Just Don't Do It
The other day (by other day I mean some random day about six months ago) I was watching a documentary on the the clash between city bylaw officers and citizens in some random American city. At one point, a tow truck driver was hooking up the cables to begin to tow away an illegally parked car when an irate owner drunkenly stumbled out of the nearby bar.
"I can't believe this," said the drunken man (I'm paraphrasing, of course, for although my memory is remarkable, it is not that good), "this is a Nazi city we live in."
The tow truck driver just smiled and continued to do his thing.
"You hear me, you're a Nazi," he said to the tow truck driver who was black and would definitely have met a gruesome end at the hands of the Nazis. I grinded my teeth in annoyance.
Recently, Robert Mugabe stood before the U.N. and compared President George W. Bush and Prime Minister Tony Blair to Hitler and Mussolini. I suppose Bush would be Hitler and Blair would be Mussolini, but the comparison breaks down pretty quickly from there, considering that Hitler was devilishly smart and Bush, while earnestly sincere, is a mere puppet. Hitler was also a captivating orator while Bush can barely read his teleprompter. Most importantly, Bush, while being a slightly corrupt ideologue, is a man whose sins and shortcomings pale to insignificance when compared to the loathsome and murderous evil wrought by Hitler.
Like teeth being scraped slowly across a chalkboard, the comparison of simple every-day annoyances to one of the greatest evils of twentieth century grates on my nerves.
Was your professor slightly reticent with his marking? He's a marking Nazi. Does your boss give a lecture every time you go slightly over the alloted break time? He's a break Nazi. Did the meter maid give you a ticket? She's Hitler.
National Socialism was responsible for the outbreak of a war that killed over 50 million men, women and children. Hitler presided over one of the worst genocides in history, arguably the worst genocide of history, the deliberate killing of six million Jews. National Socialism gutted and raped Europe and its totalitarian regime brutally repressed any who objected. Hitler wanted to reshape the world according to his abominable racist vision and he would have murdered millions more if he had been given the opportunity.
Bush, while misguided, is no Hitler. I would argue that this is one clear case where it is better to have a notoriously inept and misguided leader with good intentions than a notoriously capable and wicked leader with dark and loathsome intentions. I would fight to live in a corrupt democracy any time any place rather than live under a Hitler-style dictatorship.
When you compare your stubborn landlord to Hitler or the Nazis you are, in all actuality, saying that demands for pre-authorized cheques can be morally equated with mass genocide, mass destruction, and mass repression. That isn't funny. Hitler deserves better. If you're going to compare him to anyone, compare him to, say, Chairman Mao, Iosef Stalin, Pol Pot, or even Kim Jong-Il. Let's be serious because we all know that Hitler wouldn't have just refused to cash your cheque without a photo-id at your local bank, he would have also stolen your account, all of your possessions, and would have slowly killed you, your family, and all of your pets if you dared to oppose him.
Just don't do it.

My license plate now says "Je me souviens"

Welcome to the Blogosmos, Picturegy.

I was going to get right into what I had to say but then my breath was taken away by the brilliance of my title. I'll repeat it for those who missed it "Welcome to the Blogosmos, Picturegy." At first glance this title seems rather plain and ordinary, perhaps even confounding but let me explain to you why this title should be nominated for the Pulitzer (assuming they hand them out for brilliant blog titles and assuming further that there is some electronic gadget which allows the Pulitzer people to give the award to a few inanimate letters deep in the caverns of the internet.)
First of all, I have replaced the common reference to the entire blogging world - blogosphere - with a much better, much snappier replacement - blogosmos. Let's just say that the word "blogosphere," if we want to be etymologically correct, should only refer to the gaseous region above a blog. This region does not exist and, therefore, has no need to be labelled. If we seriously wanted to talk about the entire blogging world we would say something like the "blog-a-terre" (which sounds stupid and just a little bit French.)
Blogosmos, on the other hand, comes from the grand fastening of the words blog and kosmos together. Blog originated in 1998 as a grand fastening of the words web and log while kosmos is the Greek word for universe. Therefore, instead of welcoming Picturgy to the non-existant gaseous region above the blogs, I am welcoming him to the blog universe.
The second bit of brilliance in this title I am not responsible for. No, the second bit belongs entirely to Aaron Gysbers. Aaron, has taken the word "picture" and his last name, Gysbers, and grandly fastened them together into the word "picturegy." Aaron has a fondness for photographs (hence the use of the word picture) and (here's the bit that will make you see Gysber's true brilliance) he likes to be referred to as a "guy without spurs." Picture + Gy - sbers = Picturegy.
Welcome, Aaron, welcome.

I was just helping my wife with her homework for her female studies class and I came across this poem while I was helping her research sex tourism in Thailand. Tragic.

With No Immediate Cause
by Ntozake Shange

Every 3 minutes a woman is beaten,
every 5 minutes a woman is raped,
every 10 minutes a little girl is molested
ever 3 minutes, every 5 minutes, every 10 minutes . . . every day.

The Spice Rack

So, the other day I found a spice rack. A nice solid wooden structure with a beautiful dark brown finish and room enough for a large variety of spices. With this spice rack, I reckoned, I could probably hold enough spices to cook a diverse group of dishes that would satisfy all the possible cultural groups that appeared at my table as guests. I could prepare tasty well-spiced meals for Italians, Indonesians, Japanese, Persians, Pakistanis, Greeks, Jamaicans, East Africans, West Africans, South Africans, North Africans, Arabs, and even have enough room for the gruelling epicurean demands of Dutch guests . . . well, ok, I'd have the sprinkle of salt that the Dutch occasionally dash upon their potatoes.

Excited, I brought the spice rack home to show my beautiful wife.

"What is that?" she demanded.

"A spice rack, " I said, surprised by the hard edge in her voice.

"We already have a spice rack," she stated increduously.

"Yes," I admitted, "but this one is bigger." Actually, I only said "yes" the part about "this one is bigger" I kept in my head.

"We don't need a spice rack," she said, her hand on her hip.

"Yeah," my enthusiasm was drowning in her logic, "but we could use this to store other things."

"Like what?" she asked.

"Uh," my mind worked - cd's? No, too big. - soup cans? No, we don't eat much soup. - Figurines? No, we don't have figurines that small. Something! Yes, that's it!, "We could find something to put on it."

"Where did you find that thing?" her beautiful brown eyes tearing the spice rack apart as if it was personally responsible for the invention of menstruating.

"I found it," I shrugged.

"Where?"

I had found it in the dumpster at work. I imagined that if I told her that this was the case she would not only throw it off the balcony, but me as well. This, despite the facts that I had wiped it down with industrial paper towel and that the thing had been nestled snuggly on a clean-looking piece of cardboard. Women, however, do not understand this sort of thing. All they hear is the word "dumpster" and they immediately associate that word with all the nasty stinky rotting disgusting smells that they had witnessed when rushing past dumpsters to wash their hands. Because, you know, women are always washing their hands (with both soap and water!)

"You know," I said, "I found it."

"Take it back to where it came from," she said, her voice implying that the spice rack had ascended to earth from the dark depths of hell itself.

Frankly, I was a little hurt. After all, this was a nice solid wooden structure with a beautiful dark brown finish and I had found it and had not paid a dime for it! "Don't you think it's nice, though?"

"No," her eyes had shown more mercy towards my worn and rancid-smelling work boots.

"Fine," I muttered, "I'll . . . I'll . . . " I sighed, how could I? "I'll throw it out."

"Good, because it is not coming into this apartment," she turned and went inside.

I looked at the beautiful spice rack one last time, said my goodbye and reluctantly placed it beside our recycling bin.

When garbage day came, I somehow forgot to place the spice rack with the rest of the trash. And so the spice rack stands proudly and beautifully on our metal balcony awaiting its day of redemption.

Do not worry, my spice rack, your day will come, your day will come. I just need a plan.

I simply love political cartoons. I love the exaggerated features, the ridiculous statements, the parody, the irony, and the art. I can look at a political cartoon that I completely disagree with and laugh because the artist has done such a good job in rendering his idea of how stupid a situation is. The cartoon on the right is by Nick Anderson, the 2005 Pullitzer Prize Winner. His art speaks for itself . . . The cartoon on the left is by Matt Davies. Enjoy!

Piet Harsevoort has published a review of "Run Lola Run" on his blog (it appears in this month's Crown). I've never seen the movie, but I am pretty intent on seeing it now. Thanks for sharing, Piet, and I look forward to the future reviews.

St.

When I first arrived in Gatineau (the city formerly named as Hull) I managed to misplace myself on the twisting roads of this fine Québec city. On the way home from work I decided to avoid the busy Maisonneuve thoroughfare by turning left on Papineau. I thought I might get through to St. Laurent ( the 4th century martyr patron saint of librarians, brewers, paupers, students and cooks who gave all the churches money to the poor before the Romans could steal it) by turning left onto St. Jacques (Ledoyen, priest martyred during the French Revolution). This was an incredibly dwarse decision, considering that I actually needed to turn right. I corrected my mistake and made my way to St. Laurent (which might actually refer to a Laurentius or his brother Laurentinus who were martyred in the third century in Carthage) I thought it would be quicker to get to St. Redempteur (Thomas Rodriguez de Cunha martyred by Muslims in 1638 somewhere in Malaysia) by turning onto St. Hyacinthe (which could refer to a soldier martyred in Rome in AD 120, to Emporer Trajan's chamberlain who starved to death rather than eat meat offered to idols, to a man was killed after he cut down a tree dedicated to an idol somewhere in north-west Turkey, to an apostle to Poland who famously carried a crucifix and statue of Mary safely away during an attack on his monastery, to a man who was martyred with St. Alexander and St. Tiburtius in AD 690 in Italy, to the servant of St. Philip whom he was martyred with, to a man martyred in southern Italy alongside St. Quintus, St. Felician, and St. Lucian, to a missionary beheaded in Vietnam in 1773, to a Dominican priest who was burned alive in 1622 in Nagasaki Japan, or to a noblewoman who humbled herself and served the aged poor in Italy in the early seventeenth century.) Unfortunately, St. Hyacynthe was a dead end, so I turned right onto St. Henri (which probably refers to St. Henricus Gallus of Albano who was a French bishop and cardinal in the twelfth century). I decided to turn back onto St. Laurent. I looked to my left as I travelled a long and saw that St. Florent (which probably refers to a French deacon beheaded by barbarians in AD 451 in Rheims) also ended in a dead end. I finally found my way northwards and turned left onto St. Étienne (which is the French version of St. Stephen who, you may know, was the first Christian martyr) and then right onto St. Hélene (the mother of Emporer Constantine the great who supposedly found the relics of the true cross). After twisting on a few more streets I found myself on Sacré Coeur which I followed to St. Redempteur and past St. Joseph (the father of Jesus and the patron saint of Canada) and to my house.

creativity . . . stunted . . . erg. lOsing ability to form cogent sentences . . . grammar apart falling. punctuat.ion !rules longe?r no apply ,,,,, h.,e;lp m"e spel ba:d kent sh;peel $kent schpeel l)ong grrr eeeennnneeeee

Isn't she cute?

Verona - Flower girl and my new cousin

Here at boerishbwoy, we've noticed that people around the world vote, watch their leaders, and even have political opinions. Through these political opinions we can determine which side of the political spectrum they are on. That is, we can figure out if they are "left-wing" or "right-wing." The following chart will bring clarity to what these titles mean and demonstrate how much insight these titles can inject into the political debate. If either of these categories do not describe you, then you have a problem, my friend. Take a long hard look in the mirror, try to conform to one wing or the other or forever risk losing your political relevence.

Nicknames:
Left - Commie, Pinko, Bleeding Heart, Godless Liberal
Right - Fascist, Fundamentalist, Nazi, Capitalist Pig
Favourite Meal:
Left - Tofu and soy-milk (with maybe a light salad)
Right - Beer and hot dogs (with maybe a medium-rare steak)
Favourite Musicians:
Left - Kenny G, Enya, and Peter Gabriel
Right - Toby Keith, Wagner, and Lynyrd Skynyrd
Hobbies:
Left - Hackey Sack, Chaining themselves to doors, and reciting poetry
Right - Hunting, pummeling mailboxes with bats, and drowning kittens
First Victims of Capital Punishment:
Left - Trotskyists and other betrayers of the revolution.
Right - Pedophiles, Murderers, Drug Dealers, Pimps, Prostitutes, Thieves, Jay-walkers, and the like.
Iconic Figurehead:
Left -




















Right -
























Uniform of Choice:
Left - Birkenstocks, Tie-Dyed T-shirt with an anti-corporate slogan or a pro-marijuana message, Beret, Hemp Sweater, Ponytail, and spectacles.
Right - Flannel Overcoat, Tight Jeans, Leather Cowboy Boots, and Cowboy Hat
Boxers or Briefs:
Left - Commando
Right - Briefs, baby, briefs.
Hates:
Left - Circusses, Butchers, Racists, Televangelists, "The Man", Racist Butchers, Office Monkeys, Religious Fundamentalists, Politicians, and the suburbs.
Right - Miscegenists, Protesters, Abortionists, Homosexuals, Atheists, Professors, Evolutionists, Minorities, Crack-Smoking Hippies, and Vegan Restaurants.
Loves:
Left - Marijuana, Minorities, Homosexuals, Vegan Restaurants, Evolution, and chocolate
Right - Beer, Whiskey, Circusses, Butchers, Televangelists, the suburbs, and chocolate

Kanye West, a successful hip hop artist and producer, has become notorious for his recent comments on a live aid broadcast for Katrina. A somewhat nervous-looking Kanye strayed from the prepared script by noting, first of all, that federal aid seemed to be arriving "as slow as possible." Kanye also said, "I hate the way they portray us in the media. If you see a black family it says they are looting if you see a white family it says they are looking for food. . . . We already realize a lot of the people that could help are at war now fighting another way and they've given them permission to go down and shoot us."
There was five second delay for the broadcast but the censor had been instructed to bleep out any expletives and not any uncomfortable political criticism. That is why the world was able to hear Kanye clearly say, "George Bush doesn't care about black people."
There was an uproar in the media over Kanye's comments. Many white people were incensed, claiming that race had nothing to do with the slow response. One conservative radio host even dubbed Kanye a "black-face klansman." Nevermind the ostracism that a black-faced klansman would fall victim to at all of the klan rallies, the question is was race a factor in the slow response?
I think it had a role but I don't believe that it was the deciding factor. George W. Bush is notorious for his long vacations and for his, um, how do you say, complete and utter disregard for news in any form? Bush is the man who proudly stated that he does not read newspapers or when he does read them he "glance(s) at the headlines just to kind of get a flavor for what's moving. I rarely read the stories, and get briefed by people who . . . probably read the stories themselves." Newsweek recently reported in "Katrina: How Bush Blew it"http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9287434/, that his aides were somewhat hesitant to break the news to the often "cold and snappish" president that he would have to cut his five-week vacation short by two days.
So, no, Bush did not deliberately ignore the storm warnings in order to leave thousands of blacks dead, homeless, and desperate. Bush, it seems, was just oblivious to what was happening. Oh, he knew there was a bad storm alright, he just "misunderestimated" its size and intensity. Bush, aware that the levees were broken, cut his vacation short but nevertheless flew to San Diego (New Orleans is the other way, eh Mr. President?) where he accepted a guitar from country singer Mark Wills. What kind of callous cold-hearted leader could stand around smiling and strumming a guitar while his country is undergoing a horrible natural disaster?
Bush, of course, is not the only one to blame here. There were municipal and state-wide failures. The federal failures, however, are so glaringly obvious and embarrassing, that even Bill O'Reilly should be able to see them (he can't, but he should). Bush withheld funding for the levees in the first place (although the storm probably would have busted through anyhow) and he responded with pathetic nonchalance. Not only that, but the recently sacked FEMA chief, Michael Brown, was horribly unqualified and hired only because of Bush's cronyism.
Still, can we say that race played a factor?
We cannot know the hearts of those in government but we can read their actions. From their actions it seems that poor blacks and whites in New Orleans don't matter a whole lot. One Republican senator was even overheard saying that the "New Orleans housing problem has been solved." American response has, for the most part, been highly supportive of the victims of Hurrican Katrina. There are those, however, who blame the victims. There are those who claiming that the blacks have been made soft by welfare and are unable to bail themselves out because they always expect the government to help them. There are those who say that blacks are animals because they loot and rape as soon as police disappear. There are those who claim that black poverty would be solved if they would just learn to stop having teen pregnancies. So, while it is questionable if race played a factor in the slow response it is definite that racism is still a factor in America today.
Does George Bush not care about black people? God only knows. I think he does care about black people, and I think he does care for the poor white and black residents of New Orleans. Just not enough. Kanye should have said "George Bush is oblivious and doesn't care enough about black people to read a newspaper or watch the news."

Little tidbits heard or overheard on the golf course by a certain greenskeeper:

"See, it's kind of like the Crusades except that the Muslims are attacking us and we're not really Christian anymore."

"So I bought six oranges and he tried one and didn't like it and wouldn't even touch the other ones. Can you believe it?! At least try another one before you abandon them!"

"*grumble* At least they're not cutting the grass today."

"Yeah, but the lightning was over towards the west and the wind is coming from the east so we should be fine, right?"

"Little warmish, eh?" = 40 degrees w. humidex

"But what I like about Jack Layton, his moustache!"

"Are there any balls in that tree you just chopped down?"

"Is that a fire?" woman points to a smallish bit of black smoke in the distance "I hope a barn isn't burning, that looks like a big one."

"So . . . I should go to the pro-shop at the front like the sign says?"

"Unintelligable Scottish brogue . . . doon't ya thenk? Ha ha ha ha!"

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

There's something about Psalm 23 in the King James Version that just makes it that much more meaningful to me. What a great passage.

Are you serious? Are you absolutely serious? I mean, I was a little confused when you were defending him on his Iraqi war. Sound bites from previous justifications and pretexts were lost to your mind, buried under the new justifications put forward by the government like an Orwellian Ministry of Truth. You forgot about or dismissed the historic ties between the US and Saddam, the non-existent link between September 11 and Saddam Hussein, the weapons of mass destruction, the declaration of the war's end, the statements about the ease of implanting democracy, the scandalous Halliburton contracts, and, of course, the suspicious links between those in power with those in oil.

I admit it. I was confused. Nevertheless, I was willing to listen to your arguments and, I have to admit, I was not angry. No, I could not be angry because I knew that, despite the stability he gave Iraq, Saddam was a ruthless killer. Any man who admires Iosef Stalin, as Saddam does, cannot be a good leader. I wondered to myself if it was better to have a savage despot enforcing order or to have civil war. I don't know, because I cannot, unfortunately, see into the future. My hope was that, despite my initial opposition, the United States would successfully foster a peaceful and prosperous state out of the shambles of Iraq. My suspicion, however, was that a government that had to resort to lies and corruption to justify a war was not fighting in order to create a model democracy. If the purpose was so noble, why was it hidden beneath lies? I struggled not to fall into economic reductionism, but all I could see was the oil-hungry tycoons in the Bush administration. I wondered if, perhaps, an ignoble sowing could bring about a noble reaping. A war made my existence possible and a war gave me my wife. Could a war bring stability to Iraq? I hope so, I really hope so. War is such a terribly ugly abomination that it is tough to find the good in it. Tough, but possible.

So, yes, I was confused but not angry. I could understand how someone could be a follower of George W. Bush. I could never have followed myself, but I could understand.

Now, my friend, I am angry. I ask you again, are you completely serious? Do you actually consider him a good leader after this? Can you, without drinking copious amounts of alcohol, actually give a rational explanation to the reaction of the American federal government after this disaster? Can you explain why an unqualified man, a Bush supporter, could be put in charge of FEMA? Can you explain the federal cuts to the levees? Can you tell me why Florida was hit by several hurricanes and the federal response was immediate and even excessive and why the response in New Orleans was retarded and pathetically weak ? Can you please give logical explanation for Bush's departure in the opposite direction, to San Diego, upon learning about the hurricane? Can you tell me why he couldn't cut his vacation short for the thousands dying in New Orleans? Can you honestly tell me that you are not angry when those in the American federal government claim they don't want to play the blame game and then go on to blame the local officials?

They failed, don't you get it?

Hello Hello,

Let me reintroduce myself. My name is John den Boer and I, as you might already know, am master of this blog. When is say that I am master of this blog it really does not mean much anymore for the blog has seen better days. For, as we all know, a dog can be master of a tennis ball but that balls is still ratty, covered in spit, and falling apart at the seams. Now, my blog is not ratty or covered in spit, but it could be said that it is falling apart at the seams. Indeed, if my blog was an empire, this would be the stage of the empire known as the "decline." Sometimes when an empire declines it, in the words of Edward Gibbon "falls."

Here's what Gibbon has to say about my blog:

"The blogging world, after their blogs had been reduced into mere supplemental reading to Boerisbwoy's brilliant blog, imputed the triumph of Boerishbwoy, not to merit, but to fortune. The inconstant goddess who so blindly distributes and resumes her favours, had now consented (such was the language of envious flattery) to resign her wings, to descend from her globe, and to fix her firm and immutable throne on the banks of the internet . . .
The decay of Boerishbwoy has been frequently acribed to the translation of the seat of marriage; but this history has already shown that the powers of Boerishbwoy were divided rather than removed. The throne of Laurianne was erected in the East; while the West was still possessed by a series of distractions who held their residences in John's mind, and claimed their equal inheritance of John's time and activities. This dangerous novelty impaired the strength and fomented the vices of a double reign . . ." Edward Gibbon, The Triumph of Barbarism and the Fall of Boerishbwoy.

Ah, but what Gibbon forgets is that, occasionally, when an empire declines, it manages with gasping breaths to reassert itself before the inevitable and pitiful "fall." Such is the hope of Boerishbwoy -- a hope in a renaissance of sorts. A rebirth of regular blogging and a reassertion of Boerishbwoy's cyber-dominance.

What has changed in Boerishbwoy's world? Well, for one thing, he has now joined his house with the house of Burundi's royal family. Yes, that is correct. Mr. John den Boer is now married to his beautiful African princess, Laurianne Munezero.

What else has changed? Mr. den Boer now lives in Gatineau, in a nice apartment at 77 Boul. Montclair.

Why was his blog down for so long? A previous posts, a fairly weak attempt, tried to address this issue. The truth is, after this post, John did fully intend to fulfill his promise to "be a better blogger." Unfortunately, in a fit of uncontrollable creative energy, John decided to change his template. This resulted in the blog losing the all-important comments as well as the numerous links to other blogs. Despairing, John retreated to his world of cutting grass at a golf course, preparing for marriage, reading books, and illegally downloading music from the internet. (Actually, it was all legal, it just sounds more dramatic if it we put "illegal.")

Why has Boerishbwoy suddenly reappeared? John was drawn back into the blogging world after Dr. Koyzis "floated a trial balloon" in John's general direction. Admittedly, when John fired his not-so-sharp thoughts at the trial balloon he missed repeatedly, but he remembered again the beauty of the blogging world and of wrestling with ideas and of just putting down idiotic thoughts onto his own scrap of cyber-territory. Taking some time, he finally figured out how to restore the comments and re-insert some of the links he had lost all that time ago.

Behold, Boerishbwoy rides again.

Testing again

Testing

My last entry was created on July 22nd, 2004. A lot has happened since then and I am faced with the gargantuan task of updating a blog that is almost, but not quite, dead. Mostly dead, if you will. Once a blog is mostly dead, it isn't easy to raise it to life. Nevertheless, if anyone can complete the necromantic task of re-quickening this blog, it is boerishbwoy. Yes, yes. Yawn. Okay, here we go.

Well, I am currently living in Ottawa. I am unemployed, eating peanut butter and spaghetti and hunting for a job (sometimes all at the same time.) I am having fun despite any setbacks. July 30th is my wedding and I am excited. I'll try to be a better blogger, I promise.

I'll Do It Too

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

"It is possible to defer paying tax on your accrued gains from TCP if you provide acceptable security to the Canada Customs and Revenue Agency."

Canadians Resident Abroad, Fourth Edition, Garry R. Duncan and Elizabeth J. Peck.

*sigh* I guess this is what you get when your father is an accountant.  I wonder if he's read the whole thing.

Update:

- Yes, I am alive.

- The wedding has been postponed a year.

- No, we're not having problems in our relationship.

- I hate those signs that say "you just proved that bench advertising works!"  I hate proving them right and I keep wishing I had looked the other way with a sign on the back of my head that read "No I didn't, you stupid bench!"

- Incidentally, benches lack the cognitive ability to read or understand any sign that I put on the back of my head.

- I gave money to the nation of Islam.

- I shaved my head.

- Who shot J.R.?

- As much as hair might cause you to sweat or get caught in trees, it still protects you from the sun and acts as a cushion when you hit a tree-branch.

- I'm 22.

- This fingernail just will not heal properly.  I despise it.

- I love Laurianne.

- It wasn't a good idea to go for Chile in the Copa America, they got eliminated in group play.  The Mexicans were eliminated in the first round and now I'm forced to cheer for whoever can beat Brasil.

- I wrote a letter to Laurianne's grandpa.  I managed two lines in French, got tired, and wrote the rest in English.  I hope it makes sense to him.

- Laurianne was convinced that the NDP was a conservative party.  This is just one of the many reasons that I don't think mandatory voting is a good idea.

- The other day I witnessed the dilemma of a young man who bought pants with a large waist but hadn't been intelligent enough to buy  a belt.  His arms were occupied by two bags and the further he walked the lower the waist on his pants dropped.  Fortunately for him his girlfriend was there to pull them up every ten steps.  So, if you don't have a belt, at least have a girlfriend.

- My parents are back from B.C.  They had a good time.

- Good night.

Announcement

On Saturday July 10 at approximately at 7:00pm John den Boer will be having a barbecue to celebrate his recent engagement or his birthday (it doesn't matter which, both are pretty cool). If you're of the opinion that John isn't a bad shit then come on down to 241 Bonaventure Drive, but please give advanced warning.

Anyhow, John's residence is at the corner of Clifton Downs and Bonaventure across from Park formerly known as Brown which now bears the name of some dead alderman. Let's say that you're driving your car northwards at approximately 60 km/h down Upper Paradise from Rymal Road you would drive past such landmarks as the perpetually pacing adolescent Little Caesar's sandwich board people, Mac's, the bridge over the Linc, and maybe even that ridiculously fat guy who wears sweat pants up to his chest. Now as your going over the bridge you'll notice that there's stoplights up ahead. You'll have to turn right onto Hadeland there and then follow that until the first stop sign where you turn right and then, and I hope this isn't too confusing, a quick left at the next stop sign. You can actually make a slow left if you really want to as you'll still reach John's house, but a quick left is preferable.

Now, let's say that you're driving your car southwards at approximately 55 km/hr down Garth from Mohawk. You'll have to turn right on Limeridge Road and follow that until you reach Bonaventure. Now, don't go straight because that's Limeridge Court and that's a dead end. No, you have to turn left on Bonaventure and follow that road. Hopefully the sharp bend in the road won't throw you off, as some people signal around that corner - something which is completely unnecessary.

If the directions are confusing I aks you not to worry as they're probably wrong anyways.

My Top Ten Favourite Actors (These are my favourite, in no way implying that they are the best)

1) Robert Deniro - Ever since I saw Deniro in The Godfather Part II he has been one of my favourite actors. Deniro has a presence on screen that is absolutely electrifying and he portrays his characters with such conviction and ease that he is always enjoyable to watch. The man who made fifty dollars on his first movie now makes twenty million per picture.
Favourite Movies with Deniro:
- The Godfather Part II
- Raging Bull
- The Untouchables
- Casino
- Goodfellas
- The Mission
2) Djimon Hounsou - Maybe Hounsou shouldn't be on this list, but I really enjoy watching this heavy-weight from Benin. I've only seen him in three movies but I enjoy his acting very much, particularly his moving portrayal of Cinque in Amistad.
Favourite Moviews with Hounsou:
- In America
- Amistad
- Gladiator
3) Benicio Del Toro - I always respected Del Toro but when I saw 21 Grams where he played a confused and zealous born-again Christian I became a true fan. Del Toro might be accused of slurring and mumbling his lines but, for some odd reason, it works.
Favourite movies with Del Toro:
- The Usual Suspects
- 21 Grams
- Traffic
4) Edward Norton - I saw Norton first in the disturbing movie Primal Fear and although I did not like the film I did like Norton's acting. Boyish but also radiating an intelligence and slighly sardonic delivery of his lines, Norton is enjoyable to watch.
Favourite movies with Norton:
- The 25th Hour
- Fight Club
- American History X
- The Score
- The Italian Job
5) Denzel Washington - He's tall and handsome but he can also act . . . and act very well. Washington is a versatile and extremely intelligent actor who's articulate and impassioned portrayals of various characters are often dead-on.
Favourite movies with Washington:
- Training Day
- Malcom X
- Hurricane
- Antwone Fisher
6) Brad Pitt - I know, I know, he's only a pretty face out there to attract the ladies. Well, I don't care because I happen to think that Mr. Pitt is a great actor. I actually enjoy the work he puts into his roles and I believe that he's got a lot of unrecognized talent.
Favourite movies with Pitt:
- Fight Club
- Snatch
- Spy Game
- Ocean's Eleven
7) Tom Hanks - He picks his movies well and I think he's a stupendous actor. He just has a comforting quality about him that makes it easy to watch him on screen.
Favourite movies with Hanks:
- Saving Private Ryan
- The Green Mile
- Forrest Gump
- Castaway
8) Liam Neeson - This Irish actor is very tall (6"4) and very talented. I might get flak from purists for liking him in Les Miserables which made quite a departure from the book, but I liked him in it anyways.
Favourite movies with Neeson:
- Michael Collins
- Rob Roy
- The Mission
- Schindler's List
9) Samuel L. Jackson - C'mon can you get any cooler than Sammy?
Favourite movies with Jackson:
- Pulp Fiction
- A Time to Kill
- 187
- Goodfellas
- The Red Violin
10) Matt Damon - He's a good actor and I've also noticed that he's skilled at mimicry.
Favourite movies with Damon:
- Ocean's Eleven
- The Bourne Identity
- Finding Forrester
- Good Will Hunting
- The Rainmaker

I just got engaged.

A Plugged In Review of the Bible

The Story
An Almighty Being creates the universe out of nothing, but his plans seemingly go awry when two of his creatures (played by Adam and Eve) rebel against him and introduce sin into the world. Sin wreaks havoc on creation and it's not long before people are killing eachother, fornicating, and building towers which are too tall. In a long convaluted plot interrupted by various laws, instructions, geneologies, platitudes, prophecies, and even poetry, the book follows the adventures and misadventures of God and his people. In the second section of the book God sends his son (played by the always delightful Jesus Christ) who performs many miracles, tells the people stories, and is quickly killed. The rest of the book deals with the fallout from this brutal killing and Jesus' later resurrection. The final section of the book is a strange combination of apocalyptic prophecy and descriptions of strange looking animals.
Positive Elements
The Triune God is the only redeeming element in this book --- every other character is tragically flawed. There are many positive promotions of love, goodness, and high moral behaviour in this book but that doesn't change the fact that this book does not shy away from portraying extremely grotesque behaviour. Many of this books spiritual points deserve praise.
Spiritual Content
The Bible promotes an afterlife, the spiritual side of human beings, and issues relating to salvation.
Sexual Content
Right from the beginning, it seems, this book cannot keep itself from straying into territory which is lewd, at best. Adam and Eve are copulating already in the Fourth chapter of Genesis with Cain quickly following suit (with his sister no less!) The sons of God begin to sleep with the daughters of men and coincidentally this is when the wickedness becomes the greatest on the earth. Noah sleeps naked, prompting one of his sons to do something inappropriate. Abram marries his half-sister and then, with her encouragement, sleeps with his Egyptian maidservant to produce some offspring. The men of Sodom and Gomorrah attempt to rape three guests at a man's (played by Lot) house. Later, when the cities are destroyed, Lot's daughters sleep with him while he is in a drunken stupor. Jacob takes two wives and sleeps with their maidservants as well. A woman (played by Dinah) is raped by Shechem son of Hamor the Hivite. A philandering Judah sleeps with Tamar, his daughter-in-law disguised as a prostitute. Samson sleeps with a prostitute. In a particularly gruesome story, a Levite stays at an old man's house while the people urge the old man to give the man up for homosexual relations. The old man refuses and the concubine is sent out instead and brutally raped. Later the Levite chops up the concubine and sends the parts throughout the land to inspire the people to action. David takes many wives and kills a man to commit adultery with the man's wife. His son also takes many wives and concubines. Many sexually immoral kings rule Israel. This book is very explicit and Song of Songs unashamedly describes two lovers going at it.
Violent Content
The book is filled with violence. Already in the fourth chapter a man is murdered. God wipes the people off the face of the earth in a violent flood, only saving a few. Two cities are burned to the ground. The sons of Jacob brutally murder an entire city after ordering them to be circumcized. God kills the firstborn of all of Egypt. People are stoned for seemingly minor infractions. The Israelites are instructed to carry out genocide. War is a constant theme, with invasions, sieges and violent murders. God has a habit of striking people dead. In one gruesome story, Ehud stabs a king and the sword is swallowed into his folds of fat. Samson kills many Philistines. Shamgar son of Anath kills 600 of them with an oxgoad. David slays a giant, and conducts pillaging raids throughout the countryside. An innocent man is unjustly and barbarically put to death.
Crude or Profane Language
Saul refers to his son as a "son of a peverse and rebellious woman." Many curses are pronounced throughout the book. In a strange picture Israel is compared to a prostitutue whose lovers have genitals like donkeys and emissions like horses.
Drug and Alcohol Content
Noah becomes drunk. Lot overindulges in drink. The people in the Bible drink much wine. Jesus even turns some water into wine, setting a bad example for the youth.
Other Negative Elements
Evil spirits make a number of appearances throughout the book.
Conclusion
While the book is filled with numerous positive messages, it simply cannot be recommended for family reading as it drips with blood and sexual explicitness. Unfortunate, considering God's other great works.

The Declaration of the Summer Months

I have seemingly abandoned the blogging world for the lawns of the Greater Hamilton Area and the wiles of my girlfriend. Fear not, I say, for this blog has not been forsaken. For though my mistress, the blog, is well-treated during the cold winter months when the grass lies brown and shrivelled under volumnious piles of debauched snow which, with whorish abandon, lies over anything and everything; For though my blog is given tender love and attention during the bitter Autumn when my girlfriend is studiously tucked in a corner of Ottawa; For though the summer affords me little time for my dear blog; For though this sentence is extremely complex and unwieldy --- for though all these things, I must confess that I still have some time to hastily steal visits to this lonely mistress, my blog.

Oh Blog, Oh Blog! You sit in your dusty corner
feeling like an outsider, an alien, or a foreigner
as I abandon you for the charms green grass
a Wilson Sentar, books, and a beautiful lass
Fear not, oh blog, I remember you still
and I'll write in you again, I promise I will
Sometimes I read something or something happens to me
and I say, "that is going in my blog. Definitely."
But then I come home with my limbs so sore,
a girlfriend to please, and other such chores
and I have as much time for my blog
as I have to go dancing in a pair of clogs
I know that last rhyme was a little stretch
and really ridiculous, I hope you didn't retch
but I'm writing this ode in a hurry, you know
because my girlfriend's here and I got to go.

The Wilson Sentar

This, my friends, is the stupendous chariot which pulls me over hills and across desolate stretches of lawn, mowing down whatever grass dares stand before it. This goddess of speed and precision will even make the most hardened anti-lawn cutting advocate stand up and mutter, "man, I wish I cut lawns all day."

Dumb move of the week (so far): Trying to start a lawn mower that was already started and then getting frustrated when, as I drew the string, the mower made a weird noise and wouldn't start (in my mind.)

Well, it has been about a week since I've posted. My girlfriend visited and she's more interesting than my blog. Anyhow, there's a lot I can blog on right now so I should get right to it.

First of all, I have tried (vainly I'm sure) to update my links. There's a few more blogs listed there and the website of my girlfriend's young brother, Estimé Nywari. Estimé is a nine-year-old who attends grade four at L'école Monseigneur-de-Laval. He's a wonderful person and very intelligent. I hope he updates often.

Secondly, I bought Jack Johnson's new album On and On and his music is spectucularly good. A sort of reggae-tinged mellow latin-influenced acoustic adventure. I'd like to thank Jason Legg for recommending him to me because I have not stopped playing this album. If you want to see two of his videos you can go to Launch and search for his two videos "Taylor" and "The Horizon had Been Defeated." Look for a special guest appearance by Ben Stiller.

Thirdly, I went to the doctor and I would just like to say HA! to Laurianne. The Doctor said it was EXTREMELY unlikely that it was a fungus. I had just hit the finger wrong and now I have to wait twenty-something years for it to grow correctly. Despite the non-fungal nature of my fingernail problem, he gave me an anti-fungal cream.

Fourthly, there's been a recent movement known as the Rob Joustra Underpants Club. I briefly considered joining but I've decided that I want very little to do with Rob's underwear. I'm sure the feeling is mutual.

Fifthly, I'd like to extend Evghenis Ware a hearty good-bye and God's blessings on his school swap. Of course, the summer is far from over and hopefully we'll see eachother again.

Sixthly, I should apologize in advance because my blogging is going to be sporadic over the summer, I just know it. Between my girlfriend, friends, and work, I'm not sure I'll be able to blog as much as I'd like to. I'll try for once a week.

Seventhly, naw, nevermind. I just wanted to make this whole thing complete by including a seventh point. Well, I'll talk to y'all later. In case I don't see you all, have a great summer!

French Exam

Just finished a French exam and one of the questions was something like "Qu'est-ce que tu voulais etre quand tu etais petit?" Which means what did you want to be when you were small? In the interest of time and with the constraints of my limited knowledge I only gave one answer. The following is a rough chronology of my vocational dreams:

Age 1: N/A
Age 2: N/A
Age 3: Garbageman
Age 4: Garbageman/Superman
Age 5: Clown
Age 6: My dad
Age 7: Judge/Chef
Age 8: Soldier
Age 9: Archaeologist
Age 10: Archaeologist
Age 11: Archaeologist
Age 12: Archaeologist/Artist
Age 13: Archaeologist
Age 14: Archaeologist
Age 15: Celebrated Author of the Quintessential Canadian Novel
Age 16: Author
Age 17: Humanitarian
Age 18: Philanthropist (i.e. rich)
Age 19: Pastor
Age 20: Teacher
Age 21: Author, Teacher, whatever

Yeah, finishing a thirty-five page paper, that's a good feeling.

Boerishbwoy Awards Corrections

Due to a recent rash of complaints over the 2004 Annual Boerishbwoy Blog Awards (one complaint, a sigh, and a good-natured taunt, in fact) we're just posting to make a few minor corrections.

Best Greek Cypriot Blog is being withdrawn from Dr. Koyzis and awarded to Ian Dewaard. In its place, we've decided to award Dr. Koyzis with The Byzantine Bow Tie Award for Outstanding Beardedness.

Also, Andrew Groen, is being stripped of his Andrew Groen Award for Outstanding Andrew Groen Entries and instead being awarded The Mealy-Mouthed Complainer Award for the Next Time You Claim this Is Rigged We'll Show You What Rigged Really Is. The Andrew Groen Award for Outstanding Andrew Groen Entries shall now be awarded to Mira Ponomarenko.

Also, Laura Stewart shall be awarded the coveted title of "Enlightened Empress of the Blog-World" and her reign shall last at least a year. Sorry, for not announcing that earlier.

We do hope that everyone is satisfied now.

umm.

The 2004 Boerishbwoy Blog Awards

Graham Ware recently posted his blog awards, awarding boerishbwoy the coveted title of "most humorous content." Boerishbwoy is a little bit befuddled at this award since this blog is strictly limited to serious journalistic topics, but we're willing to accept it with grace. Now, however, we've been inspired to share our own awards in the "First Annual Boerishbwoy Blogger Awards." So, without further ado and in no particular order (actually, there is a particular order BWA HA HA HA HA! YOU'LL NEVER FIND IT!!) No, seriously, there's no order and if you're not mentioned it's only because we're a prententious bunch of elitists here at Boerishbwoy and you're not part of the club - na-naa na-na-naa. Actually, it's only because they wouldn't be awards if everyone got them. What do you think this is, a communist site? No, sorry, even communists recognize individual achievements. That's right. We're sorry for not mentioning you. We mean, we would have but we didn't have time and it isn't because we don't like you, we really do, it's only because our fingers are cold from typing too long. Anyhow, you know how we said without any further ado, earlier? Well, this time we mean it:

The Dubya Award for Generous Appreciation and Promotion of the 43rd President of the United States of America: Graham Ware

The Mongol Hordes Award for Appreciation of the Cultural Achievements and Pillaging Rampages of the Nomadic Tribes of the Steppes: Rob Joustra

The Gideon Award for Rigorous Adherence to the Principles of Straussian Philosophy: Mr. Gideon Strauss

The de Gaulle Award for Incurable Francophiles in Their Shameless Promotion of the Wonders of the French World: Jake Belder

The Aghast Expression Award for Receiving an Award that Wasn't Some Cheap Dig at the Confederates: Jake Belder

The Andrew Groen Award for Outstanding Andrew Groen Entries: Andrew Groen

The Extended Vacation Award for Longest Pause Between Blog Entries: Tim Amor
Honourable Mention: Dave Vlasblom

The 2004 Grammatical Achievement Award for Dedication to the Rules Governing the English Language: Chris Crookall

The Van Dyke Award for the Promotion and Appreciation of All Things Van Dyke: Jakob Van Dorp
Honourable Mention: Rob Joustra

Best Greek-Cypriot Blog: Dr. Koyzis

The Bewildering Award for Some Sort of Strange Blog Force which Compels Cantankerous Anonymous Individuals to Become Really Upset Over Seemingly Benign Entries and Post Numerous Angry Responses: Louizandre Dauphin

Ugly Fingernail Award: John den Boer

Boerishbwoy Award for Being an Outstanding Blog: Andrew Vis
Honourable Mention: James Brink

Star-Crossed Lovers Award: Jason Legg and Rachel Epps

Slap On the Hand Award for Speaking of Love by Referring to Astrology Rather than Some Sort of Biblical Allusion: Boerishbwoy

Most Art-Centred Blog: Andrea Hensen

The You-Got-Soul Award for Golden Typists: Paperwing

The Golden Typist Award for Having Soul: Alaina Frankruyter

Winnie the Pooh Award for Appreciation of All things A.A. Milne: Richard Greydanus

Comedic Michigander Award for Making John den Boer Laugh Many Many Times: Tim Van Alstyne

The Small Roadside Tent Award for Prospective Bolivian Circus Performers: Mikey Arce

Nice Template Award: Amyann Faul

No I'm Not Engaged Yet Award for Person I Will Tell Immediately When I Am: Naomi Biesheuvel

The C'mon Award for You Got to Post More Often: Brian Dijkema

Best Blog of a Former Resident of Dorm 5 who is Now in England: Jennifer Van Breda

Giv'er Shit Award For Outstanding Satirical Wit: Dan Postma

Best Baltimore Blog from an Orthodox Neocalvinist: Gregory Baus

The I Would Amuse Myself for Hours With those Little Springy Doorstoppers - you know, *doyng*dooooyynnnggg* - When I was Your Age So Why Are You So Smart? Award for Young Bloggers Who Are Really Very Intelligent: Summer and Shimmer

The Pieter Award for Outstanding Harsevoorts: Piet Harsevoort
Honourable Mention: Joel Harsevoort

The Great Paitence Award for Individuals Who Don't Mind Being in the Wrong Alphabetical Order on Our Sidebar: Rachel Breimer
Honourable Mention: Naomi Biesheuvel

Super Bunny

The killer was my friend, a buddy from across the street, named Andy. Andy was a psychotic kid my mother recalls me attempting to throttle at the tender age of three. No, I’m not exactly the most violent person but I suppose Andy brought out my more primal qualities. This particular homicide occurred at my house when Andy was visiting.
On that fateful day, Andy decided that it would be fun if we played with my family’s pet rabbits. I agreed, not realizing what desolation this bunny entertainment would cause. My brown rabbit wasn’t good enough, no, Andy went for the my sister’s albino which, incidentally, I was not allowed to touch. So, we played with the rabbit, and being boys, the rabbit’s inherent cuteness and our excitement over it’s delightful rodent antics soon wore off. Andy, his mind always amusing itself in the pub of inspiration, suddenly came up with this inebriated idea, “Hey, let’s play super bunny!”
Andy could ride a two-wheeler, had an impressive amount of he-man figures and he was in kindergarten; of course his idea was a good one. So, I agreed.
Of course, Andy hadn’t really thought to wait for my assent and had already grabbed the rabbit by his back legs and begun to spin it about. This particular rabbit was surprisingly aerodynamic and soon curiousity got the better of Andy and he started to wonder, like most criminally-minded five year olds would, if this bunny could fly on it’s own. The first flight was a mild success, with the rabbit spinning clumsily into the air and flying for several seconds only to be influenced by the insistent pull of gravity and plummeting back into Andy’s arms. Andy was pleased with the triumph of his first launch and swung the long white body between his legs and into the air once again. The rabbit went higher this time, performing a few more athletic gymnastics in the air this time before finding refuge in Andy’s crushing embrace once again.
I suppose I should’ve been hit by some moral urge about this time to tell Andy to stop playing “super bunny.” The thing was that I had started to believe in super bunny. Super albino rabbit had had two successful flights and if he was anything like the super man I knew, this bunny could deflect bullets off of his chest and leap over tall buildings and had more to worry about from kryptonite then being throne six feet above the ground by a five year old boy.
So in my naive belief I kept silent and the bunny began his third flight. Launched into the air the white ball of fur completed one, two, three rapid rotations and then started heading down. This time, however, Andy’s hands remained passively at his sides, waiting for the bunny to take its flight under its own locomotion. The rabbit, unaware of Andy’s plan, continued helplessly towards the ground. The rabbit was half-way throught its fourth rotation when it’s head struck the ground. There was a brutal squeek and a sickening crack as the rabbit’s neck broke. The body followed with a thud and the rabbit lay quite still and quite dead, or at least mostly so. I poked the rabbit and it remained inert. I touched it, prodded it but it did not respond. Andy looked at his handiwork in wide-eyed amazement, “Uh, I have to go now . . . bye John.”
I shrugged, smelling death on the creature but not realizing it. I left it where it slept and went inside, an accessory to the barbarous flying death of my sister’s favourite animal.

Karl Marks

I've polished off my paper on Karl Marx's vision of the future and now, in honour of this momentous occasion, I've decided to post a picture of the man. Incidentally, he's holding up my proposed grade.

Update:

- It has been a while since I've done an update so I'll do one.

- Actually, the real reason is my mind has been sucked dry by parasitic papers.

- After doing a quick search on the internet I've found a fingernail that looks distressingly like my own. Apparently its called Onychomycosis and it's fungal.

- Maybe you don't want to shake my hand afterall.

- My oma is over. We went to "Mozart Madness" on Friday and she really enjoyed it.

- My grandpa turned 80 on Friday.

- I watched "the Rundown" on Saturday and for all those people who insist that the Rock can't act, you're right.

- I liked the movie though.

- I'm a dog according to the Chinese calendar.

- I hate exams, I can sit for eight hours with a book in front of me but I won't really be studying.

- People who aren't fourth years shouldn't sign up in the column reserved for fourth years for appointments to see the registrar. I'd be angry if I hadn't signed up so late.

- Wait, maybe I should be angry. Okay, I'm a little bit angry.

- Four dead mice in twenty-four hours in the den Boer house, how about that? That cat is good for something.

- Talk radio sucks.

- My house has five computers in it - not counting microchips I don't know about.

- My grandpa said the word niggeroe when I was at his house on Sunday. I think he was trying to say negroe. He has a thick accent.

- He said that they like to eat carp. It's hard to be angry at that old man, but I was for a little while.

- Discombobulate, great word. Underused, I'd say.

- If you can be discombulated can you be combobulated? Probably not.

- I have a sister at Redeemer. People are often surprised to learn this, but I do. She's two years older, a year ahead, and twice as smart as me.

- I remember in grade four my teacher pulling me to the side (he had taught both of my older sisters) and saying, "your sisters never rough-housed in the back, why aren't you more like them?"

- I hope my masculinity had something to do with that.

- I did play with barbies once, I pulled off their heads in misogynistic rage and threw them, naked, into the fake fireplace. I feel a little bit bad about it now.

- My girlfriend used to rip the heads off barbies, too. This was after giving them severe haircuts.

- I learned a bit about diabetes last week from Brian Dijkema. Man, it sucks.

- B.B. King has diabetes. Great music.

- Maybe there's a correlation between low blood sugar and the blues.

- Well, I'm going to bed. Goodnight.

Some More Leacock

Today Brian Dijkema shared one of Stephen Leacock's absolutely hilarious stories with me - the one about the fifty-six dollar deposit in the bank, if that means anything to you.

Here is some more Leacock:

Mr. Malthus (just the opening, it's a long poem. You all know Thomas Malthus, right? He's the famous professor of political economy and clergyman who taught that the earth could only support so many people)

"Mother, Mother, here comes Malthus,
Mother, hold me tight!
Look! It's Mr. Malthus, Mother!
Hide me out of sight."
This was the cry of little Jane
In bed she moaning lay,
Delirious with Stomach Pain,
That would not go away.
All because her small Existence
Over-pressed upon Subsistence;
Human Numbers didn't need her;
Human Effort couldn't feed her.
Little Janie didn't know
The Geometric Ratio.
Poor Wee Janie had never done
Course Economics No. 1;
Never reached in Education
Theories of Population, --
Theories which tend to show
Just how far our Food will go,
Mathematically found
Just enough to go around.
This, my little Jane, is why
Pauper Children have to die.
Pauper Children underfed
Die delirious in Bed;
Thus at Malthus's Command
Match Supply with true Demand.
Jane who should have gently died
Started up and wildly cried, --


The Social Plan

I know a very tiresome man
Who keeps on saying "social plan."
At every dinner, every talk
where men foregather, eat or walk,
No matter where -- this Awful Man
Brings on his goddam Social Plan.

The Fall in Wheat, the Rise in Bread,
The social breakers dead ahead,
The economic paradox
That drives the nation on the rocks,
The wheels that false abundance clogs --
And frightens us from raising hogs, --
This dreary field, the Gloomy Man
surveys and hiccoughs, the Social Plan.

Till simpler men begin to find
His croaking aggravates their mind,
And makes them anxious to avoid
All mention of the Unemployed
And leads them even to abhor
The people called the Deserving Poor
For me, my sympathies now pass
To the poor Plutocratic Class.
The crowd that now appeals to me
Is what he calls the Bourgeoisie.

So I have a Social Plan
To take him by the Neck,
and lock him in a luggage van
and tie on it a check
Marked MOSCOW VIA TURKESTAN
Now, how's that for a Social Plan?

Some Leacock quotes:

"If I were founding a university I would begin with a smoking room; next a dormitory; and then a decent reading room and a library. After that, if I still had more money that I couldn't use, I would hire a professor and get some text books."

"A half truth, like half a brick, is always more forcible as an argument than a whole one. It carries better."

"Advertising may be described as the science of arresting the human intelligence long enough to get money from it."

"I detest life-insurance agents; they always argue that I shall some day die, which is not so."

"Newspapermen learn to call a murderer 'an alleged murderer' and the King of England 'the alleged King of England' to avoid libel suits."

"Many a man in love with a dimple makes the mistake of marrying the whole girl. "

"Lord Ronald said nothing; he flung himself from the room, flung himself upon his horse and rode madly off in all directions." - actually that's from a story he wrote called Nonsense Novels.

HVD Day

Imagine these are eyebrows ---> _ _ -- -- _ _ -- -- _ _ -- -- (down, up, down, up, down, up)

(see how they dance?)

Ok, now imagine that you're sitting in class and you've just heard these words from him, "Sorry I'm late . . . an immigrant called me, right out of the blue!"

Now imagine these eyebrows dancing again.

This is the HVD that we all love.

Ignorance

During the summer I have a job cutting grass. My boss, a man I have a tremendous amount of respect for, makes copious use of the word "ignorant." Ignorant is a word that can be applied to wet grass, wounds, shoddy landscaping, farts, litter-bugs, and dog shit. Difficult customers, Ancaster punks, and massively obese men in belly shirts can also be labelled as ignorant. Basically ignorance is something to avoid, sort of like the perfume section in a department store.

Before I met my boss I only used the word ignorant to refer to people who were uninformed and I'm sure this is the definition that most people are accustomed to. I have to admit that I'm very ignorant about a lot of things in this world. In fact, the more I learn the more I become exposed to my own ignorance. There's far too much information for me to process and, unlike those memorable high school days, I no longer have my mind wrapped around life, the universe, and everything in between. How I pine for those days of ultra-enlightement.

There's nothing wrong with admitting ignorance. The best policy when drowning in information is to stop and ask questions. Most people are more than willing to explain exactly what they're talking about. The worst thing to do is to nod your head knowingly when, in fact, you have absolutely no idea what they're talking about. I sometimes nod my head knowingly when I don't hear what someone is saying and I've already asked them to repeat themselves three or four times but that' s different. That's just because I'm hard of hearing, not because what they're saying is beyond my comprehension. At least I don't think so. I can't be sure since I've never actually figured out what these people are saying. I mean, they could be explaining complicated mathematical agorithms and all I do is sit there nodding my head knowingly. Either that or they're asking me what my name is and all I can do is nod my head. I'll never know.

Anyhow, I don't mind ignorance. It would be impossible to learn if ignorance didn't exist. I'm happy to learn new things everyday and I don't mind saying, "oh, I never knew that." What I hate, however, is when people try to hide their ignorance behind pseudo-knowledge. My girlfriend's father formerly drove a taxi. As a taxi driver he was subject to much small-talk. Often customers, noting his accent would ask, "so, where are you from?" "Burundi," he would answer, "do you know where that is?" "Yeah-yeah," the customer would smile knowingly, "I do." "It's in South America," my girlfriend's father would state matter-of-factly. The customer would nod, "Oh yeah, right by Brazil, right?"

Ignorance is malignant when it doesn't recognize itself.

Only thirteen pages to go.


Yay.

Anti-Confederatia

Racists in the League of the South

Secessionist Views of the League of the South

Racism, Ties to Neo Nazis in the League of the South

White Nationalism in the League of the South

Racism in the League of the South


Confederate Christian Nationalism and the League of the South

The League of the South's View of Slavery

Ouch!

From J.C. Boogman's "The Netherlands in the European Scene, 1813-1913."

"The same flabbiness and passivity which characterised the attitude of the upper classes in general during the revolutionary crisis of the year 1813 is to be noticed when we look at their economic activities in particular. The past - that is to say, the glorious seventeenth century - was an obsession with many notable Dutchmen of this generation. One may even say that they were enslaved by it. It afforded them beautiful arguments to avoid adapting themselves to changing circumstances. In the eyes of many foreigners the starchy Dutchman of that time, with their lack of creativeness and imagination, with their obstinate clinging to old traditions looked rather curious, not to say ridiculous. The Germans, especially, were not sparing of sharp criticism. In their opinion the Dutchman, the Chinaman of Europe (as he was called sometimes), was the embodiment of the narrow-minded, greedy philistine."

He Asked For It: An Ode to Chris Crookall

In the tradition of the rambling rhymes of my ancestors:

Oh, Christopher John Paul Winston Crookall you once had a beard
and, my friend, I have to say that without one you look a bit weird
I remember those first-year days in far-off dorm thirty-six
when your chin was bald and you really didn't seem to mix
when you confounded us all with your wiley ways and devilish tricks
when your disastrously messy room caused an inspection by Hans Blix.

I understood, Chris, when you had trouble remembering our names
but by second semester there was no excuse, none of us was "James"
and I was John, not the puffy haired guy, you'll have to remember
and I don't think you had your roomate's name down until December
and that's bad because we knew your full name at least by November
and what's worse is I had to remind you of my name the following September.

I remember your interactions with poor Mark's cantankerous girlfriend
when she phoned that one time I thought that that was surely the end
you said he was out gallivanting with girls and I think you should as well clubbed her
because when she heard that she was enraged and began to angrily blubber
and ask who you were only to hear, "who me? Why it's Bob the Shrubber!"

There were more instances I think of from that highly memorable year
and there's one in particular that never ceases to fill me with cheer
with that loud and annoying bottle, your roomate was quite a boob
and that's why I was so happy we filled it with boullion cubes
so that as he slurped loudly he spat out the water liked the polluted Danube*
as we giggled in the living room while watching the tube

That's about all about that I can say at this time
about Chris Crookall and our life of dorm crime.

*The Danube is the second-longest river of Europe (after the Volga). It rises in Germany, then crosses Austria (it waters Vienna), Slovakia (it waters Bratislava) and Hungary (it crosses Budapest). It then forms the serbo-croatian border, crosses Serbia and waters Belgrade. The river then forms the border between Romania (North) and Bulgaria (South). It then enters Romania, forms a part of the border with Ukraine before entering the Black Sea through a large swampy delta which is an important natural reserve.

Some Stephen Leacock

"Not but what there was opposition at first. The clergy, for example, who accepted the Mariosa House and the Continental as a necessary and useful evil, looked askance at the blazing lights and the surging crowd of Mr. Smith's saloon. They preached against him. When the Rev. Dean Drone led off with a sermon on the text "Lord be merciful even unto this publican Mattew Six," it was generally understood as an invitation to strike Mr. Smith dead. In the same way the sermon at the Presbyterian church the week after was on the text "Lo what now doeth Abiram in the land of Melchisideck Kings Eight and Nine?" and it was perfectly plain that what was meant was, "Lo, what is Josh Smith doing in Mariposa?"

For Richard Greydanus:
"Some men, I suppose, terminate their education when they leave their college. Not so Dean Drone. I have often heard him say that if he couldn't take a book in the Greek out on the lawn in a spare half-hour, he would feel lost. It's a certain activity of the brain that must be stilled somehow. The Dean, too, seemed to have a native feeling for the Greek language. I have often heard people who might sit with him on the lawn, ask him to translate some of it. But he always refused. One couldn't translate it, he said. It lost so much in translation that it was better not to try. It was far wiser not to attempt it. If you undertook to translate it, there was something gone, something missing immediately. I believe that many classical scholars feel this way, and like to read Greek just as it is, without the hazard of trying to put it into so poor a medium as English. So that when Dean Drone said that he simply couldn't translate it, I believe he was perfectly sincere."

An Interesting Question

A friend of mine posed an interesting question today. Of all the people in the world that you haven't met which living person would you want to sit down and chat with? This is a difficult question and I found it hard to come up with a decent answer.

One person said that they felt that all the interesting people were dead. In that case, maybe Francis Fukuyama was right and Thomas Carlyle was wrong. Although I guess a great man (person) doesn't necessarily have to be interesting and an interesting person doesn't necessarily have to be a great man (person.) I should also probably read Francis Fukuyama before I start talking about him. Either that or talk to Pieter Harsevoort or Jared Wilms (sp?). If the dead are more interesting than the living it is only because we've romanticized them. Anyhow, what I'm trying to say is that there are plenty of interesting people this planet. In fact, I'd venture to say that every person is interesting. Even you.

Of course, I think that while the majority of people would be interesting to talk to and would have a lot of insight to share there would be a few people who would be exceedingly dull to talk to - unless I gave them truth serum. Now that would add a whole new dimension to this question wouldn't it? There's a number of living people I'd like to sit down in front of me while they were under the influence of truth serum. Just so that the matter doesn't become overcomplicated, I'll just let the people I want to meet lie all that they want.

The difficulty of this question, for me, lies in the fact that every person is unique and every person has a story. The ones that we think are the greatest or most interesting are, in the end, just as human as everyone else.

Now, back to the question at hand. My first mindless response was, "Britney Spears!"
I was, of course, attempting to tell a joke. My choice was quickly condemned but then the subject of Britney Spears had come up and it took considerable effort to direct the energies of the group back to the question at hand.

Several people said that they would love to meet the pope. Oh! how the spirits of our Calvinist ancestors cry out in agony. I actually wouldn't mind meeting the pope myself. I don't know if he'd be my first choice, though.

The question asker said they would like to meet Bono or the pope. I wouldn't mind meeting Bono.

I ended up saying Nelson Mandela. I'm sure we could have a very interesting conversation, but I'm no longer sure if he'd be my first choice. I've been thinking that I'd also like to meet Romeo Dallaire who seems like a swell guy. There's no real connection but right after I said Nelson Mandela, I wondered what it would be like to talk to Osama bin Laden. I would like to pick his brain for a while and then maybe kick him in the teeth.

In the end, I have to say that I'm still puzzling over this question.

The Irony

Arrived home at approximately 4:00pm only to discover E.H. Kossman's History of the Low Countries had arrived. An arrival, I should add, exactly one week after the the due-date of the take-home test on that same book.

How can the same people that promote multi-national corporations as a panacea condemn developing countries for a lack of innovation and corrupt government?

FAQs

Here at Boerishbwoy we strive to make your blog reading experience both a memorable and efficient experience. That is why we are committed to answering all of the many queries we receive daily from our millions of readers.

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Here at Boerishbwoy we are firmly committed to the concept of truth and all that might possibly entail. If you do not agree with the opinions, beliefs and facts espoused on this site then we must advise you to do a thorough self-examination and come to grips with your own self-deception.

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No.

- Boerishbwoy has a readership of ten at best. How does this number expand into a million?
Here at Boerishbwoy we are firmly committed to the students of the world completing their math homework on their own. If you wish to use the expertise at Boerishbwoy to engage in what amounts to academic dishonesty you can forget about it.

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Yes, Boerishbwoy is allegedly maintained by one person and, yes, officially that person is John den Boer. We are qualified to answer any questions you might have about him or his site.

- Sometimes when I look at the Boerishbwoy blog I see idiotic ideas, how do I fix this?
When you arrive at the Boerishbwoy site and are suddenly overwhelmed by the stupidity of a post quickly visit this site and then return. You'll immediately find that the site has reasserted its former intellectual glory.

- How many brothers and sisters does John have?
John has zero brothers and five sisters.

- Five sisters! Does this explain his slightly effeminate mannerisms?
Shut up.

- What...is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?
What do you mean, an African or European swallow?

- Dear Boerishbwoy, Help! I recently moved in with my cheating boyfriend. When I tearfully explained to my boyfriend that he had never told me that he was unfaithful he carefully explained to me that he had told me at the beginning of our relationship that he was a philanderist. I looked the word up in the dictionary and, after I found the intended spelling, quickly realized that it was not someone who gives a lot of money to charity! Now I'm in love with my boyfriend's massively obese neighbour. What do I do?
Next time you get the chance pick up that dictionary look up the word obtuse. You'll find that it is a word that doesn't just apply to angles greater than ninety degrees.

I went to see Prof. Vreugdenhil speak on Post-colonial Africa several weeks ago. Her presentation was extremely interesting and I find it unfortunate that she has not yet had the opportunity to teach a course on East African history yet, as this is her specialty. Anyhow, there was a young woman sitting in front of me who, before the presentation had begun, recited some sort of protest chant. She said she had learned this rather anti-establishmentarian chant at some sort of "radical cheer workshop." Good ol' Brian Dijkema was sitting nearby and said something like, "I think we should examine the religious roots of our cheers before we shout them out."

"Religous roots, what do you mean?" she had a bewildered look on her face, "what religous roots? It's not religous."

Brian Dijkema began to explain himself very carefully when she said, "What are you talking about religous roots? Advertising is evil!"

Brian Dijkema gave a Brian Dijkema smile and said, "Ok, I guess you're right then."

I like the way Brian handled this situation. I found it pretty funny at the time, but looking back I don't see how he could have reasoned with this young woman. She didn't want to hear what he had to say and he knew it. What do you do when you can't even dialogue with someone?

The Colour Blue

blue - c.1300, bleu, blwe, etc., from O.Fr. bleu, from Frank. blao, from P.Gmc. *blæwaz, from PIE base *bhle-was "light-colored, blue, blond, yellow." Replaced O.E. blaw, from the same PIE root, which also yielded L. flavus "yellow," O.Sp. blavo "yellowish-gray," Gk. phalos "white," Welsh blawr "gray," O.N. bla "livid" (the meaning in black and blue), showing the usual slippery definition of color words in I.E. The present spelling is since 16c., from Fr. influence. The color of constancy since Chaucer at least, but apparently for no deeper reason than the rhyme in true blue (1500). Blue (adj.) "lewd" is recorded from 1840; the sense connection is unclear, and is opposite to that in blue laws (q.v.). Blueprint is from 1886; the fig. sense of "detailed plan" is first attested 1926. For blue ribbon, see cordon bleu under cordon. Blue moon emblematic of "very rarely" suggests something that, in fact, never happens (cf. at the Greek calends), as in this couplet from 1528:
Yf they say the mone is blewe,
We must beleve that it is true.

Some of the more observant visitors to my blog may have noticed a slight aesthetic change. I have painted over the earthy colours and made my blog extremely blue. There are a number of reasons for this change. First of all, my misguided confederate friend, God bless him, has recently redecorated his blog and in order to stay relevant I was forced to do some redecorating. Secondly, the colour blue apparently reflects my Dutch heritage. I'm not entirely certain how true this is but my girlfriend recently told me that, "you Dutch people love the colour blue." Therefore, in a show of ethnic pride I have swathed my blog in blue. Thirdly, my favourite colour happens to be blue. This may have something to do with my second reason but blue is, by far, the best colour out there. Fourthly, God created the sky and made it blue. The reason God did this is that he also feels feels that blue is the greatest colour of the spectrum. If God thinks so, so should you. Fifthly, I have used the colour blue so that the rage created by any of the offensive things I write on my site will be dissolved by the serene sea of blue that envelops the entire blog.

Some Herman

Something else I wrote in OAC writer's craft. I remember this was from the class where we had to write out a dialogue and then add a narrative later. This is what I came up with:

"Do you have a light?" the man asked anxiously.
"Do I have a light?" the elderly fellow glared at the man.
"Yeah," the man answered, "that's what I said."
"I might have a light somewhere," the old man waved his arm vaguely.
"Could I borrow it?" the man prodded.
"I never said I had a light," the old man denounced.
"Oh, I thought you said you did," the man fingered the cigarette in his mouth.
"Are you calling me a liar?" the old man snarled.
"No," the man stepped back.
"Do you wanna step up or something," the old man thrust his head forward, "you think you're the top dog? You think we're all gonna tap along to your ridiculous rooftop dance, Mr. Astaire?"
"No," the man replied, "I just want to light my cigarrette."
"Yeah, and how about you insult everyone while your at it," the old man countered, "yeah, that would be good."
"I'm sorry," the man apologized, "I don't really need a light that badly."
"Then why are you asking? You trying to be a pain in the ass or what?" screamed the old man in a staccato spray, "You think you can call me names and ask me for a light when you don't need one? How about you ask me for my kidney too, huh?"
"Ok, calm down man, I just wanted a light," the mad declared with a tinge of annoyance.
"Oh, so now you want a light again," the old man fumed, "freakin' psycho!"
"I don't want a light!" bellowed the man.
"Ok, Mr.-I-can't-make-my-mind-up," the old man waved a gnarled finger in the man's face, "why don't you just give up, huh? Why don't you just come to the realization of just how futile your existence is?"
"Ok, forget I asked," the man sighed, "forget I said anything."
"Yeah, I'm gonna forget how you've insulted me," the old man spat, gnashing his teeth, "why don't you just rub my face in elephant dung and tell me to forget that?"
"It's not that bad, really," the man mumbled.
"Oh yeah, and it's wasn't that bad when Elvis died and it wasn't that bad when I had five hour surgery to remove that five-pound ball of lint from my stomach," the old man's face was red with passionate anger, "yeah, there you go wise-guy, you some kind of commie fairy?"
"Yeah, ok. Whatever," the man retired, "bye."
"What, you're just gonna go?" the old man squited hatefully, "you think this is some sort of badly-dubbed foreign film that you can just walk out of?"
"Yeah, I'm obviously disturbing you," the man muttered, taking a step back.
"Oh . . . ok," the old man appeared disoriented for a moment, "so you don't want this match?"

Group Work

Ever since the kindergarten days of glueing cheerios to brightly coloured sheets of construction paper, I have been familiar with group work. Group work can be a positive learning experience in which you learn how to work with a diverse group of individuals. Group work can also be an exercise in frustration and futility, mainly because of the following group members:

1) The Misguided Enthusiast: The misguided enthusiast takes on an inordinate amount of the work load and with joyful abandon pilots the project, kamikaze style, in an unprecedented direction. Before it can be stopped, you are standing in the smoldering ruins of what used to be a presentation on refugees but mutated into a presentation on immigration.

2) The Apathetic By-stander: The apathetic by-stander drifted into your group like a ball of dust and, interestingly enough, shares the same level of energy, responsibility, and emotion as that ball. Ask them to contribute and they disperse in an apathetic cloud of evasion.

3) The Sincere Nodder: The sincere nodder looks up at you with their earnest eyes and with whole-hearted abandon nod their head at every single request you make of them. Then, with treasonous glee, the nodder malevolently and actively does absolutely nothing.

4a) The Iron-fisted Dictator: The Hobbesian sovereign of group work, the dictator refuses to acknowledge the concerns and questions of the rest of the group. With an iron will and a heart of stone the dictator directs each person in exactly what they must do. Revolution usually follows.

4b) The Bickering Dictators: The bickering dictators cannot agree on the direction of the project, resent eachother immensely, and stubbornly refuse to relinquish their positions of authority. Once again, revolution usually follows.

5) The Overworked Martyr: Usually an A student, the overworked martyr isn't too hard to work with until well after the project is finished. This is when the martyr brings to the teacher's attention the fact that they've done almost all of the work. Maybe they did, but they wouldn't let anyone else do anything of significance out of an irrational fear that the idiocy of their fellow group members would seep into their project.

Right now at this very minute I should be writing a take-home test for HIS 457 on that Kossman book that is still somewhere lost in the vast uncharted depths of the international mail system. Yes, I know it will come and I know that this means it will come on Wednesday March the 10th, the day after I hand in the test. Stupid book, I loathe you, your tardiness, and, most of all, your expense. I may just burn you when you finally arrive.

Um, I'm Actually Not Sure What This Entry Will Be About Just Now

Alright, I've now decided that this blog entry is going to be all about stream of consciousness. That's problematic in that I'm not actually typing as fast as I think and I'm not going to be entirely honest about what I'm thinking for example I could be thinking right now that my feet stink which they do and I wouldn't want to mention it because maybe the next time you saw me you would realize just how much they do stink. I'm serious, they smell really bad, I'm not joking around here. Of course, I'll wash them before we next meet and maybe put some Fabreze in my shoes - that should help, right? Stream of consciousness is extremely difficult, I don't think I'm not entirely sure if anyone can really truly relate their stream of consciousness onto the paper screen whatever you want to call it. I hope my punctuation isn't too bad because I'm writing very fast in an fruitless attempt to catch up to my thoughts. I know I should stop writing about the process of trying to write a stream of consciousness because you really want to get down to the nitty gritty thoughts that are plaguing my mind other than such details such um how do you say? such such such such boring? No I'm looking for a different word. Maybe I can add punctuation later? Right? That would work, that way I don't have to worry so much. I wonder if J.D. Salinger did that and I wonder if I spelt his name correctly. I hope so, it simply wouldn't do . . . wow, that thought was going nowhere you idiot! Now for something completely different I should think of something exciting so that this entry doesn't go down as completely asinine and boring. Once a teacher called me asinine and said it wasn't really an insult. Then he had me look it up in the dictionary and read it out for the class and, yes, he was embarassed when it turned out it was somewhat of an insult. Of course, I was really being asinine in the class wait no, he said my comments were asinine, which they were - incidentally. My nose is loud, I mean it makes a loud noise when I'm typing. I don't have a cold but my nostrils are slightly impeded and when I try to think hard and well maybe more when I'm just relaxed I breathe deeply like I'm in meditation or something. Of course, I'm sure that Buddhists don't sound half as annoying as my nose. I mean it's even annoying me and I own it. My nose is a fairly big one, substantial, if you will. I like it, I think everyone should have big noses, they're very distinguished. This is actually what I feared what happen well maybe this isn't the worst that could happen, maybe it would be worse if I just started cussing in my thoughts . . . . .. . (deleted for content) . . . . ok, now that I'm done with that, I mean sometimes it's just like I say to myself "don't think of the yellow truck" and of course I'm going to think of this truck that is yellow and how much I would want a vehicle of my own without having to pay big money for it. I like to go to Hawaii and when I say that, I don't know why I do because I really think it would be very expensive and I'd rather go somewhere warm and cheap, like um, I don't know really but maybe some day I'll go there. Well my heart is bothering me again, that's no good and I think maybe I should get a new one. I think maybe -stupid nose - I think I wonder if the basement here can ever be adequately heated. My fingers always get cold when I type for too long. I probably have typed too long because this is kind of fun and really it doesn't take too long because I think I can type at about 45 words per minute which is decent, I think, for not making too many mistakes. Of course it's nothing when you're trying to keep up with your thoughts which are impossible to record anyways because just when I was typing the previous sentence I was thinking at the same time that my arm is itchy a little bit and that my legs are kind of aching and that is about it. My thoughts really aren't that complex but I do sometimes think of two things at once. For example, I was just thinking while I wrote that sentence that I was surprised when someone mentioned Selassie in class today. I mentioned it to him and said I was impressed with his knowledge of the Italian attack on Ethiopian and he actually asked if I was Ethiopian. Well, that was odd, I don't think I look particularly Ethiopian, although some people think I look Hispanic or Arab or even Jewish (whatever that looks like) I'm pretty sure that I look like me but I think a Dutchman looks like a lot of things because a Dutchmen, historically, is a lot of people. I'm sure that makes absolutely no sense but that's alright because I think maybe you can make sense of it. I make sense of my thoughts everyday so maybe you can give it a try. Of course, right now I'm kind of making sense of my thoughts anyhow, right? Yeah, so that's about it, I think maybe I should shut it now, seriously.