Trying To Get Ahead In New Brunswick

I woke up this morning and turned on CBC radio. I like to start my day enlightened. There was the obligatory story about a murder trial or two but what really caught my attention was a news story about New Brunswick's dismal financial outlook.

A public policy analyst from Moncton has stated that New Brunswick is headed toward financial insolvency.

You mean there's a possible rupt in our bank?

Yup....a rupt! When you look at our current financial predicament, the path we're on right now (today!), and the future demographics of our province, we're....

toast.

We currently owe a sh_tload of money and we're getting further in debt every year. Our politicians got us into this situation and they seem unable to get us out of it. It's worth mentioning that we elected them and then we sat silently on the sidelines, so if we fall from grace then it will be from the height of our own high horses. I hate horses.

You could argue that the Alward government is trying to get us out of a looming financial crisis by selling our soul to the fracking devils. Why does this feel like a desperate measure, akin to gambling? It has an 'all or nothing' feel to it. It makes me uncomfortable. Ditto for the recent change to our forest conservation policy which may unlock the green belt to the Irving empire's skidders. Desperate measures by desperate people, and highly questionable.

If you're listening, Shawn Graham, which you aren't, you're equally culpable. Again, so are we, the voters. Now, I'm no expert in economic matters but

You put that disclaimer in so Julian won't skewer you, didn't you?

Yes. As I was about to say, I'm no expert in economic matters but it seems to me that you get into financial trouble when expenses exceed revenues. New Brunswick has been in this situation since the last surplus in 2007. Seven years of continuous debt escalation. Imagine if Wendy and I ran a deficit in our household for the past seven years. I'd have an ulcer the size of Pamela Wallin's travel budget!

So what do we do, collectively, as a province? We endure pain to save ourselves, I'd say. We raise taxes while continuing to be cost conscious and responsible with the taxpayer's money. Let's start with the HST. Maybe it should be raised. We have to do something....and fast. Let's repeal the property tax breaks to business that the Alward government recently implemented. Let's look at other tax avenues upon which we can drive the turnip truck we're all in.

Be...in this place.

Yes. Sadly 'this place' is the back of the turnip truck.

The problem: human beings look out for number one first, then they worry about the well-being of others. Remember when you're flying on Air Canada and the cabin pressure drops, you put the oxygen mask over your own face first, then over your child's face. Remember how the Captain always goes down with the ship? Tell that to the families of the South Korean high school students. It's a fact: we look out for ourselves first. Politicians, though working for us, are often preoccupied with their ability to get re-elected. They avoid making tough (and responsible) decisions, often choosing the easy route which will make them appear to be a 'friend' of the voting public. They are anything but. They make grandiose promises when they shouldn't (or can't) and they avoid making decisions when they should (and could).

Even the word 'politician' has become tainted. We no longer see politicians as people who are doing their best for our collective best, but as individuals playing a game in which we are but pawns. Politicians hide from the toughest of issues, then squeeze their butt cheeks every four years at election time, hoping they won't get flushed out. Sometimes they get flushed out, sometimes they get re-elected (often a battle between the lesser of evils). Politicians are doing one job (running the government) but they're playing a game at the same time (trying to get re-elected). It's a flawed system and we all know it.

Now, I (think I) know there are some truly conscientious politicians out there, but they are low in number and unable to convince their parties to make tough choices. I wonder what Blaine Higgs, New Brunswick's Finance Minister, would do if he didn't have to please his caucus colleagues but instead did what he thought was right for the people of New Brunswick. I suspect it would be quite different from what he's doing at the moment.

Cormorants, Beagles, Foxes and Mr. Appropriation

Black bird singing in the dead of night? Not exactly. More like black bird crapping fish guts all day. This, my ornithologically challenged readers, is a cormorant. Behold!

Years ago I had a cormorant that liked to sit on the sailboat that I had moored in front of my house. It didn't sing, but it did spill its guts daily. What a mess! I was forever trying to chase it away. One time I rowed out and physically pushed it off the sailboat with an oar! The boat smelled like the out-take pipe at a fish factory. Just offal.

Canada's new fleet of search and rescue helicopters were given the name Cormorant. They are not black, ugly, or submersible (cormorants are divers). They don't eat fish....so why call them cormorants?

Humans have an odd habit of giving animal names to man-made objects or entities. Sometimes it works. The Ford Mustang conjures up images of running freely through the countryside, like the wild unbridled horse itself. The Mercury Cougar? The Mercury Cougar doesn't work so well. The Cougar was named long before the word was misappropriated to mean a 40-something female divorcee dressed in leopard print clothes who trolls the taverns at 1 a.m.looking for drunken boy-toys to drag bag home to Devon. Even with the original meaning of cougar (mountain lion), the name simply doesn't work.

The most egregious misappropriation of an animal name, in my opinion, is the name of a Fredericton radio station. 105.3 FM is known as 'the Fox'. The Fox. The Fox?? A fox is clever, so that should end the comparison immediately, but why stop there? From the internet: "Foxes also imprint droppings with glands located between their legs, and leave markers with glands between their toes. To humans all of these scents combine to form a distinctive skunk-like or musky fox smell".  105.3 has an equally pungent playlist that emanates from a seemingly similar nether region. It gets better....

Fredericton has another radio station, 95.7 FM. Guess what they call their station? The Wolf (cue the howling). To their credit, they may have used this name in jest, trying to outfox The Fox. Mission accomplished.

Ah...the evolution of the English language. Charles Darwin's ship was named the H.M.S. Beagle. Now that was an aptly named ship. The Beagle was a curious boat, always sniffing around the world for things to discover. It would appear that the Beagle, or more accurately Darwin himself, pissed on a lot of people's feet. I suppose Darwin' ship could have been called H.M.S. Monkey Business and that would have worked too.

Can you think of any animal names that have been used where they shouldn't? There must be hundreds of examples.

I think the car named Jaguar is a good example. Originally they were sporty and stealthy like the ferocious feline. Now they just carry around bloated aristocrats and puffed up orthodontists. The mystique is gone.

Good one! Mercury once made a car called the Mercury Mystique. It rolled off the tongue nicely, but there was no mystique to the car. There were no Mystiques in driveways or garages either. Going back to the Cormorant helicopter for a moment, I can think of another helicopter that should have been named after an animal. Canada's venerable (??) fleet of Sea King helicopters should have been named Osprey. Typically they hover in the air, then plunge into the water.

You have a deadly sense of humour, Ian. Here's a question for you....if you had to name a radio station after an animal, what would you call it?

That's easy. I'd call it 102.3, the Neddy Hole.

Holy! With a name like that, what would the station be like?

Just like all the others in New Brunswick.

Or like a cormorant on a sailboat.

Exactly.

Garbage Predation

It's Monday morning, that glorious day of the week when you go outside at 7:45 a.m. in three degree temperatures (and wind and rain) to put the festering, week old garbage at the end of the driveway. Nice way to start the week!

Toronto has got Cambridge-Narrows beat all to pieces in this department. In my Toronto condo, I take fresh, lavender scented, day old garbage down the hallway on the 17th floor to a garbage disposal chute. If I choose to wear my bunny slippers while doing so, I can. I don't even have to wear a coat because it's all indoors. There is nothing to fear when taking out the Toronto trash. Well,  I suppose there's always the threat of a bear attack.

In Cambridge-Narrows we have no obvious bear population. We have raccoon, squirrels, fox, and the much feared Canadian Air Force....the crows! All of them waiting to attack my garbage. Crows are known to be particularly intelligent. The fact that they're sitting on branches at the end of my driveway every Monday morning is a pretty good sign that they're intelligent. The fact that they eat garbage makes them no different than most consumers I see lined up at Tingley's. Two days ago, in the grocery line-up, I saw a dumpy person buying a bag of chips, two litres of pop, some chip dip and a club pack of gum. I suppose the gum was to mask the wretched breath one would get after eating chips purported to be flavoured with sour cream and onion. Think about it....sour cream and onion....in your mouth. Kiss, kiss. Yeesh! And gawd only knows what toxins were in the chip dip!!

Garbage is today's theme, obviously. You may have noticed something unusual in my trashy picture today. Yes, you guessed it, I use a Casperescent cloaking device to fool the would be predators. The bed sheet over the garbage fools the crows into thinking that I'm simply throwing out some old linens. Crows are smart, but they're not Jean Gaudet smart. It would take a special predator to surmise the would be prize under the bed sheet; one that could sense the electrical signals pulsing forth from my pungent, week old trash. Thankfully, I didn't see the ferocious (and stealthy) garbage shark this morning!

Iconic Images From The Battlefront

We're all familiar with the iconic image of the soldiers raising the flag at Iwo Jima. We can all conjure up an image of the Hindenburg in flames. That was yesterday for me.

I arrived at Pine Grove to find my parents outside by the maintenance shed. Impressive, I thought. We had a day that was sunny and windless so Dad had the bright idea to take Mom out for some fresh air. There were still substantial snow banks in the yard and it was only April after all, but it felt warmish. Dad had Mom bundled up in a fashionable (??) collection of blankets and shawls.

Mom seemed very happy to be outside, and Dad always likes to be outdoors. I took this picture of Dad, sitting on the snow blower which was attached to the tractor, as he played the harmonica for Mom. To me it was an iconic moment. I happened to have my ukulele with me so I joined in. Mom was clearly amused as she laughed out loud and attempted to move her arms to the music. She was, like the Hindenburg, on fire! Dad and I, the troops of Pine Grove, were attempting to raise the (musical) standard at the nursing home (a la Iwo Jima).

Did you raise the musical standard?

That's a question that we can't answer. There are some very talented musicians who routinely perform at Pine Grove. Those performers have been honing their skills for their entire lives. Dad started the harmonica just two years ago, at age 88. I started the ukulele three years ago at the tender old age of 47. We're both making music, though not often together as our egos are as big as that garden tractor (plus harmonica and ukulele...c'mon). We are solo artists at heart, I think. All I know is that our solo audience of one was most appreciative, and that's all that mattered.

Double Duck Dating In The Hinterland

It's a great feeling to wake up in the morning, look out the window and have no idea what living creatures you'll see. Every morning I see something different, at least during springtime in Cambridge-Narrows. In Toronto it was just bears, bears, bears. Yawn.

Yesterday morning two pairs of ring-necked ducks paddled past my shore. They seemed to be paddling with purpose and not lollygagging. I suspect they were off to see a movie, or perhaps going to a restaurant. You know, those things that couples do on a double date.

In all likelihood they were just passing through on their way to Newfoundland, the Gaspé or north of the St.Lawrence. The ring-necked duck goes about as far north as southern Labrador in its quest for a suitable nesting site.

Wow, Ian, you could work for Hinterland Who's Who!

Well, I do live in the hinterland.

What exactly does the word 'hinterland' mean? What's a 'hinter', for that matter?

From Wikipedia: The hinterland is the land or district behind a coast or the shoreline of a river. Specifically, by the doctrine of the hinterland, the word is applied to the inland region lying behind a port, claimed by the state that owns the coast. 

I consider Saint John to be my port, therefore I live in the hinterland. There's more...

The term hinterland was from German, where it means literally "the land behind" (a city, a port, or similar),cognate with the English hind land.

Hind land...I like that. It makes me think of the Oromocto Mall for some reason.

Butt, of course! 

There's one last use of the word hinterland of which I wasn't aware. I think I may add it to my lexicon. Take a look at this (again, from Wikipedia):

A further sense in which the term is commonly applied, especially of British politicians, is in talking about an individual's depth and breadth of knowledge of other matters (or lack thereof), specifically of cultural, academic, artistic, literary and scientific pursuits. For instance, one could say, "X has a vast hinterland", or "Y has no hinterland". The spread of this usage is usually credited to Denis Healey (British Defence Secretary 1964-1970 and Chancellor of the Exchequer 1974-1979) and his wife Edna Healey, initially in the context of the supposed lack of hinterland of former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.

Now I'm practically drooling at the thought of using the word hinterland in some sort of clever context. I simply need to find someone who's lacking in depth. Don't worry...by the end of the day I'll have found my victims. I think I already know who they are because they are 'disgracefully' ignorant.

Is that a hint? Are you a hinter?

I am definitely a hinter, although that may be too obvious. Typically I like to be more Fraser Simpsonian, or cryptic. For example:

Fearless neighbour and stunned others (5,3,3)

Brilliant!

Crocus. Crrrrrrrrocus. What's He Saying?

Goose. Geese? Right.

Moose. Meese? Wrong. Mooses? Wrong.

Crocus. Cro.........??

If you're like me, you've spent the better part of your adult life wondering how to pluralize the word crocus. One crocus, two crocus? Two crocuses? Two croci?

Well, a least Spell Check knows that croci is wrong, but what's the correct way to turn one crocus into two cro....pretty flowers? Let's take a look, once and for all. We'll make an appeal to that entity that we can't see, but guides our lives everyday... the one 'all knowing' entity that we worship.

God?

Of course not, you idiot. I'm talking about the internet. I'll look it up in an on-line dictionary.

Well prick me with some cacti, apparently you can use crocus, crocuses or croci! They're all correct. There....mystery solved. Enjoy your new found freedom, unshackled from your relentless pursuit of linguistic perfection.

P.S. Spell Check be damned.

From The Pages of Poplar Science

 Looks like those pesky rodents are at it again...and I couldn't be happier! I'll tell you why in a moment. First of all, let me just state that the eastern flank of my property line is home to a fence. The fence is roughly 150 feet long and separates my property from that of my neighbours. To protect their identity I will only refer to them as 'the Brewskis'.

The Brewskis are rather territorial. The fence was erected to keep the Vartys out, or perhaps the Brewskis in. I'm really not sure why the fence was put up, but I am happy to announce that I love the fence and it's made my life much more pleasurable (what you can't see, can't hurt you!). Best of all, I didn't pay a cent for it!

Sadly, the fence hasn't cured all of my neighbours 'issues'. Madame Brewski has a habit of 'crossing the line' and 'rearranging' things on my property. It's happened a few times. Sometimes she just comes to the property line and tosses her organic waste over into my yard. Sometimes she just hurls insults. Sometimes she's well onto my property. She needs help. So do I.

Imagine my delight when I discovered that a busy beaver has been building a dam between my property and the Brewskis. The dam appears to be just on my side of the property line and it goes from the end of the fence right down to the water's edge. When I first noticed the dam, it was constructed of felled branches and logs. Later, it would appear, the beaver has fortified the dam with leaves and mud. It looks quite impenetrable. I suspect that the Brewskis will be delighted with the handiwork of the beaver since they appreciate territorialism.

This new dam will keep Madame Brewski on her own property and not on my land. It would be difficult to cross on foot, although she could always 'sweep' across in the air (see Nimbus 2000). I see this new barrier as a good thing because it will promote good relations. Thank you to the industrious beaver!

Well, that's it for today's blog. Miserable day here today; heavy rain turning to snow later in the day, they say. Yeesh. I think I'll take the day off and spend it in the lodge.