Some
questions about the world we live in
by
Robert LaFrance
Sorry about this, but my first
comment has to be about Donald Trump. Because he is going to be President of
the good old U.S. of A. he has to put all his 500 businesses into a ‘blind
trust’ so he ostensibly has no control over them. So who is going to be in
charge of this trust? His children Donald Jr., Ivanka and Eric, that’s who.
They will also be on his transition team. Apparently Donald Trump Sr. hasn’t
got the faintest idea what a blind trust is. I looked up the definition of
‘psychosis’; why don’t you? Looks interesting for the next four years, eh?
On the subject of writing for a
newspaper, I know most people think it’s a glamorous job with lots of
opportunity to meet powerful and beautiful people, but although that is true,
there are times when it’s nothing short of brutal. Especially if one is a
sports reporter. High school hockey causes me no end of problems because both
boys and girls wear the cage type of helmet face mask and to make it even more
difficult the girls almost all have pony tails covering up their numbers so I
haven’t a clue who they are. At my age, I’m often confused as to who I am.
The death of poet and singer – well,
poet anyway - Leonard Cohen, 82, in early November was covered in all media all
over the world. People who wouldn’t have heard of him during his lifetime were
suddenly distraught at the news of his death in California and funeral in
Montreal. While his song ‘Hallelajuh’ was one of the best ever written, much of
his other vocals were a series of mumbles and murmurs accompanied by grimaces.
Like Bob Dylan and Aristotle, everybody knew his name but didn’t listen to him
much until he died. Of course some say Bob Dylan is still living, the proof
being that he was just chosen for the Nobel Prize in Literature.
I didn’t mention this before
Remembrance Day because I wanted the Royal Canadian Legions to raise as much
money as possible, but I want to point out that whoever came up with the idea
of poppy sales was surely a marketing genius. I bought and lost SEVEN poppies
in the two or three weeks leading up to November 11. I spent two dollars for
each poppy (and didn’t begrudge the Legion one dime). I would get to a hockey
game or the synagogue or macramé class or my hunter’s safety course and find
that my poppy was missing, taken on the battlefield of my car’s seat belt. On
Nov. 14 I cleaned out the car and found 329 poppies under the seat. And yes, I
know about the trick of putting tape on the pin, but that wouldn’t be cricket.
People who are usually fairly sane
and even sceptical in other avenues of their lives will believe anything they
see on the Internet. A sure-fire cure for arthritis is touted on Facebook one
day and two days later all the pharmacies are scrambling to get more ginseng,
ground dogweed, garlic tablets, or Omega 3.1. Here’s an example: “Researchers
at the University of North Tilley, Churchland Road campus, has concluded that a
compound of arsenic and cyanide will cure everything that ails you. You won’t
have an ache or a pain after you take one of these puppies. Guaranteed.”
I like to keep track of what Flug’s
nephew Andrew is up to, and the RCMP is often interested as well. His latest
scam…I mean endeavour, involves the selling of RVs, meaning those 40-foot
camper trailers (if that’s the right term) that people haul around behind their
$60,000 pickup trucks as if they were on vacation. Vacation? Seems to me that
if I wanted to go on a vacation I wouldn’t take my house with me. Those things
are equipped with everything from full kitchens, bedrooms and living rooms that
contain mobile Internet setups (so they can order ginseng etc.), to satellite
dishes and all sorts of necessities like that. Some of them even have a
well-stocked bar if you can believe that.
My friend Flug (Richard LaFrance,
not his real name) is in trouble again with his wife. No wonder he’s been
divorced 17 times. Three weeks ago he acquired or was bequeathed a border
collie who is very affectionate and likes to be scratched behind the ears and
given some ‘Mutt Bits’ which I believe is made by the pet food company Iams.
Flug’s problem arose when he walked into his living room and when his wife, an
astrophysicist, made a comment about quantum mechanics or horse racing,
something like that. Flug made some stunned comment, then scratched her behind
the ears. When he regained consciousness...
-end-
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