Yes, I still have this headache. I'm going to explode. I don't know how I used to live through 7 days of this as regularly as clockwork, for nearly 30 years. I've been spoiled with fewer migraines. Sometimes you have to be down to recognize up.
But the paper is making me clench my teeth this morning, and that can't be helping. Better to vent, I think. And so...
A lovely little boy snatched from his room in B.C., presumably by a sex offender scuzbag pedophile. An Amber alert went out when his empty bed was discovered, but it's been days and we all have that sick thud in our stomach. We are all re-tweeting the alert and hoping, but we all know. Look at that little face. But today's paper brought me a new round of rage. The suspect's mother is begging him to turn himself in. "I would like him to come home and see me, and if he could have a way to bring the boy home or even bring the boy to me I would be glad to be with him," says Margaret Fink. She doesn't believe her convicted sex offender son will hurt the boy. I believe she should have stuffed her son in a burlap sack and drowned him when she had the chance. Oh wait, did I say that out loud? Good.
Oh, Timbuck Hudak. I call him that in my head, mostly because of that darling way he crinkles up his forehead when he thinks really hard. He looks like a ferret on Jeopardy. Anyway. In a stunning leap into a teacup, he has decided to lead by dividing: calling out the Liberal plan to help recent immigrants in the workforce as some affirmative action plan. Maybe I missed the memo where getting surgeons out from behind the wheels of cabs and scientists off of paper routes was a bad thing. Wait. You really think this plan is to make sure you don't have your fair shot at flipping burgers? Relax.
I am equally boggled by the NDP, truth be told. I have my issues with all parties, but the NDP is finding itself invited to the prom and desperately searching for something to wear. Abandoning environmental issues and faced with that very real problem historically faced by contenders (courting one vote means losing another) they are finding themselves playing late again at each step. It's like watching a little kid try to walk with his father, who is striding ahead knowing the kid will catch up, somehow. I hope so. But your shortened stride is showing, guys.
Not to get all 9/11 on you, but my memory of a decade ago centers on two women: my sister Roz and my friend Tonia. Roz was at work downtown Toronto, high up in one of the main office towers. She called me at 8:45, desperate to find out what was going on. With my TV on, we went through it together. Many of the people wiped out in New York worked for insurance firms, and my sister had worked for the Canadian branches of two of them at various times. I wanted her out of her office. Nobody knew what to do. I can't watch the footage anymore.
Tonia, one of my oldest, closest friends, was there. She worked for Newsweek at the time, and her boys were 4 & 2. Her husband had gone to work - an editor at another paper - and it would be days before she would see him. I couldn't get through to her. I tried for two days. When she finally called, I bawled like a baby. She draws a blog called Squeakymarker, which I've linked before because she's quite brilliant. This is, to my knowledge, the first time she's ever done something like this: read here.
It's a perfect day to go out and do yardwork to burn off some of the hatey that is gripping me, but I know it will make my headache worse. Then again, nothing is making it better, and maybe I'll be happy having something to show for it. Or I could go back to bed and keep reading a book that someone told me I wouldn't like, and I am perversely liking very much.