president kennedy loved kids, they say.

john jr., who'd recently been turned on to some preschool slang, walked up to his daddy, pointed at him and smiled and exclaimed "poopoohead!"

john sr. says, with a bemused grin, "john jr, how dare you call the president of the united states a poopoohead!" everyone got a real kick out of it.

that's what i'm learning from watching television right now. the e! true hollywood version of television.

at moments like these, the question begs to be asked: does anyone need to spend the money to make such information digestible?

the answer: it isn't digestible at all. we really don't need to know how kennedy felt about children. it has little bearing over history. if he's remembered for actually doing things specifically for children, then fine, make note of that. but this is a president, and like any world leader, and we should be told of the footprint he made on his nation and the world, no some little backyard memory of mr. pressy laughin with his little boy. all we learn about him then is that "hey, he does things like a normal person would do em!"

do we really wanna hear that? no. everyone has a family life. if we wanna hear about family life, we can go read a biography written on his wife. we wanna hear about the fucked up cold war shit that we're not supposed to know.

i'm looking forward to not having television in my house, which i move into tomorrow. it's only been two months since the picture tube came back to my life after a good year of my desertion from it, and i;m proud to say i still hate it for the most part.

that's what happens when your computer, your television and your stepmom are in the same room.

oh well, at least i've got somethin to rant about today.

so how did it the votes tally in my family?

dad: green
me: green
step-sister: green
grandmother: liberal
step-mom: liberal
mom: liberal
sister: ndp

my sister really surprises me, and if anyone's met my sister, it'd surprise you too...in fact, i'm surprised she even voted, but good for her nonetheless! the conversation i had over the phone with her and my mom really did it for me:

STEVOS: so who'd she vote for?
DR. MOM: the NDP!!!
DR. STEVOS: the NDP??? my god! (aside) hey dad, she voted NDP!!!
MOM: she didn't even know the name of the candidate in the riding!
SIS (overheard in background): mom, i care more about the future of this country than someone's name!

good point!

*****

let's take a look at me and my dad's predictions, written shortly after the atlantic vote counts, and see how they stack up to the results (actuals in brackets):



LIBS 90 (135)

CONS 88 (96)

NDP 58 (22)

BLOC 70 (54)

GREEN 2 (0)

OTHER 0 (1)

the explanation for our deviations: we overestimated the success of the NDP in ontario and the bloc in quebec. we predicted something like 22 seats in ontario for the NDP, and they only walked off with 7.

what did we learn?

"there'll be one poll on june 28th that'll tell us the real story, and that'll be the federal election."
- stephen harper, 2004

CONVERSING THIS WEEKEND WITH PAUL AND HUGH AND STUFFY JAZZ MUSICIANS

*****

"so did ya get home ok?" he asks.

"sure, pops, thanks for the check in call," i tell him sarcastically. "how'd the rest of your night turn out?"

"shit fell apart after you left. remember that girl that was sittin beside me?"

"yup."

"well, we were talkin about somethin, probably an extension of the policitcal debate we were havin earlier, and i said somethin to her, don't remember what it was, but she ended up splashing her beer into my face."

"jesus!"

"so, in a knee jerk fashion, i take my beer and splash it in her face. so a whole group of people started yellin at me and i said somethin really rude to them, don't remember what, and they all left."

"well, what do you think you said?"

"to the group of people?"

"no, to the girl."

"unless it was somethin really lewd, it couldn't have been anythin that bad. we were havin a political debate for chrissakes, that was the whole reason for everyone being there."

"i suppose they won't invite you to the next one."

"well, fuck, i don't care if i've ruined it witht those people. they take things too seriously. i mean, c'mon, not wanting to vote for the green party doesn't warrant gettin beer thrown in my face."

*****

"hi terry, i'm taking photos from the varsity - "

"oh, no kiddin, eh? the varsity! great great! i was talkin to this one guy, what was his name...anyway, we've got a lot of events this summer, so we oughtta keep in touch."

"of course! anyway, do you mind if i get a photo of you? this press tent is such a poor location, can i get you in the sun?"

we walk to the open area and i get the most boring picture i've ever taken. i can see later on that he's got his instrument with him.

"oh! you've got your instrument with you? can i get a shot of you just holdin it or playin?"

"no", he replies resolutely, "i'm not gonna do that."

"no?"

"no, no way, no schtick, i don't do schtick."

hmm, interesting, it's like he wants to sabotage his career. what would he rather have as his photo in the paper? a picture of his half assed smile that people will ignore? or a picture of him with his instrument that might make people think "hmmm, jazz!" i tell ya, i didn't stick around too long for the show. and he looks very very small in his performance photo. i'm burdened by the fact that i had to waste real film on this prick.

i relate the story to hugh, who i run into on the street just minutes later.

"y'know," he says, " people in this city are ok, until you all of a sudden hit the toronto button and they lose their patience. but it's always over nothing!"

"jazz musicians in general, i think, have such an image problem. they're isolated human beings. they have little concept of a culture that goes beyond their little solos. the minute you ask to engage them in anything and they feel like it's showboating."

*****

it's late on the subway. the car is virtually empty, and only three people show up in the viewfinder of my camera, and they don't seem to care whatsoever. most of thwhat can be seen by my eye anyway are the bars and benches of the car itself. i'm more than likely not going to take a photo. i'd rather just play with the lens and certain settings to get a feel for the thing.

minutes after i put it back in the bag, a young guy about my age, obviously drunk (but probably no more than i am) walks up to me from behind and asks "yo, bla bla bla camera and shit?"

"what?"

"why are you pointin your camera at people and shit?"

"oh, i'm not takin any pictures, man, i'm just playin with the settings."

i guess it's a good enough explanation, since he walks off without showing any real sign of anger. in fact, he was fairly calm the whole time, only the slightest bit offended. but his perturbed demanour indicated tome that by holding the camera, i'd triggered his sense of justice. if i'd have said "yes, i've ben takin pictures just for the sake of it", i wonder how differently he'd have reacted to it.

*****

no matter what your purpose, taking pictures in public puts your motives under scrutiny, as if you're up to a completely dishonest activity. it's the act of looking itself that troubles people. looking someone unfamiliar in the eye can be dangerous, as it was in the animal kingdom, when eye contact meant intrusion. poining a camera at someone, or even in their environment, really puts them off their guard, as they feel defenseless to all the arresting qualities of a photograph. it's as if their presence in history shouldn't warrant documentation.

but get them in the right scenario, and they'll do cartwheels for your camera. funny how that works sometimes.