Operation Double Double

war eh

Let no one say that Canada does not know how to treat the fine men and women keeping the peace in Afghanistan…well, trying anyway, in between dodging “friendly” fire, “friendly” bombs, and not-so-friendly traffic accidents. At least now they’ll have something to keep them awake on patrol. At last, a general makes himself useful!!!!!

Troops to get java fix, Timbits
Tim Hortons to open in Kandahar

Canadian soldiers in Afghanistan are getting their wish — Tim Hortons will be serving double-doubles and doughnuts soon enough.

After weeks of lobbying by the military, the chain agreed to set up a coffee shop to serve soldiers in Kandahar, said Ron Joyce, who co-founded the famous chain in Hamilton in 1964 with NHL player Tim Horton. The store is expected to be housed inside a trailer with takeout windows, and deliveries will be made to the Canadian base in Kandahar by military transport. Joyce said Tim Hortons executives told him about the move last week, when he made inquiries after getting a call from Canada’s top soldier Gen. Rick Hillier about the idea.

Now, Tim Hortons is actually owned by the American fast food juggernaut Wendy’s, she of the square burgers and square founder, but we’re sure the two of them will be making beautiful Timbits together.

Travel Warning: Canadian Version

Canadians travel safely

Nukes and spooks

Church InteriorOh, those wacky Eastern Europeans! Check out this website, which is a photofantasm of kaliedoscopic perversion and apocalyptic horror.

Okay, it’s an album of church shots. I’ve been reading more HP Lovecraft, okay? No wonder he sent all his nutty villains to stay with The Baron in the mountains of Hungary: in that context, even Charles Dexter Ward would seem wholesome. Hmmm, wonder if he has a blog? Guy Fawkes does, and Ward seems the type. In any case, I’m ashamed to say the 3-D images on Page Two of the photosite defeat me; I must need the special glasses or something.

I’ve been engaged in a lively discussion of UK nuclear policy over on BoJo’s Blog and the point I keep coming back to is the durability and toxicity of the waste. I’d be in favour of nukes, aggressively so, if only we could figure out how to design nuclear reactors which produced only stable, harmless waste or zero waste, as is now the standard in, ferinstance, many pulp mills. So I am in favour of nuclear research, very much so, since without it we’ll be stuck rebuilding an old 60’s designed something that will eventually produce enough waste to poison the entire planet; unfortunately, the waste products will last longer than any language or civilization. Indeed, they will last longer than written language has been in existence. So, how to deal with it, and how to warn people away from it?

You don’t recognize any of these startling cultural icons from the distant past; you don’t know who made them, or what they symbolize. Hell, you don’t even know that they’re cultural icons, but the whole scene briefly scares the bejesus out of you. Then, like Howard Carter stumbling on the tomb of Tutankhamen, you experience a serious rush of exhilaration, aggravated by a serious case of the heebie-jeebies, as you realize that you’ve just chanced on a history-making breakthrough, a discovery of earthshaking significance. So, which do you do? 1) Immediately pack up the entire expedition and evacuate the area never to return? 2) Waste no time in commencing a major archaeological dig and cementing your place in history?

Amazingly enough, the folks over at the U.S. Department of Energy are banking on curious humans (or whomever) from future millennia to go for Door No. 1. 

Entry to church crypt 

Right. Just a little nervous-making. Not to mention the rising oceans may eventually reach the buried waste and suddenly turn the seas into aquatic X-Men jamborees. Not to mention that the Russians and the Chinese are responsible for a significant proportion of the world’s nuclear waste disposal, and we all know how very methodical and efficient the Russians and the Chinese are, how impeccable the quality of their work and attention to detail, and of course how stable their own civilizations at the current time. We can all sleep a little easier…if we have enough whisky.

The Czech Republic. It’s a blog about the Czech Republic. And recycling. And nuclear waste. And HP Lovecraft because, at bottom, isn’t everything about HP Lovecraft? He’s the Socrates of the 20th Century, with August Derleth as his Plato, which only goes to show you how very far we’ve come.

Sometimes, I think the most merciful thing in the world is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid isle of ignorance amidst black seas of chaos, and it is not meant that we voyage far. HP Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu

The Czechs had something. They had, back in 1280, a jar full of dirt from the Holy Land. And they spread it around the graveyard of a particular church, wanting to extra-holify their already-technically-holy ground. And holy cadavers, Batman, it was a huge hit! Bodies came from all over Europe to be buried there, which musta made quite a fragrant convoy back in the days before aircon; or did the kids just ask Grandma one day, “So, how’re you feeling, Gran?” and if she said anything other than, “Strong enough to wrestle a bear in my underwear” they packed her off to Sedlec whether she felt like a short Czech sortie or not. Put her on the wagon train with “Please bury at Sedlec when dead” around her neck in Latin or something? Nice. That’s planning for the future.

Well, all these dead people were great for PR, but kinda rough on the graveyard. After all, even stacking them six deep (which is hard when they’re only buried six feet down) you have only so much room in a graveyard, and they obviously couldn’t expand it without going all the way back to the Holy Land for more Extra-Holy Dirt, so they said screwit and became creative with the waste.

Thusly:

By 1318, more than 30,000 bodies were buried there and by 1511, it had become necessary to remove the older bones to make place for the new ones. These later became the material for the macabre creations. In 1870 a local woodcarver was hired by the Duke of Shwartzenberg to decorate the inside of the church with the human remains (approximately 40,000 sets of bones).

Now, forgive me, but it’s been quite some time since I was a Monstranceregular at church, and I am no longer familiar with the terminolgy. Which reminds me to do that blog entry comparing M.R. James to Gene Roddenberry; all I remember is the line, “Ah, the narthex. That’s where they keep the dilithium crystals.” Anyway, I do not know, exactly, what a monstrance is, but I do know if I had to make one up it would look something like this one, which is actually labelled “Monstrance,” and indeed, what person, no matter how categorically narrow-minded, could argue that it is, indeed, a monstrance? Is it perhaps from the same root as “remonstrance” and does it perhaps mean the Dark Age Croatian equivalent of “Kids, don’t try this at home”? Perhaps they should ship it to Utah?

In any case, unless we find a way to make glow-in-the-dark art out of depleted Uranium and other by-products of nuclear fission, or we find a practical use for tumours once and for all (staffing the White House doesn’t count), we had better bring this level of creativity to the disposal of the waste. Despite the levels of fossil fuel-based pollutants in the air, I’m not holding my breath.

Kids, don’t try this at home.

Terrrorist Alert Level: Joke. FORWARDED Joke.

I’ve seen it a billion times. You’ve probably seen it a billion times. If you haven’t, I encourage you to ask yourself if you have enough friends and if anyone truly loves you; the forwarded email joke is the red rosebud of our time. Like not receiving the iloveyou virus, being left off the fwd list of the latest e-fwd is the cyberquivalent of being the wallflower at the highschool dance, propping up the concrete blocks of the gym, making small talk with the history teacher and bitterly regretting letting your mother talk you out of the belly shirt and into the floral buttondown.

So now, without further ado, we present, all the way from Slovenia, the International Terrorist Alert Level Chart. Note, if you will, the special bonus definitions at bottom; this is how Mercator Projectionyou can tell it’s really from Slovenia. That and the addition of America; when the list was first circulated, that was one country left off, since not only did the list originate there, but also they have a perfectly good joke terrorist alert list which is issued every day from the White House. Woz is in the details.

International Response to Terrorism

As many are aware, the French government recently announced a raise in its terror alert level from “Run” to “Hide”. The normal level is “General Arrogance”, and the only two higher levels in France are “Surrender” and “Collaborate”. The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France’s white flag factory, effectively paralysing the country’s military capability.

It’s not only the French who are on a heightened level of alert. Italy has increased the alert level from “Shout Loudly and Excitedly” to “Elaborate Military Posturing”. Two more levels remain: “Ineffective Combat Operations” and “Change Sides”.

The Germans also increased their alert state from “Disdain” to “Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs”. They have two higher levels: “Invade a Neighbour” and “Lose”.

Seeing this reaction in continental Europe, the Americans have gone from “Isolationism” to “Find Another Oil-rich Nation for Regime Change”. Their remaining higher alert states are “Attack Random Countries (Ideally Those without Any Credible Military)” and “Beg the British for Help”.

The British are also feeling the pinch in relation to recent bombings and have raised their security level from “Miffed” to “Peeved”. Soon though, security levels may be raised yet again to “Irritated” or even “A Bit Cross”. Londoners have not been “A Bit Cross” since the Blitz in 1940, when tea suppplies all but ran out. Terrorists have been recategorized from “Tiresome” to “Bloody Nuisance”. The last time the British issued a “Bloody Nuisance” warning level was during the Great Fire of 1666.

Miff – offend

Peeve – irritate

Proof Positive!

So, I haven’t got a passport. So why don’t I have a passport? Because:

I was born in France, to Canadian parents (13th generation, I am; we go back before the founding of the country, actually, and my ancestors looted and burned the White House, which Macarnie says is good for a drink on him, should I ever get over to the UK, which is doubtful because, as I remind you, I do not have a passport) on a Canadian airforce base, and brought to Canada at the age of 11 months. See? Here I am, entering the country. From left: raincoaster, Mother, Polly, Random Canadian Airforce Guy whom we shall call Sam Browne.

raincoaster enters the country

(Oh yeah, FYI that pic was taken in 1985. Mom was totally New Wave.)

Therein lies the problem. It’s a bit like the-kneebone’s-connected-to-the-shinbone…

I received a Certificate of Foreign Birth, which was what they gave you when you were a Canadian born abroad, obviously. At some point in my travels the card was lost, although Ottawa retains the number and all relevant information. Because I was not born in Canada, I never received a Canadian birth certificate, although when I was sixteen I did get a Social Insurance Number and card; the card was also lost, no doubt thrown out with the wallet when I moved one time and tried to clean up. I should never do that. Clean up. I break things, I lose things, it’s horrible. I should just listen to Quentin Crisp; he says that after the third year the dust never gets any worse, so why bother?

Oh yeah, in the late seventies, apparently, Ottawa decided to discontinue Certificates of Foreign Birth and require all possessors thereof to apply for a newfangled document, Not Quite the Certificate of Foreign Birth or something I think it was called. Naturally, they did not notify us, and naturally after six months they decided to charge money for this newfangled card.

It all makes so much sense. In another universe.

So, right now Ottawa knows who I am, where I was born, and that I am a Canadian citizen. But it will not give me, the person to whom the documents relate, documentation for this. Meanwhile, since I’ve been sick and not working, the government’s left hand is asking for this documentation, and threatening to cut me off unless I provide it. The government’s right hand is happy to provide it, at a cost of ninety dollars. Which, of course, I do not have because I am sick and not generally working and that would represent twenty percent of my monthly income, which income is threatened because I do not have the documentation.

I may distinguish this generation of my family by becoming the first to loot and burn the Peace Tower. I mean, honestly, people. The government, and particularly Libby Davies, my MP, have always been very helpful at assisting refugees from foreign countries in getting their documentation straight, even if they fled in possession of nothing more than a few exotic germs. I contacted Ms. Davies’ office and was informed there was nothing she could do for me, as I am not actually a refugee. “I am considering filing a claim,” I told them.

“From what country?” they asked, not unreasonably.

“From Canada.”