Gregor Robertson's brief George Carlin routine got a lot of media attention, and rightly so. How often do you get to use the term "F-bomb" in a story about the clean-cut mayor of all the Vancouver people? You know, the guy who co-founded a company called Happy Planet. Even his well-formed knees, whenever they appear in public, seem to smile.
But it's not as if this sort of language is new to occupants of the mayor's chair. As one wag observed, his recent utterances still leave Gregor about 1,998 F-bombs behind His Former Honour, Larry Campbell. And who could forget Larry's delicate, post-meeting discourse with the Bus Riders Union, haranguing members as "total losers" and shouting at them to get a job.
Then there was Larry's successor, Sam (Silky) Sullivan. Political opponents? "They pat me on the head and then I rip their throat out," he winningly told a documentary filmmaker. Mayoral rival Jim Green? "I'm going to keep my foot on his goddamned throat and I'm going to just keep pressing and see if the guy can breathe at the end of it all." (It just occurred to me: Sam's a natural for the UFC.…)
How is it that in the year 2010, when the F-word is everywhere - TV, the movies, books and NHL penalty boxes - people still get into a tizzy over the mayor's two private uses of the word. I'm shocked, shocked that swearing is going on at city hall.
I lost my innocence over the word long ago, when the Nixon tapes came out, and I noticed the President of the United States telling his handlers: "I don't give a [expletive deleted]about the Italian lira."
Yes, I know the more pertinent issue is the mayor's seeming disrespect for those persistent, one-trick pony, West End critics, but would anyone have even noticed if he hadn't reached into his inner Lindsay Lohan and pulled out an F-word or two?
Meanwhile, few have remarked on the observation of Councillor Tim Stevenson, whose words were also picked up by that pesky microphone. "But they're all … you know … who knows really… " Amen to that.
THE UNEMPLOYMENT MYTH
One of these days, when pigs learn to fly or the Maple Leafs win the Stanley Cup, whichever comes first, governments will admit that a rising unemployment rate is actually a bad thing. In the meantime, we have provincial Labour Minister Ian Black reciting the tiresome, age-old mantra that a hike in B.C.'s latest unemployment rate is good news. It's a sign that more people are optimistic and entering the job market, spun the minister, as countless others have spun before him.
That's fine. Some economists agree. But funnily enough, the reverse never seems to happen. When B.C.'s unemployment rate goes down, Mr. Black is 100-per-cent unlikely to attribute the dip to people leaving the job market in despair over finding work. No, a fall in unemployment means the government's economic management is working.
The jobless rate can rise or fall, but the soundness of government policies never falters. Unemployment? It's nothing but a nasty rumour started by a bunch of people who are out of work.
BLACK, WHITE AND DEAD ALL OVER
There will be sadness in the alluring (at least, to me) city of Prince Rupert today. After 99 years, the presses of the Prince Rupert Daily News have been stilled for the last time. The death of a newspaper anywhere is bad enough, but this one's a little personal.
Buried somewhere in that paper's archives is coverage of my dad's unsuccessful, quixotic run for Parliament up there in the mid-1940s. And maybe, something on my mother's first year of teaching at the local high school.
After the announcement of the paper's demise by its hardnosed new owners, Daily News columnist George T. Baker wrote: "The day of the Prince Rupert Daily News is at dusk..… For the community, the name will be gone and the stories that gave the town so much personality will be a relic of the past.
"And, staring in the face of such change, you can't help but feel a little choked up and scared."
Who's next?
STREET FOOD FRENZY
Hallelujah! Borscht, schnitzels and chocolate dipped fruits are coming soon to a Vancouver street near you. These delicacies are among the offerings of 17 lucky street vendors chosen by lottery to end the long, gut-wrenching monopoly of the hot dog on city sidewalks. Alas, my entry of great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts didn't make the cut.