Airport Security Check Options

Federal Transport Minister John Baird has announced that airline passengers will be required to pay a fee to cover the costs of advanced security checking equipment.

However, as is the case with air travel options, different levels of security checking will be offered.

Economy Class check:  $2.00.  Your shoes will be confiscated.

Business Class check:  $5.00.  Attendants will go through your attache case, remove documents, and correct spelling and punctuation. 

First or Luxury Class check:  $8.00.  Includes full body inspection, aroma therapy and massage. 

Enjoy your trip.

Leave our logos alone, says COC

The Canadian Olympic Committee, in its continuing battle to restrict the use of symbols which might suggest an association with the Olympic Games (tm) has initiated legal action against a number of groups and individuals.  These include:

* Anyone who claims to be "carrying a torch."  COC spokesperson Farley Litigator says "We sympathize with heartbreak, but to use the phrase 'carrying a torch' suggests that the person is hoisting the Olympic flame.  We would prefer persons lamenting a failed romance to say something like 'I'm really upset'." 

* Richard Wagner for the "Ring" cycle and J.R.R. Tolkien for "The Lord of the Rings."  Attempts to locate these miscreants so that legal action and restitution can take place so far have failed.

* Mr. F. Sinatra and friends, aka "the Rat Pack," for popularizing the term "ring-a-ding-ding." The COC spokesperson said "This is not only an impingement on our intellectual property, but is no longer cool."

* The city of Olympia, Washington.  "I mean, really," said the COC's Litigator.  "Where do these people get off taking our name?  We demand that it be changed at once, and that every resident pay us $1,000."  

The COC has also asked that the Olympic Mountains be leveled.

PM Luongo

It was the Politicolympics match-up everyone had been waiting for:  the Ottawa Ottawins versus Luongo's Backbenchers.

Prior to the game, Stephen Harper told Roberto Luongo he had drafted some of the Ottawa Senators.  

"Good team," said Luongo.

"I'll say," said Harper.  "We have Mike Duffy in goal.  Hard to get anything around him."

Then the puck was dropped and the game was on.  Luongo, in the nets, faced a tough first line: Jack Layton, left wing; Michael Ignatieff, centre; and Stephen Harper, extreme right wing. 

At the second intermission, with the score Backbenchers 7, Ottawins zip, Harper asked the referee to prorogue the third period.  But the striped shirt said, "No way.  You made me look bad last time."

When the game-ending horn was sounded, Luongo had shut out Harper's team in both official languages.  The crowd rose to its feet and declared Roberto Luongo the new Prime Minister. 

Good sport that he is, Harper sat down at the Pacific Coliseum organ and played "It's All in the Game."  Michael Ignatieff delivered a speech on "The Salutary Impact of Competitive Athleticism on Post-Modern Society," and Jack Layton tap-danced.

The evening ended when Prime Minister Luongo took the entire Coliseum crowd for lobster linguine. 

23 Days and Counting

Radio announcers throughout the English-speaking (or, in some cases, English-mangling) world are holding on gamely, eager for the month of February to end and the month of March to begin.

The reason?  They find "February" difficult to pronounce.  It does not roll trippingly off the tongue as, for instance, do Yuryev-Polskly, Zhaozhou, and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.  "Give us March, for pity's sake," they cry, their fine, trained baritone voices cracking under stress as once again "February" comes out something like "Fooburburry."

Why is February February?  Because it is the traditional month of purification, and the Latin word for purification is februo.

Anglo-Saxons, however, called this month "Sprout-kale," as it is the season when kale and cabbage emerge.  And the Dutch, for obvious reasons, called it "Fill-Dyke."

We can hear announcers everywhere murmuring "Those are good.  I can say 'Sprout-kale' and 'Fill-Dyke'." 

To the French, this was known as "Pluviose"--"rain month."  And that seems most appropriate, if no easier to pronounce.

To our friends the announcers, we say, "Hang in there!  Only five days left!"  And don't think about leap year.

Sobering News for Hockey Fans

The move by the Vancouver Police Department to have downtown liquor stores close at 7:00 p.m. was sobering news for those wishing to celebrate or drown their sorrows or both.  It has, however, given much needed economic stimulus to the troubled bootlegging industry. 

"We haven't been this busy in years," said Vince McGuffin, proprietor of Booze-R-Us.  "I can barely keep the trunk of my cab full.  If this keeps up, I may switch to a Hummer."

Mr. McGuffin and his colleagues have, however, been forced to upgrade their service.  "In the old days, it was simple.  People would say "Gimme a rye," and that'd be it.  Now they want fancy mixed drinks--cosmopolitans, frozen daiquiris, chocolate martinis.  And you think that's tough, how about my buddy Julio, who specializes in wine.  He hadta hire a sommelier."  

Meanwhile, Sergeant Orville Fenderbender of the Sobriety Squad says the early closing of liquor stores has been a success.  "We're seeing a lot less drunken behavior on the streets," he said.  However, he admitted, "There has been an upswing in glue and nutmeg sniffing."   

Olympics Report

Bob Slay, our more or less on-the-scene Olympics Reporter (his base is the Irish Pavilion) sends these comments:

Mental State of Vancouver:  The entire city has morphed into Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah's couch. 

Highlight of Week One:  Jon Montgomery auctioning a mug of beer.  (He declared himself the successful bidder.)

Greatest Public Service:  Mia Stainsby's daily tribeca in the Vancouver Sun of off-beat spots to eat. (Although some may pass on the cat's poo tea.) 

Best Gag:  Stephen Colbert pointing to veteran radio guy Dave Abbott and declaring "Here is proof that the Irish live hard.  This man is sixteen." 

Moving Patriotic Moment:  Spontaneous crowd singing of "O, Canada" during a curling match (with the exception of one row that sang "Deep Purple"). 

Political Breakthrough:  Groundswell move to draft Sidney Crosby as Prime Minister, after Sid the Kid scored the shoot-out goal in an overtime that threatened to go on until dawn.  Not a bad choice for PM, but we're going for Jon Montgomery.

This is Bob Slay, reminding you, in the words of the great Ace Percival of "Sports College," to "live clean--play fair--drink up!"

All in the Family

This is, in several parts of Canada and the United States, Family Day. Thus, we thought it right to pay tribute to the great families of history:  the Borgias, the Karamazovs, and, of course, the Addams Family.  Lurch, serve the bats-blood Martinis.

But then, the Digressionist thought it better to salute the seven generations of his family he has been privileged to know, filially and patriarchically, and to them raise his hat (exposing a band of hair-deprived scalp beginning to resemble an airport landing strip).

"And meadow rivulets overflow,

 And drops on gate bars hang in a row,

 And rooks in families homeward go,

      And so do I."

--Thomas Hardy   

Nighttime Reading

Reading seven books at a time undoubtedly labels me a promiscuous reader, but I am not alone. A Mr. Gothe of my acquaintance always carries three books, of widely different types, when flying, and Bill Clinton never traveled on Air Force One without a well-stocked book bag.

My current interest is in choosing the right book to read before lowering the lamp and saying nighty-night to the conscious world.  There are definite criteria: first, one does not want a book too heavy to prop up along with a plate of peanut butter cookies or so abstruse that one is required to drag along the OED.  Nor does one want political memoirs, ghost stories, or do-it-yourself manuals that may lead to dreams of repairing a 1968 Volkswagen.

What I have found, after decades of research, is this:  the perfect nighttime reading is a book on sports.  And the perfect sports book is "My Life as a Fan" by Wilfrid Sheed.

The Sheed screed is about his long fascination with baseball, begun in 1940, when his family emigrated from England to the United States.  The arcana of box scores, and such names as Muscles Medwick, Daffy Dean, Pepper Martin and Enos Slaughter, soon became magic to him.  

I have several friends who fall into the hyperfan category (one ad agency colleague used to take his holidays during the World Series and send his wife and children out of town so he could go into deep communion with his television set) but baseball is not something with which I am on terms this close or emotional. 

Still, I find "My Life as a Fan" ideal nighttime reading, even though it is filled with names that perhaps only Sheed, Roger Angell and Dave Frishberg would recognize.  Dave Frishberg, you may recall, wrote a song titled "Van Lingle Mungo," the lyrics of which consisted of nothing but major league ball players' names, among them Heeney Majeski, Bob Estadella, Big Johnny Mize, Pinky May and Frenchy Bordagaray. 

And furthermore..oh gosh, is it that time already?  Gotta get my Ovaltine and "My Life as a Fan."  'Night! 

Fashion Notes from the Olympics

National teams of athletes entered BC Place in alphabetical order for the opening ceremonies of the 2010 Winter Olympics.  This meant that the fashion highlight of the evening came early.  We refer, of course, to the multi-colored floral print trousers worn by the pride of Azerbaijan.

We note that Ralph Lauren's designs for the US team may be purchased by the rest of us, even if we compete only in the Indoor Chug-a-Lug. But, our eyes are on other Olympic outfits, beginning with Garou's black, double-breasted, Edwardian coat.  And Bobby Orr's perfectly knotted silk four-in-hand.  And how about Donald Sutherland's all-white ensemble (with cleverly matching beard and coiffure)?

Or, we'd settle for k.d. lang's white tuxedo.  Shoes optional.    

Watching the Olympics. Or Not.

The banging on the door began at 6:00 a.m.  Two men were there, burly guys, wearing official Olympic Get-the-Spirit toques and Olympic Ring tattoos.  Their badges identified them as Walosky and Grinch.

No time was wasted on small talk.  "You," barked Walosky, "were not watching the Olympic opening ceremonies last night." 

"You missed the sacred Lighting of the Cauldron," said Grinch.  "You did not tear up with the rest of the nation when Nikki Yanofsky sang 'O Canada'."

"What's your excuse?" Walosky demanded.  "Are you an alien or something?"

"I'm sorry," I said.  "I was watching All-Star Bowling."

"All-Star Bowling?"  Grinch reeled backwards as though I had handed him a diseased rodent. "How could you possibly have been watching All-Star Bowling?"

"It was because Ace of Cakes had been preempted," I said.

"Okay, fella," said Walosky.  "As authorized by the official Olympic Get-the-Spirit Commission, we are going to set your penalty."

Voice quaking, I asked what the penalty would be.

"You will be required," said Walosky, "to sit through a 24-hour replay of John Furlong's speech."

Grinch gasped.  "Jeez, Ralph," he said.  "Isn't that a little harsh?"

"You going soft on me, Grinch?" said Walosky.

They tied me to a chair facing the screen and turned on the tape. 

Then Walosky said, "Let's go, Grinch.  We have to see that guy in Lantzville who's been making cracks about the Grouse Water Slide Event."

Sarah's Palm Frites

Recent news reports reveal that Sarah Palin, prior to addressing Tea Party dissidents in Nashville, penned crib notes on the palm of one hand (one of her own hands).  

This is the practice that once got people thrown out of exams in high school.  A close friend, now a professor of nuclear physics at a major university, covered the sleeves of his shirt with solutions to algebraic equations.  The shirt subsequently was passed through generations of math students, and has attained the magical aura of the Turin Shroud.

But back to Ms. Palin.  The words written on her palm were "tax,""energy" and "lift American spirits."  Unfortunately, Ms. Palin had been consuming a fruit smoothie, and the moisture on her palm blurred the ink, so that the words came out as "owlt," "ummwrgy" and "ulg Am#*lgick."  But, far from being nonplussed, Ms. Palin continued with her powerful presentation, declaring, "I am here tonight among all you good God-fearing, freedom-loving people, to say that the major issues facing America today are owlt and ummwrgy, and my task, my mission, as I humbly and reverently see it, is to ulg Am#*lgick."  

The assembly rose in a standing ovation, and more than one Tea Party supporter called it "the best speech she has ever given."  Not every listener understood "ulg Am#*lgick" as "lift American spirits" but, this being Tennessee, many did just that.  Pass the Jack Daniel's, please.

In other news, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger is slated to carry the Olympic torch through Vancouver's Stanley Park.  In a later event, Governor Schwarzenneger (the Terminator) will meet BC Premier Gordon (El Gordo) Campbell in an arm wrestling competition to decide who gets to use the slogan "the best place on earth." 

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Amnesty International today denounced as "cruel and unusual" the decision of the US Military to force suspected terrorists to endure speeches by Sarah Palin.  "We recognize the need for vigorous interrogation," the Amnesty spokesperson said, "but this goes beyond acceptable human behavior.  Last evening, several prisoners were reduced to mindlessly babbling 'You betcha.'"

In Canada, Foreign Affairs said it had no plans to follow the US program, dubbed "Palin Pain," but said it would initiate a regimen it described as "warm and humane" in which prisoners would

enjoy the wit and wisdom of Stephen Harper.    

Recess Cancelled

Prime Minister Stephen Harper has told Members of Parliament that their customary Spring recess will be cancelled.  

Amid groans and cries of "Not fair!" and "Gee whiz, Mr. Harper!" the stern but loving PM went on to say there would be strict punishment for chewing gum or passing notes, and that the yo-yos and water pistols he had confiscated would say in his desk until the end of term.  

"That's enough grumbling," he said.  "If I hear any more, there will be no cookies at nap time."  

"And," he concluded, "I've got my eye on you, Mikey Ignatieff."

New Language for the People's Radio Network

There was a time, before the advent of widespread television swept away regional dialects and left everyone talking like characters in "Seinfeld," when one could tell, by the speaker's voice, his or her place of origin.  Residents of southern Ontario, the Prairie provinces, Newfoundland, all had distinctive dialects, whether they thought so or not.

Those of us who--as we used to say--toiled in the vineyards of radio could move this up a notch: we could tell, listening to an announcer, from which radio station he had emerged.

The reason for this:  people tend to pick up, by a kind of osmosis, the speaking characteristics of their peers.  Not surprising, then, that radio announcers would begin to sound like each other at their particular stations.

Recently, this listener has become aware of this process taking place at the People's Radio Network.  With unhappy results.  For many years a model, a national standard of diction, pronunciation and grammatical correctness, the PRN recently, it seems, has set out to prove it can be as semi-literate as any Top 40 station.  

There are exceptions--the very cool Katie Malloch, the erudite and witty Tom Allen--but there are others who say something like this:  "Gonna play yuh somethin' rilly fine, but first, wanna getcha caught up on yer nooz, see what's goin' on in yer world."

You know what this means?  If the current PRN style takes hold, we'll all be speaking Palinese.    

Dinner with Zubin Mehta

Zubin Mehta, the deservedly famous orchestra conductor and buddy of the Three Tenors, was born into a Persian family in Mumbai when it was still Bombay.  Not as well known as his musical talent is his fondness for intensely spicy food.  When visiting restaurants, Mehta is known to carry a case filled with exotic spices so that he can jazz up whatever dishes he orders, even if they already are listed as lethally hot.  Which brings us to our story.

A gentleman whom, on the advice of my lawyer, I will call "Frank" recently decided to try his hand at making chili con carne, even though his culinary expertise to that point had been limited to opening tins of Chef Boyardee.  Frank consulted a few recipes, but then decided to improvise. After soaking a mixture of beans in tequila, searing nuggets of steak, sweating a pan of onions and garlic, and dicing a basket of plump tomatoes, he began adding spices, thinking to himself "What would Bobby Flay do?"  Into the pot went several shakes of Tex-Mex, a healthy hit of cayenne, Worcestershire sauce, grated horseradish, a couple of tablespoons of dry mustard, paprika (very big in Hungarian chili), and finally--why not?--a handful of chili flakes. Maybe two, they're small.

Frank's wife and official taster tested the sauce and ran from the kitchen screaming.  When she returned, and could speak around a mouthful of ice cubes, she said "Frank, that sauce is so hot it would knock out Zubin Mehta!"  Frank took this as a compliment.     

That night, Frank dreamed that Zubin Mehta, now the conductor of the Szechuan Symphony, came to dinner, carrying his case of spices.  "Maestro," Frank suggested, "before adding anything, perhaps you will sample the sauce and, as a connoisseur of high octane grits,  give me your highly valued opinion." 

The conductor took a spoonful of the sauce.  Then another.  And another.  And as smoke came out of his ears, he said to Frank, "This brings to mind one of Cole Porter's most beloved songs."

"Easy to Love?" said Frank.  "You're the Top?"

"Too Darn Hot," said Mehta.

For Frank's recipe for Call-911 Chili Sauce, send self-addressed envelope and name of physician.