David Beckham studies at Staffordshire University, UK
Sadly for fans of the Beckham torso, this module doesn’t just involve looking at pictures of the footballer’s latest H&M campaign. The course, which is part of the university’s Media, Sports and Culture degree, explores some of the sociological implications behind society’s obsession with footballers. Course-founder Prof. Ellis Cashmore said in 2008: “We do have to concede that Beckham occupies a lot of our attention today. He's the object of a great many fantasies." Indeed.
Close half the universities and all but the most selective and demanding of the humanities courses. The study of David Beckham's impact on popular culture is worthy, at best, of a thousand word piece in The New Yorker. This is another example of the sad tendency of modern institutions trying very hard to be "relevant." That's the new version of that now vulgar term: populist. Universities aren't suppose to pander, they're suppose to elevate.
There was a time when the Senate was boring and useless. Now it's interesting and useless:
Karen Duffy says she continues to dream of hugging the man she believes is her father. The Peruvian woman, who claims to be Mike Duffy’s unacknowledged daughter, made the comments to media in her home country.
“My Father the Senator” aired Sunday night on Punto Final, a weekly current affairs program on the Peruvian Frecuencia Latina network. The Lima resident told the program she still hopes the suspended senator will respond to a lawsuit she filed in Peruvian court seeking his recognition.
Why? Duffy is either broke or in the process of going broke. If the senoritas are looking for a pay day they're looking in the wrong place. Then there is the ick factor. Seriously. What sane woman would publicly admit she slept with Mike Duffy? What sane woman would admit to the Duffster being their father? This isn't so much a scam as a desperate plea for attention. Pity the poor souls who would want to connect themselves with a disgraced Canadian Senator.
Now this isn't a useless thing, I'm just wondering why the government needs to produce this:
New moisture meter conversion tables are available for small red beans and otebo beans. As well, revised moisture meter conversion tables are available for soybeans, canola and peas. Tables for these and other grains are available on the Canadian Grain Commission’s web site.
Moisture meter tables are based on data from the Canadian Grain Commission’s annual monitoring of the new crop. Tables are revised only after monitoring results show a consistent bias of plus or minus 0.2% compared to reference oven results for three consecutive years (e.g. the bias is plus 0.3% one year, then plus 0.25% the next year and then plus 0.2% in the third year) or if the reference method has changed.
An elected public servant expresses his grievances:
MPs are failing to fulfill their primary roles as legislators and are influenced more by career advancement and party loyalty than serving their constituents as the PMO makes all the decisions, says Independent MP Brent Rathgeber, who quit the Conservative caucus last year and has written a book on the decline of democracy in Canada.
“You are inundated very early after your election, probably at your first or second caucus meetings, on the importance of your new family, the caucus,” Mr. Rathgeber said.
“The more carrots that a Prime Minister has to hand out, the more solid his grip on discipline and party loyalty will be.”
To a certain degree it has been always thus. Gilbert and Sullivan were making much the same complaints in Iolanthe. A parliamentary system, however, requires party discipline in order to function. The open question is always how much. The modern consensus, at least from those who don't work in the PMO, is that way too much power is concentrated at Langevin Block. As this blog has noted over the years the best solution is to allow MPs to elected their leaders. A leader who could be dismissed by an angry caucus is an accountable leader. This is how our system of government worked, give or take, until the late 1960s.
No, it isn't that Pierre Trudeau ruined everything, he just ruined most things.
But at the base of politics isn't mechanics, it's the electorate. With an electoral class so indifferent to political life the details hardly seem to matter. If the voters wanted better government they could likely find people willing to give it to them. But the voters don't want better government, they're not interested in government as anything but a dispenser of goodies. Does the welfare bum really care how his check gets to the mail box?
The emergence of the Imperial Prime Minister is ultimately a product of Big Government. A citizenry that views itself as incapable of fending for itself will seek a protector. In primitive societies they turn to a tribal Big Man who dispenses favours, punishes disloyalty and feathers his own nest. After a century of welfare state politics we are closer to that tribal understanding of government than anything Gladstone or Brown would have appreciated.
The Government of Canada has provided the Cinevolution Media Arts Society with $12,500 in funding through the Building Communities Through Arts and Heritage program in support of the 4th edition of Your Kontinent: Film and Media Arts Festival.
Activities at the Festival include media workshops, film screenings, dance performances, and a showcase featuring the work of local artists.
Wai Young, Member of Parliament (Vancouver South), announced this support today on behalf of the Honourable Shelly Glover, Minister of Canadian Heritage and Official Languages.
Before entering politics Shelly Glover was an officer in the Winnipeg Police Service. I suspect she was serving the public more effectively in her old job. That is unless you believe that the national fabric depends on Film and Media Arts Festivals.
Bristol police have issued a misdemeanor summons to a mom who they say left her 11-year-old daughter in the car while she went into a store Tuesday.
Police arrived at 60 Middle Street in Bristol to find the girl alone in the car with the windows rolled up. She was alert and responsive and told officers she had asked to stay in the car while her mom ran inside, according to police.
My father would be doing hard time for some of the stuff he pulled. The man once had the temerity to make me haul boxes full of wine into the trunk of the family car. Seriously. I was like eight and hauling boxes from the LCBO. My mother, a cleaning lady, had me vacuuming other people's floors at the tender age of nine during March break. These horrible crimes, having occurred in that dark moment of human history known as the 1980s, went tragically unpunished.
In his inimitable rebuttal to the Bristol Child Abuser Case, Mark Steyn goes down memory lane:
Incidentally, when I was eleven, I traveled every morning from a small village to go to school in a big city: I walked on my own a mile or so to a rural halt, caught a train to the terminus in the city, walked across the downtown, and then caught a bus. Not a school bus, just a regular city bus. I enjoyed it all immensely.
Now that was way back in 1970s. An age even more primitive and barbaric then the one I grew up in. At first I was utterly appalled by Mr Steyn's harrowing account. That Mother Steyn was not sent away to the Kingston Penn for many a year is something we can all regret. Then I began thinking to myself: Wait didn't that happen to me too? Through the use of hypnosis and a bottle of Jagermeister I was able to painfully recall the summer I was ten years old.
My parents, not liking me very much, decided to enroll me in a kind of urban summer camp. An actual summer camp was out of the question since, being immigrants, they were unaware of anything north of Steeles Avenue. This urban summer camp seemed like a good idea, but my father soon realized just how expensive those things are and squashed the idea. Instead he decided to send me to a "summer camp" run by the Toronto School Board. What he liked most about this "summer camp" was that it was free. My father loved free things. Wine, he liked to point out, was very expensive. As a result economies had to be made in other portions of the household budget.
Now sending a child off into the tender mercies of the Toronto School Board sounds, to most sane people today, like child abuse. But remember this was the 1980s. Duran Duran. Ronald Reagan. Pay telephones. It was a different age. A "summer camp" run by the Toronto Board was not as terrible as it might sound. In this long forgotten era a small child could, amazingly, spend many years in a Toronto Public School and not once be told about oral sex. I wasn't even told that my family could have two daddies. Back then it was just one of each. Dull old us.
Where was I? Right. My father was trying to find legal ways to get rid of me. For the summer at least. He came across a school newsletter, this was before the internet so all communication was dependent on hand cranked printing presses, and noticed this "summer camp." In truth it was a room full of computers where, under the supervision of a bored supply teacher, we would play video games. This was back when no one had computers and few people had Nintendo game consoles. The original ones. I'm sure you've seen them on TV at some point.
This "summer camp" presented a problem as it was on the other side of Toronto. In fact it wasn't in Toronto at all, it was in a placed called North York. This terrified my mother until it was pointed out that North York was part of "Metro Toronto." Not the real Toronto mind you, but close enough that in an emergency I could be retrieved.
Now a modern WASP father would instinctively have offered to drive their progeny up to this "summer camp." My father being of the old school, literally, he believed that children should take care of themselves. Officially this was to prepare a child for adult responsibilities. Unofficially it was because he was terribly lazy. Short of actual illness he was disinclined to drive me or my mother anywhere during weekdays. My mother had never learned to drive because she was raised by poor people who had no cars. The rich family in the village had one car and my mother wasn't posh enough to even know their servants.
Problems, saith the philosopher, require solutions. My father's solution was that I take the TTC from College Street, where we lived, all the way up to North York by myself. Now some of you might think that this was a terrible act of cruelty. Please remember, again, that was the 1980s. The TTC did not stink of urine and the Toronto Police still spent a small majority of their time fighting crime, rather than issuing speeding tickets. It wasn't exactly an age of innocence but the number of wackos on the TTC were few and far between.
So with a map, two tokens and a vague warning about not talking to weirdos or Liberals, I was pointed in the direction of the nearest TTC bus stop. I took the bus to the subway, then switched subway lines and then took another bus. I then located the school, entered and identified myself to the staff. Then I spent the rest of the day playing video games. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved. My mother even made me a sandwich a few times. Then she gave up the ghost and gave me five dollars to buy lunch. She also said something about buying vegetables. Ketchup chips, I reasoned, were a type of vegetable. Two vegetables when you think about it.
After a few days of travelling back and forth I began noticing that there were other children doing much the same thing. I struck up conversations with them about where they lived and whatnot. Apparently there were dozens of ten year olds wandering around the city of Toronto back then. Not an adult supervisor in sight. An old lady once yelled at us for being too loud. We weren't being loud, she was just cranky and evil. And yucky too,
Today my parents would have been sent to prison for letting me take the TTC. I'm sure the children of today, the adults of tomorrow, will be better off for this heightened level of concern. That is until they're forced to leave their parents' basement.
The Uniprix at 939 Albiny–Paquette Boulevard in Mont–Laurier is the latest addition to Canada Post's retail network. The new postal outlet, managed by pharmacists–owners Dary Blanchet and Yvon L'Écuyer, offers all standard Canada Post products and services.
“Working with local entrepreneurs like Mr. Blanchet and Mr. L'Écuyer enables Canada Post to make postal services even more accessible to busy Canadians. We're pleased to welcome them as part of the Canada Post retail family,” says Doug Jones, Senior Vice–President, Delivery and Customer Experience at Canada Post.
When was the last time you saw a busy Canadian anywhere near a Canada Post employee?