through the grapevine.
It’s been over 25 years since I first met Amy, and I’m happy to say, I just got home from a nice visit at her house.
The best thing about Facebook is how I’ve gotten back in touch with old friends, her specifically. It’s so easy to get lost in the chaos of life, and good intentions of staying in touch can be lost to the changes in your own world. Yet here it is almost 2010, and earlier today I was greeted at one of my favorite houses by a blonde-haired 30-year-old wearing a chic Argentinian shawl, smiling that same smile, serving me some of those same peanut butter cups, and chatting with me as though we were back in 1987.
We’ve made it a habit to get together for one of those chats every time she comes to Cape Breton on vacation from her fancy-schmancy job in Toronto. We talk about careers, marriage, kids, old friends, and we laugh – a lot.
I’m so glad we’re still capable of that after all these years, and I can assure you that, Facebook or no Facebook, I’ll make it a point to stay in touch with Amy. Many have come and gone over the years, but this one’s a keeper.
See you next Christmas, friend.
That man was Arthur Doary, a man who’s house I would spend countless hours and days at over the next decade. And that little girl was his daughter Amy, the girl who would be my very best childhood friend.
Amy and I were pretty much inseparable all through elementary school. We were in every class together, sat beside each other, and played outside every recess. On weekends, our rendezvous point was usually church; either I had already spent the day at her house and went home after Mass with my grandparents, or I arrived at the church with Grandma & Grandpa but left with Amy since I was spending the night.
We spent so many afternoons and evenings eating her mother’s cooking, I’m getting fat just thinking about it.
Henrietta’s specialties weren’t just special , they were something I looked forward to and, later, something I missed. She’d make us vanilla sundaes with homemade chocolate sauce and brownies you’d be wise to trade your pancreas for. Make no mistake, for a skinny gal, that Amy could put away a fistful of peanut butter cups that would scare you to death.
One of the best parts of being friends with Amy all those years ago was the fun we’d make. We were girly-girls, but not your run-of-the-mill ones exactly. Instead of playing Barbies, we’d make up our own secret language, or maybe write acceptance speeches for awards we planned to win when we grew up, or even start a dance group.
Yeah, that’s right – the Amy I speak of was none other than one-third of the community-renowned Awesome Threesome, a travelling dance trio we founded when we were 11 years old. I can’t tell you how many hours we spent in her basement planning dance routines, lip-syncing to Bananarama, and memorizing Janet Jackson videos. We were going to be stars. Skinny, kind of awkward-looking ones with unfortunate taste in performance costumes, but stars nonetheless.
It was hard to imagine, back in the day, that Amy and I would ever be anything less than the very best of friends. We never had a falling out of any kind, but, as isn’t unusual, we started running with different crowds once high school started. We both made good marks, participated in lots of extra-curricular activities, and were even on the student council together, but we just weren’t in the same clique. I suppose it’s normal for people to drift apart somewhat as they get older.
It wasn’t a clean break, to be sure. As I grew up, I thought of Amy often and always wondered what she was doing, sending her good thoughts in the process. She was the friend that, even though I had gone away to school and trampled through the house with a million friends since, my grandparents would ask about on a regular basis, and who I would always be happy to hear news of through the grapevine.
It’s been over 25 years since I first met Amy, and I’m happy to say, I just got home from a nice visit at her house.
The best thing about Facebook is how I’ve gotten back in touch with old friends, her specifically. It’s so easy to get lost in the chaos of life, and good intentions of staying in touch can be lost to the changes in your own world. Yet here it is almost 2010, and earlier today I was greeted at one of my favorite houses by a blonde-haired 30-year-old wearing a chic Argentinian shawl, smiling that same smile, serving me some of those same peanut butter cups, and chatting with me as though we were back in 1987.
We’ve made it a habit to get together for one of those chats every time she comes to Cape Breton on vacation from her fancy-schmancy job in Toronto. We talk about careers, marriage, kids, old friends, and we laugh – a lot.
I’m so glad we’re still capable of that after all these years, and I can assure you that, Facebook or no Facebook, I’ll make it a point to stay in touch with Amy. Many have come and gone over the years, but this one’s a keeper.
See you next Christmas, friend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
