A bastard is a bastard in any context.

This is excellent news. Little by little, we are gaining ground on this important issue. I now carry on my phone a photo of a girl with a sewn-on fake penis. I show it to people and gain immediate converts without having to say a word.

I just finished a long interview, and I have to say that I’ve been blessed with excellent, patient, intelligent interviewers this year. My interview last November was so bad that I almost decided never to do any ever again. It made me sound like an absolute moron and look like a fat, stupid cow. But this year everything changed, and I’m getting great questions that I really want to answer.

“Do you want some fresh green peas?” I asked Klara.

“I will not partake of these vulgar amusements!” she bellowed, and everybody at the grocery store looked at me, wondering what kind of weirdo I was.

She’s in the Anne of Green Gables stage, and her vocabulary shows it.

My book is being adopted as a textbook at one of Ukrainian universities. It’s so cool.

The book hasn’t come out yet but I placed it on Academia.edu, and people are already finding it.

The only thing remaining for the paper version to appear is the cover. The publishers are confused because they still can’t figure out the genre.

Speaking of conspiracy theories, did you see that the pro-Meghan Markle crowd (yes, they exist; no, I don’t get it either) are trying to get William removed as the future King by spreading rumors that he did something to his wife?

This is better than spying vaccine cheese.

I have no idea how it happens but I routinely and by complete accident run into Twitter accounts of people I know. And I don’t even know any people. I’m practically a recluse. There are supposed to be billions of accounts, but I somehow accidentally run into somebody familiar every now and then.

The way it happens is I read a comment to a comment to another comment, and when there are finally only two commenters left in the thread, one of them is a former colleague or somebody who used to read this blog but then got upset because my brain isn’t a 100% copy of theirs.

What I’m saying is that Twitter doesn’t recommend these accounts to me. I stumble on them in comment threads.

And yes, I now use a lot of Twitter because it became fun and useful after Musk took over.

The only Oscar win I ever cared about:

I won’t be watching the film because I would probably have a heart attack in the first 10 minutes. But finally decent people who deserve to win got an award.

And that’s good even though we all wish the movie never needed to be made.

Brought to you courtesy of President Reagan and his self-described amnesty bill that legalized millions of illegal immigrants for the price of $185. Seriously, that’s the “fine” they had to pay to get legalized.

The amnesty encouraged many more millions to cross the border illegally in hopes of a new amnesty. Also, many of those who arrived after the cut-off date for Reagan’s amnesty lied, claimed they had entered earlier, and were speedily granted legal status.

As a result, California is now sky-blue and we are oohing and aahing over its wokeness while pretending not to know who started it all.

The world was fast moving on, and from these autumn skies Mathew and Cynthia saw the new information age staggering
the previous ages into submission. Once or twice in their lives people from Mathew’s background would have a moment where
they would prick the national consciousness; they would be interviewed and condescended to, with such gaiety of dismissal it wasn’t even registered by our more educated countrymen. Overall, men like Mathew were laughed at, ridiculed or feared most of their lives. If there was bigotry against First Nations* they were accused of it (even though he had worked with First Nations men and women far more than those professors or writers who would accuse him). If there was intolerance they were accused, even though he had worked on roads and shared his bread with black men from Africville. Chauvinism they were accused of, even though he thought of Cynthia as his superior. The world had gone on, and had been parcelled into manageable concerns; and this world left him and his sister out. Well, in some way it still allowed for his sister, for her gender demanded it. But he knew that now, at thirty-three
years of age, time was falling away from him.

Mercy Among the Children by David Adams Richards (2000)

People still could write like this in Canada 20 years ago and get all sorts of literary awards. Not surprisingly, there were no defecating drug fiends in the streets either and people weren’t ratting out their neighbors for imaginary transgressions. It wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t whatever there is now either.

* Canadians hilariously and ahistorically call their pre-Columbian tribes “First Nations”, even though the concept of “a nation” was as alien to the aborigines as a computer.