Another Monday morning, and as I listened to Willie Nelson
singing “Roll Me Up And Smoke Me” on the radio, I turned on CNN to see security
guards scrambling in Singapore in anticipation of the big meeting between Trump
and North Korean dictator Kim Jung Il. How appropriate is that song was to
narrate what I was seeing on the screen?! Shortly after the G7 Summit in Charlevoix,
Quebec, which the Orange Emperor deigned to attend, he’s back on the attack.
Rump the anti-diplomat, the great disguster, the loud-mouthed, tactless shit-disturber
and world class Twitterer is now spewing his venomous rhetoric at and against Canada.
Nixon reportedly once called Justin Trudeau’s father Pierre “an asshole”, but I
think Trump has trumped that insult. I’m no lover of Trudeau, but I’m embarrassed
by how poorly Rump is representing my homeland. Maybe, as some suggest, his
public nonsense is just a negotiating ploy to make a better trade deal, but in
the eyes of the world he is the reckless, foul-mouthed, Cadillac-with-steer-horns-on-the-hood-
driving, fast food-hoovering, uber-ugly American, and he is the man everyone
loves to hate; well, everyone but half of of America. If he manages to convince
N. Korea to de-nuclearize he may win a Nobel Peace Prize. Put that in your vape
pen and smoke it.
Last week, Ontario voters chose PC (conservative) candidate
Doug Ford to be Premier of Ontario. Perhaps this was more of a show of
disenchantment with the outgoing Liberal party, which has done such a poor job
of governing Ontario for the past 15 years. Many have likened Ford and his pompous
behavior to Rump, and much was made of the fact that his brother Rob was the controversial
Mayor of Toronto, caught on camera smoking crack. I could not make this stuff
up if I tried!
I don’t know if others in my vicinity have noticed,
but it seems the mosquitoes have been particularly fierce this season. I think
they’re on steroids; they’re bigger, meaner, and faster than ever. We have electronic
rackets in every room of our house, and I have begun to use a liquid concoction
comprised of equal parts Epsom salt, stale beer, and mouthwash as a mosquito
repellant spray. It may be helping. Nothing else is working. While black flies have
not been as prominent (yet), the mosquitoes are out of control, and I’m not
sure why. We are keeping the standing water to a minimum, and there hasn’t been
that much rain, but they’re bad this year. I took our dog Jasper out yesterday
for her morning pee and she was swarmed. It was like bees on honey. When the
bugs are that fierce, I wear the bug jacket, but it’s almost impossible to keep
them out of the house.
A few days ago, celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain
committed suicide while on location shooting in France, and, like many others, I
was shocked. Bourdain was a guy who seemed like he had it all together, despite
faults which he was all too willing to admit. Bourdain hosted one of my favorite
TV shows, CNN’s “Parts Unknown, and his candor and honesty were refreshing. I
learned so much about other parts of the world from watching his show, and he
seemed to humanize the world. Indeed, he was the opposite to the omnipresent
and divisive political journalism I cannot escape on television today. Now,
when I’m watching reruns his shows, I’m looking for any signs of his depression.
Short of his self-deprecating humility, which belies his celebrity status,
there is little to indicate he was in crisis. Sometimes the signs are very
faint. Mental illness is a huge problem in the world today, and it seems like I
only really take notice when a high profile celebrity like Robin Williams or
Bourdain commits suicide. For every sufferer who kills him or herself, there
are probably one hundred who are thinking about it. There is a local musician
who recently made a video about his struggle, and I was surprised to hear his
story. He came very close to leaving his family behind, because he thought it
would be better for everyone. Bourdain’s death is a wake-up call to all of us
who may be ignoring danger signs of the ones we love, but don’t understand. Maybe
it’s time to get our noses out of our phones and strike up a dialogue, face to
face.
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Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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