The REAL Pandemic

Well, all the autumn talk of bird flu has subsided, and now talk on the street is of something far uglier, and apparently, more contagious... Stephen Harper's Conservative Party.

So many good ideas were put forth in the last minority government, including gay marriage rights, and the legalization (or at least, de-criminalization) of marijuana that it's a shame (or a conspiracy) that that government was never brought to term. We may not get such a progressive government for another couple of decades.

Instead, we'll get to sit by and watch while Harper brings in anti-abortion legislation, and (ironically) works to reduce numbers of life-saving flight crew on large airliners. Seems a life is only worth it when there's money to be made.

Also, we can look forward to more government initiatives to turn Canada into an American-style police state. There was legislation on the table in the last sitting that would allow the government to have access to your email. Is that O.K. with you? 'Cause it kinda sits badly with me. I resented snooping when it was my mom doing it, and the government are on MY payroll. Maybe they need to be reminded?

But there's one beacon of hope in this dark but predictable outcome. It's a minority government! Thank-you, Canadian voters, for not allowing this campaign of negativity and of lack of leadership and vision win the election for any of them. In the end, it's our victory.

Truth is, we didn't want any of them.

2005 GST Update - The Trouble With Truth in Politics

Originally posted on www.gojotv.com on
December 9th, 2005

Today I was contacted by Alex Shprintsen,
the producer for CBC's news program, The National
who had originally coordinated the Town Hall program in 1996.
He just wanted to update his contact list,
but as we chatted on the phone, he mentioned that
he had gotten into a "lot of trouble" over the original program.

When the show originally aired, many nay-sayers,
including members of Prime Minister Chrétien's Office
and journalists for the CTV
insisted that I had been "coached" by the CBC,
(evidently, Mr. Shprintsen bore the brunt of those accusations)
even going so far as to say that I had not come up with my own question.

Well, as Michael Palin once said,
"Help, help, I'm being repressed!"

When you think about it, the meat of their argument
is that a simple waitress
(not only limited by her working class job, but a woman besides)
couldn't possibly put together a cogent question,
far less defend it when it's premise is being
denied by a professional politician.

Clearly, in the minds of these arrogant men,
(and yes, the critics were men)
a woman who works as a waitress needs the help of a big, strong producer
to put together an argument about an issue as
complicated as taxation.
Why, how could a pretty little thing like me cope all by myself?

Can you believe that these are the people you
get your legislation and your news coverage from?

Ironically, the reason a smart, capable woman like me
was working as a waitress in 1996 is poor government.
Since my high school graduation, I went through
how many recessions?
And the solution for my generation, "go work in the oilfields",
was hardly a solution for me.
So, I returned to school, (no money in that)
worked in the comedy clubs (no money in that)
and ended up waitressing until something better happened.
Or should I say, until I made something better happen.

Alone.

Without coaching.

But my story is a bit of a cautionary tale for other
women and workers in Canada... brace yourselves...
THE GOVERNMENT DOESN'T THINK VERY MUCH OF YOU.
And, they are so invested in their arrogance, that if you prove yourself
in some way, they will try to paint you as a fraud
rather than to use your knowledge and experience to better the country.
This is why nothing the politicians say
during this campaign has been of any interest to you.
There's just no more truth in politics.

The truth is, we're not that small,
we're not that stupid,
and they need us more than we need them.

However, I am somewhat heartened to see and hear
all the concessions politicians are making during this campaign...

You notice that?

Hmmmm... minority government's been beddy beddy good for our boys and girls in Ottawa.

Maybe a longer stint in a minority situation will peel another
of the many layers of arrogance off them...
So, do yourself and other Canadians a favour... Keep the government
representative of our vast diaspora... Keep a minority government in power.
Make the politicians work for you for a change.

-- Johanne Savoie

See Johanne on the 1996 CBC Town Hall with Jean Chrétien HERE.

2005 GST Update - Stephen Harper's Campaign Promise

On December 1st, 2005, Stephen Harper,
Leader of the Conservative Party of Canada,
made a campaign promise to reduce the GST
from 7% to 5% over two years.

Yet, both his party and the Liberals have in
the past promised to abolish the GST - which
had originally been introduced as a "crisis tax".

Don't you wish just one of our two major
parties could step up to the plate on this issue?

After 14 years of radio silence form the Conservatives
on the GST issue, this sudden announcement during an
election campaign has a definite smell of fish to it, no?

First, what does "over two years" mean?
Stephen Harper is suggesting that he'll lower it by a percent per year...
Yeah, busines owners will love that... They love re-calibrating
their cash registers for the government's benefit.

So, really, IF the promise holds any weight at all,
(Which it clearly doesn't, because it's so half-baked)
We'll be seeing a 2% reduction in the tax IN two years.

But, hey, let's do the math on this to see if
this latest Conservative bribe is really worth it...

Let's say that after you've paid your income tax and
your rent/mortgage, you spend $10,000/year on goods and
services. (Let's say...This estimate makes the math easier.)
On that $10,000 worth of goods, you pay an additional
$700.00 GST. Under Harper's plan, we would save $200/year.
That's pretty insignificant, especially when you consider that
consumer spending, and thus, the GST, has increased because
of inflation... and will again.

When you count inflation, the GST has grown in dollar cost
to you since 1991. According to the Bank of Canada's Inflation Calculator,
in 1991, you spent $7712.06 to get today's $10,000 worth of
goods and services. And the GST on that amount was $539.85
So, with Harper's plan, we'd be paying in dollars about what we were
when the GST was introduced.

So, it's hardly a rebate at all.

And what do Canadians have to lose if we accept the bribe?

Well, the government was tossing around the idea that they
should have the right to access and read your email without your
consent. They're using the generic "anti-terrorist measure" excuse.
to justify this blatant invasion of your privacy. Isn't email just like
posted mail, and deserving of the same privacy protection under the law?
So far, the government has found it hard to push this measure
through Parliament, 'cause they only have a minority.

Which brings us to a fundamental truth about democracy...

Minority governments are good for democracy.
The more opposing voices there are in power, the less stupid or
unjust laws the government can pass.
Majority govenments leave one party in power. That means that a small group of buddies can ignore your wishes and pass all kinds of laws.
That's how the GST got in...
So, do yourself and other Canadians a favour...
Keep the government representative of our vast diaspora...
Elect a minority government.
Make the politicians work for you for a change.
-- Johanne Savoie

See Johanne on the 1996 CBC Town Hall with Jean Chrétien HERE.

In Flanders Fields

"In Flanders Fields"
by Col. John McCrea
Click for audio

Downloadable MP3 - 1.01MB

Dedicated to Clément Aimé Savoie

Comedy Is The Norm in Seattle

_

Norm Macdonald and Johanne Savoie

It was Saturday, October 15th, 2005. Norm Macdonald was slated to headline at the Moore Theatre in Seattle, Washington with opening acts Orny Adams and Nick diPaolo. Just a couple of hours from Vancouver. Some people spend more time than that on their daily commute. For me, a Vancouverite and Norm fan from back in the days when I was doing stand-up in the Montreal club where he often appeared, you couldn't bait the hook any better than that.

Well, you could, but I'm guessing Norm prefers to be paid in American dollars over performing in Vancouver. Or, he doesn't want to risk the anecdotally threatened cavity search at the border...
(The previous paragraph was written before the announcement of Norm's upcoming show at the River Rock Casino across the river from Vancouver on January 21st, 2006.)

So, the day came and I went. I left Vancouver without a show ticket, because internet searches prevented me from getting the best available seat. * But, the weather was fine, the trip was peaceful, they love me (but not carnally) at the border, and after checking into the Moore Hotel next door to the Theatre, I had an afternoon to stroll around Seattle before the show. I got my last-minute ticket, and settled into a great aisle seat in an empty row.

The show started about 20 minutes late, as pages filled the front rows, either with people seated too far from the stage, or latecomers. This went on at least another 20 minutes into the show, but luckily, the club-seasoned opening act, Orny Adams, held my attention despite my being repeatedly asked to stand to let others in. There was no emcee for the show, which put Adams in the uncomfortable position of walking onto the bare stage, introduced only by a voice over the P.A. His self-introduction was unrehearsed, and he momentarily seemed awkward, which worked for him as he immediately got the "attention by sympathy" of the audience. His malaise didn't last long, though, and within three lines, he launched into his rapid-fire and well-rehearsed set.

Orny Adams is an observational comic. His stuff often doesn't have a punchline, but the audience is expertly cued when to laugh by his clear delivery and impeccable timing. He's like a more aggressive Seinfeld. To my ears, he came off as derivative, but I'd hire him. He gets the laughs.

Adams introduced Nick diPaolo, a veteran comic whom I first saw in 1991 in Montreal. DiPaolo's style, which was a clean shadow of Ray Romano's back then, has morphed into the New York, "eating it", Colin Quinn thing you hear at clubs like the "Gotham". He relentlessly sought to find and prod the audience's sensibilities, saying gleefully whenever an "offensive" joke was appreciated "Come on, you're a white audience, you can afford to laugh at this..." (I'm paraphrasing; I didn't jot down the exact wording, but you get the sense...) Leaving no racial or sexist stone unturned, he was an excellent choice to open for Norm. It was important not to have the audience lulled into believing they were gonna get an evening of "SNL Norm". DiPaolo even made an evil crack about "Country and Western music", then grinned at an unseen watcher in the wings. It doesn't take Agent "99" to figure out that Norm, the die-hard country music lover was the target of that one. So, diPaolo truly held the beacon as an equal-opportunity offender. He did a good forty minutes at least, and only let his pitbull grip on the audience go when he felt the audience was ready to accept anything... and they had to...

...because Norm took the stage to riotous applause. He opened slowly and haltingly, seeming unsure of where to take the set after Nick diPaolo's thorough job. But, after establishing normalcy and likeability with some stuff about his beloved son as a newborn, he settled into the "sex and death" material which is the hallmark of Norm's, "I'm not working clean tonight" persona. (For those who've never seen it, Norm can work clean, only occasionally touching on taboo subjects to make a broader point. Those sets are riotously funny, but I haven't seen one in a long time. In his "dirtier" sets, Norm's exploration of darker subjects generally eschews meanness or a racist or bullying attitude, ***   preferring to explore utterly shocking ideas until they reach an ironically funny conclusion. Most comics revel in the shock; few, like Norm, do that and then defuse it.) Recent workouts at the Mohegan Casino and an Irvine Comedy club had given Norm an assurance which was lacking in his December 2000 show at the "Rio" in Las Vegas. His pacing was on, and he was relaxed enough to settle into a sincere and conversational tone. In a bit describing his puzzlement over the finer points of human copulation, (yeah, yeah, fucking) he used grotesquely simplified mime with hilarious results. It was incongruously funny just to see the usually cool Norm growl during a half-baked bear hug gesture, or balance on one foot while lunging for an imaginary trollop. But there were more subtle and personal moments, too, such as when he described his own father's death by heart attack, and the fear and wonderment spawned by that event. I got the strong feeling watching the show and knowing what sharpness and exactitude Norm is capable of, that some of the bits, though funny, aren't yet to Norm's liking, and that he's thinking them through, trying to find an even deeper funny therein. The set was reasonably tight but not completely polished, which actually made it seem personal and warm, even. So, I'm guessing: Either Norm is recording these shows for an upcoming CD or he's getting back to standup in a bigger way, reclaiming his chops, and re-establishing himself as a premiere comic like Chris Rock did.

Hopefully.

Either way, may he reach his goal. I can't wait.

After the show, I headed next door to the Moore Hotel, ready to settle into that week's SNL, a "Best of David Spade" retrospective. When I got to my room, I realized that it was still early, and, flipping the channels, saw that the tube was awash with drear. Then I thought,"Hey, those guys from sociallyinept.com never emailed me back, ***** but maybe they popped in to the "NiteLite" anyway. So, I went downstairs and was scouting around the NiteLite when I realized I had no sure way of recognizing them. I had only seen one picture years before. I waffled, because the show had been good and I felt like a drink and some fun, but I didn't want to drink alone in a foreign bar. I looked at the seats, contemplated a game of pool, (No go, since I was wearing my strappy heels, and I didn't feel like attracting that kind of attention) and finally, ruefully, left for my room again. I got inside, sat on the bed, removed my heels, and in the quiet, I heard Gigo's voice from our phone conversation earlier that day. "Jo, you should try to meet Norm."

My reaction at the time: "Why? I have nothing to say to him. I'm sure he doesn't remember me from the Montreal days. It's not a casino here, I can't just walk up to him like you did."...all while Gigo, who loves doing that kind of thing, had tried to persuade me. And there, in the stillness of an underheated hotel room, I discovered a reason to meet Norm. I was bored. And boredom is my only allergy. Then I thought, "I should at least try to get a picture for Gigo's site. She'll think I'm a wuss." And for a Canadian, that's like, the worst thing you can be. I figured the show had ended a little over ten minutes before, and thought, "Everybody's gone by now. Norm's famous for ducking quickly out of performance situations." On the other hand, it couldn't hurt to look, and I convinced myself that walking was at least better exercise than thumb-twiddling. I slipped on some comfy shoes, grabbed my camera and went out.

Looking for a stage door at the Moore, I turned one corner, then two and there, in the alley behind the theatre was Norm, posing for pictures and chatting with a small group of fans while behind were Orny Adams, Nick diPaolo, and their chauffeur standing by the car and watching (enviously? impatiently? cynically?) Some had cameras, others, autographed paraphernalia. I was obviously last in line, so I stood back and watched as a blonde man (who turned out to be our Ross Munro) posed with Norm while the woman with him snapped away with a great-looking camera. (Notice how his pictures look so good.) They were deep in conversation, and Ross was giving Norm a DVD, for which Norm was thanking him warmly. I noticed the name "Brewster" on the cover, and thought it was a "Punky Brewster" DVD. I'm not familiar with "Punky Brewster", only the name, and idly thought, "Norm must be a 'Punky Brewster' fan, he seems really happy to be getting the DVD. I wonder if it's any good..."

...I only understood the real story when I read the article on normnews.com...

"Do you want me to take your picture?" I looked to my left. A blonde woman, seeing the camera in my hand offered to help, and I accepted. We had a short chat, during which she said she had "already gone" but would be glad to help. After a few sentences, I realized that she was far more interested in overhearing Norm's talk with Ross and with another slight but impeccably dressed young man who had cut in for a word, so I stopped trying to engage her in conversation and waited.

Norm focussed his attention warmly on each fan, which surprised me because I had expected him to disappear quickly. I overheard that the slight young man was an aspiring actor whose goal it was to play that guy you see in the opening scene of every movie and who you think will be the star, but who ends up dead before the first act is over. (I thought that was funny, 'cause with a goal like that, he may end up getting more work that Brad Pitt.) Norm summed up his conversation with them by sharing something about his girlfriend which I can't recall, as it was a reference to something that had been said before I arrived. He bid the guys goodbye, sending Ross Munro off with a "you have my email" and turned to me. He did a mild double take followed by a long, quizzical look. I thought that he was trying to remember where he knew me from, so I put out my hand and said, "Hi. I'm Johanne Savoie. We met in Montreal years ago." this was greeted with silence from Norm, so I added, "I'm on assignment for Gigohead."

But he replied, "I just saw you on the internet. I saw your website."

I was completely taken aback by that, and Norm seemed to be waiting for something from me. "Oh...I'm sorry."

"No, no, I like that thing with the Jean Chrétien. It was good."

"Oh, that was ten years ago..." My plan, which had been to get a quick photo and escape, was rapidly losing steam. I was momentarily flabbergasted at the power of the Gigohead, who gives out web addresses and directs the internet traffic of the stars.

"Well, it's cool to meet someone I just saw on the T.V...." That made me laugh, 'cause it's kind of a statement about why everyone was there in the first place... to meet someone we'd seen 'on the T.V.'

"...I like to keep up with those kinds of stories."

"Really?" I asked. It seemed to me that Norm, as an American, would have lost track...

"Yeah, I come from there, you know, from Québec."

"Oh, yeah, Québec City..."

"We didn't live in the city. We lived on an army base."

"Oh, yeah, there's that base, north from there, uh, Val... D'or?.." (I knew that wasn't it.)

"Valcartier."

"Yeah, Valcartier. So, you speak French?"

Norm quickly checked his buddies, who were still waiting outside the limo. "No, I never learned French."

"How come?"

"I wanted to, but my dad didn't want me to learn it. And we moved to Ottawa when I was fifteen. There was a lot of hate between the French and the English."

"Tell me about it. I lived in Ontario."

"Yeah, it was really bad. I remember they had this football game with all the best players form the French schools against all the best players from the English schools. But there weren't a lot of English schools. So, they were always way tougher... And they had the game every year on the Plains of Abraham."

"No way! (laughs) That's horrible!"

"Yeah, yeah..."

"They did that to kids?"

"Yeah. There was a lot of hate."

At this point, the lady taking the pictures chimed in. I heard that in Québec they have these laws that you can't put up signs in English..."

Norm moved back at this, and I didn't feel he wanted to field that kind of question, so I replied, "Well, the language laws came in after that (1978 for Bill 101, 1972 for Bill 22, which was predominantly a school language law - Norm's family would have left Quebec by '78) but that's why they exist, because of the hate Norm's talking about. And there was a huge class struggle mixed in with the race issue."

The football field on the Plains of Abraham, Quebec City - The origin of Norm's adolescent trauma.

Meanwhile, Norm had been visually checking with his friends, who pretty much wanted to leave. So, he suggested we get the photo done with.

So we posed for the photo, the flash went off, and as I reached for my camera from the blonde lady, Norm said, "Oh, that's no good, my eyes were closed." I looked at the shot, and our faces were washed out from the strength of my flash. Norm was saying, "We'll have to do another one." And I agreed, thanking him and showing him the camera's image.

Me: "You can't see our faces, the flash is too strong - or we're equally pale."

So, I took up Norm's kind offer, and I asked the lady photographer to try another one, admitting, "This camera's kind of a piece of crap."

So we posed again. And I thought, "Great! This is the one" I opened my mouth to thank Norm just as he said...

"I wasn't smiling in that one."

At this point, I started to lose it. I hate wasting peoples' time, and I was getting antsy at imposing on him. Also, I was beginning to wonder if he was toying with me because he was acting so overwhelmed at meeting someone he'd "seen on the T.V." and pointing it out to the remaining folks.

I looked at the camera, and the lighting in the second shot seemed much better. So, I handed the camera back to the lady, and shyly took my place under Norm's arm, joking, "O.K., try to look happy, Norm."

We stood, waiting, and the lady said, "Oh, it's not working..." So, I dropped my smile saying, "What's wrong?" just as the camera went off.

"Oh, now I'm the one not smiling..." This was getting real-ly embarrassing. I didn't want to ask Norm for another shot, but wondered if he was concerned about his image in any way.

Norm, eager to leave, solved that one by half-looking at the picture and saying, "You look pretty in that one."

"O.K., I'll take your word for that. It's hard to get a pretty picture of me, so..."

"N-no..."

"Oh, no, I'm not pulling the old 'I'm not pretty' thing, I mean my photos don't often turn out. The camera doesn't like me."

"Yeah, me either. Someone told me I looked better than on the T.V. They said I looked old on my show."

"Oh yeah?" I couldn't imagine Norm not looking good on T.V.; his pictures generally look great. "If you don't look good, it's gotta be the lighting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, bad lighting will make anyone look bad. So, if you find you don't look good, check the lighting. Were you ever mean to the crew?"

"Ah, I don't know."

"Maybe they hate you."

Norm looked a little taken aback by this, so I hope he didn't take it seriously. I was still in giggle mode.

Norm started to move away, saying his goodbyes, and again saying what an honour it was to meet someone he'd "seen on the T.V.", to which I muttered, chuckling, "Well, it's me who should be honoured, then, right?"

And Norm headed for the limo with his stuff from Ross Munro in hand.

I walked back towards my hotel with the blonde lady photog and her teenaged son, and we parted at the door. Later, in my room, it dawned on me that there was a question I've always wanted to ask Norm, about possible mutual friends, but of course, I had completely forgotten. In the middle of watching the David Spade SNL episode, I thought, "Oh, why didn't you ask him ...?" Duh. Missed it by THAT much.

However, my disappointment was short-lived, because I finally got to meet the tremendously smart, energetic, and endearing Gigohead the next day over a rushed breakfast. What a kick that was! Gigohead is just this immediately loveable lady; it felt like I was meeting a long-lost cousin.

Gigohead and Johanne.

Gigo was so thrilled that I had seen Norm the night before that she didn't even notice the false eyelashes I wore in her honour. A cute guy took our picture, commenting that he'd rather have been in it. Can you blame him? The two of us chatted, laughed, and just generally radiated Normfan love. It was sad to see her leave after barely an hour, but then, we'll meet again...

Oh, yes, we shall... ;-D
_________________________________________________
* Those sites show you what they call the "best available seats", because the "available" seat on their site is the crappy one they're showing you. Catch-22. Here's how to get a great ticket for a slow-selling show... (Works best for singles) On one website, two days previously, I had seen a lot (group) of four tix in the front row, but, being possessed of only one butt, the computer refused me a sale. The best single ticket "available" on Ticketmaster was an aisle in row "S". "S" is a letter placed somewhere in the last half of the alphabet; not good enough. So, I thought, "Hmmm. clearly, "Ticketmaster" is creating the online illusion that the show is selling briskly. ** If there are "A" seats available now on another site, there may be other groupings of good seats between "A" and "S" waiting to be sold. Experience, "Spidey-senses" and years of reading "Nancy Drew" and watching "Get Smart" helped me to the conclusion that if not all the lots sold, or if only three tix sold in a lot of four, I could easily wedge myself into that "better than 'S'" space. As it turned out, I waltzed up to the ticket window about 15 minutes before showtime and got a seat in row "H" on a left aisle (stage right) angled towards the stage. Proximity 9/10 View: 10/10.

** (Footnote within a footnote ;-D) They had done this for Norm's "Rio" show in Las Vegas years ago, the first half of which saw me sitting in a balcony when the floor had at least 50 empty seats, and good ones, at that. At intermission, I asked a downstairs page if I could move closer, saying I had travelled from Canada, etc. and he very kindly saw me to a better seat in time to watch Norm. Unbeknownst to me, Mike Weiss, a friend, Norm fan, and then-Webmaster of a Norm fansite, was also in the balcony. Had I recognized him, I would have asked him to come down and sit with me. I'm still sorry that didn't happen; the guy is a dear.

***I say, "generally", because something about women in the workplace seems to bring out the worst in Norm. His first sit-com, "Norm", drew protests from associations of social workers, who felt that their profession was being trivialized. That's a judgement call in a society where all predominantly-female professions are trivialized and underpaid. (Yes, all; think about it. The same cannot be said, for example, of garbage picking, a mostly-male non-profession which we endow with a euphemisitic title and large salaries.) But it is harder to overlook this trivialization of female professions when the same comic repeatedly makes negative comments about women and goes on to re-invent the truth about an important historical incident, relying on stereotypes to build his tale instead of fact.
In his act, Norm did a long bit about the alleged incompetence and stupidity of the flight attendants working the "American Airlines-Richard Reid-shoe bomber" flight 63. In Norm's version, the flight attendants repeatedly ignored passenger's warnings about Reid and finally, the heroic passengers had to wrestle the guy into submission while the flight attendants told them to get off him. In reality, the two women were more effective in saving lives than all the firemen who climbed the World Trade Center stairs to their deaths on Sept. 11th. **** No comic, not even the New York toughboys, would dare make jokes about firemen, pointing out their incompetence in the face of danger, making themselves feel less scared and helpless by ineffectually marching their buff bods up the stairs, when they could have used their brains, phoned up and asked the people in the towers if any of the stairwells appeared smoke-free and usable... (as stairwell "B" in the second tower was.) Pfff! Some experts! But comics don't joke about allegedly heroic men, even if their lack of heroism is based in truth.
The truth is, the still-alive (as a result of their effort) and traumatized flight attendants of Flight 63 never got the kind of public recognition that was showered on the dead (as a result of their effort) firemen. That flight was their Vietnam. But they're "waitresses" (to use Norm's word), and everyone knows sky-waitresses are... (pick one: stupid/bitchy/slutty/etc.) So, why did Norm make up this stuff about the flight attendants? It's a mystery to me. I just know that because of that bit, hundreds of future passengers who don't remember the facts and rely on a comic to refresh them walked out of that theatre disinformed, and just a little more righteously indignant at those "dumb bitches". You try working on a plane in that atmosphere...
So, it's flight attendants who draw Norm's undeserved hatred. And I don't even really care that it resembles some form of bigotry. I'm more shocked that it's so unoriginal as comedy.

****(another one, whee!) Reid had moved to a seat alone out of sight of the passengers. Most passengers, for weight and balance reasons, had their original seats towards the front or rear of the plane, so Reid, seeking privacy, moved to the middle. He was on a window near the wing, in a row by himself. It was flight attendant Hermis Moutardier who first tried to stop Reid. She noticed a smell of sulphur from a struck match as she passed in the aisle and observed Reid with his shoe with a protruding wire between his legs. The match in his hands was lit. She tried to grab him twice, but the large and powerful terrorist pushed Moutardier so hard that she was thrown against an armrest. She was hurt, but ran to the back galley to get help and water to soak the bomb. The next flight attendant to confront Reid, Christina Jones, was bitten "on the thumb" according to reports. However, what the papers didn't say is that she was bitten so hard on the base of the thumb that it was nearly severed from her hand. "He bit me -- the pain was so fierce, I knew I was seriously injured" she said. Only after Jones screamed for help were passengers aware of what was going on, and only then did they help.

Descriptions of the events can be read here:
Spotlight
CNN.com
The Scotsman
Following is the most thorough article I could find. It was written about seven months after the event, and in it, the smell in the cabin is described as "smoke" which seems inconsistent with the originally published facts.
Time Magazine

***** I had contacted Chris and Aaron of sociallyinept.com years ago, and thought it would be fun to meet them in Seattle. I happen to love their website, which is very funny. "Maybe I can give them advice on girls" I thought. Well, they missed their chance, because I never heard from them. So we never met. Which proves my theory: Chris and Aaron of sociallyinept.com are the luckiest bastards alive.

Marcia Cross Shoulda Said...

Marcia Cross appeared on "The Late Show with David Letterman" tonight, and although she was lovely and charming, she missed a golden opportunity to bowl Dave over with a very funny joke.

Here's what happened...

Dave asked: (paraphrasing) So what was the first role you had that people would have seen?

Marcia: I worked on "The Edge of Night".... I played a nymphomaniac paleontologist.

...(audience laughs), etc....

Dave: (paraphrasing) What is it about paleontology and nymphomania that goes hand in hand?

Marcia: (SHOULDA SAID) I don't know, Dave, there's just something about loving them bones...

*** Hello! ***

I mean, come on, girl, the man set you up...

So, in closing, good luck to all the Emmy nominees.

BBC picks up blog article

Just a quick note to let you know that the BBC has picked up the following article, "The True Heart of the Black Country" for their website. Renamed "A Night Out in Dudley", it's available on their "The Black Country" section for the week ending August 5th, 2005.

Mercifully, they edited it for length. ;-D

You can check it out at:
http://bbc.co.uk/blackcountry

or at:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/blackcountry/content/articles/2005/07/29/
canadian_in_dudley_feature.shtml
...where it will be archived after the 5th.

Enjoy!

The True Heart of the Black Country

Shirley Maclaine famously said: "To get to the fruit of the tree, you have to go out on a limb."*

That stayed with me, because it's true. The accessible pastures are quickly grazed over, leaving the bovines to compete and die over morsels. It's been my experience, however, that the discomfort of displacement is always rewarded by tremendous riches of experience.

For instance, this last weekend I, a French-Canadian girl currently from Vancouver, found herself enjoying a rich pint of Batham's Bitter during an "Alternative Black Country Night Out" in a West Midlands pub. The show included poetry, comedy and readings by artists whose local accents and culture were being celebrated, not excoriated, and was topped off by an acoustic set by Gary and Gary of "Gojo-music".


How did I get there? Well, gentle reader, the device that beckoned me to this distant world is the very one at which you are currently staring.

The computer.

Months ago, I lazily googled "gojo" in a semi-curious daze, to see if the word which I cobbled together to name my site might have significance in other languages. Several options came up, including a village in Japan and a band from the U.K., named "Gojo-music" (whose website can be found at http://www.gojo-music.co.uk ) I surfed over to this site, and found a duo whose interests and point of view so closely mirrored mine that I felt I had to email them to applaud their efforts. The guys want to promote artists and creators from their area, and besides showing a deal of hearty intelligence, maturity and wit through their site, they have a real compassion for the struggles of their fellow performers and a fierce desire to draw them into a much-delayed spotlight.

(They later told me that they had expected me to confront them about our name-similarity. I've worked with predatory, competitive, so-called artists before, and have long since forsworn their way of thinking. It's colleague or nothing with me. In business, you can either monopolize the pie, whereupon it falls for lack of filling; you can split the pie between you, whereupon you get only a small, unsatisfying piece, or you get together, enjoy the pie together, and put your heads together as to how you can bake a bigger one for tomorrow's feast. I'd like to believe that I and the guys from "Gojo-music" have all the ingredients for a lifetime of pie.)

Anyway, back to the story... so, the usual, internet-meeting banalities were exchanged, including an invitation by the lads to come up to the Black Country and enjoy a "real beer". The few independent local pubs in England who survived the incorporation onslaught of the major British breweries are still proudly offering their home-brewed house brands, and the Black Country is dotted with them. I had every intention of going to take them up on that tantalizing offer, but what really precipitated my visit was a delicious trick of luck.

I earn my keep as a flight attendant out of Vancouver, and had a short stay in Manchester coming up. I wondered, again lazily, again on the internet, about the distance between my destination and the Black Country. The results were encouraging, and I discovered through the "gojo-music" site that the guys had a gig at the Lamp Tavern in Dudley on the night of my arrival. Now, it's ridiculous to even think of travelling after a 12-hour shift of walking across a continent and a ocean serving a multitude of passengers. The notion becomes even more preposterous when you factor in that the journey would take place at night, after a busy day of chores at home. Then, what variety of masochist would hop onto an unfamiliar train, alighting in the middle of nowhere without a map and half-walk, half hop buses to get to the elusive Lamp Tavern?

O.K., I'm not a masochist, so you single-and-looking readers who lean that way can just back off now. The truth is, I took an hour-long afternoon nap, and did arrive late for the show, but hey, I arrived for the show!!! There were times during the train trip when I thought, "Wow, if I didn't own a computer, I wouldn't be on this train." There's a thought to mull on as the picturesque English countryside goes whizzing by...

I got off the train at Dudley Port station, which was abandoned at that late hour and suffused with a strong odor of piss. "The fruit of the tree... out on a limb..." I thought, and doggedly plowed on. The Tavern is located on High Street, which many helpful passers-by confused with "the High Street", an expression meaning the main commercial drag of a town. So, it was a few false starts before I was pointed into the right direction. The name of the train station notwithstanding, I hadn't even really landed in Dudley, so I had to walk/bus to the correct village over a mile away. I even passed the Tavern at one point in my confusion at searching for a landmark (the churchyard) which, to my mind, never materialized. Luckily, a local bloke saw me walking, and by a trick of humanity that is often lost on the modern world, he could read that, despite my bravado, I was quickly getting lost. Just as we were passing, me keeping the requisite "woman walking alone at night" distance between us, he said, "...you lost, then?"

I stalled, and volunteered, "I think so... I'm looking for the Lamp Tavern, 116 High Street, Dudley".

He looked up, thinking an instant, and said, "That's the Lamp up there." He was pointing to a gentle hilltop where a sweet-looking, well-kept pub stood.



"How could I have missed that?" I thought, as the bemused passer-by triumphantly added, "I knew you was lost, I could tell the way you were walking." His eyes glittered as he volunteered something in the local dialect about my defeated posture and gait. I couldn't even try to tell you the words he used, but his tone was so protective and kindly that I understood every word. He sent me on my way with the parting words, "I'm a peaceful man.", which unwittingly set the tone for the remainder of the evening.

In another time, this guy would have been a druid. His intercession struck me as entirely magical.

I thanked him and made my way up to the building. I hoped I had the right Lamp Tavern, as there was no music to be heard from the outside. I made my way through a small maze of ale-scented rooms, finally asking a patron, "Is there a show here tonight?" He pointed me to a closed door, from which emanated the unmistakeable hums and thumps of an electronically amplified show.

I entered as if going into a strange church, and indeed, the audience's politely quiet reverence filled the room's atmosphere.

The silence and concentration accorded the performers seemed incongruous in this age of short attention spans. They were entirely absorbed in the animated reading, so I silently made my way to the bar to get a pint. I had real trouble coming down after my long journey, but listened to the last two performers sound off about their world, vivdly brought to life in words. During the spoken-word portion of the show, Gary O'Dea of "Gojo-music" came over, a little surprised, no doubt, to see me there, despite a short, hopeful email composed nearly 24 hours before announcing my intentions. Whispering, he introduced himself, and I, glad to see a familiar face, warmly shook his hand. Finally, I could relax, thinking that we would have a quick chin-wag after the show, and that my voyage had not been futile, after all. But after "Billy Spake Mon" did his set, Gary got on the mike and introduced me to the crowd as a visitor to the Black Country form Vancouver. Well, what happened next was like falling into a warm pillow. A couple of guys from the bar warmly invited me over for a chat during the "Gojo-music" set, and we shared a few laughs. I thoroughly enjoyed my role as the evening's exotic novelty as I answered questions about myself, Canada, and my impressions of the Black Country so far. My enthusiastic responses, especially about the warmth of the people won me acceptance and a pint from Shaun, one of the lads. I was invited to a barbecue the next day at Gram Turley's (I promised them against hope that the weather would be fine, because as a Vancouverite, I have the power to repel rain.) which regrettably, I wasn't able to make. I can say that he is a reputed local guitarist who does his own "open mike"-style thing at the Lamp on Sunday afternoons. Additionally, I met his wife and guitarist daughter who was sporting a nasty facial cut (all makeup) the result of a photo-shoot preceding an upcoming tour of the Eastern United States. I wish her the best, it's going to be a whirlwind...

"The fruit of the tree..."



But all the time I chatted, I was turning my ears towards the stage, catching some of "Gojo-music"'s set. Gary O'Dea's pithy songwriting, coupled with Gary Oliver's heartfelt guitar, perfectly captured the poetry and ruggedness of the Black Country. All in all, the evening was fine success, culminating with the Gary O'Dea signing off the set with "Peace, everyone." Hmmm...

Gary O'Dea then introduced me around. I met Laurence Hipkiss, a big, genial man with a voice which has been described as "lustful", (gotcha, Lozz!) who had attended that evening to record some of the acts. Lozz, as he calls himself, built himself a small recording studio in his garden and uses it, among other things, to put together weekly podcasts from his beloved Black Country. There was also a filmmaker named Steve Page who divides his time between Los Angeles and the Black Country... He's got a tremendous documentary of rare British footage of Malcolm X coming up. Who knew that Malcolm X had been to England only nine days before his death?

Gary asked how long I had intended to stay in the area... Well, the plan had originally been to pile into the first train in the morning, but it seemed neither I or anyone else thought that a good idea any more, so I decided to remain for at least a day. A beat later, I was agreeing to record for Laurence's podcast of the week.

It's "Show 5" on http://www.blackcountrypodcasting.com or archived on http://www.roostersstudio.com

We chatted around some more, Gazz Oliver still plucking his guitar as Gazz O'Dea busied himself striking the stage and schmoozing. As Gary Oliver or "Ollie" and I shared musical influences, it quickly became apparent that our favourites are poet/composers such as Don Henley and Joni Mitchell. Almost as a dare, and to show that his money's where his mouth is, "Ollie" started an impromptu version of Joni Mitchell's "River" on his Martin guitar. Not one to drop the gauntlet, I chimed in and sang despite fatigue and a sore throat. We could tell we were doing O.K. by the silence and drawing close of the last stragglers. That gave us the idea that we should do something together in the future...

I checked into the Bed and Breakfast at the Lamp (Can you believe that for convenience?) and was treated to a lovely clean room with ensuite and the finest breakfast I'd had for a while, courtesy of the handsome young Tavern manager, Tom.

Antique-style locks and keys only add to the charm.

The Lamp B&B's clientèle are predominantly weekly workers, so they have an enviable weekend rate. Besides which, the building was very quiet, so I had my share of peace before the morning traffic got me up.

(Unfortunately, I hadn't packed any soap, washcloths, or a hairdryer, and as there were none in the room, I found myself a bit stuck. I made it to the next day on the strength of a Manchester shower, some heavy-duty anti-perspirant and a morning shower. Years of nature camping experience had prepared me for this.)

Breakfast arrived, surprisingly un-greasy and made with prime ingredients. While cooking up the feast, Tom emerged from the kitchen to ask, "Do you want any black pudding?"

"I've never had black pudding."

"You want to try it?"

"I don't know. What's it made of?"

Tom grinned. "If I tell you, you won't eat it."

Not very promising, so I said, "Is it anything like suet pudding?"

"What's suet pudding?"

Aha! I had out-British-ed the British! "It's something I read about in some sixteenth-century novel."

Tom, sensing my egg was burning, said, "So, you'd like to try it?"

I got brave. "Sure, I'll have a small portion. A tablespoon or two."

When breakfast arrived, I was happy to see that the feared black pudding was only our "blood pudding" which I enjoy. Tom may have been a little crestfallen at the revelation, but he didn't show it, and we settled into a nice chat. He's a good lad (sorry, ladies, no pictures, you'll have to hunt him down yourselves) who has only to give up the horses to be one of the most desirable young chaps in these parts.

He was also kind enough to volunteer his mobile, on which I called "Gazz" O'Dea around noon. He arranged to come over with "Ollie" for a pint before we ventured off to Laurence's for a bit of creative fun. While I waited, I had a chance to wander into Dudley for just under an hour and contribute in my own small way to the local economy while taking in the village. The guys told me later that the High Street's been fading, and has become characterized by third-rate thrift shops since the big mall moved in to a local industrial building. Well, welcome to America, guys. It's the same everywhere. And the local merchants of quality will only have a harder fight in the future unless we insist on something more than the mall-merchants' watered-down fare, their processed pop music, their generic, ill-fitting fashions, their instant, alleged food...

That being said, I bought a cute little tea-light lamp in one of the thrift-shops. It was overpriced in Canadian currency, but a lovable souvenir of Dudley. I had to have it.

The "Gazz"'s arrived just a few minutes after I'd ordered my first pint of "Batham's Bitter", for which I'd quickly acquired a taste on the previous evening. They got a couple of pints of the same, seeming genuinely saddened that I had ordered before they had a chance to get me one, and we settled down to a right old chat. Gary O'Dea is a voluble, sociable man with features that remind you of U2's "the Edge". His passion for social improvement is matched only by his love of a good laugh. Gary Oliver, "Ollie" is fair-haired with the strong, clublike forearms and hands of a long-time guitarist. His passions run no less deep, either, and his work with a local aid organization gives him a real insight into the problems of the local population. I was astounded to hear "Ollie" say that the typical Englishman considers Balck Country folk to be "a bit thick". In a just world, the clever wit and breadth of interest shared by these two should have gotten them into Oxford. The three of us would have sounded like old friends to any eavesdropper, as we talked about music, politics, globalization, local issues, and memories, and memories... My favourite moments were when Gazz and Gazz took off on rememberences, their wording and accents getting thicker as they shared the stuff of old friends. It made me feel at home, where two of my best buddies are old friends who often talk about their heyday in a growing and changing Vancouver. As a girl who's always moved around I love to hear that kind of history and sense of place by people who've been there.

The afternoon was wearing, though, and it became time to move on. A bit ruefully, we piled into "Ollie"'s car for a lovely ride to Laurence Hipkiss's place, a couple of villages over. "Lozz"'s English Rose of a wife, Pam, met us at the door and showed us through their cozy home to the adorable garden where "Roosters Studio" is located. I was impressed by Laurence's D.I.Y. setup. He's entirely converted his garden shed to an expert soundproof facility from where he produces the best independent podcasting in the Black Country. He proudly showed off his handiwork while I salivated, quietly coveting the deafened rooms for my own future audio work. I felt very honoured to be invited and to contribute in my own little way to his ambitious project. He's gonna move mountains, that one, you mark my words. (Lozz has a hidden talent for interviewing which I and the "Gojo" guys couldn't help noticing. A humble, lovable guy, he prefers to stay out of the spotlight, but I'm fervently hoping that he comes out of his shell. His natural warmth and curiosity about people lead him to elicit wonderful responses to his unguarded questioning. I'm crossing my fingers that with time and use of his studio, he develops this extraordinary gift.)

We started by recording me talking about myself** (always a sure-fire bore) but followed it up by recording "River". The magic of the previous night had faded, unfortunately, so neither Gary nor I were enthralled with the result. We thought we'd try something else, whereupon Gary mentioned that he'd been working on "Desperado" lately, and that that song was uppermost in his mind. My mouth fell open, because I had learned the lyrics not two months before. We thought we'd capitalize on this synchronicity, and were a lot more pleased with the result. It made the podcast, despite my being only a visitor to the Black Country.

After tea and freshly-baked scones from Pam, which were easily the best I've ever had, we wrapped up the afternoon, and left Laurence to that wizardry he does to produce his show. The guys asked me if I wanted to get to the station, whereupon I demurred (in the gentle, archaic sense). I was having the time of my life, and they knew it. Apparently, they shared that feeling, so it didn't take a lot of arm-twisting to get us to Sedgley and into another pub. The Beacon is aptly named... it's a real draw for lovers of traditional ales. And in the real old style, the barkeeps are sequestered in a small room away from the patrons. A small opening gives you a view of the taps, but you can't see their faces as you order. And I thought again of my Vancouver friends, who once pointed out that according to the liquor laws in British Columbia only twenty years ago, you couldn't take your glass off the table except to drink. (Franchement, these English, I love them, but I shall never understand them. *wink*) As for the local stuff, I had a half-pint of everything on offer, just to taste it of course.

Ollie had had to duck out about half a pint ahead of Gary and me, so I ended up getting a taxi to Wolverhampton station. I was so grateful to them for their warmth and hospitality, which I found extraordinary, and Gary didn't have to beg to get me to agree to show up in the spring to do a show for them. Heck, I'll do it for free!

The pride these lads have for their country is well-warranted and their open-heartedness is clearly the norm. You could have bowled me over with a feather at that point, but didn't I have a great conversation with the taxi driver on the way to the station! Normally, one doesn't bring up politics except among trusted friends, but this was only one of the subjects touched upon by the obviously very educated newcomer to England who sat behind the wheel. When I told him I was form Canada, he immediately guessed that I was French-Canadian and tossed around a few salient facts about my country. I remarked that he obviously loved geography, to which he added, "Oh, yes, and History, and Science..."

Wow. Another kindred. So, when I left his car, I said, "Bless you, and I wish you and yours peace." It seemed the only appropriate way to leave, and the driver returned my utterance with a genuine "God bless you, too." I entered the train on a cloud, and left the Black Country against the pull of my heart. But, I shall return without trepidation into this blessed part of England.

Johanne Savoie

Creator

www.gojotv.com

* For more quotes from Shirley Maclaine, especially about women's roles in modern popular art,
http://www.creativequotations.com/one/1178.htm

** Just a note: I made a ridiculous gaffe, where in my haste to record something brilliant, I called the Black Country "Blackpool". Now, I want everyone to know that I well know the difference between the two, and that I am not a stupid tourist, only a violently jet-lagged one. However, "Lozz" was generously forgiving about my mistake, even allowing me grace for forgetting the name "Batham's" (which I shall forever blame on the morphic effect of that afternoon's pints). Also, that throat infection I mentioned earlier made me over-sing "Desperado", for which I apologise to Don Henley. Luckily, Laurence put lots of reverb on the vocal track, since I got all the passion but none of the warmth and vulnerability of that venerable song. Oh, well...

An Open Letter to the Girls

It's my least favourite opening statement: "I'm not a feminist or anything, but..."

I hear girls and women of all ages preface their boldest, most innovative and intelligent statements with this phrase, and it sickens me. When did we all just accept that the pro-feminine point of view was necessarily invalid, or worse, war-like? If there's anything a real woman stands against, it's the destruction of our creation, life, through violence and war.

When did we accept this brainwashing, and what is feminism, anyway?

The main idea of feminism, like all "ism"'s, can easily be summed up in one sentence... Women and all things feminine are equal to men and all things male and deserve to be held in equal regard.

Who has a problem with that?

The first argument to come up is usually one of physical strength... Men are stronger than women, we are told. That is only partially true. Most men are stronger than most women, but there are some women who are stronger than some men. So, what of these women? Do they deserve the mens' higher-paying jobs and social advantages based on their strength? Why has this movement never occurred? The reason is simple. We do not confer status in the developed world on the strongest people. We confer status on the valued people.

Which leaves open the question, "Why aren't women valued?" Why is the first person eliminated on Survivor always the eldest woman?

There is a myriad of myths and belief systems developed and passed down over the centuries propagating the view that women are inferior. Women are discouraged or prevented from participating in "important" or more accurately, valued institutions such as the world's churches or governments. And this despite the fact that we are demonstrably more articluate, more cooperative, and less likely to engage in antisocial or criminal activity, all factors which would suggest women's superior fitness for these roles.

But the unkindest cut, when faced with the truth about our being undervalued as human beings, is that women participate in our own oppression. "I'm not a feminist or anything..."

So, to all the "girls" out there; take a good look at yourselves. Do you claim the right to walk down the street wearing your skirt above the ankle and without being jeered at or raped? Do you claim the right to keep your clitoris, despite the fact that this will leave you open to the risk of having sexual feelings? Have you ever used birth control? Can you read and write and do math? Have you ever voted, ridden a bicycle, smoked a cigarette, had a drink, driven a car, chosen your husband or lover, inherited something, or owned property?...

Have you ever taken a moment to realize all the little freedoms you have which your grandmothers and great-grandmothers argued, fought, demonstrated, and suffered for?

"I'm not a feminist or anything..." you say?

Yeah, I'd say that's right. Any woman who can say that is too stupid to be a feminist.

So do me a favour. If ever you catch yourself casting aspersions on the feminists, go visit your grandmother's grave. Then piss on it. 'Cause that's what you're doing when you put down a woman who hasn't forgotten.

It isn't over 'til all women have the rights, freedoms and recognition enjoyed by equally law-abiding men. Globally, we're still a long way from there and women who are keeping up the struggle deserve to be proud. They don't need to be ridiculed by someone who's desperate to appear inconsequential to get a date.

Welcome to My Blog!

Hello, GoJoTv users!

Welcome to my 'blog which will hopefully complement my site, http://www.gojotv.com

This space will be used to post humourous or serious notions of all kinds, as well as to answer questions about my site. I wish I had a topic or direction for this 'blog, but my mind and body wander in so many disparate directions that that just won't happen.

Hopefully, what I have to bring will be interesting, thought-provoking, silly and controversial enough that it will provoke you to think, laugh, argue and muse, too.

Hey, it's all entertainment!

Enjoy!

Jo March