M-I-C-K-E-Why?

Alright, fine, this is hardly the first time Disney has been compared to Satan, but really? A fatwa? Against a smiling mouse with oversized shoes and gloves?

In a world with an abundance of 'easy' targets (think young Hollywood), an eighty-year-old cartoon - yes, we're talking about a fictional drawing here, good sir - incurs your wrath, Sheikh Muhammad Munajid?

You could have at least picked Roger Rabbit. Then he would have had a legitimate reason to ask who framed him. You know, if he was real.

From the Daily Express:

Mickey Mouse is a soldier of satan and must die, says a Muslim
cleric.

Tom and Jerry have also incurred the wrath of Muhammad Munajid who fears they are corrupting Islamic youth.

The Saudi Arabian cleric also recently denounced the Beijing Games as the “bikini Olympics” because of the female athletes’ skimpy costumes which, he said, made Satan happy.

His fatwa – an Islamic ruling which can carry a death sentence – against the cartoon characters was made in a religious affairs programme on an Arab television network.

Asked about Islam’s teaching on mice, Mr Munajid, a former diplomat at the Saudi embassy in Washington, said that both household mice – and their cartoon counterparts – have to be killed.

According to a translation by the Middle East Media Research Institute, he said: “The mouse is one of Satan’s soldiers and is steered by him. If a mouse falls into a pot of food – if the food is solid, you should chuck out the mouse and the food touching it, and if it is liquid – you should chuck out the whole thing, because the mouse is impure.

“According to Islamic law, the mouse is a repulsive, corrupting creature. How do you think children view mice today – after Tom and Jerry?

“Even creatures that are repulsive by nature, by logic and according to Islamic law, have become wonderful and are loved by children. Even mice. Mickey Mouse has become an awesome character, even though according to Islamic law, Mickey Mouse should be killed in all cases.”

But this may be easier said than done. Mickey has survived countless attempts on his life since he first appeared in the cartoon Steamboat Willie in 1928 while Jerry has been fending off Tom’s murderous attacks since 1940.

I also particularly enjoyed the term "bikini Olympics". They made Satan happy, did they? How can you be sure, Mr. Munajid? Had tea with the great red, horned beast recently? You sure it wasn't just you who was happy? Based on media coverage, I hadn't even realized there were any athletes other than Michael Phelps in this year's Olympics...

Shake a Fist at the Devil.

In some ways, a little late perhaps, but with retired Lieutenant General Romeo Dallaire - who was responsible for the United Nations mission to Rwanda during the 1994 genocide - speaking to local audiences a couple of weeks ago and current Rwandan Ambassador to Canada, Edda Mukabagwiza, in town yesterday, Rwanda has been a hot topic around here recently.

Dallaire spoke of his experiences and frustrations in Rwanda, and of the lack of international support for the UN mission. He also tried to motivate young people to effectuate change and to make a difference in this world of 'haves' and 'have nots'. While certainly not without his faults - as if any of us are - he is an inspiring man dealing with very important issues. I simply cannot imagine having walked in his shoes. As frustrating as things in life can sometimes be, they can always be worse. This is a man who had to move dead bodies off the road in order to drive through the streets. I tell myself daily that however ridiculous some of life's challenges are, I'm not having to deal with that. It's amazing how simple life can sometimes be: if you have the love of family and friends and are blessed with skills, health and opportunity, little else is really significant.

During her public address, Mukabagwiza told nearly 200 people, “When people think of Rwanda, they think of genocide. We would like to change this image." She spoke of her country’s efforts to rebuild following the 1994 genocide, and its attempts to bring perpetrators to justice – something she was tasked with in her role as Justice Minister.

Pointing out that only 6,000 files were closed in the five years following the genocide, Mukabagwiza said classical justice was not enough: with more than 120,000 suspected perpetrators, it would have taken more than a century to prosecute everyone. Instead, Rwanda combined classical forms of justice with a traditional, community-based ‘Gacaca’ court structure. The system uses “wise people used as judges elected by the community so that people can trust the judgments they are going to make,” Mukabagwiza told the audience. “We can get reconciliation more quickly than with traditional justice.”

Depending on the purported offence, suspects are divided into one of four categories. The first, tried in national criminal courts, is dedicated to those accused of planning, organizing and leading the genocide, or suspected of carrying-out sexual crimes. The second and third are reserved for those alleged to have been involved in committing physical attacks, the former resulting in death. The fourth category is for those suspected of committing crimes against property, like theft and looting. These last three categories are tried in community Gacaca courts.

Due in large part to incidences of intimidation and violence directed toward witnesses, the concept of community justice is not without its critics. “The genocide was still there, but we had people who weren’t prepared to accept responsibility,” Mukabagwiza said. Perpetrators were encouraged to plead guilty to lesser sentences, often resulting in community service as punishment. Rwanda has also recently abolished the death penalty. Asked how fair it is to have murderers punished so leniently, Mukabagwiza replied: “It’s a step of reconciliation, of managing the situation – no matter what, it’s not going to be fair, but we had to face it as a country if we wanted to heal.”

This system has also helped in the reconciliation process by involving the families of both the perpetrator and the victim, as well as the communities into which offenders are being reintegrated. “The Gacaca process helps end suspicions and rumours,” Mukabagwiza said. “It wasn’t easy to put people together and have them trust. We need to know what happened so that we can reconciliate with people.”

Mukabagwiza spoke highly of the country’s progress in the decade since the genocide, saying Rwanda has managed well, developed strong business and legal structures and repositioned its tourism assets. “The country is now viewed as the most secure in the region,” she added, pointing out low rates of crime and corruption. She also added that 48.8 per cent of Rwanda’s parliamentary representatives are women – among the highest in the world

"Our goal has been to rid of the impression of impunity and to provide penalties that allow people to amend themselves and reintegrate into society," Mukabagwiza added. "The image of Rwanda is changing."

Floo(Red).

With his execution in December 2006, I suppose Saddam Hussein wouldn't have been eligible this year (YouTube suggests he's at the end of his rope anyway).

But really. Really? Is this what our world has come to? The ghostly face of Eastern Europe's grand puppet master staring back at us as Time Magazine's "Person of the Year" because of his ability to "impose stability"? What am I missing? Fine, the publisher's criteria look at an individual's influence in the world - not necessarily positive contributions. That said, I'm just thinking it's a sad state of affairs if we cannot come up with someone more deserving. You know, someone who hasn't reputedly perpetrated (say that ten times really quickly...) a series of crimes against humanity under the crushing grip of his iron thumb.

Well, I suppose Time's border is red - and not in the manner of Bono's Red campaign - but I can't think of any publication that should feature Russian President Vladimir Putin as its "Person of the Year" other than Dictator Monthly (now with pin-ups!), or, you know, maybe the press he controls in his home country. Naturally, if they didn't comply, he'd show them exactly why Time felt the need to bestow upon him this title.

Here's hoping for better things in 2008.

'Tis the Season to be Jolly.

Not to judge (okay, maybe just a wee bit), and say what you will about the world's oldest profession, but I'm still thinking it might be a bit of an oxymoron to be using the term "high-class" and "prostitute" in the same line. Call me old-fashioned, I guess.

But I digress. As the 'odd news' awardee of the day, we have a story of a woman with an unorthodox way of raising funds for a children's fundraiser. Now that's the holiday spirit. Given the context of the article, doesn't anyone else find the terms "deposit slip", "touches me deeply" and "spread her message" slightly disturbing (at least there wasn't a typo, inserting an 'a' for the 'e' in 'message')?

SANTIAGO (AFP) - A high-class Chilean prostitute touched by a charity telethon's bid to raise money for handicapped children has stepped forward with her own contribution: 27 hours of sex.

That's how much paid sex work the escort, Maria Carolina, has said she wants to contribute to the Teleton association. The 5,400 dollars she earns from the marathon session, scheduled for November 30-December 1, will go to the charity, Carolina said, explaining she earns 300 dollars per 90-minute session.

She said she would post a picture of the bank deposit slip on her website afterwards to dispel any doubts. "I am going to contribute with my work to a purpose that touches me deeply," said the prostitute, who has spread her message through several online sites and television programs.

But the administrator of the Teleton foundation, television presenter Mario Kreutzberger, has thrown cold water on the proposition, saying it falls well outside his moral guidelines and he cannot accept it. Carolina, though, said she was determined. "How can someone question a person who wants to put her job at the service of a noble cause?" she asked.

Borders Patrolled by Google.

While I certainly understand the importance of security, both at our borders and online, it was with more than a little incredulity that I read this story about a noted British Columbia psychotherapist who was denied entry to the United States after a border guard 'Googled' his name.

And it's not like he turned up a rap sheet. No, Andrew Feldmar, in the course of his studies, had experimented with LSD
nearly 40 years ago which, given the times and his profession, would hardly have been uncommon. Having published some of his results in a respected academic journal, Feldmar's admission to past drug use has now turned up online and was grounds for his permanent banishment from the United States. I can just imagine the thick red tape -- the stripes from 'Old Glory', perhaps -- pulled across the border between our two countries.

Post-9/11 particularly, there is very little question we must be vigilant at our borders. While I cannot imagine the personnel staffing them have an easy job to do, one must still exercise a certain degree of common sense. Feldmar had travelled to the United States frequently without issue and the statute of limitations for drug offenses is even generally capped at five years.

Just how much information about us is available online can be startling and a certain amount of savvy and diligence are required to ensure we take necessary precautions. It's not uncommon for schools, employers, friends and others to search online for information that will round out their impression of you and 'Facebooking' someone now seems akin to what 'Googling' them was just a few years ago. Technology can be a fascinating tool, but while the Internet breaks down borders for many, it apparently closes them to others.

Greatest. Headline. Ever.

A day after feeling all clever for thinking of an alternative headline for the story, "Plant Sale Benefits Bursaries" ("Nurseries for Bursaries"), I came across this Associated Press piece with what has to be the absolute best headline I've ever read: "Skywalkers in Korea Cross Han Solo". No, I'm not the most rabid of Star Wars fans, but I can certainly appreciate the cleverness of coming up with a catchy headline about a high wire championship across the River Han. No word if the successful acrobats used The Force to guide them across. Nor if there are plans to hold a similar event to cross the Yoda River in Japan.

Truth, Inconvenient or Otherwise.

For good reason, global environmental reform seems to be on everyone's tongues these days. From magazine covers to government funding to the near rock star status of Al Gore, talk about the environment is heating up just as quickly as our atmosphere. Or likely, more quickly. Even the term 'green' has taken on a whole new meaning during our lifetime. More important than talk, of course, are education and action.

Hosted by The University of Western Ontario today, the Scientific Journey brought together researchers from a variety of disciplines to deliver lectures to high school students and members of the broader community about issues related to climate change and the environment. Five researchers made 20-minute presentations at the seventh annual event, the theme for which was: "Our Changing Planet". I jotted down a few points from the various presentations I found interesting. Or at least particularly staggering.

• Only six per cent of raw materials used in the production process actually end up in the final end product.
• Canadians are often up in arms about the United States' refusal to ratify the Kyoto protocol, yet Canada's carbon emissions rates are more than double those of our neighbours to the south (30 per cent to 13).
• Scientists are predicting an increase in temperature of between 1-6 degrees by the end of this century, which is consistent with the shifts in temperature that have historically occurred every 10,000 years or so and led to ice ages.
• Scientists trying to 'fertilize' the ocean by 'sinking' carbons created a blume that traveled 1,500 kilometres in three days. This inability to control the blume (and the effects of the blume itself) helped make the experiment an utter failure.
• A study has been done showing the economic benefit of insects to be approximately $57 billion USD through 'free' things they generate for us humans. Think about that the next time your shoe sets its sights on a little critter.
  
• The Wal-Mart empire uses enough energy each year to power all of Namibia (which is slightly more than half the size of Alaska). But at least you and I get Everyday Low Prices.
  
• The world's most profitable company? Exxon-Mobil at $39.5 billion. And yet we read in the papers how oil companies make very little profit and how high gas prices are really the result of exorbitant taxes.

'Health Food' Gone Amok.

Perhaps taking a little alliteration a tad too far, Krispy Kreme has introduced a whole wheat donut? Krispy Kreme whole wheat. Holey blasphemy. What's wrong with this picture? Have they gone do-nuts? Hard to imagine this little nugget having flown under your radar when it was launched on Monday. Sorry story here. What, don't you have dreams of whole wheat donuts dancing in your head? I know I'm causing sparks by salivating all over my keyboard. Or not.

While I'm certainly not one to discriminate against a fine grain like wheat, if I happen to have a hankering (yes, I'm continuing with the alliterative theme) for some deep-fried, doughy goodness, I think I'm going to want to go all out. Health consciousness be darned like a sock. The sheaves of wheat look pretty and all, but for a savings of just a whopping 20 calories over the regular glazed donut? As they say in Germany, nein, danke.

You know, when you make a product that doesn't really go stale, I'm already thinking it's not going to be the healthiest choice. I've also long been skeptical of fast food's 'healthy' options, particularly after finding out salads have actually long been among the worst options, but if I'm ordering a donut, I tend to be doing so with the understanding I might just need to take the stairs an extra couple of times. Or else end up with a donut around my midsection.

Empire State Building Shooting, 10 Years Later.

It has almost become a cliché to ponder the rapidity of the passage of time, like Polaroids through a shredder. Nothing reminds me of that more than watching children grow. And nothing makes me want more to be able to rewind the dials on my watch and lose myself, peering into a non-existent film of life – of times past, of memories remembered and forgotten. Today’s post is a reflection of the past and includes passages from my old-school blog – paper, y’all.

Today marks a decade since I unwittingly became involved in history. Ten years ago, I witnessed – in all-to-close proximity – a disgruntled Palestinian man by the name of Ali Hassan Abu Kamal open fire into a crowd of tourists atop the Empire State Building in New York City. Yes, his name is indelibly etched upon my mind. Looking to kill Americans, he happened to stop beside me before drawing a semi-automatic pistol from his trench coat, shooting seven and killing two, including himself. I’ve always questioned the logic of choosing a major tourist site if Americans were his target. Of seven people shot, I believe one ended up being from the United States. Nervous giggles aside, though, my joke became that it was a good thing he wasn’t left-handed or he might have just turned the other way when he began firing. And with how close I was, I likely wouldn’t be typing this.

"...I heard what I thought was a balloon pop to my right. I jumped. I heard two more pops and turned to my right and saw the back of a man shooting another. I remember the short black hair on the man's neck. He was two-three feet away. I could have grabbed him. He wore an olive green or brown suit or trench coat I think and carried a silver semi-automatic pistol."

I had only been up on the deck of the Empire State Building a few moments – enough time to briefly look out over the skyline and to have one picture taken. And I remember feeling oddly nauseous before hearing what sounded like a balloon popping. Then another. Annoyed at what I believed to be a child playing with balloons, I spun, confronted with the back of a man’s head and stared down his arm to a gun, firing into the corner of the deck. There stood a man, doubled over and bloodied. Chris Burmeister, a young Danish musician, would fall victim to Kamal’s bullet in that corner on that otherwise clear afternoon. I carry a phobia of balloons with me to this day.

"He fired and L grabbed me, pulling me away and to the ground. I was on top of somebody and got up, going down again. I looked back – I was the last person left this far back on this side – and I saw a man lying in a pool of blood, as well as two legs."

I stood in shock, unable to understand the magnitude of what was happening. I had never witnessed a shooting before. And each instant slowed right down, my feet mired in the sands of time. Situated next to an observation tower with mounted binoculars (scene, at right) I stood, stunned, before my then-partner pulled me to the ground. Only problem is, I landed on someone and didn’t want to hurt them, so I got back up. When I finally went down again, everyone had already taken off up the deck, leaving me alone near the fence and across from a man by the garbage can near the corner of the building who had thrown himself over his daughter. Between us was a pool of blood curling from a man’s head. At the time, I didn’t know it was the shooter. In the commotion, I hadn’t realized Kamal had put a bullet through his own brain and that it was he who lay by my feet. It was only at breakfast the next day – upon reading the paper and seeing pictures of the scene – that I realized he had stayed put and hadn’t moved around the deck. And once again, I began to feel incredibly nauseous.

"On the gunman was found: two keys, extra shells, a knife, some identification and a four-page letter telling of his hatred for the United States. He had been asking people if they were American. Two Swiss students said 'no' and weren't shot. Ironically, none of the victims ended up being American (sic). One died at the scene; the gunman died hours later and others are still in the hospital. He has been in the U.S.A. since Christmas day and has already acquired a firearm (from Florida). A month and a half. America: 'Home of the brave, land of the free'. 'And the right to bear arms'. "

Just this month, Kamal’s family reportedly admitted the shooting was politically motivated and not simply the result of his having felt he was swindled of land. But really, folks, Kamal (at right) had been in the US for a month and had already LEGALLY acquired a firearm. Never mind questions about a dearth of security or metal detectors at the Empire State Building, this was still prior to 9/11 and we’ve seen that desperate people will take desperate actions. To legally acquire a gun when you’ve been in the country for a month? In my eyes, there’s something wrong there.

Not since King Kong’s looming presence – or at least since a plane, lost in the fog, accidentally flew into the building in 1945 – has there been such madness atop the Empire State Building as people took the opportunity to loot the gift shop and trample others attempting to flee.

I remember a man with large hoop earrings coming back down the deck toward me, yelling, “Where is he? I’ll kill the bastard.” He was, apparently, a former cop who ended up kicking the gun away from Kamal and going through his coat. I didn’t stick around to watch. Almost immediately, the entire building was on lockdown and everyone was herded into a large room leading to the stairs from the 86th floor. Not yet knowing what had happened to the shooter – or if there was more than one – this was rather unsettling. We just sat by the windows as to not hyperventilate and were eventually ushered down the stairs as a fellow tourist videotaped everyone and others laughed at us. Again, unsettling. And creepy.

Time had slowed so much in my mind that I believed all of the events had transpired over thirty seconds, maybe. It wasn't until I saw video recorded by a tourist in the gift shop which captured the sound of the shots that I realized it was in fact all over in a matter of seconds. Such a fine timeline between life and death. Seeing how quickly it ended helped alleviate any guilt I had felt about not acting with the shooter so close. I couldn’t have. Though he was within reach, the timing in my brain was too far removed. To this day, I still wish I could watch the security video to rectify everything in my mind and see things in real time. Perverse, perhaps, but I also feel it would help me better understand.

As witnesses, we were brought to the front of the crowd to take an elevator out of the building, along with a police officer and another witness’s family. The lower level of the Empire State Building was empty and we were greeted only by a wall of televisions, all set to news coverage of us coming out of the building. Incredibly surreal. We were taken to the midtown south district precinct of the NYPD, where more than 100 witness interviews were conducted. Seven of us were held back (without food for eight hours after the shooting, I might add) for further questioning by the District Attorney. During the wait, officers came in carrying paper bags, dampened with blood, and dumped them unceremoniously on the desk. Kamal’s clothes.

We were, naturally, a little jumpy the next morning. When a mover dropped a trolley off the back of his truck, I ducked for cover a little more quickly than I had the day previous. My hunger that morning was for more than breakfast – I wanted news. The reality of what had transpired was driven home when I saw my name in print in newspaper accounts of the shooting. It was one of the most unreal moments of my life. It had been an eventful first day in New York City.

I have no regrets. I don’t think about the shooting much at this point, but I marveled this past week at the fact ten years have already passed. Ten years. Albeit a frightening one, it was just another life experience – and I generally crave experience. Now, just without guns and balloons.

Not Bringing Home the Bacon.

Clad in a light dusting of snow is a nondescript blue box sitting in the middle of a field at the airport. And yet, sitting inside is a full-scale, 1,900 square-foot house typical of the style found throughout south-western Ontario. Why would a brick house be sheathed in a corrugated steel hangar – a hangar on tracks no less?

Not exactly an initiative to provide affordable housing to the poor (with the built-in alarm clock of planes taking-off overhead), it’s actually a new high-tech, $7-million research facility from The University of Western Ontario given the peculiar moniker, The Three Little Pigs. Why hearken back to fairy tales of our youth? Because the facility – the first of its kind in the world – will allow researchers to play Big Bad Wolf and eventually blow the house down with simulated winds up to a category five hurricane – or 200 mph. It will also permit studies of water, snow and mould damage with the intention of helping us build better, safer and more cost-effective homes.

I’ve followed this project since it was still just a concept and an empty field, so I was pretty excited on Friday to be witnessing one of the first experiments actually carried-out in the facility. Despite the cold. Supposedly only -10 inside the hangar, it felt much chillier given the concrete floor – and cold air trapped inside burrowed right into your marrow. I’ve never been more thrilled to see a nice, warm coffee when one was brought in the afternoon. It was a rewarding, but bleedin’ cold nine hours at the site.

The BBC was here to shoot a documentary called Super storm, appropriately enough about storms and research that goes into mitigating damage from them. Testing has yet to begin on the model house itself, but as a demonstration for the cameras, researchers ran an experiment using a pressure box on a test section to demonstrate the impact of top-force winds on windows. The result, like diamonds in the sky: shattered glass everywhere. A really cool component was the use of high speed cameras to capture the breaking of the glass.

They shot at 6,000 frames per second (typical personal cameras take 35 frames per second), using a camera with the capability of shooting 225,000 frames per second. Yes, a quarter-million. And they have cameras which can take 2 billion frames per second. That’s billion with a B. One example the cameraman showed us of a shoot they did using one of the higher frame rates demonstrated how an arrow flies. Surprisingly – not straight. Instead, it seems to swim like an eel, slaloming through the air before eventually straightening out. The shot continued with the arrow piercing a Coke can, which was incredibly detailed. Even at 6,000 frames per second, you could see the glass from the test window start to crack and splinter; the explosion was like a beautiful shimmering of really cold snow flakes. Sharp snowflakes.

Destruction starts for real this summer as the team plans to blow the roof off the house before repairing it and starting to break down the walls. Complete destruction comes in approximately two years. Then, it’s on to a different type of building. According to researchers, it turns out that – unlike the fairytale – the way brick houses are built today, they may not in fact be better for keeping the Big Bad Wolf at bay. Tests will show how accurate that assessment is and provide suggestions for ways in which houses can be made safer. As an example, following Hurricane Andrew, researchers found that drawing lines on tar paper would provide better guides for shingle installation, reducing the number of nails which missed the trusses. The cost: pennies. The result: fewer flying shingles. No mention of rickets.

So, why the tracks? The big blue shed can be moved to expose the house to the full force of nature and allow researchers to measure the impact of loads from snow and rain, and the pathways water takes through homes – which often leads to mould growth.

No pigs were harmed in the filming of this documentary.

The video below – not in slow motion – is of the window panel shattering under the force of hurricane 5 force winds (after such point as the plywood itself had almost completely failed).

Stick it to Them.

Around the world, it sometimes seems to be assumed that Canadians are born not with silver spoons in our mouths, but silver hockey sticks and blades of steel which carve paths through our childhoods in graceful figure eights. You know, long winters and all (though this season has certainly exposed the veracity of global warming).

In a general way, I long ago tore the ticket stub on my time as a hockey fan (of course, with scanners these days, they don't actually tear ticket stubs anymore). Sure, there was indeed a time when I could quote all the nuances in the rulebook and hastily recite stories which had become lore from the times when we first started peeling the tops off of lacrosse balls (now that's a bouncy puck, my friends) through 'One-eyed' Frank McGee to the goon era and finally, to the ascendancy of the Great One. And then, somehow, the ice melted. Which, in terms of a relationship, would normally be a good thing. Instead, I drifted away from the game.

There is, however, one notable exception: international play. Then again, competitive international croquet would likely get me going, too. There's still something about games representing the nation that leaves me wringing my hands, stamping my feet and throwing my arms into the air. Good full-body exercise, really. And this time of year, with the World Junior Championships, you have kids draped in flags, hurtling down the ice with a nation's hopes weighing down like Zambonis on their backs. I'm always impressed by their poise and their emotion. Not to mention skill. I don't remember kids being that big when I was that age.

And it rarely gets better than a game against a heated rival. Today's semifinal pitted Canada against the U.S., who appear to have become the Russians of this generation. Adversaries. And nobody wanted the 6-3 round robin win over our southern neighbours to be for naught. Must win the big ones, boys -- you'll never hear the end of it from your American teammates when you return to your junior teams. It goes without saying that rivalries don't usually burgeon if the opponent isn't worthy. No, you need competition for the emotion to be worthwhile. To make your blood boil in anticipation. To make you leap off the couch and scream violently at the television when a call goes against your team. Your team.

But a Canadian goal just over halfway through the third to tie the game at one made a feeling rise from a pit in my stomach that the goaltender's duel would come to a head in the form of the ultimate goaltender's duel: a shoot-out. As exciting as they are, I hate shoot-outs, particularly with so much on the line. It's not like soccer, when you really can seemingly play for days without ever tapping one over the goal line. Torture and ecstasy.

The streaming video on the computer was ridiculously choppy, buffering every five seconds or so. And running about 30 seconds behind. When it came time for the shootout, cheers and jeers rained down from the stands and the computer hung for what seemed like an eternity. "And we're tied" bookended a giant black pause with "It's time for them to play the Canadian anthem -- again". 5-4 in a shootout. Canada wins! And thanks to poor technology, the shoot-out was shut-out to me.

Both sides obviously played well, but Canada has now won 17 straight. And they now get the chance to turn that silver hockey stick into gold. Their third in a row.

Saddam is Gone.

Nothing like leaving one of the biggest news stories of 2006 to the very end. You know, when television producers have already completed their sappy, string-filled tributes to the year past, which tend to run ad nauseam throughout our holiday season.

I also find it hard to believe that it has already been three years since Hussein was found hiding out, appropriately enough, in a rat hole. Ironic, too, that the Butcher of Baghdad's execution today was hastened by Eid-ul-Adha, the Muslim "feast of the sacrifice" (during which executions are not allowed).

But they certainly didn't leave Hussein hanging when it came to picking an execution date. Okay, that was just bad. Considering the atrocities attributed to this man, you'd think there could maybe have been a bit more creative method of execution. Instead, it feels more like we simply weren't able to guess all of the right letters to complete the puzzle. Letters that would spell "Weapons of Mass Destruction", perhaps. No, maybe they could have just left him outside in Denver until the six-foot-high snowdrifts covered his body. Leaving Saddam Hussein as cold in death as he was in life.

Hello Pot -- Let Me Introduce You to Kettle.

Now, I should probably never start a post involving Ricky Williams with the word "pot". You know, temptation and such. He might just grow his dreadlocks back. Among other things. But really, I marvelled at the NFL's hypocrisy when I heard today that Justin Gatlin had been granted a try-out with one of the league's teams. Justin Gatlin: former "World's Fastest Man". Justin Gatlin: former Olympic Gold Medalist. Why "former"? Justin Gatlin: banned for eight years by the international track and field association for use of banned substances. Read: too much testosterone. And not because he's a 'lady's man'. Somehow, I wasn't raised to mess with my blood so I could run faster. Shame on me.

So, what's the big deal, right? We already know many NFL players could never have become as freakishly large as they have without some sort of assistance. And I'm not talking about heavy weights. Nor about truckloads of Big Macs. It's as clear as the substance Barry Bonds used to make his melon swell four sizes when he was already well into his thirties. The league's substance abuse policy is enough of a farce as it is when you only consider those who haven't yet tested positive. It hardly needs convicted offenders. Someone who has decided to play Judas with his hemoglobin. A cheater. Oh well -- redemption, American-style. Dopes.

But, what really grinds my gears is the hypocrisy shown by the NFL. This is a league that got in a snit earlier this year when the Canadian Football League welcomed Ricky Williams onto its wider fields during his one-year suspension from the league south of the border. His offense? Marijuana. The result: now there's the so-called "Ricky Williams Rule", which prevents the cross-border exchange of suspended players. While I'm all over both guys being suspended according to their sports' regulations, I can't fathom how the NFL can take a gander at a disgraced, banned track star after having complained about the CFL's having ignored their suspensions.

Further proof that you can always outrun your previous indiscretions if you've got quick enough feet. Which looks oddly appropriate.

As an aside, it was strangely ironic when, after having spent a childhood sending letters to Sports Illustrated, the one I finally had published was about Ricky Williams. I know very little about football.

(Don't) Take a Number.

Need a passport and aren't overly fond of being herded like cattle, or of having to pull tiny tissue paper numbers like the ones you used to find at the deli counter? Try filling out the online version of your application before heading to the passport office. It gets assigned a bar code (no, not for entrance to a secret watering hole), which gives you preference when you have to set foot into those sterile government offices. And spares your back from those rickety wooden chairs. Bureaucrats that they are, it still cannot save you from the rickety, wooden passport agents. It's half the battle nonetheless -- a sort of 'Get out of jail free' card. You know, without the jail. Ironic, considering that bar codes tend to look like cells.

Actually, the online version is relatively painless, you don't have to worry about whether or not you used the right colour of ink and it's legible. The bar code, though, is the golden goose. Person after person came in at the same time as I today, having diligently inked their responses like a bad prison tattoo, and were told they'd have a couple hour wait. Bar code in hand, I waited about five minutes. It wasn't quite a golden aura that ushered me to the next agent, but getting out of a government office in less than a half-hour? It might as well have been. Folks looked at me askance as they were forced to trudge -- all the while, muttering like people who push their cats around town in a grocery cart -- over to the corral. Somehow, saying that I was 'with the band' didn't quite fit. This time.

Unfortunately, the bar code doesn't help with the price. Or with the passport photos, about which they have become increasingly picky. And yes, I had to have my nose powdered when I had mine taken because it was otherwise "too shiny". At least I'm secure. With the rush (no, not Limbaugh) to have passports in order to enter the land of Bush as of January 2007, passport offices will no doubt continue to get busier. Go ahead: turn your life into a series of vertical lines of varying lengths. It'll save you time. And back ache. The bars will make you free.

Devo-tee.

Well, maybe not a Devo tee ("Crack that whip, Give the past the slip...When a problem comes along, You must whip it..."), but a devotee of using the 'T' as a form of communication? Works better than other letters, particularly if you plan on wearing it. Hmm, the 'X' might work somewhat as well, but no, today's letter of the day is indeed 'T' (with the 'X', all I can think of is little Maggie Simpson in her star-shaped snow suit).

Forget Rick Mercer as Canada's next Prime Minister (though I'm sure he'd have a tonne of fun lampooning whichever party he ran for). Not Canada's Next Top Model, either. Nope, I just got my Stewart/Colbert in 2008 t-shirt. Some are touting this as the 'intelligent choice' for President/Vice-President and a couple of students at the university are using the shirts to make a statement about the current state of American politics. A revolution, swathed in 100% cotton. (And made in Haiti?) Clever. And it keeps me warm. Above the elbows, anyway. For more, check out their web site.

Which of course takes us back to the opening lyrics: "When a problem comes along, you must whip it." Dubya is a problem and he must be whipped -- in the polls. It won't likely be by a comic (though the U.S. has had an action star and a former pop icon as Governors, and a B-movie actor as President...) or political commentator. That doesn't mean we, in the frigid land to the north, cannot rise up on our igloos, bear our hockey sticks and help knock-out the right winger. We feel your pain, America. No, go ahead and vote your displeasure: wear the 'T' and revel in your freedom to bare arms. And hopefully, voters will elect a new votee.

Toss Your Salads.

It used to be that spinach and some Olive Oyl might be fine starting ingredients for cooking, but it seems Popeye's muscles might atrophy a bit over the next while as North America faces a health scare over fresh, bagged versions of the green stuff that inevitably sticks between your teeth, making you look like a hockey player.

32 brands of spinach have thus far been yanked from grocery stores in the United States and Canada, to ebullient shrieks of delight from children everywhere. It seems the organic spinach was a bit dyslexic, not content to just be a tremendous source of Vitamin C, thinking instead that it was supposed to also contain Vitamin E.coli. Don't worry, kiddos, we can certainly fill that vacant spot on your plates with parsnips. Universal groans.

I'm just awaiting conspiracy theories that this is the work of Al-Qaeda and their quest to rid the world of leafy, green vegetable-eating infidels. Ah, plant the seeds of destruction...

And, in other late-breaking salad news, Faisal had, appropriately enough, sent me this picture of a bagged salad yesterday. And yes, that is a frog nestled inside. Ribbit. Surprisingly, it didn't croak. Not quite E.coli, but some unwanted protein nonetheless. Many similar-type hoaxes make their rounds of the Internet on a regular basis, so I tend to immediately be skeptical and look them up. Ah, joys from the immediacy the Internet provides a curious mind, read: geek. This one is, apparently, still inconclusive -- and there is precedence of frogs in bagged salads. Might be good with some French Dressing, though I'm not sure the lil' guy is certified organic. Still doesn't top my having a piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken in 1987 and finding that it still had two feathers attached. And yes, I ate it anyway.

One of my personal favorite Internet pranks was the so-called National Geographic Photo of the Year hoax where a shark attacks a military diver hanging from a helicopter. Yeah, because the Great White really lurks in waters under the Golden Gate bridge. As an aside, rumours of any sharks inhabiting those waters -- and hence deterring potential escapees from Alcatraz -- are also apparently false, the result of strategic storytelling by prison guards.

This has been a week the agriculture industry hopes we can leaf behind as they set to work raising new baby bib. Hopefully tomorrow will bring news of a different appetizer which is, well, more appetizing than today's.

Above: Charlie had a long night partying with the students next door. Needless to say, he was feeling a little worse for the wear this morning. Too much catnip. "Need me some latte. Purr-fecto."

Below: And on the heels of the spinach scare (and frankly, he's not overly fond of frogs, unless it's Kermit, either), Charlie's sticking with yogurt. Or at least sticking his tongue into it.


"Enough! No more, UD! Is that bloomin' camera permanently affixed to your hand when mom's not around? I'm shy. Really. And hungover. One more and I'm gonna' go Sean Penn on you. Is mom ever comin' home? Dang paparazzi. Where's my treat? I so need a latte."