Dalton, that is. Dalton McGuity, the former premier of Ontario and, in my opinion, the worst premier this province has ever had to tolerate.
It took everything in me not to hurl the nearest object at the television when he testified at the gas plant (fiasco) hearings two days ago.
There he sat, smarmy as ever, thinking we’re all stupid enough to believe his lies all over again. For the first time ever, I actually felt a pang of pity for unelected premier Kathleen Wynne who had admitted earlier the cancellation of the plants was indeed’ politically motivated.’
With typical McGuinty cowardice, he tossed Wynne under the bus. Squirming and avoiding a barrage of direct questions from both the Tories and the NDP (it was a lovefest for Liberal party Daltonites who did everything short of physically kissing ass) one of his first ‘answers’ was that he did it for the children.
I used to think the man was delusional… Now it’s been confirmed. Dalton must live in his own spherical world, as if someone blew bubbles and he evolved solely from the slimy solution.
The word, moron, inevitably comes to mind every time I think of the political coward who prorogued the legislature because the flames were lapping at his backside and he wanted a quick and dirty escape.
I watched almost all of his testimony, that too-familiar smirk still lining his face as he evaded the questions regarding his conduct, his honesty, his “integrity” and his actions.
When it comes to taking blame, Dalton is nowhere to be found.
After all the lies, scandals, boondoggles, fiscal waste and squandering, how anyone in this province thinks that McGuinty and the Liberals have done a worthy-enough job to be re-elected is simply beyond me.
I don’t seem to have the energy these days to rail against the Ontario Liberal Party as I once did. Truly, how much time can be spent writing about more lies, scandals, exorbitant debt and deficit figures, boondoggles (remember E-Health, ORNGE?) and ‘politically motivated’ schemes to ‘move’ gas plants for the sake of a couple of Liberal seats in the legislature?
Seat-savers, as Kathleen has realized much later than the rest of us, are never as appealing when you read the fine print, whether it be in the airline business or the business of swindling the electorate.
But then the electorate didn’t vote for Kathleen – only the Ontario Liberal Party was entitled to that privilege.
Kathleen Wynne, that ‘Revenue Tools Woman’ who inherited – and contributed to – the collective fiascos of her predecessor, Dalton-I’m-Outta-Here-McGuinty, was so swept up in the campaign to be the first female and ‘openly-gay’ premier, discussing such important matters as pant suits or dresses, that she neglected to see the writing on the wall that the rest of us saw aeons ago.
Didn’t take a brain surgeon and all that…
So, now she sits front row, centre, evading questions as only a politician can, convinced the electorate just might buy the fact that she knew nothing, NOTHING at all, about that dirty gas-plant business.
I was almost expecting to hear her deny it was really her signature on the documents, weren’t you?
And where’s Dalton in all this? Will he magically appear, as he magically disappeared before proroguing the legislature when the flames started lapping at his backside? Will he take the blame and allow Revenue Tools Wynne to move along with the ‘new’ OLP?
Dalton take the blame?
Just a minute… Ahahahahahahahahaha!!!
I don’t think Wynne, with all her expertise in double-speak, can weasel her way out of this one.
Of course, if she follows precedent, she could fan the flames and prorogue the legislature, but that would be a copycat procedure and it was, after all, pulled out of the hat just recently.
On the other hand, it’s going to be an interesting couple of months to see exactly how this all plays out with the real electorate. It will also be interesting to see how the teachers’ unions, the OLP’s strongest foes just weeks ago, align themselves in the next (hopefully soon) election. We know how they voted three times this past decade. Let’s hope their collective memories aren’t as short as we think they are.
Ms. Revenue Tools just might find herself tossed to the curb, or at least tossed Dalton’s way.
A strange title for a post, but this past week I’ve hauled out the barrow, the shovels, the adored navy blue (and Queen Mary 2 anointed) Hunter boots (even the ugliest-you’ve-ever-seen army-green ankle-high Hunter boots) and all and sundry gardening tools from the depths of the garage, cobwebbed and hidden underneath winter tires stacked precariously in that months-long untouched ‘seasonal corner’ where stuff is unceremoniously shoved.
Because spring has, at least officially, arrived.
So, after lugging bag after endless bloody bag of heavy black mulch from the local garden centre into the old van we keep for such efforts, scooping and spreading it over the dead stuff in between the daffs and hyacinths and tulips and pruned shrubs, my hands were filthy, even underneath the dollar-store gloves I wore for protection. My already uneven fingernails, blackened and stained (and one half-broken in that way that catches every fibre of every material one touches in a day) betrayed my dedicated efforts at cleanliness.
(I can’t honestly tell you, however, that it betrayed my efforts of cosmetic treatment at the local salon. Really, what would be the point at this juncture of the seasons when hands are deep in earth and pressing virgin roots into fertile soil? I’d fool not a soul.)
I stood in the garden in my muddied wellies (next to the rhubarb I didn’t think would survive the winter months) and stared at my nails and wondered about those women who regularly booked manicures like clockwork.
How did they manage to maintain such perfectly coiffed nails I wondered? How on earth (no pun intended…) could they sport such polish? Such shape? Such chipless ovals of loveliness day after day after day?
And I have wondered this same (inane) thought on so many occasions since the morning of the laying-of-the-new-mulch that it would be a rather maladjusted reflection if I made the admission.
Which, of course, I now have…
“You must book a manicure,” my daughter insisted. ‘And get a pedicure, while you’re at it,‘ was undoubtedly the next sage tidbit of counsel racing through her mind as the corners of her mouth turned in what I could only surmise was a hint of disgust.
Bloody twenty-somethings. I was your age once! Hey, listen up! I worked in an office and had to-die-for nails and was, as my west-coast lawyer friend, Sara, said just three weeks ago over seafood at the Oak Bay Marina, a ‘fashionista.’ Yes, my daughters might find this inscrutable morsel of certainty difficult to comprehend as they go about their ‘twenty-something’ days of work, (and work-outs) buying of new outfits and seemingly unending social events.
But during those (now heady) days I wasn’t going through such fifty-something chores like the ‘laying of the mulch.’ There was no tearing out of weeds, or snipping deadened bits of sweet woodruff to fill my mornings then; all I worried about was picking up my ‘fashionista’ clothes from the dry cleaners, purchasing expensive shoes at my favourite Victoria shoe shop and making plans for the weekend.
I was twenty-something once.
And don’t you forget it.
Of course, that was a very long time ago, but if Sara could remember those days, then I’ll use her recollections and unerring clarity to suit my purposes now.
Last night, I succumbed and cut my fingernails to a reasonable-for-gardening length. It’s of no use to spend money on salon manicures, however much I enjoy the undertaking. Though, I should add that I do indeed book manicures – and pedicures – when heading for vacations. I’m not completely unrefined, you see. Now that the seasonal laying of the mulch is fait accompli, I am on to painting, but soon, very soon, I shall book a mani and pedi, as they say in the trade. In the meantime, I continue to enjoy my gardens, watching the birds at the feeders, trudging through mud in my Southampton wellies, and raking up leaves from the neighbour’s oak that have taken residence on our property for some time.
Okay, scratch that last one…
While the entire city of Boston went into lockdown, with the world watching, American law enforcement sought and caught the two suspects in the marathon bombings.
Meanwhile, north of the border, we have Justin Trudeau’s sentiment of ‘he must have been excluded’ excuse.
Read the following article and learn a bit about Justin’s other privileged dealings…
Please take a look at the website for St. Catharines Pets Alive. While the website is not completely launched at present, you can read the Constitution, By-Laws, Minutes and access the downloadable membership form.
This organization is a great asset for those dedicated to animal welfare in the Niagara Region and I encourage you to become a member, or make donations so that volunteers can better assist the animals in need.
St. Catharines Pets Alive (SPA) is a registered non-profit organization run exclusively by volunteers. SPA is dedicated to building a No Kill community through community compassion.
To promote respect for and humane treatment of animals;
To prevent cruelty to animals;
To rescue and promote adoption of homeless pets;
To return lost pets to and help keep pets with their responsible caregivers;
To promote a No Kill community in which no healthy or treatable animals are killed.
St. Catharines Pets Alive is run exclusively by dedicated volunteers. We are implementing innovative and progressive programs based upon the best practices of other cities who are No Kill or are in the process of becoming No Kill.
SPA aims to bring the community together to form a coalition of volunteers, foster care providers, rescue groups, and local businesses to implement those programs and services that have proved successful at ending shelter killing in roughly 90 communities representing some 300 towns and cities across North America.
Will you join our army of compassion by becoming a member?
It sickens me when the season for Marineland kicks in and the television and radio spots are played too many times with that jaunty jingle to entice the kids. In my mind that’s akin to luring unsuspecting children with tainted candy, for it’s that vulgar.
I suppose I loathe the fact that Marineland owner, John Holer hauls in his profits on the backs of massive marine life held captive in tiny swimming pools, forced to perform tricks for the amusement of unsuspecting children and their unenlightened parents, grandparents, guardians, etc. who think it’s just a wonderful day at the park.
On the other hand, you have the blatantly ignorant amongst us who don’t give a damn, and never will, about animal welfare. They’re a sad lot, and there’s much more I’d like to say about those types, but I shan’t for now.
Holer has the audacity to call it an amusement park. For me, it’s more a house of inconceivable horrors. What goes on behind closed doors and all that; frightening, alarming, dark… you name it. It’s disturbing, if not outright alarming.
The mere thought of isolating huge marine life in a swimming pool when they ought, rightly, and naturally, to be swimming freely in the oceans of the world is repugnant to me. And anyone so naive to think that Holer actually cares for these animals needs to give their head a shake and wake up to today’s realities.
I was mortified last year when I read that Niagara Falls, Ontario, mayor Jim Diodati frequents the ‘park’ and ‘takes his family there.’
It reminded me of that scene in the original Jaws movie when the mayor tried to reassure the seafront residents and tourists of his small town that all was fine and ‘shark-less’ in the crystal-blue waters. As he and his family plodded warily into the deep, you could see the lofty fool behind the act.
And is Diodati so foolish that he believes things are wonderful behind those metal fences at Marineland? Is he so slow-witted that he’s convinced we can’t see past his half-baked political schemes at play?
Diodati and Holer are both interested in one thing: Profit. And don’t make the unsophisticated mistake of thinking otherwise, because Diodati is that mayor in Jaws, folks.
Years ago, when my children attended Grapeview Public School in St. Catharines, year-end excursions were sometimes made to Marineland. I didn’t agree with the venue and pulled my children out of the trips on principle alone. The next year I asked why we had to patronize such a place, when children were being taught during the school year about animals in their natural habitat. It was hypocrisy, plain and simple. There were some who complained that I was being a spoilsport, though none of it was said to my face. (Gossips prefer it that way.) Luckily, many agreed with me and Marineland was pulled off the year-end list.
(Around that same time, I received a call from a friend of mine just east of Toronto. She wanted directions to Marineland. I didn’t give them to her, again, on principle, and spent the conversation trying to dissuade her from making the journey to Holer’s Hole. Never did find out if she heeded my advice, but I hope she did.)
Just a few weeks ago I contacted the District School Board of Niagara to ask whether or not Marineland was on the list of year-end trips for any of the DSBN schools. The director’s assistant didn’t know, but would find out, she advised; she’d never been asked the question before, apparently.
The call I received two days later informed me that there is no ‘rule’ against schools attending Marineland. Each year-end trip is decided upon by the principal and then either passed or not passed by the DSBN powers-that-be.
I found it a bit incredulous, to tell you the truth, and I told her so. In this day and age, with all the controversy surrounding this so-called ‘park’ surely, I said to the caller, you must have some guidelines in place.
No, came the answer, but then she added, ‘We haven’t had any recent requests for Marineland.’
And there lies the dilemma: They’re not questioned, so Marineland remains.
Everyone’s a bureaucrat.
Mustn’t ruffle the feathers. Mustn’t step on anyone else’s toes in another department, wot?
Is anyone capable of thinking for themselves anymore? I ask you!
Our governments are no better. I have spent years trying to get through to our local (Ontario Liberal Party) MPP Jim Bradley about his party’s breed-specific legislation, but like his superiors, he seems thoroughly indifferent to animal abuse. When you’re dealing with the likes of former Attorney-General Michael Bryant, former premier Dalton McGuinty, and now unelected premier Kathleen Wynne, all of whom share the same outlook toward animals as Bradley, it’s a steep hill to climb. They either get it, or they don’t. And this indifferent lot, well, they just don’t.
Even Ontario Conservative Party leader Tim Hudak and NDP leader Andrea Horwath never speak up.
Animal welfare isn’t high on the list of any government, it appears – locally, provincially, or federally. They sometimes call animal lovers ‘extremists’ or other condescending names that place people who care deeply for the welfare of animals in the same bracket as the worst ne’er-do-wells. It’s unjust and it’s unfair, especially when men like Holer, who bring in the tourist dollars, are largely (deliberately) ignored until the media get ahold of it and public outcry is loud and clear.
Humans are a spineless species, really, when it comes to animal welfare, but luckily, there are some who do speak up, or do write, or prove their intent with actions. Unfortunately they’re cast as those ‘extremists’ if they’re vocally too loud.
In my book, I say, too bloody bad.
Please support Port Colborne Feline Initiative’s fundraiser at St. Patrick’s Church Hall, 123 King Street (at Victoria) Port Colborne, Ontario.
Friday, April 12 and 13, 2013 – Please click on PCFIs link above for more detailed information.
Come find your treasure and support a great cause! Friday night and Saturday we will have a fabulous selection of household items, yard and garden, small appliances, collectables, clothing, toys, books and more. CatSnips Famous Bake Table will be there with mouth-watering goodies that always sell out fast. Have gently used items to donate? They can be dropped off at church hall all day Friday starting at 8 am. Refundable empties can be dropped off any time Friday and Saturday up until 2 pm. Sorry, no advance storage or pick up available. For more info email us at firstname.lastname@example.org