Watched the provincial election debate last night and surprised myself by actually enjoying some of it.
Forget Gerry Reid. I know the man is doing a job that nobody else wanted and he at least had the cajones (or self-delusion) to step up and be at the front of the room for his caucus. But I absolutely despise everything the man stands for. He criticizes the government simply for the sake of criticism itself. Williams is right--he's just a negative person who, left to his own devices, would certainly drag Newfoundland thirty or forty years into the past. He doesn't seem to get it at all that in order to get anywhere, we all have to row this big ol' boat together. Nothing wrong with asking the captain if he's sure we're headed in the right direction or telling him when the boat is leaky or we need a couple of new oars, or there's a definite storm on the horizon. But Fletcher Christian was a bit deluded too and Captain Bligh (taskmaster though he was) at least knew how to navigate rough seas.
I thought Lorraine Michael, NDP leader, was the surprise of the night. I didn't really expect much from her. She seems like a smart lady, very nice, and all that. But I never saw her as someone who was capable of being leader of the opposition before. Well, now I do. She not only spoke extremely well--more articulate in her vision and very specific in her examples of what needed to be done better--than either of the other two party leaders. I'm still not sure I'd want her leading the government (which won't happen anyway), but I like that she showed she coudl stand up to Danny Williams without being disrespectful or ignorant. I was really impressed with her and if you judge "winning" a debate by how many minds you are able to convert from the original position, then I think she won, easily.
Danny Williams was himself, plain-spoken, straightforward, and sensible. There were some questions he didn't answer directly and now and then he makes me a bit squeamish with his methods of getting things done. He was a bit confrontational about things that really didn't require confrontation, such as when Michaels said that she'd gotten phone calls from disgruntled voters late at night. Williams said it bothers him that she would say that because that just makes him look bad. Well, fair enough. But she says it happened and I believe her. Maybe it was only once or twice, but the fact is, she can't take it back just because it implies someone isn't doing their job properly. It was a small point that Williams made bigger by attacking the messenger.
Still, Williams didn't hurt himself at all in the debate. He's still the people's choice and will remain so until, or unless, he slips up badly soon or in the coming years.
Michaels will gain a lot more support after last night, maybe even enough to gain a couple more seats. It won't take more than a handful to become the official opposition. We'd all be better off if that happened.
As for Gerry Reid, well, hopefully those poor old souls who have always voted liberal because their fathers and grandfathers voted Liberal will finally give up the ghost and vote for progress and positivism instead of negativity and fear-mongering. If he lost his Twillingate seat tomorrow, it wouldn't be too soon, as far as I'm concerned.
Scores on the debate:
Williams- B+
Michaels- A-
Reid- D
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Dreams in Fall
What a shocker it was this morning to wake up to September. The north wind is cold and blustery, not a hint of sun in the sky. Change, literally, is in the air.
Everywhere I turn, there’s something changing for someone. The students are arriving back in the city in dribs and drabs. Some are excited to be here after a summer away, while lots more are disgusted and weary at the thought of another semester of writing essays and attending classes, always being tired and stressed with deadline after deadline. But it’s another year closer to finishing school for good, which, for some people, can be scary in itself because who knows what comes next?
People are back from vacations, heading back to work, half asleep behind the wheel, dejected that summer is over before it had barely begun. I’ve already seen the geese flying in V-formation across Mundy Pond, dipping their wings in the water before taking flight across the tall thrushes that circle the pond’s edge. The stores are selling Halloween decorations and candy, trying to get the jump on the competition.
I think that’s what people who don’t like this time of year feel most uncomfortable with. September is like the end of a dream in which warm weather is the norm, you can wear what you want, be what you want, go where you desire. September brings rules and business, reminders that the world is competitive, which is why summer can’t last. We have to get up early, go to school, go to work, spend our day being busy, either making money or preparing to make money. Because it’s commerce that makes the world go around. That’s what it’s all for—the studying, the working, the courses, the years of slaving away: getting a job and making a living in order to make a mark on the world, maybe raise a family so that your children can follow in your money-earning, mark-making footsteps. In the summer, we try to forget all of that stuff. But in September, we are reminded, if only subconsciously, that any bohemian dreams can’t last, that eventually reality has to set in and we have to wake up.
Strangely, I’m not all that cynical. The need to make money is a reality, so there’s no point in chafing against it. The idea, I think, is to make sure you’re doing something you enjoy or, at least, do something that will hopefully lead to something you’ll enjoy.
Which is why I’m taking this semester (at least) off from teaching to work on my writing. While I love teaching more than a reasonable person ought to (or so I’ve been told), I have always dreamed of being a writer. I put it off for a while in order to make a living, or to do the courses and programs that would allow me to make a living. That’s the business of life. But now it’s time to follow a dream. I’m at an age now when most people I know have put their dreams aside, setting both feet firmly into the land of raising families and earning a living, effectively putting their hopes on the shoulders of the next generation. Our parents do that sometimes—by their actions, they often tell us that it’s okay to give up on what you wanted out of life so that someone else can do it instead.
Sometimes, though, I think it’s only right to finish what you started—to show that you don’t have to give up on your dreams after thirty-five. Too often, in schools and universities (and sometimes at home), we tell children that your most important task is to get an education that will get you a good job. But what comes after that? It’s important, as far as I’m concerned, to hold onto your dreams—the things that you want more than anything, that will make you happy—no matter what. Because that’s what we’re living for, isn’t it? If we’re not making ourselves happy, we can hardly expect to make anyone else happy. I know far too many people who finish school, get the job, even get the family they wanted, then walk around in a state of quiet desperation.
Having said that, I’m trying to make the transition from teacher to writer, at least for the coming year. In summer, it was easier because classes were out, mostly, and my brain kept telling me that, come the fall, I’ll be back in the class room.
I already miss it. For every September since I can remember, I’ve always been in a classroom somewhere—either as a student or as a teacher. It’s in my blood, and I’m sure I’ll wander to campus every now and then just to take in all the usual sights and sounds of my favourite time of year.
But, ultimately, it’s me and my keyboard, sitting in my office at home or in a downtown coffee shop, hacking out the next short story, play, or novel that—while not necessarily bringing either fame or fortune—will make me feel more comfortable in my own skin because it’s what I wanted to do more than anything else, like drawing the sword from the stone. I’m not trying to make the world a better place; I’m just trying to make my world a better place.
And that amounts to the same thing.
Everywhere I turn, there’s something changing for someone. The students are arriving back in the city in dribs and drabs. Some are excited to be here after a summer away, while lots more are disgusted and weary at the thought of another semester of writing essays and attending classes, always being tired and stressed with deadline after deadline. But it’s another year closer to finishing school for good, which, for some people, can be scary in itself because who knows what comes next?
People are back from vacations, heading back to work, half asleep behind the wheel, dejected that summer is over before it had barely begun. I’ve already seen the geese flying in V-formation across Mundy Pond, dipping their wings in the water before taking flight across the tall thrushes that circle the pond’s edge. The stores are selling Halloween decorations and candy, trying to get the jump on the competition.
I think that’s what people who don’t like this time of year feel most uncomfortable with. September is like the end of a dream in which warm weather is the norm, you can wear what you want, be what you want, go where you desire. September brings rules and business, reminders that the world is competitive, which is why summer can’t last. We have to get up early, go to school, go to work, spend our day being busy, either making money or preparing to make money. Because it’s commerce that makes the world go around. That’s what it’s all for—the studying, the working, the courses, the years of slaving away: getting a job and making a living in order to make a mark on the world, maybe raise a family so that your children can follow in your money-earning, mark-making footsteps. In the summer, we try to forget all of that stuff. But in September, we are reminded, if only subconsciously, that any bohemian dreams can’t last, that eventually reality has to set in and we have to wake up.
Strangely, I’m not all that cynical. The need to make money is a reality, so there’s no point in chafing against it. The idea, I think, is to make sure you’re doing something you enjoy or, at least, do something that will hopefully lead to something you’ll enjoy.
Which is why I’m taking this semester (at least) off from teaching to work on my writing. While I love teaching more than a reasonable person ought to (or so I’ve been told), I have always dreamed of being a writer. I put it off for a while in order to make a living, or to do the courses and programs that would allow me to make a living. That’s the business of life. But now it’s time to follow a dream. I’m at an age now when most people I know have put their dreams aside, setting both feet firmly into the land of raising families and earning a living, effectively putting their hopes on the shoulders of the next generation. Our parents do that sometimes—by their actions, they often tell us that it’s okay to give up on what you wanted out of life so that someone else can do it instead.
Sometimes, though, I think it’s only right to finish what you started—to show that you don’t have to give up on your dreams after thirty-five. Too often, in schools and universities (and sometimes at home), we tell children that your most important task is to get an education that will get you a good job. But what comes after that? It’s important, as far as I’m concerned, to hold onto your dreams—the things that you want more than anything, that will make you happy—no matter what. Because that’s what we’re living for, isn’t it? If we’re not making ourselves happy, we can hardly expect to make anyone else happy. I know far too many people who finish school, get the job, even get the family they wanted, then walk around in a state of quiet desperation.
Having said that, I’m trying to make the transition from teacher to writer, at least for the coming year. In summer, it was easier because classes were out, mostly, and my brain kept telling me that, come the fall, I’ll be back in the class room.
I already miss it. For every September since I can remember, I’ve always been in a classroom somewhere—either as a student or as a teacher. It’s in my blood, and I’m sure I’ll wander to campus every now and then just to take in all the usual sights and sounds of my favourite time of year.
But, ultimately, it’s me and my keyboard, sitting in my office at home or in a downtown coffee shop, hacking out the next short story, play, or novel that—while not necessarily bringing either fame or fortune—will make me feel more comfortable in my own skin because it’s what I wanted to do more than anything else, like drawing the sword from the stone. I’m not trying to make the world a better place; I’m just trying to make my world a better place.
And that amounts to the same thing.
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