As an Apple fan, I can’t help but feel a warm glow in watching other Apple fans get excited over a major new product release. Whatever you might think of Apple, I find their products to be sleek, elegant and, most importantly cool. So, when the buzz started to rise around a possible new tablet computer, I paid attention. I’m typing this here, now, while Erin watches President Obama’s State of the Union address. As inspiring as Obama is (and he sounded to be in fine form), I bet you can guess which video I’d rather be watching.

The initial response to the new tablet computer, the iPad, seems to be positive, and I have to say that it has won me over. Yes, it’s basically an iPod Touch on steroids, but you can watch videos, do word processing, play games, write e-mails and browse the webs using a very intuitive touch-screen interface. It’s incredibly light (1.5 pounds) and should function very well as a eBook reader. It’s also extremely reasonably priced — starting at $499 US — with decent deals for always-on Internet access, regardless of where you stand on this continent.

The iPad is all of these things and more. And I won’t be buying one.

Some people have been wondering if the product will really live up to its hype. Warren Kinsella asks, “do Jobs’ executives have to exude that shiny-eyed, Moonie-like fanaticism all the time?”. I replied “My sense was that the Apple executives hyped this up more than usual because it’s quite a different device and it will take some selling to get people to adopt it. It’s halfway between an iPod touch and a flat-out computer, but which is it? Will it satisfy both customers, or neither? That’s what Apple has to overcome… …They were similarly effusive about the iPhone, but that device was easier to sell, not only because it was so elegant, but it was also something that customers easily understood.”

But that’s the thing: is the iPad an iPhone? Is it a Macbook? Is it both? Or is it neither? And will I, who owns and loves a Macbook, really benefit from having this machine, or will it be one more gadget that I have to fumble?

Apple’s iPad looks to be an elegant machine, and I look forward to playing with one when they appear at the nearest Apple store. But I think I might just get an iPhone. This is because I need a phone, and it would be nice if that phone was designed by Apple and has Apple’s functionality. The iPad’s primary function is as an always-on web browser, and I don’t need that on the go. As a writer, when I am on the go, I need a proper keyboard, such as what the Macbook delivers. The iPad is many things, but it’s designed for applications which don’t require extensive use of a keyboard. Which means, it’s not designed with writers in mind.

Once you make the distinction between an iPad with no keyboard and a Macbook with a keyboard, you start to think about all of the things the iPad can do that a Macbook can already do. Watch videos? Already possible. Check e-mail and keep a calendar? Also possible. Game? Well, while some are specially designed for the iPad, the Macbook is no stranger to games either. Besides, I don’t base my computer purchasing decisions on what games I can play. I don’t need another device in my life, which is why the iPhone has an allure to me that the iPad does not. The iPhone may end up replacing my cellphone and iPod, freeing up pocket space. The iPad does not.

But then, Apple didn’t really need to design with me in mind. They already had me with the Macbook. The iPad promises to be an amazing device for someone who is looking to do e-mail and web browsing on the road, who is interested in not lugging a lot of weight. They will appeal to people who want to play games or watch videos at home, and who probably only hunt-and-peck on the keyboard, or hate typing altogether. Hmm… now there’s a market that can be tapped.

And by pricing the iPad at under $500, Apple has taken aim at the Netbook market which are, as Apple executives noted, little more than cheap laptops. You have to appreciate the bold move that Apple is making here, since the people who purchase these Netbooks might be individuals who don’t particularly like laptops, but who have, until now, assumed that browsing the Internet and reading e-mail required a keyboard.

In this respect, I can see the iPad device as being revolutionary. But it will be a revolution that I’ll be watching on the sidelines. While typing on my Macbook.

It should be noted that the British comedian Peter Serafinowicz, known for his brutally funny parodies of Apple’s ads, produced one a few months ago which uncannily guessed the name of the new tablet and, ironically, its price. The video follows:

Hat tip to Boing, Boing.

Image via Wikipedia

Given that the anger of the 25,000 or so Canadians who marched on the streets this Saturday against Stephen Harper’s prorogation of parliament is pretty clearly focused on one man and one party (although I note that one speaker at the K-W rally criticized the Conservatives and Liberals equally for their past undemocratic actions), it’s understandable that supporters of that man and that party would seek to downplay and dismiss said anger. And given the nature of our political culture both here in Canada and in the United States (where we import a fair amount of our political awareness, it seems), it’s perhaps not surprising that downplaying and dismissing said anger involves downplaying and dismissing the individuals who express that anger.

Ever since the storm of protest was unleashed online, Conservative supporters have continually moved the yardsticks in their measurement of whether those Canadians who were against proroguing parliament mattered or not. When the Facebook group was 20,000 strong, they yawned and said ‘wake me when they got the 127,000 we got to speak out against last year’s coalition’. When the 127,000 number was passed, they yawned and said, ‘wake me up when you get more than 10,000 out to your rallies’. When the Facebook group stood at over 200,000, and 25,000 people marched across the country, they snarled and blamed the media and ‘the elites’.

And they also set about questioning the character of those who attended these rallies. Were these individuals actual individuals, or were they political partisans marching at the order of their political masters (As if there weren’t Conservative Party supporters and volunteers behind the crowds and the organizers of the anti-coalition rallies that took place last year)? Are these people ordinary Canadians whose opinions we supposedly value? Are these people even sane?

The blogger Christian Conservative took up this meme this past weekend, when he attended the Kitchener-Waterloo rally with the apparent intent of finding political partisans and isolated extreme voices and using them to discredit the whole. You can see some of the pictures here and, of course, he starts up with the idiot who walked around with the “Stephen Hitler” sign.

I attended that same rally, and I can say that Christian Conservative cherry-picked his photos to paint a picture of the gathering that wasn’t wholly true. Yes, we had that idiot walking with that “Stephen Hitler” sign, but he was one man in an estimated crowd of 500, and he certainly did not have the support of the whole crowd. Further, Christian Conservative could find only one other sign that even mentioned fascism. He also skipped the signs of those individuals I snapped who were offering free perogies and focused on signs held up by a group of union members, promoting their association, not to mention signs which belonged to a local campaign group of the New Democratic Party. He even labelled an individual as a partisan Green simply because of the logo she happened to be wearing on her touque. In total, he focused on about two dozen people, at most 5% of the crowd, jumped to conclusions on some of them and used that not-exactly-random sample to impugn the aspirations of the rest of the crowd. Including me. Even though I’m not a union member, or a member of any political party.

But that seems to be the modus operandi, here: to try to diminish what you don’t agree with. If you are a Conservative who attended a political rally in support of your party last year, you are a highly principled individual standing up for what you believe in, but if you are a Liberal, New Democrat or Green Party supporter who attended an anti-prorogation rally this year, you are a mental deviant whose opinions can either be safely ignored, or used as evidence to commit you to an insane asylum.

Never mind that, if all 25,000 Canadians who marched Saturday actually took out memberships in the Conservative Party, they could wreck havoc at the party’s next policy convention. If that many Canadians were motivated enough to channel their support to any one party (in fundraising, if nothing else), that party would receive a considerable boost, and maybe then Conservative supporters would take notice of their opinions.

But there’s a wider issue I want to address here: the suggestion that partisan individuals suddenly can’t attend political rallies without that rally being labelled partisan. And though I find it odd to discuss this as the founder of the Blogging Alliance of Non-Partisan Canadians, maybe there is a related element here, since people seem as likely to misunderstand the word ‘partisan’ as they are to misunderstand the phrase ‘non-partisan’.

Four years ago, on one of my more controversial political posts, I happened to mention that I was likely to vote Green in the subsequent election. This provoked a sharp response from an anonymous commentator:

You write: “I expect to be voting Green this time around … unless the NDP mount another strong challenge.”

Aren’t you a member of the non-partisan alliance? You’re a (explitive) liar and should be exposed as one. Non-partisan? KISS MY (explitive) (explitive) !

(link)

I often think about this comment not just because of the hostility behind it, but because I can’t help but wonder what this anonymous individual would have me do for me to maintain my non-partisan credentials. Am I not to declare for whom I vote, ever? Am I not to vote, ever? Am I indeed barred from expressing any political opinion whatsoever that happens to align with that of another political party? Am I forever barred from wearing a political insignia somewhere about my person?

This is, of course, silly. Just because I am non-partisan doesn’t mean that I am a-political. I have as much right as the next individual to examine the pros and cons of any issue, to render my judgment and defend it publicly. And just as expressing a political opinion or preference doesn’t automatically align me with any political party, neither should support of or membership in any political party automatically define the opinions I have as suspect.

But implicit in Christian Conservative’s post is the implication that by belonging to certain groups, your opinion is suspect. Consider this comment:

“On top of the local parties and union support, you have the two Universities, Waterloo and Laurier, just a couple blocks up the road. Kinda makes it easy to boost your numbers when they’re around.”

(link)

So, if you belong to a union and you show up at a protest showing said membership, your opinion has less value in his eyes. If you are a student of a local university, suddenly your opinion less valuable than that of Canadians older than you. It must be awfully convenient whenever Christian Conservative encounters a rally where unions or students comprise part of the rally body, because now he doesn’t have to engage in the arguments behind the rally’s position. “You’re just a union supporter, or you are just a university student, so your opinion doesn’t count, and I don’t have to expend the intellectual energy to counter your arguments.”

But Christian Conservative is not alone, and the example he sets certainly isn’t limited to his side of the political spectrum. The commentators of the Liberal-leaning blog Far and Wide also noted the NDP signs in the Kitchener-Waterloo rally and also criticized the NDP leadership for supposedly trying to take over the movement. For them, just showing up and offering your literature to individuals who might be sympathetic to your campaign is somehow wrong. The blogger Dammit Janet is similarly on the lookout for signs that Michael Ignatieff and the office of the Leader of the Opposition is trying to co-opt the grassroots movement, and has focused heavily on questions Ignatieff answered at a town hall reaching out to people concerned about prorogation.

It’s one thing if individuals working from within the Office of the Leader of the Opposition were to try to worm their way into leadership positions of the grassroots organizations behind Canadians Against Proroguing Parliament. If senior Liberals try to gain control of the political apparatus of CAPP and systematically try to shut those of other political persuasions out, then we would certainly have room to criticize. But if you are a partisan individual and you have a large group of concerned and politically active Canadians seeking political change — change similar to the change you wish to bring about — you would be a fool not to try to reach out to those people and show how your ideas may be ideas that these individuals can support. It’s one thing if the grassroots leadership of CAPP starts marching in lock-step with the political leadership of only the New Democratic Party or the Liberals, but if you think that the volunteers working long hours trying to bring these rallies about haven’t voted Liberal, New Democrat, Green or even Conservative; if you think that there aren’t individuals in this group who have worked on political campaigns before, you’re dreaming in Technicolor.

Many political partisans become partisans because they are politically active and aware. They want change to happen, and rightly or wrongly, they’ve decided that a particular political party is the best agent for that change. So, what are they supposed to do when they encounter a grassroots movement whose agenda matches their own on certain issues? Are they now supposed to stay away from those very issues they care strongly about in order to spare the grassroots movement of their partisan taint?

Just as there is a misunderstanding around what it means to be non-partisan, there is a similar misunderstanding about what it means to be partisan. The word is overused as an epithet. There are members of the Blogging Tories who are members of the Blogging Alliance of Non-Partisan Canadians. True, they are grandfathered in, but it’s still a sign that there are individuals out there who are conservative in leaning, and Conservative in membership, who are still able to think for themselves when it comes to defending Tory policy. These individuals can (and do) criticize their own party when they think the party leadership has made a mistake, but on balance they remain Conservative and vote Conservative as being the best choice available to them, in their opinion. Similarly, I’m sure that Dan Arnold, a.k.a. Calgary Grit, believes himself to be a Liberal partisan. He has devoted considerable time and energy towards his party and he is still an ardent supporter, but he is not afraid to say when he thinks his party is in the wrong. When he defends the actions of his party, he’s doing it because he believes in it, not because his brand told him to.

Without question, these individuals are capable of participating in political activism in such a way that comes from their hearts and their brains rather than the braintrust of the party leadership. Their participation would be a boon to any grassroots action they choose to associate with. And let’s not forget that if Liberal, New Democrat and Green partisans can set aside their differences to work together on something, that by definition creates something that rises beyond simple partisanship.

I am not immune in using the ‘partisan’ epithet (I’ve even used it recently), but I must admit that we too often make the implication that individuals can’t construct a rational argument to defend the political choice they’ve made simply because of the brand they wear on their sleeve. This may or may not be true, but the move is still an act of intellectual laziness — an attempt to absolve ourselves of actually arguing against the positions the ‘partisan’ supports — unless we show our work. If you want to show that an partisan individual is being hypocritical, going against a political opinion he or she has held in the past all because the opinion he or she now holds is in line with the party he supports, by all means, go ahead and say so, but show your work.

It should come as no surprise to find unions and other political action groups helping organize various rallies on various issues across the country. Their very presence defines grassroots activity, since what you have here are individuals who care very strongly in the issues they believe in, working together to try and bring about the change they want. And this cuts in all ways. I’ve not been very sympathetic to the term ‘astroturfing’ to describe the well-funded and well-organized activities of Republican supporters in making the political change they want. You could perhaps criticize some of the supporters for not really knowing the issues they’re campaigning for, but you could probably say that of any number of people taken from a random sample of any political action from any part of the political spectrum in any democracy. I do not believe that it is possible to drag people any place they really don’t want to go, and in this democratic setting, I have to respect their right to an opinion.

The people who marched throughout this country this past Saturday might or might not have been environmentalists, union members, university students, Liberal voters, New Democratic party members, Green Party volunteers, or whathaveyou. It doesn’t matter. The point is, they’re Canadian, and on Saturday they stood on the streets united under the opinion that the Prime Minister was wrong to prorogue parliament for the second time in two years. Rather than dismiss these individuals on the basis of their associations, would you care to construct a rational rebuttal to their argument?

I’ll wait right here.

Well, I’d call that a successful outing.

The Kitchener-Waterloo chapter of Canadians Against the Prorogation of Parliament organized a rally protesting Stephen Harper’s move to prorogue parliament. It started as scheduled today at 11 a.m. at the newly-minted Waterloo Public Square at the corner of King Street and Willis Way, and continued for two hours. I arrived with Vivian and Nora around noon, and found the public space comfortably full. Estimates I’ve heard put total attendance around 300, which isn’t bad in my opinion. Certainly, it was a challenge to park about a block away from the event, and there was a lot of foot traffic in the sidewalks around the venue.

Upon entering the square, I came upon the three individuals above who were passing out some really fine free perogies. Speakers spoke, and people clapped. Protesters respected earlier requests to stay off the ice rink — unless you had skates. Vivian and Nora had a lot of smiles to share, and received many smiles in return. There was also a good mixture of individuals and philosophies out there; there were a lot of university students, but also older people. One speaker was equally hard on the Liberals and the Conservatives for the moves made in making parliament less responsive to the Canadian public. He drew a fair amount of applause. There was one individual who carried around a sign labelled “Stephen Hitler” with the picture to match. He was considerably less appreciated, by myself and others, but he was certainly not indicative of the mood of the crowd.

No, the mood of the event was quite positive and fun. Music played, people chatted, and perogies were served. I must confess that Vivian seemed a little bored by the whole thing, but her mood picked up after we retired to a toy store across the street.

As I said to Vivian, we Canadians are lucky that we can attend events like this, without fear of official persecution. More importantly, it’s because Canadians have attended events like this in the past that this is so. The protests going on across this country, bringing out thousands of Canadians, may or may not bring change to the parliament in the short term. More important, however, is the contribution these protesters have made to the long term health of our democracy. As I’ve said before, the right to speak and the right to speak loudly, in a public space, is a democratic muscle that needs to be exercised regularly in order to prevent atrophy. Today was a healthy exercise.

More Pictures

	A view from the entrance to Waterloo Towne Square, showing the anti-prorogation turnout at Waterloo Public Square.
	Another view of the protest; this one from closer to Willis Way.
	The day of action seemed to bring out other protesters as well, including this group of twenty or so who I think were protesting abortion. Not a bad thing, as I said. Thank God we live in a country where people are able to speak whatever it is that’s on their mind.

Later, Vivian told her mother, “That was great! Now I can’t wait to vote!” If that isn’t the coolest thing, I don’t know what is.

P.S. I was about to comment on the spelling mistake in the photograph at the top of this post. After we’d been warned about the need to spell correctly, I was going to say, “c’mon! How much harder is it to spell proroguation than ‘carbon’. However, when I wrote that, my computer’s internal spell-checker flashed up a warning. Turns out I was the one who misspelled the word in my title (now corrected). These guys above cared enough to look it up before they wrote it down. Heh!

(Update: 2:54 p.m.): Greg Bester’s take on this protest suggests full attendance at this event might be higher than 300. Organizers made 300 postcards available for attendees to sign. These cards are to be mailed to Stephen Harper to register our displeasure directly. By the time Greg showed up, all postcards had been signed.

The photo above is entitled Gantries and is by Young Yun. It is used in accordance with his Creative Commons license.

Icarus Down Scorecard:
Word Count: 34,830
Increase Since Last Report: 23,629 (Nov 15)

The story of Icarus Down seems to be coming together. The structure is in place up to, but not including, the climax, and it’s now a matter of choosing which scenes appeal to me most at the moment, and adding in the details. The story may or not have the advantage of the fact that it is almost two books. There is a major turning point in this story which sends Simon out of Iapyx and onto the forest floor, and I find myself jumping between the two sections.

In the past, I’ve found that it helps to have two books on the go, so that when creative inspiration falters on one, I can channel my energies on the other. This helps limit the frustration of writer’s block. The first drafts of Fathom Five and The Young City were written at roughly the same time and were finished within a year of each other. The Night Girl was written on its own, and as a result there was a two year period where the story simply languished (although, to be fair, at the time I was working on getting The Unwritten Girl and Fathom Five published, so there was some revision work involved). Most recently, I’ve swapped between revisions of The Night Girl and The Dream King’s Daughter.

So, in the Zombies versus Ornithopters fight, I seem to be well ahead of :Erin:’s Sorrow’s Knot. The iPhone may be mine! But it’s probably best not to count one’s chickens before they hatch.

On a related topic, you may remember my mentioning before that, I write my stories, I gather “soundtrack albums” that I play almost constantly while I write the stories in question (in the car while I drive, or on my earphones while I actually sit down and write). Having now written six stories, I can say that each soundtrack album is distinct. Some are only played because the songs within match the tone of the story in my head (such as the case with The Unwritten Girl), while others have vast stretches of music which I can see playing as incidental music for key scenes that I picture in my head as if they were on film, such as Fathom Five and The Dream King’s Daughter. The Young City is the only story of mine which doesn’t really have such an album.

Icarus Down has a soundtrack album too, and the musician who is behind most of those tracks is an artist named Zoe Keating (thanks again to :Cameron: for putting me onto her). She’s interesting because she plays the cello, and then loops her tracks while she is playing and plays overtop them, so that the effect is like sixteen cellos playing at once, each going off in different themes which contribute to the whole. What’s especially interesting is that she’s able to do this on stage, using nothing but her cello, a Macbook Pro, and a customized console of foot pedals to activate various scripts on her machine.

In my opinion, her music — sort of a fusion between classical and avant garde techno — captures the atmosphere I’m going for in Icarus Down… Or perhaps it’s the case that her music has helped developed the atmosphere I’m going for, putting images into my head that I’ve placed on the paper. Either way, I should thank her in the acknowledgments.

Anyway, her web site is at http://www.zoekeating.com and I highly recommend her stuff. If you go http://www.zoekeating.com/projects.html you’ll find three tracks that you can listen to or even download to your iPod for free, as well as videos of her in concert. Have a listen to Exurgency and Legions {War}.mp3) and see if you can picture cities on string and ornithopters flying.

With that in mind, here’s the revised opening to the novel, featuring changes to build the atmosphere of the world.

The day Isaac died started as all days do: in shadow.

I stood on a platform in Daedalon’s flight bay. The cable gantries of the city stretched above me, its pier-hooks like barbs in a net. White planes from Daedalon and the other twelve cities hung by their tailfins, waiting.

The hot wind tugged at my tunic and my hair, and I kept a firm grip on the plastic sheath of one of the cables. If you’re worried, my instructor had told me, then just don’t look down. Of course, he looked down all the time.

Below me, clouds rolled and billowed over the floor of the chasm. A sheet of white against the black lattice-work of cables, it was hard to tell how far it was. Sometimes it looked as soft and up-close as bedding. Then, moments later, the wind would pick up, the clouds would shift, and it felt as though, if you fell, you’d fall forever.

An ornithopter flew in and caught itself in one of the docking hooks, which dragged it to a stop by another nearby landing bay. The impact rang the cable struts around me like a bow against a cello.

I brought my gaze back up to my ornithopter. I swallowed down my stomach and my urge to go clambering back to the safety of the city’s insides. I stayed at my post.

Behind me, I heard a whistle, and a canister plopped into the receiving hatch of one of the pneumatic tubes. I looked, and my knuckles whitened in frustration. The manifest. Not my delivery.

But there was another whistle, and another canister plopped into the receiving hatch beside it. I pounced on it, then stopped, and made myself remove it slowly and carefully. I didn’t want to share the cadet-level shame of bobbling a canister and dropping it into the clouds below. I opened it and glanced at the contents. Batteries. Good. I turned to my ornithopter, before I stopped myself again, and turned back. Check the batteries; the words echoed in my head. Always check the batteries.

There was a machine with a slot and a line of LEDs. They lit up to the top as I fed in each battery in turn. I nodded, satisfied. A full and proper load. Then I walked over to my ornithopter, grabbed onto the doorframe, and climbed in. I stood on the frame of the pilot’s chair, looking up at a floor that was now a wall. I unhooked at hatch and pulled it open, revealing the empty banks for the batteries. I snapped in the batteries from my canister, noting with satisfaction as each LED indicator light lit up. When everything was in place, I set the canister in its place and closed the hatch. Then I climbed into my pilot’s chair. Making sure I was strapped in, I turned the winch by my arm-rest, turning my chair around to face the front windshield and the cavern floor below. Gravity tugged me out of my seat, against my harness. Again, I swallowed down my stomach.

Behind me, I heard someone step onto the platform, grab up the other canister, and pull out a handful of papers that rattled in the wind. Someone stepped on the doorframe.

From this point on, the scene is mostly unchanged from the scene posted here.

And, here’s a YouTube video of Ms. Keating in concert, building up her composition Lost:

Finally, I should mention that, as I was looking up stuff about Icarus Down, I found that the title is being used elsewhere. A Slovenian punk band named Icarus Down has been playing since 2004 and is currently working on a new album. Their music isn’t bad, but it isn’t quite the sound I’m looking for when it comes to populating my story’s soundtrack. One wonders, though: now that I’m writing a story called Icarus Down while listening to the music of Zoe Keating, perhaps I should write a story called Zoe Keating while listening to the music of Icarus Down?

As impressive as it is for a Facebook group to gather over 200,000 Canadians united in opposition to Stephen Harper’s decision to prorogue parliament (especially compared to the 127,000 Canadians who joined the Facebook group against last year’s coalition proposal), a question has to be asked: where do we go from here? Because, as impressive as that number is, it doesn’t take much effort to express one’s opinions on Facebook. Although you have heard some people signing up to Facebook specifically to join this group, for most participants the task was as simple as clicking a link. Democracy requires more than just that.

Which is why some people are paying attention to the rallies planned across Canada this Saturday (the Saturday before parliamentarians would have returned to work, if Stephen Harper hadn’t intervened). A grassroots effort has sprung up and a lot of people have worked very hard to get venues scheduled in dozens of cities across Canada, but how many bodies will show up? Blogger Shireen of Talk Talk Talk worries that there won’t be as many as organizers would like. Previous Facebook activism hasn’t been so successful in generating a large response in the physical world.

If the people who joined the Canadians Against Proroguing Parliament Facebook group want to keep the momentum of their efforts going, they need to make the effort. They have to show up on Saturday. If they don’t, and this protest fizzles, they will only have themselves to blame. There is little I can do about this, except to make the effort myself.

So, I have promised myself that I will be attending Waterloo Region’s rally this Saturday (at Waterloo Public Square at the corner of King Street and Willis Way at 11 a.m.), and not just because I care strongly about the issue of prorogation. I think it’s time that I stand up and march alongside my fellow Canadians because Canadians everywhere need to be reminded that this is how democracy is done. It isn’t enough to sit behind your desk and click on Facebook links. If you want change, you have to make change yourself, through campaigning, through writing letters to your MP, through voting the bastards out when feasible, and even getting up and marching along our public streets and making our voice heard.

There will be people out there, including Conservative supporters and government MPs, who will dismiss our activities as frippery, and our activists as frivolous, but they forget that this is how we’ve won most of our hard fought-for rights in this country, even the right to speak. As valuable as the right to speak is, simply speaking behind the walls of your home isn’t enough. Sometimes, to be heard, we have to speak loud, and in public.

So, I will be attending the local rally against prorogation this Saturday, and I’ll be taking Vivian with me. Will my presence there may a difference? Maybe. Maybe not. But that’s not the important reason why I’m going. I’m going because I think it’s important for Vivian to see what a peaceful demonstration looks like and what it sounds like. I’m going because I think it’s important for Vivian to learn the benefits and responsibilities of living in a democracy. I’m going because I think it’s important that she understand that she has a right to speak and, more importantly, she has a right to speak loudly, and sometimes that right is an obligation if she wants to make change.

I think it’s important to remember that all democracy is exercise, and without exercise, our democracy, like our muscles, will atrophy.

Time to shape up.

(Crossposted to the Waterloo Wellington Bloggers Association Blog. To comment, click here)

Image via Wikipedia

It would appear that a lot of Canadians disagree with Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s decision to prorogue parliament, effectively shutting down government until after the 2010 Olympics. In spite of Conservative supporters claiming that nobody cares about parliament and Harper could abuse the system with impunity, the Conservatives’ numbers have slipped, with some polls suggesting that the party may now be in a tie with the opposition Liberals. There has also been a storm of protest online, with over 200,000 Canadians joining the Facebook Group Canadians Against Proroguing Parliament.

It may be as Rick Mercer says: perhaps we Canadians are an apathetic people, but when someone tries to use that apathy against us, we lose that apathy pretty quick. Anger at the Harper government has increased in spite of media pundits claiming that this issue wouldn’t engage Canadians. These same pundits and some Conservative supporters don’t seem to know what to make of this. And if they can’t understand it, the easy response for some is to attack it. Some, like Tory minister Tony Clement, have tried to dismiss criticism by denigrating the critics thus:

“I know it’s a big issue with the Ottawa media elite and some of the elites in our country, but I got to tell you if reaction in my constituency is any indication, I’ve had maybe three dozen emails… …It may not be what the chattering classes want, but we’re not here to govern on behalf of the chattering classes,”

(link)

You got that, right? Tony Clement does not believe that he governs for ‘the chattering classes’.

I find that interesting. I find it interesting that there are people in Canada Tony Clement feels aren’t worthy of his attention as a member of the government. Maybe I’m naive, but I always believed that the government was supposed to govern on behalf of allCanadians, chattering or otherwise.

But note Clement’s disdainful use of the word ‘elite’, and you’ll see that Clement is using a trope that has afflicted American politics for the past few decades: if you are opposed to something that people support, dismiss your opponents as ‘elite’ — something other than what ordinary Canadians are — something ‘unCanadian’ in fact. Not a real political opinion. Indeed, an opinion that can be ignored without reasoned debate. Thus Canadians who criticize our government’s handling of Afghanistan are impugned as being ‘against the troops’ and ‘for the terrorists’, and those who care about the political process are dismissed as ‘elites’. Essentially un-persons, unworthy of being served by this government.

Which is a shame, because I think Tony Clement and Conservatives like him sell Canadians short. The last time I checked, ‘elite’ was defined as ’ A group or class of persons or a member of such a group or class, enjoying superior intellectual, social, or economic status,’ or ’ The best or most skilled members of a group.’ And I happen to think that this definition aptly defines this nation, and all the people within.

Most people that I see in this country, whether they put in a days work at a factory or at a university, whether they drink coffee from Starbucks or Tim Hortons (note: I do both) are, in my opinion, elite. Think of the country we live in. Think of the types of jobs we have. Think of the quality of care we receive from our hospitals. Think of the fact that we don’t have to pay for most of that care from our pockets. Think of the Blackberry. Think of Christie Digital, and their exponential sales growth as they serve the burgeoning market of digital movie screens. Think of the ZENN electric car. Think of who invented insulin. Think of the railroads we built across this country. Think of those who have trained half their lives away for a chance to compete against the world’s best in Vancouver. Finally, think of the fact that hundreds of our men and women have volunteered their time, comfort, and security to try and bring peace and democracy to Afghanistan. If this doesn’t define ‘elite’, I don’t know what does.

And yet, if these individuals criticize government policy, Tony Clement thinks that their opinions aren’t worth considering. He thinks they can be dismissed as ‘elitist’.

Well, I’m not ashamed to count Canadians as among the world’s elite. I have no trouble believing that the over 200,000 individuals who registered their displeasure at the Harper government this past month are among those elite as well.

My only question is what Mr. Clement has against these Canadians? What has he against striving to be elite.

Why does he feel that being in such elite company is something to be ashamed of?

Image via Wikipedia

As we’ve only recently become parents, we’ve only recently became aware of a wonderful feature known as the mall playground. We first encountered these in Des Moines, when I happened to spot an area for children in a local mall known as South Ridge. I considered it then to be quite a savvy development, especially for the frigid winters of the American Midwest. The malls engender a fair amount of good will, at least from me, in giving us space to keep the kids happy. And when kids are happy, I’m happy.

Since then, we’ve researched the malls along our regular route between Kitchener and Des Moines. We know of free indoor playground spaces in Flint, Battle Creek and Iowa City, and we may look up additional places to play in Des Moines, Omaha and Lincoln. These spaces give Vivian and Nora a chance to run around, and some even offer complementary wifi service for parents, giving me a chance to do a little work while keeping an eye on our energetic tykes.

Strangely enough, I haven’t found these facilities in Canada, though it may be a case that I haven’t been looking very hard. However, I am familiar with Fairview Mall and Conestoga Mall in Kitchener, the Eaton Centre and Yorkdale Mall in Toronto, the Galleria in London and a few other places in the area. No such playgrounds exist. If I wanted to take Vivian and Nora someplace to be a little active, and if it was winter, and no Early Years facilities are available, I’m generally limited to using the local big box bookstores.

Mind you, the malls I’ve described, with the exception of the Galleria in London, are fairly prosperous, and plenty of malls in the United States are not. I’ve already talked about the emergence of “greyfields” to go with greenfield and brownfield developments in urban planning discussions. The malls that used to threaten the economic viability of urban cores have themselves been usurped by big box developments, while the urban cores themselves are making a comeback by focusing on their unique history, culture, diversity, walkability, and so on.

So, perhaps the emergence of mall playgrounds is a self-defense mechanism in response to the pressure of the big outdoor power centre. Our vibrant downtowns remain secure in their survival by playing to their urban strengths, and so to are the indoor malls, reminding parents at the end of the day that: hey, we’re climate controlled.

For this parent, anyway, it’s a brilliant strategy.

Further Reading

• Dead Malls . Com

Image via Wikipedia

I was horrified to hear about the devastating earthquake that hit just outside Port-au-Prince, Haiti. If ever there was a country that has had a terrible lot in life, it’s Haiti or, as my wife succinctly put it, “Haiti! Oh, God! If a direct portal to Hell were to open on Earth, it would probably open in Haiti.”

The blogosphere is stepping forward and gathering up as much useful information as possible for those who would like to help. Here’s a page from Dr. Dawg. The work here crosses the political spectrum, and reflects the seriousness of the situation, and the basic compassion of most human beings.

Unfortunately, you can’t really count Pat Robertson among them. In tackling the age-old problem of suffering, this far-right televangelist decided to skip right over centuries of theological thought and blame the victims:

“Something happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about it,” he said on Christian Broadcasting Network’s “The 700 Club.” “They were under the heel of the French. You know, Napoleon III, or whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, we will serve you if you’ll get us free from the French. True story. And so, the devil said, okay it’s a deal.”

Robertson said that “ever since, they have been cursed by one thing after the other” and he contrasted Haiti with its neighbor, the Dominican Republic.

(link)

Uh, huh.

Mind you, this is nothing new for Mr. Robertson. After all, he was the one who blamed secular Americans for 9/11 and linked Hurricane Katrina to God’s punishment for abortion. And, sadly, he’s not alone.

Pat Robertson and his ilk are a perpetual embarrassment to Christians everywhere, espousing a brand of our religion which is at odds with the love that God has for his creation, and the love that we ourselves are supposed to emulate. Any God that could be directly responsible for the deaths of innocent individuals in New Orleans, beneath the two towers or this week in Haiti, is not a god worthy of worship. And any individual who would seek to justify the actions of that God by blaming the innocent victims of nature’s wrath is not an individual worthy of entering the Kingdom of Heaven. May God have mercy on Pat Robertson’s soul.

But as Maggie Koerth-Baker over at Boing-Boing notes, Haiti may indeed have made a metaphorical deal with a devil way back. It’s just probably not a devil that Pat Robertson would be particularly comfortable in confronting. I’ll let Maggie have the last word, here:

Haiti was forced to pay France for its freedom. When they couldn’t afford the ransom, France (and other countries, including the United States) helpfully offered high-interest loans. By 1900, 80% of Haiti’s annual budget went to paying off its “reparation” debt. They didn’t make the last payment until 1947. Just 10 years later, dictator François Duvalier took over the country and promptly bankrupted it, taking out more high-interest loans to pay for his corrupt lifestyle. The Duvalier family, with the blind-eye financial assistance of Western countries, killed 10s of thousands of Haitians, until the Haitian people overthrew them in 1986. Today, Haiti is still paying off the debt of an oppressive dictator no one would help them get rid of for 30 years.

The rest of the world refuses to forgive this debt.

So, in a way, maybe Robertson is right. Haiti is caught in a deal with the devil, and the devil is us.

(link)

Ignatieff tour continues through Montreal and Toronto and is greeted by protests (photos) http://bit.ly/4Lo0qp #cdnpoli #roft

Fourteen hours later, I couldn’t help but respond:

Yo, @stephen_taylor: some of your anti-Ignatieff protesters could use a spell check: http://tinyurl.com/ydosb9x #fb

Why? Well:

Heh. Hat tip to Big City Lib Strikes Back.

One thing this prorogation controversy has stimulated is the beginnings of a debate on how our democracy should be structured. Individuals wishing to stop the prime minister from abusing his constitutional powers again have suggested making prorogation — the dissolution of parliament at the end of a parliamentary session — a decision taken by parliament alone. And given the Governor General’s role in allowing Stephen Harper to prorogue parliament, the blogger Catelli (formerly known as the Closet Liberal) has brought in two other bloggers — Sir Francis and David Mader — to discuss whether or not the Governor General should be elected to office by the people of Canada.

Catelli may have left an option out, because over at the post Dr. Dawg wrote to promote this great debate, a commentator wrote suggesting “Option 3”, specifically to simply abolish the position. And now I intend to argue my case against this option.

For individuals who see Canada’s connection to the British monarchy as something antiquated and out of touch with the reality of today’s Canada, I can see how they might like such a proposal. For those who are adverse to significant portions of our government being in the hands of individuals who are appointed to office by our prime minister rather than elected into place, I can understand the desire for reform. And given that the Governor General’s powers are largely ceremonial, and that indeed that it’s only the fact that we have a minority government in parliament that her powers have been demonstrated to be anything but, I can understand the desire to abolish the position, without any thought to what to replace it with.

But I believe, in this case, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. What’s happening under Stephen Harper’s prorogation is not a broken system, its an abuse of a system. Fair enough, you might say: if the system can be abused, then it’s broken. We need to change it. Maybe that’s the case, but we shouldn’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. If we’re going to get rid of the Governor General, what do we replace it with? A president? Or do we just abandon the position entirely (possibly along with the senate) and assume that bills become law once they pass third reading in the House of Commons?

I think Canada is better served with an appointed ceremonial figure as its head of state rather than a president, and I certainly think that Canada is better served by having a Governor General rather than having nothing at all. In the Westminster tradition, our Governor General is a representative of our monarch, who happens to be Queen Elizabeth of the United Kingdom. If you cut our ties to the monarchy and declare us a republic, an easy model to change our system to is the one south of the border, where the monarch position is held by the President of the United States. Of course, the president has a lot more power than the Governor General, as befits the fact that he is elected into place by the American public, but sometimes I feel that the position of the American Head of State is in conflict with the fact that it is a position of real power in America, precisely because the president is elected.

Our nominal head of state theoretically speaks for Canada, and it would be nice if we could have one that isn’t politically motivated (which, basically, is what we currently have). I mean, when the president of the United States addresses the troops or meets with foreign heads of state, he is supposed to be speaking for all Americans, including those who voted against him. However, he obtains a political catchet from these events that benefits him as the presidential nominee of the political party he represents. While it is an honour to meet the president, just as it is an honour to meet the prime minister, for those troops who voted Democrat when George W. Bush was in power, was there not some tension there? No such tension exists when the Governor General visits our troops in Afghanistan.

(For American readers, I should note that if they adopted the Canadian system and made their president as ceremonial as our Governor General is, power would fall to the prime minister, who would be the leader of the largest party in the House — specifically Speaker Nancy Pelosi. America would also have had a prime minister Newt Gingrich, so perhaps the Canadian system isn’t all buds and roses, but I digress…)

We have important things in this country such as the Governor General’s awards and various awards of merit given to our troops and other remarkable Canadians. Our Governor General is also often the first representative to meet with foreign heads of state. This is more than a case of taking some tasks some might consider ‘tedious’ out of the hands of the prime minister. This is also about reminding Canadians that the prime minister, and the nation he serves, are two different things.

When the Governor General passes out her awards, or visits the troops, or meets foreign heads of state, the message sent here is that we as Canadians, as a whole, express our support for the individuals the GG is meeting with, or honouring. The Prime Minister is subservient to that. He is a servant of Canada, and doesn’t benefit in any unseemly way from behaving as if he is a president. To those progressives who question the merits of having a Governor General at all in this country, I would say that the fact that our nominal presidential position is occupied by a ceremonial figurehead probably sticks in the craw of Stephen Harper, but I think there is benefit if every prime minister we have is disabused of the notion of “l’etat, c’est moi” (I am the state).

And given that the prime minister has already started to take over tasks that were traditionally the purview of the Governor General (including awarding certain honours to our troops), I can’t help but wonder if one of the biggest supporters of dissolving the Governor General’s position may not be Stephen Harper himself. Progressive activists may do well to think about this.

Not only does the Governor General limit the temptation for a prime minister to wrap himself in the flag by taking on these ceremonial duties, it protects these same ceremonial expressions from political taint. When Governor General Michaelle Jean cut up a hunk of meat from the heart of a seal and ate it raw, it was seen nationwide and across the political spectrum as an expression of support to the Inuit way of life. If Stephen Harper or Michael Ignatieff had done the same thing, it would be seen as a political stunt.

Could you imagine Stephen Harper handing out Governor Generals awards for children’s fiction in this country? Or can you imagine Michael Ignatieff doing the same, or even Jack Layton? Why would they bother? And yet, how much less do those awards mean if they’re handed out by, say, John Baird, or some backbencher stand-in? So I think these tasks performed by the Governor General are important. The Governor General Awards promote Canadian culture (and, I will admit some self-interest, here: I would like to win one of these awards someday), and I think that it is important that these ceremonial expressions remain as apolitical as possible. Thus it is important that they be carried out by an individual who represents Canada, but who isn’t tied up in the politics of Canada.

We have that person now in our appointed Governor General.

Mind you, if you want a certain amount of economy in our governing institutions, and you feel that the Governor General has too few responsibilities, I’m willing to consider consolidating our Queen’s representative with that of the Speaker of the House of Commons. That has been a fairly a-political position, so there is a good match here, I think. And, with the Speaker now the Queen’s representative in Canada, perhaps that could give him more teeth in enforcing the civility of parliament.

That and, perhaps, minions with whips.

The photograph above is entitled Passageway 2 _and is by Simon Scott. The photograph is used in accordance with its Creative Commons license.)

Here’s a scene I finished up a few days ago. Simon is going through rehabilitation, which largely involves walking the corridors of Iapyx in order to build up his strength and flex his joints. This scene gives a picture of what the city is like, and also shows some of the mysterious glitches that have started to affect Iapyx while Simon was recuperating. Also, after my discussion about the world being under constant barrage by solar flare, it shows the colonial response: rather than a central power system, the lights and everything else electronic is powered by batteries which constantly have to be replaced. This creates a caste of people hereafter known as the Battery Boys.

How many people does it take to change the light bulbs on Iapyx? Lots. And they’re more important than you think.

I started on the middle level, with its access to the Great Hall. The park setting offered trees to walk past, and a bench if I needed to rest (which I did, frequently). Then I walked along the perimeter, where I could peer out the little windows at the gantry cables and the city’s umbrella roof angling over the fog forest below. I paused and stared whenever I saw an ornithopter depart or come in, and bittersweetly wondered when or if I would fly again.

And nobody challenged me. As I walked with a cane, wearing slippers and a hospital robe over my clothes, people just thought of me as a harmless patient. Which I was. So long as I wasn’t causing any trouble, or getting into dangerous spaces, nobody needed to have to bother with me. So, when I got tired of the middle level, I tried the ones below, challenging myself to follow the steam and water ducts that laced themselves through the ceiling. I couldn’t help but notice that the maintenance crews had let some things slide. A number of lights were flickering, putting some of the corridors in shadow.

The workers went about their duties around me. I saw two battery boys come striding down the corridor, carrying the wooden ladder between them. They barely glanced up at the flickering light and set out the ladder and opened it in one smooth motion. Then one of the two held it while the other climbed it. Reaching up, the boy on the ladder — actually a girl — snatched the battery from its slot and tossed it down. The boy at the bottom caught it in one hand, redirected it to his case, and snatched another battery from within. He tossed it up to the girl, who caught it, and snicked it in. The light flicked on and shone brightly. Then the girl jumped down, and the two swept the ladder up between them and marched on to their next lamp. I watched them go. Then I gathered my breath, pushed myself away from the wall, and started back for the Infirmary.

There was a whoosh and a click. I looked around. Ten feet away, in the middle of an otherwise empty wall, was a pneumatic message tube. The LED showed that a canister was in the hatch. I frowned. This was a public intake area, not an outlet. Who’d be sending a message here?

Had to be another glitch, I thought.

I limped over, opened the hatch and pulled out the canister. My frown deepened. No address label. Then… Muttering a silent apology to the patron saint of privacy, I opened the canister and took out the paper inside. It was a single sheet, folded into a square. I unfolded it.

“DUCK!” it said.

There was a bang, like a hundred balloons bursting at once. The shock of it made me drop the canister and throw myself forward, into the wall. The noise was followed by a hiss that sounded as though it came from the mouth of a gigantic snake. Rubbing my nose, I turned.

A hundred metres away, a thick, white cloud billowed up through the corridor. Inside, people shouted. Someone screamed; I think it was the battery girl. Steam, I realized, pressing myself up against the wall. People were running to escape; others were running to help. The cloud washed over everythng; over me. Water beaded on my skin and the air heated up. And still the horrible hissing continued. A burst pipe.

Alarms started ringing. I couldn’t see the corridor through the clouds, and I knew running in would have been foolhardy. Other people were coming; I could hear them, but they wouldn’t be here soon enough. I looked around helplessly. There had to be something I could do.

The steam cleared enough so I could see the pipes lacing through the ceiling. I could see the big pipe that carried the steam from the solar vats to the battery re-generators. Follow that pipe along, down the wall, and—

There: a valve; a huge wheel with a handle. I staggered over, gripped it in both hands and strained. My fingers chaffed. The muscles in my arms protested. I grunted and moaned, but I couldn’t think of giving up; not when I still heard the girl screaming. Then, just as I offered a silent prayer, I felt the wheel shift. It was the only encouragement I needed. I heaved. It turned. I turned it until it wouldn’t turn anymore. Behind me, the whoosh of steam ebbed, then stopped. A shocked silence descended upon the corridor. As the steam cleared, I heard people groaning.

Then I realized that my hands had cramped. My arms felt as though I’d broken them. I let out a grunt of pain and staggered back, into the arms of a maintenance worker.

“Whoa,” he said, looking me up and down. He caught sight of my insignia. “Whoa, cadet! You all right?” I was breathing too heavily to speak. I just nodded.

He glanced at my handiwork and slapped my arm. “Quick thinking, there. I think you saved a few lives.”

“Good,” I wheezed. “What happened?”

He looked down the corridor in the direction maintenance and medical crews were already running. His face darkened. “I don’t know. An accident of some kind. We’ll find out.” He looked at me. “I promise.”

I felt the folded paper in my hand. I kept my fingers closed over it.

To be sure, these individuals represented a minority of the Twitter comments received, but they were there, saying things like “Doctor Who is dead with Tennant gone. Matt Smith is crap.” And I simply couldn’t fathom what they were talking about. I mean, on what were they basing their assessment? His one minute of on-screen time, acting in the frenzy that typically comes with the onset of regeneration?

Or, perhaps, this trailer for the upcoming spring season of Doctor Who?

Who sensible would predict what David Tennant had in store for us as the tenth Doctor based on his few minutes of screen time at the end of The Parting of the Ways? But despite all my previous experience with individuals, I’m still surprised that people would close their minds so thoroughly to new ideas based on the most spurrious of evidence. What other type of person or — dare I say it? — pundit, shuts his mind down within a few seconds of the start of a conversation?

Exactly.

As an aside, I cut my teeth on political debate, not through any political science courses at University, or through any lectures on rhetoric or any stint at a debating club, but primarily through participating in the various Usenet groups occupied by fans of Doctor Who back in the early to mid 1990s, and I have to say that not much separates political pundits and bloggers from science fiction geeks when it comes to fiercely debating and defending those ideas they happen to feel passionate about. Or, to put it another way, science fiction geeks are not much different from political pundits and bloggers… and just about the rest of the human race put together.

I had no problem with the trailer. A frame by frame viewing gives us much to be excited about this coming Spring. The new Doctor appears to be facing off against Daleks, Weeping Angels and Vampire Nuns. Many swashes will be buckled and much derring will be dooed. Matt Smith is wisely pulling himself out of David Tennant’s shadow by taking on the mannerisms and dress sense of an exuberant science professor (I can seriously see him thrusting his hand in the air and going “Ooo! Ooo! Over here!”). His “Geronimo!” catchphrase has promise, and companion actress Karen Gillan appears to be suitably terrified by the ride.

Matt Smith is not going to be another David Tennant, and thank God for that! Though there are a few core characteristics within the Doctor, the beauty of his character — of the whole concept of the show — is that the hero can change himself completely in a single moment. This allows for different dramatic avenues to be explored that couldn’t be explored in the hands of a different incarnation. This allows for us to have favourites between various incarnations and engage in lengthy debates on why my favourite Doctor can beat up your favourite Doctor. And, most importantly, it keeps the show from being stale. People criticized Peter Davison for playing his Doctor with vulnerabilities compared to the imposing figure of his immediate predecessor Tom Baker, but what choice did he have? If he didn’t take big strides to step out of Tom Baker’s shadow, he would have been criticized as a pale copy of the man. Now Peter Davison’s Doctor is remembered as a strong and subtle character in his own right. What steps does Matt Smith have to take to get out from within David Tennant’s shadow?

The trailer has Matt Smith’s Doctor doing two things that are quite odd; to my mind at least. Can you guess what they are? Yes: in one clip, Matt Smith’s Doctor rushes in and knocks down a lab-coated scientist with an action hero punch. And in another suitably disturbing shot, the Doctor fires a gun. This after David Tennant’s Doctor had to be cajoled into just picking up a service revolver by Wilfred Mott. He also takes a few swings at a Dalek with a crowbar, but then, every Doctor does that.

The trailer, of course, robs us of all context. We have no idea who, or what, Matt Smith is shooting at, and a quarter century of being a Doctor Who fan leads me to believe that the small smile on Matt Smith’s face when he fires that gun means that the target is something that wholly subverts our expectations.

But why put these two scenes in there at all? I’m wondering if producer Stephen Moffat isn’t hinting at a direction he might take, here. The Doctor eschews violence, and yet is forced to resort to it on numerous occasions. This dramatic incongruity is at the heart of a number of incarnations, particularly those who are, shall we say, somewhat less than bombastic and imposing. Patrick Troughton and Peter Davison in particular played off the fact that they appeared far less threatening than the enemies they were facing, but that indeed this led to the enemies underestimating these characters, which in turn led to the enemies’ downfall.

But Moffat probably wants Matt Smith to be something other than another Patrick Troughton and Peter Davison. And there is an interesting way that he could go. What if Matt Smith’s Doctor is a scrawny little man that doesn’t think he is, and refuses to act in such a way? What if he tries to throw a few punches, as Tom Baker and Jon Pertwee did? What if he tries to brazen his way out of certain situations? In the body he’s wearing? With that tweed jacket?!

He might well have that element of surprise going for him. The lab-coated scientist he punched certainly didn’t seem to know what had hit him.

Of course, we won’t know until the springtime, and we should all refrain from prejudging things until then, but it’s worth thinking about.

(Image courtesy the BBC)

Russell. Russell. Russell Russell Russell.

You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? I bet it’s the same with a box of chocolates: you can’t limit yourself to just one. Pretty soon, the whole box is empty and you’re frustrated that there’ll be no chocolate tomorrow.

Ah, well. It’s been a trip, though. Thank you. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for the highlights. And, most of all, and I cannot stress this enough, thank you for bringing back Doctor Who and making it cool again.

(At this point my wife :Erin: says, “Again?!”)

The two-part Doctor Who holiday special, The End of Time, is a rollicking adventure that promises thrills and tears, but ultimately falls short of what one would have hoped for something that was, after all, not only the finale of David Tennant’s tenth Doctor, but Russell T. Davies tenure as producer of the revived Doctor Who.

Well, that’s my non-spoilery portion of this review out of the way. Now I have to talk about this story in depth. If you haven’t seen it, you need to turn away, now.

You can read my reviews of the most recent specials here. Comments are closed on many of them, so if you’d like to add your own thoughts, feel free to comment below.

And if that isn’t enough, check out the trailer for Matt Smith’s version of Doctor Who, coming this Easter:

Vivian coined the term to describe 2009. In late October 2008, our agent was doing wonderful work with Erin’s novel, Plain Kate. There had been significant interest from a number of houses and we were, frankly, flabbergasted by the results. At the same time, the 2008 American Election campaign was winding down, and it was looking good for an Obama victory. Grandma Rosemarie was visiting, and she had made us Obama supporters since before his landmark victory in the Iowa primary that previous January, so we were excited.

Finally, on Wednesday, November 5, the day after Obama’s victory, the negotiations around Plain Kate were finishing up, with a deal that we could not possibly have imagined just weeks before. We were looking ahead to a few years, at least, where we could support ourselves on our writing.

Vivian, who had only just turned three, didn’t really understand what was going on, and Grandma Rosemarie and Erin tried to explain it as we sat for lunch in a Molly Blooms, saying “the world is a better place today, and it’s going to get better. Your and your parents can get everything they want out of their life.” To which Vivian replied, “Can all my jellybeans be red?”

We laughed, and when Erin relayed the story to her writing friends, Susan Fish obliged by buying Vivian a big box of red jellybeans.

Things haven’t quite worked out as well as we would have liked in the realm of American politics, though there’s still time to turn things around. For the rest of it, though, 2009 has been a good, if sometimes scary year, as Erin and I embarked on the path of supporting ourselves with our writing. Erin completed another rewrite of Plain Kate for Arthur A. Levine, and the book is due for release on September 1, 2010, and there’s already a decent buzz around it. Moreover, Plain Kate and The Dream King’s Daughter won Ontario Arts Council Works in Progress grants, much to our surprise and delight. I’ve added three non-fiction books to my own portfolio and I now have an agent working on getting The Night Girl out to prospective publishers in Canada and the United States.

This was the year of Nora turning one, of Vivian going off to junior kindergarten and turning four. I look back, now at Vivian’s baby pictures and can hardly believe that I’m looking at the same child. Vivian is now taking swimming lessons and ballet classes, and we hold conversations. It’s not quite what I expected, but she is everything I’d ever hoped for in a child and more. Much more, in fact. I’m constantly surprised that I’m raising a kid that seems to have had three times the energy I had at her age.

And as for Nora, she may be a more content toddler, but she’s not willing just to stand in her sister’s shadow. She’s developing quite a pair of lungs on her own, and is pushing back when her sister pushes her away. We have to intervene like King Solomon on more than one occasion but, truthfully, I do like it that Nora stands her ground.

We travelled a lot this year. We visited Toronto several times, and headed out to Iowa and Nebraska for six weeks in the summer, and another two weeks over Christmas. I took Vivian on a train ride with me to Ottawa where we launched The Young City with some very dear friends. There were a couple of trips to Chicago, including one where we had our passports and computers stolen, but we still managed to have a good time in that city. We’ve had Grandpa Michael and Grandma Rosemarie visit, as well as Grandpa Wendell and Grandma Judy. Along with Grandpa Eric and Grandma Pat, we’re very glad that Vivian and Nora’s growth is being witnessed by so many grandparents.

And we’ve had new arrivals to, including Dan’s sister Lisa’s child, Micaela Lee-Ann Flynn, born on November 18. Nora and Vivian met their cousins, including Gwynneth, who is only a few hours older than Nora. So, as you can see, there is lots to look forward to in 2010 and in the years to come.

So, overall, I think that 2009 was a good year. Like any other year, there are things that I wish had gone differently, and the future is still as uncertain as ever, but we still have many reasons to remain optimistic — eager, even, as work gears up to launch Erin’s Plain Kate. I’m looking forward to seeing that book in the wild; I have my fingers crossed, and I have a good feeling about the whole thing. I also have my fingers crossed with The Night Girl and The Dream King’s Daughter, though I have frustratingly little news to tell, and probably won’t for a few weeks yet.

Even politically, there is reason for optimism. Yes, the economy is shaky, and our leaders continue to disappoint us, but there also have been improvements. Toronto continues to move forward in becoming a better, more livable city, and my own home town in the Region of Waterloo may soon be building an LRT. We may be losing manufacturing jobs, but high tech is replacing them. Good change does happen. It happens frustratingly slowly, and only with constant effort, but it does take place. As always, the only sure fire way to fail to succeed is to not to try at all.

Finally, I’m still blogging, even though I sometimes find myself unable to keep up the pace that I used to. I admit to tiring of the political discussions of late, especially with how polarized the Canadian political blogosphere has come in some respects, but just as I start to think of this blog as a chore, along comes something which sparks my interest enough to write. So, as I look ahead towards this blog’s eighth anniversary, I’m confident that I’ll make it, though I may (I hope) be writing more about writing, young adult books, childrearing and transit than about political processes and strategies. But we’ll see. Much as I try to leave the political blogosphere, it keeps dragging me back in.

Happy New Year to my friends and family. Thanks to everyone for making 2009 as good as it was, and here’s hoping that good things continue into 2010.

Vivi-isms

• When the firefighter visiting her class asked what the smoke alarm meant, Vivian said: “It means the burgers are done!” And what should you do? “You should hit it with a broom. And they you can eat!”

• To my parents, on surprising morning discoveries: “Mommy and Daddy don’t sleep in pyjamas! They sleep naked! And very close together.”

• To Erin, when she told her the quarter she had just found was treasure: “Oh, MOm. It’s just a big moose and a picture of the queen.”

• To the world at large, after sledding into a bush: “Wow! It’s a good thing we didn’t hurted ourselves. Let’s do it again!”