John's Top Ten Non-Favourite Musical Phenomenons

1) G-Unit. This entire mumbling group of overrated and seriously-misguided bathroom stall-level lyricists represent, in my mind, all of the decadence and grade-school braggadacio that makes hip hop one of the most misunderstood genres of music. With the exception of Mobb Deep (why, oh why?) the entire gangsta-fied posse is the lyrical equivalent of Chad Kroeger farting. On a side note, if 50 Cent was a real gangsta he would have capped the guy who shot him.

2) The Black Eyed Peas. Okay, a slightly credible band added a singer to their group and rocketed to success. You would think, however, that they could have added a singer who did not need the aid of voice modulation technology to make her screeching sound half-way decent. You would also think that it was impossible for musicians to have less lyrical skill than Shaquille O'Neal freestyling. Well, it is possible, and the Black Eyed Pease have done it and done it with the worst, most vacuously stupid, single ever released in the history of music "My Humps."

3) Good Charlotte. Some people complained that Blink 182 preppified punk music, but Good Charlotte has done something much much worse. They have fused Blink 182 with a unique brand of suck that has left a vacuum so strong that the universe is in danger of collapsing on itself. Wearing tattoos does not make you edgy any more than riding an elevator makes you a risk-taker; especially if these tattoos as poorly-conceived as Benji's and whathisname's. Eyeshadow was controversial when David Bowie wore it, now it's just a desperate cry of a confused individual whose voice sounds like, well, mine. And I don't sing, because I really sound bad.

4) Masari. There simply must be better people to fill the obligatory Canadian Content requirements on our airwaves. His singing is the mucus-soaked phlegmatic nerve-grating auditory sensation that should be expected from someone who sings from his throat and through his nose. His name means "money" in Arabic, which is a pretty good summary of exactly why this music was made. It has absolutely no artistic merit and is merely a sadly successful attempt to part young fools from their "masari."

5) Daddy Yankee. I like reggae and I like a lot of latin music so why do I hate it so much when they're fused into reggaeton? Is it because half of the beats are snippets of recycled dancehall reggae beats from the nineties, because it is misogynist and derogatory, because the beats are exceptionally mundane, or because every single song sounds exactly the same? Certainly, and additionally, I cannot support a style of music that claims to be original but is basically just a parasitic tapeworm feeding off of the half-digested entrails of all of dancehall reggae's worst ideas.

6) Ashlee Simpson. If you can be caught lip-syncing on Saturday Night Live, survive an almost world record booing at the Orange Bowl after a performance reminiscent of the early stages of American Idol, and still be popular you must have preteen girls as your fanbase. If your fanbase is almost entirely preteen girls then it is reasonable to assume that you have an artistic credibility equivalent to the number of WMDs in Iraq.

7) Diddy, or P.Diddy, or Puff Daddy. Sean "Puffy" Combs announced a while back that he no longer wanted to be referred to as P. Diddy but just as plain ol' Diddy. "The P was getting in the way of me and my fans," he claimed. Never mind that this should have been a quotation from R. Kelly, but Diddy's remixing and relentless sampling and covering is the only thing that he should be claiming as getting in the way of him and his fans, that and his enormous capacity to suck. Oh, and his shameless exploitation of Notorious B.I.G.'s legacy is, well, shameless.

8) Red Rat. If you have never heard Red Rat sing, you have been blessed. Imagine Mickey Mouse's cousin singing in Jamaican patois and saying "oh noooo" a lot. Now imagine that Mickey Mouse's cousin has a slight potty-mouth, horrible lyrics, and a cartoonishly high-pitched voice. Now take what you imagined and discard it entirely because it is much much worse than you can possibly imagine.

9) Gwen Stefani. My resentment towards her music started while she was with No Doubt and tried to pay Bounty Killer a ridiculously low amount for his contribution to her song "Hey Baby." First of all, the only redeeming part of that song was Bounty Killer's verse, and, secondly, even that was weak. This can be forgotten, mostly because Bounty Killer is a badman and he got his money. Then, however, Gwen went solo and ripped off Fiddler on the Roof with her horrendous "If I Was a Rich Girl." Not only is this song teeth-grindingly annoying, but millionaires really shouldn't be allowed to express such sentiments. After ransacking broadway and reggae, Gwen set her sights on Japan. She claimed that she had been inspired by the fashion of the Harajuku girls and she released an album based on this shallow concept. Then she literally dressed up some Japanese and Japanese-American girls and paid them to vogue in the background at interviews and to dance all over her music videos. OK. Then she gave them names and forbade them to speak to the press. You name dogs, you name your guitar, you name your automobile - this is what shows your ownership of them. People already have names, and you only name people if you're their parents. Is Gwen the mother of these Harajuka girls? I don't think so. She may be old enough, but there are certain differences in their phenotype which make it highly unlikely.

10) Chris Brown. Usher. Eminem. Britney Spears. Backstreet Boys. tATu. Mario. N*sync. Madonna. New Kids on the Block. Chinggy. Shawn Desman. The Pussycat Dolls. Kelis. Lil' Jon. Shaggy. The Yin Yang Twins. et cetera et cetera ad nauseum.

On Multiculturalism and Self-Identity

My friend Jake Belder recently posted on nationalism and his problems with Canadian multiculturalism. I agree with him on many points. There is a danger of becoming lost if a nation becomes so tolerant that its own culture is diluted into a thin, unpalatable soup. Its hard to stand up for anything when you don't stand anywhere at all.

I disagree with him in a few other areas, however. He claims that he gets a little upset with people who live here in Canada and who hold onto the Dutch culture. Furthermore, he argues that Dutch-Canadians are holding onto a culture frozen in time and that if we truly want to reflect the motherland we should, "condone euthanasia, sell vast amounts of hard drugs, and hold an incredibly vicious prejudice against all people of Middle Eastern descent." By painting a stereotypical picture of Dutch-Canadian culture and contrasting it with a stereotypical picture of modern Dutch culture, Jake has successfully shown very little. Imagining my dear Oma selling heroin on a street corner in Port Perry was a little surreal, and I am sure she would be surprised to learn that she, like many other staunch Dutch Reformed women, is living in a mirage. The Netherlands is not the Red Light District of Amsterdam any more than Canada is a poverty-stricken reservation. Of course, I am certain that Jake had his tongue firmly in his cheek, but I am, without question, opposed to his view that me and my ilk are "preserving an illusionary culture."
I would argue that Dutch people have done quite a good job of integrating into Canadian society. At the same time, I believe that people of Dutch descent in Canada have managed to hold onto pieces of their culture that make them unique and set them apart on the beautiful tapestry of Canadian life. Some of these cultural quirks and traditions might seem a little trite, but I, for one, will never call a boiling plate of stamppot "ineptly named." Delicious is probably a better description. My Dutch heritage does not define me, but it certainly enriches my life.
I was reminded of Canada's strengths when I witnessed responses of many Americans to the display of the Mexican flag by members of the Mexican-American community. They were outraged, as if flying the Mexican flag next to the American flag was tantamount to treason. I have always loved seeing international flags being displayed in Canada and I am glad that most Canadians understand that this is normal and even inspiring. The World Cup, I believe, brings out the best in Canada. Strangers laugh along with celebrating fans in the streets and neighbours become friends as they enjoy the rich international game and share their cultures.
I have read many of Jake's complaints about the lack of a real Canadian culture, but one cannot expect a country so young to have as deep a culture as, say, Egypt or China. Nevertheless, I believe the depth of Canadian artists, writers, athletes, dancers, statesmen, musicians, and intellectuals is a testament to a remarkable developing culture. I do not think it is very helpful to search for some kind of mono-cultural norm for what it means to be Canadian. We will never be a nation of touque-wearing, beer-guzzling, maple syrup sucking, snowmobile-riding, hockey-watching donut fanatics, and thank God for that! The richest cultures are the ones that are fed by a multitude of influences. Cultural dilution is only a danger when decadence and apathy get in the way of justice and equality. When a nation turns inwards it is like a dog feasting on its own stifling regurgitation. It is better to find sustenance from the cuisine of the world.
Some of the most enthusiastic Canadians I have met would put Don Cherry to shame. They love Canada's freedom, safety, community, and tolerance --- and they go to the mosque on Friday. Don't be surprised in the next ten years as names like Muhammed, Kim, and Amuneke start gracing the backs of Canadian hockey sweaters.
I am married to a Burundian-Canadian. My children will be Canadian with Burundian and Dutch genes. I am not going to tell my children that they must cheer for the Dutch soccer team and eat peppermints in order to be considered my children, but I am certainly going to share that part of their ancestry with them. I don't expect them to be defined by this part of their culture but it certainly will enrich their lives.

1. Take the nearest book and look up page 18, line 4. What does it say?
"...encore, vagabondaient d'une mine á l'autre, mais avaient jugé profi-. . .,"
2. Reach out your arm as far as you can. What do you touch?
The end of my nose.
3. What is the latest thing you watched on TV?
A snippet of Frasier
4. Without looking, guess what time it is.
6:20. Actual time? 6:31..
5. Apart from the computer, what else do you hear?
My computer sounds like a dump truck idling, but I can hear traffic, a few French-Canadians chattering outside, and Bob Dylan singing "The Times They are a Changin'."
6. When were you last outside, and what did you do?
Walked from the car to the apartment.
7. What did you look at before you started answering these questions.
I scanned the BBC news website.
8. What are you wearing?
Black pants and a dark blue short-sleeved dress shirt with vertical stripes. I like vertical stripes because they have nice a slimming effect.
9. Did you dream last night, if you did, then what was the dream about?
I did, in fact, dream last night. I had one where I was at work watching the world cup. I don't remember anything else about it.
10. When was the last time you laughed?
Refer to number 3.
11. What is on the wall in the room you sit in right now?
A Jamaican flag overlapped by a rasta flag in turn overlapped by Bob Marley's gigantic head.
12. Have you seen anything strange lately?
I have this fingernail problem that's pretty strange looking.
13. What do you think of this challenge?
It's alright.
14. What movie have you watched most recently?
I finally watched Run Lola Run. It was quite good, but very short.
15. If you became a multi-millionaire, what would you buy?
A house. Maybe some ducks.
16. Tell something about yourself that others don't know.
I see the Parliament buildings at least twice a day.
17. If you could change ONE thing in the world, without consideration to politics and feelings of guilt, what would it be?
I would change politics and the feelings of guilt associated with them.
18. Do you like dancing?
Dancing is a beautiful art form. I suffer from a genetic predisposition to dance badly.
19. George Bush?
I don't know him personally, but he is among the worst presidents in the history of the United States.
20-21.What would you name your children, boy and girl respectively?
Johnson and Blueberry.
22. Could you consider living abroad?
I could and I do.
23. What would you like God to say to you when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
I'm sure I'll be happy as long as he doesn't yell at me.
24. Four people you would like to answer these questions?
Piet, Todd, Aaron, and Marcellin.

The Envelope

They never told him why he had been selected. The crisp manila envelope arrived with rest of his mail. On it cover, the envelope bore his address and, printed neatly in the corner, a small government insignia. He had noticed it as he rifled through his mail and he immediately knew what it was. There was the usual mail: a telephone bill, a pizza flyer, a bank statement, and then there was the obtrusive envelope. He thrust the other mail aside; it wasn't important now. He let the envelope sit on the table while he hunched over it, hands folded, contemplating this momentous article of mail. There it sat, in all its brownish-gold glory, waiting for his shaking hands to brandish the letter opener and release the contents. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Why was he nervous? After all, hadn't he known what was written in that fateful package the moment he saw it? He finally decided that he was nervous because he had no idea why he had been selected. He was a gainfully employed, middle-aged, passive, healthy, law-abiding citizen. He had never broken the law, never disturbed the peace, and never ever done anything remotely controversial. In fact, he rarely spoke at all and, when he did, he chose his words with a mundane precision that ensured that he had few conversations and even fewer friends. He was a careful man and he had done all he could to ensure that his life would leave the world as undisturbed as possible. For every decision he made, he had cautiously made certain that no ripple would be felt by anyone. He muttered anxiously under his breath, and suddenly wondered if this habit were the cause of his fate. No, that didn't seem possible. But why? Why had he been chosen? It was not random. They used a method, a system, to choose recipients. He picked the envelope up in tremulous hands: it was surprisingly light for such a heavy notice. He clutched the letter opener, carefully, but unsteadily, guiding across the top of the envelope. Then, as if it were ancient parchment, he gingerly plucked the sheet from the envelope. Finally, he read the words he had already knew were written there: "YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED FOR OUR POPULATION CONTAINMENT PROGRAM. PLEASE REPORT TO THE PREFECT." He sighed, glanced half-heartedly at the phone, wishing he had someone to call to answer his question: why had he been chosen?

The Enemy

They attack us because of our freedom. They want to kill us because of our way of life. The reason, my friends, that they hate us is our tolerance. They are all to be suspected. They are evil and want to destroy everything that is good. They are driven by nothing less than the desire to be anti-democratic. They are nailing babies to church doors. They are slaughtering puppies in the streets. They have committed crimes against humanity. They play Rolling Stones records backwards because they enjoy Satanic lyrics. We need to fear them all. They steal carrots from Mr. McGregor's garden. They don't assimilate. I knew one, and he didn't shower regularly. They occasionally spurn the use of utensils when they eat. They kill civilians. They spill gravy on the floor and refuse to clean it up. They commit atrocities. They don't finish their brussel sprouts. They're racist. They don't stand during the national anthem. They're different. They smack their lips excessively when they enjoy their food. They are all the same. I saw one shoplifting once. They need to be rounded up. They want our deaths. Some of them don't sing in tune. Demographically speaking, they are increasing at a greater rate than us. They are known jaywalkers. They leave hair in the sink. They won't become us. They are cockroaches. We need to watch them carefully. They litter. They go to church on the incorrect day. They can't be understood. They are homegrown, organic, and pesticide-free. They sometimes forget to say thank you. They have a strong dislike for things that look nice. They vote and pay their taxes, but they're sending secret messages to the enemy. They can lip-read. They purposely swerve to hit small rodents crossing the street. See how they band together when we confront them? They forget to put the cap on the toothpaste. They watch violent movies. They drink expired milk. They have library fines. All of them hate us. They put their cd's in the wrong cases. They leave peanut butter on the counter. They expectorate in public. They don't wear their seatbelts. They remove the batteries from their smoke alarm. They are known to make mistakes. There are dandelions on their lawns. The best way to control their radicalism is to follow the old adage: "Good wedges make good neighbours."

This, according to the wise and all-knowing internet, is my worldview:

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational. Cultural Creative 100% Postmodernist 44% Romanticist 38% Existentialist 31% Idealist 31% Fundamentalist 19% Materialist 13% Modernist 0% What is Your World View? (updated) created with QuizFarm.com

The Overwhelmingly Important E-mail

A couple of days ago I received an e-mail in my bulk folder titled "overwhelmingly important e-mail." I feel like a knave because instead of checking the contents of this e-mail, I deleted it without a second thought. I should know better, deleting an e-mail titled "overwhelmingly important" is tantamount to crossing a crosswalk when the red hand is flashing.
Lately I have been pondering what the contents of that e-mail could have been. Perhaps Yusuf had discovered some deep philosophical truth which would absolutely astonish me. A truth so profound that it would shake the foundations of Western Civilization. In other words, Yusuf may have read "The DaVinci Code" and, sleuth that he is, figured out how this historical fiction* would shatter the foundations of Western Society as we know it.
Or did Yusuf find a new code? Perhaps Yusuf had found a code cleverly hidden in the ingredients on a Cheerios box which revealed that P. Diddy did not, in fact, write all of his own lyrics. Maybe he had found a code hidden in the menu of an Indian restaurant which revealed that Siddhartha Gautama picked his nose and bit his fingernails even after reaching his supposed enlightenment. Or, quite possibly, he had learned that Van Gogh's "The Potato Eaters" was a symbolic representation of the fact that John Calvin liked to dance, drink excessively, and lie on the couch all day while contemplating his second and third baptisms.
Or, you never know, this could be the worst blog entry ever.

*historical fiction, when referring to the Da Vinci Coce, should be read as fictional history.

Classical Beatboxing

Another Place

There is a place not far from you
where the sky is the same shade of blue
where the sun rises from its eastern place
and where the moon shows the same pale face
where the grass is a similar green
and puddles provide the same dark sheen
where people awake sometime in the morning
and where gunshots are a constant warning
where corpses line every street
and fester and stink in the heat
where mothers cry for their dead
and orphans put themselves to bed
where widows cry themselves to sleep
and the bereaved are left alone to weep
where fathers bleed the soil red
on the same ground on which their sons have bled
where children gasp for some food
and peace is just an interlude
where is this place of such pain?
This horrible land of copper rain?
It is where the sky is the same shade of blue
in a place that is not far from you.

John den Boer, 2000.

Have you ever wondered what a soccer match between Japan and the Netherlands would look like in anime? Neither have I, but the result involves a lot more shouting and slow motion than I would have thought. Look out for Edgar Davids, Seedorf (?), the gigantic Jaap Stam, and Holland's saviour against the Japanese, Edwin Van der Sar.

More Boerishbwoy FAQ's


The legion of loyal Boerishbwoy readers may remember a previous post which answered some FAQs. For the uninitiated, FAQ stands for Frequently Asked Questions, and Boerishbwoy is the greatest blog in the universe. Our mailbag has been inundated with questions about the site and the mysterious and brilliant author of this wonder of the blogosphere, John den Boer. Here, finally, are some answers:

Q - I'm so sick of love songs, so sad and slow, so why can't I turn of my radio?
You may be listening to a heavy metal station or perhaps you're just lazy. Or maybe, just maybe, you like to wallow in your own love-sick misery.

Q - Why does life suck?
Life does not, in fact, suck. If life sucked it would mean that life was a vacuum. A vacuum, as any grade seven graduate knows, is the absence of matter. Since life contains matter it is not a vacuum and, consequently, we can say that life matters.

Q - How can you possibly get away with your poor logic and terrible puns?
We at Boerishbwoy are committed to the concept of logic so far as it does not infringe on our concept of truth. We are also committed to the concept of truth so far as it does not infringe on our concept of reality. Furthermore, we are committed to the concept of reality so far as it does not infringe on our concept of our own genius. As for the puns, they are actually what the Greek philosophers would call "brilliant."

Q - How do you know that the Greek philosophers would call your puns brilliant?
We asked one.

Q - One Greek philosopher can hardly be representative of all Greek philosophers, can he?
If you want to nitpick we could say that this philosopher was more of a janitor and that his nationality was more Anglo-Irish than Greek, but what good would that do the world? Let's not be anal retentive about these sort of things.

Q - How tall is John den Boer?
Nine feet, two inches.

Q - That's not possible, I saw him and he is probably only six foot one at the most.
That's a statement, not a question and so it would seem that you do not, in fact, expect an answer. Furthermore, you don't seem sure of yourself, so maybe you should check your facts or vision or possibly a combination of both of those things.

Q - How can you claim that Boerishbwoy is the most popular blog in the universe when a simple look into its daily hits clearly reveals that it ranks somewhere below the blog of a thirteen year-old from Iowa whose favourite song is "My Humps"?
We never said that Boerishbwoy was the most popular blog in the universe.

Q- You said, and I quote, "and Boerishbwoy is the most popular blog in the universe."
N-no, uh, well, listen there are soldiers who wake up every morning in Iraq wondering if today is their last day on earth and so you should know, sir, that your question is not only disengenuous but also unpatriotic.

Q - Your answer was disengenuous, wasn't it?
You don't seem sure of yourself, do you?

Q - What colour would a smurf turn if you choked it?
White.

Q - If I write an invisible question will you write an invisible answer?
No.

Q - How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
We brought this question to the big kahuna himself, John den Boer, who stated the following: "If a woodchuck could chuck wood he would probably only be able to chuck woodchips and since woodchucks are notorious for their short attention spans a woodchuck would only be able to chuck a half a shovel-full of woodchips. Unless, of course, the woodchips were blocking the entrance to its sleeping quarters, in which case the woodchuck would either dig a new hole or chuck the approximate equivalent of a five-foot-long two by four. That is, of course, if the woodchuck we are referring to is a gopher as, in some areas, woodchuck is used to denote a woodpecker. If we are, in fact, referring to a woodpecker the amount of wood works out to a much more impressive half a yard."

Q - Stare much?
Mmmm, what?

Q - Can I be your neighbour?
No.

"All the lonely people, where do they all come from?" the old man mused from his perch on the park bench.

"Where the streets have no name," his stooped friend answered glibly from beside him.

"Lonely," he sighed, "I'm so lonely, I have nobody to call my own. I'm so lonely, I'm Mr. Lonely!"

"Well, that's alright . . . that's alright for you," the friend answered sagely.

"I'm so lonesome I could cry," the old man muttered.

"Please don't worry about a thing," his friend assured him, "'cause every little thing is gonna be alright."

"How often people change, no two remain the same, why things don't always turn out as you planned," the old man paused looking at his dry dusty shoes, "These are the things I don't understand . . ."

The friend remained silently in thought and the old man suddenly added, "Yeah, these are the things I don't understand."

The friend finally spoke up, "it's all relative. Even if we don't understand, and that's well understood," he looked at the old men earnestly, "especially when we don't understand - then it's just because. Even if we don't understand then let's all just believe."

"Been dazed and confused for so long," the old man said in bewilderment and pointing his finger at his friend, he declared, "it's not true."

"Miracles can happen, when you believe," the friend offered, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder.

"Nothin' new, nothin' new," the old man sputtered, "y'all ain't saying nothin' new."

"Does my happiness upset you?" the friend asked pointedly, "Why are you best with gloom?"

"Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry," the old man answered, "because the sky is blue . . . aaaaah."

"I see clouds of blue, clouds of white, bright blessed days, warm sacred nights and I think to myself," the friend paused for a moment, "what a wonderful world."

"How can you be sitting there, telling me that you care - that you care," the old man shook his head, "when everytime I look around the people suffer in suffering in everyway, everywhere?"

"In every life we have some trouble, but when you worry you make it double," the friend said assuringly, "don't worry, be happy."

"The whole world is wrong it seems , oh, I guess it's the chains that bind me," the old man intoned darkly, "I can't shake it loose. These chains and things."

"They say freedom, oh, freedom is just another place to hide. Now I'm coming to you with my arms open wide," the friend held out his arms to embrace the old man.

"It's getting dark, too dark to see, I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door." the old man pushed his friend away grimly.

"You've gotta walk and don't look back," the friend declared, "If it's love that you're running from there is no hiding place. Just your problems, no one else's problems you just have to face."

"Sittin' here resting my bones," the old man pondered, "and this loneliness won't leave me alone."

"Everything is everything," the friend shrugged, "what is meant to be, will be. After winter, must come spring. Change it comes eventually."

"I’ve squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles," the old man grumbled, "such are promises."

"Did you exchange a walk on part in the war, for a lead role in a cage?" the friend asked in exasperation.

"But people just don't seem to understand how someone can feel so blue . . . they call me Mr. Pitiful," the old man bit a quivering lip.

"Give me one reason to stay here and I'll turn right back around," the friend stumbled to his feet and turned to leave.

"Because maybe you're gonna be the one who saves me?" the old man offered.

"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps."

It's a Difficult Burden to Carry . . .

Lest We Forget


Canadians are incensed, absolutely incensed that Parliament is petulently refusing to fly the flag at half-mast. Some see this as an effort to ignore or numb the shock of the recent deaths of four Canadian soldiers in Afghanistan. They seem to feel that if the average Canadian is walking past Parliament and the flag is at half-mast they will suddenly come to a realization of the terrible cost of war, fall on their knees and repent of their war-mongering ways. If the flag remains up, the average Canadian will walk past Parliament, assume everything is well with the world and start whistling "God Save the Queen." Canadians from across the country are assuming that Stephen Harper (or Gordon O'Connor, whom Harper judiciously delegated responsibility over the flag flap to) wants Canadians to be completely oblivious to these deaths. Of course, in order for a Canadian to be unaware of these deaths he would have to be an illiterate television-hating hermit. As much as we might romanticize illiterate hermits in our minds, we probably do not care too much about their opinion on the vertical characteristics of the Peace Tower flag anyways.
I understand the need to remember our soldiers. I think it is important to dwell on the lives that are sacrificed in defence of clear or even vague notions of justice. I, however, do not believe that Parliament should lower the flag every time a soldier is killed. Is this a contradiction, that I respect and remember Canada's soldiers and I do not think the flags of Parliament should be lowered for them? No. I agree with many veterans who feel that special gestures towards the few somehow diminishes the sacrifice of the many. I do not think that the death of a soldier today is any more heroic than it was sixty years ago. In fact, I feel that deaths of soldiers should not be merely seen as heroic but as heroic and soberingly tragic. The day for remembering the sacrifice of soldiers is November 11.
Imagine if William Lyon Mackenzie King had lowered the flag each time a soldier was killed during World War II. The flag would be at perpetual half-mast and the national psyche would be in a constant state of mourning. Of course, a certain amount of glumness is understandable during war, but it is also important to imbue the people with a sense of hope. I am not adovcating propaganda or disguising the number of fallen, but I do believe that flying the flag proudly at full mast is a direct national defiance against the often tyrannical and, yes, even evil powers you are fighting. War is a horrible time of sadness but we must grit our teeth and fight on.
Some might argue that the tragic sacrifice of the soldiers is much more important than the death of a tragically obscure Canadian politician. Why do we lower the flag for the one-term M.P. from Kicking-Horse Pass and not Pte. Johnny Canuck killed by a roadside bomb in Kandahar? Surely the sacrifice of the soldier is much more dramatic and heroic than the boring death of a dry politician, right? Maybe, but I am inclined to side with tradition. I think it is important to remember the lives of staid politicians who dedicated their lives to the political life of the country. Politicians do not have a day where everyone remembers their deaths and this is probably a good thing, as many cynical Canadians would probably make it into a party.
November 11 is the time to remember the fallen soldiers and the victims of war. I believe that the government made the right decision by respecting the legacy of past Canadian war-dead and not trumpeting the deaths of recent ones.

How many CD's do you own?
Approximately 150 including my wife's, and then about thirty burnt cd's.

What's the latest CD that you bought?
Kardinal Offishall's latest (a mild disappointment)

What's the latest piece of music that you have listened to?
Ain't Too Proud to Beg - Ben Harper diggin' on the Temptations.

Name five CD's that have made a lasting impression on you:
1) Bob Marley - Survival
2) Buju Banton - Til Shiloh
3) U2 - Joshua Tree
4) The Roots - Do You Want More!!??!!??
5) Ben Harper - Diamonds on the Inside

The Monument

Twisted Metal
bent double
distorted
contorted
glinting dully in its fra
ctu-
red,
battered and shattered
state of decrepit portions and
cont-
-ortions.
Sharp angles
rise in disconc
ertin
g
patterns of violence.

Silence

wafts uneasily from a
bent and spent
metallic jungle of
steel beams and
iron dreams.
Silver and rust
are covered in dust
as crumpled pillars embrace
in impossible directions of
affection
and warped pipes
and strangulated rods,
perforated beams
and mutilated bars
are riddled with
ugly dents and disturbing
scars
and bent
in innumerable ways
in an endless maze
of horrific agony
and confusion
of abrasions
fractures
and sha
tter
ing
contusions.

No, this noble monument
will not be described any more
for this, my friend,
this is the glory of war.

John den Boer, 2002.

Update:

- Todd and Kimberley came to my house a while back. They just wanted you to know that.

- I went to watch V for Vendetta with Phil, but they wouldn't accept my cheerios movie pass because it was a Friday.

- There is no hidden message in this blog entry.



- Groen Van Prinsterer should watch V for Vendetta.

- My infamous fingernail is still in its last throes. Now the thumbnail is succumbing to something for some reason. It must be a fungus. I feel leprous.

- C-plus Orange Burst really doesn't deliver on its promise. It tasted exactly like regular c-plus. I received absolutely no so-called "burst."

- Do you know what's ironic? A faith healer with glasses, that's what.

- I would like to add The Specials cover of Toots and the Maytals' "Pressure Drop" to my list of favourite covers if that's alright.

- I don't need to ask because this is my blog and if you don't like it you can read someone else's.

- Please stay.

- I was taught a word by one of my students. "Scrofulous" which is an adjective desribing something with scrofula (a type of tuberculosis where the neck swells up) or describing someone or something that is morally degenerate.

- In Taiwan it is the ninety-fifth year of the Republic of China.

- I have decided to correct the time on my blog.

- We miss you and love you, Linda.

- Benny Hinn is scrofulous, and he doesn't have tuberculosis.

- I have been married for almost nine months.

- Bob Marley.

- I had to mention him somehow.

- Why don't you trust me? I told you there was no hidden message and you looked anyhow. What's wrong with you?

- I hate unexpected problems with no immediately apparent solution.

- Big gulps, huh? Well, see ya later.

CSI Miami Template

- Shot of beachfront hotels from above.
- Show people doing something of slight moral reprehensibility which might just lead to a murder but actually causes them to stumble upon a corpse.
- Show CSI members examining the body, have them find something exotic or out of place.
- Show Horatio arriving and then allow a CSI member to explain something about the body.
- Zoom in on Horatio's face, allow him to put on his sunglasses and do a cute little reversal of whatever they said. For example, if the CSI member says, "she has a rock in her hand" then Horatio can say, in his halting way, "and now. death. has her. in its. hand." Or, if the distraught friend of the deceased says something like, "we were just having fun" Horatio can put on his sunglasses and say, "well, death. decided. to. have . . . her."
- After this little witticism, play whichever Who song they play at the beginning of CSI Miami and roll the opening credits.
- Begin side plot involving some kind of slightly confusing murder case.
- Allow copious shots of the inexplicable Hummers that these government workers drive.
- Ensure that there is an extended laboratory scene replete with techno music which actually makes lab work seem cool.
- Include many opportunities for Horatio to put on and take off his sunglasses while saying things very haltingly.
- Reveal some personal drama that one of the staff members is going through and show their angst.
- Try to show a shot of the beach or at least get a scene with an alligator in the show.
- There are no fat people, people over thirty-two, or ugly children at the beach in Miami, make sure these undesirables don't appear on camera.
- Whoever committed the murder acts like a real snarky jerk to the CSI staff.
- Maybe include something of CSI Miami's meta-narrative about the psychopath who has an axe to grind with Horatio and the girl he's protecting, although it is not strictly necessary.
- Only one of these rules may be broken per episode.

The Prophet

The man who called himself Moses
led his people past the promised land
and the prophet cried, "come,
eat manna from my hand!"
and he offered them dirt
although they needed bread
and he made them believe
that they were well-fed
Moses put up his arms and said
"I am. Come follow me,"
and the people followed
to the dark-shadowed valley
When people were sick
Moses left them on the path
"the righteous are never ill
it's a sign of God's wrath."
Moses sought more people
for his exclusive clan
and so he gathered the young
for they trusted this man
Moses raised up his staff
and struck the rock with rage
and cried out in a loud voice
"I am. I free you from your cage!"
Moses was pleased with the people
for they truly sought the Lord
and Moses gathered his tithe
and placed it with his hoard
He split father against son
and mother against daughter
and he declared, "You are
the clay, I am the potter."
Then Korah, Dathan, and Abiram
raised their voices and rebelled
and Moses, righteous Moses
had those men expelled
Anger stirred against him
for his ways were unjust
but Moses did not fear
his heart had turned to dust
The man who called himself Moses
sits upon a corroded throne
but he is in the path
of a rolling stone.

John's Favourite Covers

I've Got Dreams to Remember - Toots and the Maytals covering Otis Redding's classic.
Respect - Aretha Franklin steals Otis Redding's song and no one remembers who sang it first.
No Woman No Cry - The Fugees cover Bob Marley and then they do a version with Stephen Marley that is simply awesome.
Killing Me Softly - Lauryn Hill covers Roberta Flack.
Imagine - A Perfect Circle covers John Lennon's anthem for the obtusely idealistic and the result is kind of cool.
Wonderwall - Ryan Adams does a superb cover of the Oasis hit.
Proud Mary - Ike and Tina Turner redoing CCR.
Bridge Over Troubled Water - Aretha Franklin covers Simon and Garfunkel.
Wish You Were Here - Wyclef covers Pink Floyd.
High Tide or Low Tide - Jack Johnson and Ben Harper cover Bob Marley.
Strawberry Fields Forever - Ben Harper coversthe Beatles.
Police and Thieves - The Clash covers the Junior Murvin/Lee Perry classic.
Light My Fire - Aretha's sister, Erma, redoes the Doors.
Subterranean Homesick Blues - Sizzla Kalonji covers Bob Dylan.
Amazing Grace - Not really a cover, right? Wrong, because the Blind Boys of Alabama sing it to the tune of "House of the Rising Sun."
Hotel California - The Gypsy Kings cover the Eagles.
One Love/ People Get Ready - Bob Marley remakes Curtis Mayfield.
Ain't Too Proud to Beg - Ben Harper covers the Temptations.
Fortunate Son - Wyclef Jean dares to cover CCR.
Untold Stories - Sinead O'Connor, yes Sinead, covers Buju Banton and does a surprisingly good job.
Lonely People - Talib Kweli remixes the Beatles' Eleanor Rigby and it's nice. The album version is not nearly as good.
Hurt - Johnny Cash covers NIN and turns a song about drugs and self-destruction into a tribute to his wife without changing the words.
99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger outdoes Nena.
Bad Fish/ Boss DJ - Jack Johnson reinterprets Sublime.
Mama Africa - Buju Banton covers Peter Tosh.
Mrs. Robinson - Okay, they're corny, but the Lemonheads do a neat cover of Simon and Garfunkel.
I Shot the Sheriff - Eric Clapton covers Bob Marley.
Gin and Juice - This is more of a joke because I don't like either version, but a honky version of Snoop Dogg's Gin and Juice by the Gourds is funny to me.