When I runned for Vice President gosh you know our Heavenly Father was there with me running beside me like you know in that inspirational poster with the footprints in the sand on the beach where sometimes there is only one pair of footprints and that is like you know God carrying you. Because golly you know sometimes he carried me on the beach and so like there was only you know one set of footprints in the sand. It was God’s will that I runned for Vice President in 2008 and jeez we went in a wrong direction there as a country for eight years but it was God’s will that Mr. Crusher won I saw it. Everything is God’s will you know like that I runned and it was His will that I won but I didn’t won but it was God’s will and it wasn’t God’s will you know the last eight years of a wrong direction but now it is God’s will done praise God.
IN SO MANY PLACES, and at so many times throughout human history, men have known the economic and political and social advantages of patriarchy. Biology has been helpful also: men are larger and stronger than women – not in every case, of course, but as a tendency. Being a man is, for the most part, a good deal. There is also the downside, and it would be impossible to represent life as a man without speaking of this also.
WITH SO MANY items from which to choose, it was inspiring to see the great Rob Ford, Canada’s bestest mayor ever, taking the courageous and principled course by candidly admitting guilt in what is doubtless his most outrageous crime. On his radio program this weekend Rob Ford admitted that he drank a touch too much on St Patrick’s Day (something looked upon with horror and disgust in this city and elsewhere) and that he’ll try to slow it down a bit, that is if he plans afterward to leave his basement. No promises, people, because who on earth can promise not to get hammered and make a public ass of oneself. Be realistic. Even the best mayor Toronto has ever had (Rob Ford, obviously) can’t promise you unicorns and sunshine and your own private Idaho.
I was eight years old and urinating in the bathroom of my parents’ Central Avenue house when the precise words manifesting a desire to fill my life with writing first came into my conscious mind. Why this thought occurred to me at so late a date, I am unable to say. Continue reading The Compulsion to Write (pt. 1)