#1 – The Da Vinci Code

So, the very first book I’ve finished this year is North America’s most over-read, over-interpreted, overly successful novel. Soon to be a major motion picture, I have little more to say about it except that like 25 million other poor souls, I have finished it. But one thing I’ll say for sure, Dan Brown is a master of writing short chapters. And I think the casting agents did a super good job. I can totally see all of the actors cast in the roles as the characters in the book. Yawn. I’m very sleepy now. Maybe I’ll dream of the Holy Grail. Double yawn.

But I know I’ll be screaming, “It’s fiction!” at the top of my lungs the week the movie is released, just like Ron Howard.

Is This Guy For Real?

Honestly. Is he actually writing these things down and believing that he’s speaking the truth? But when a national magazine spreads such anti-feminist and, frankly, anti-women propaganda you’ve got to wonder about the state of our union.

Of the sentences that make me the most angry: “Thus, every December 6, our own unmanned Dominion lowers its flags to half-mast and tries to saddle Canadian manhood in general with the blame for the Montreal massacre…”

Huh. In every single, thoughtful tribute to the Montreal massacre, one of which I encountered at a downtown Toronto hospital, people spoke out against the violence, which is increasingly dangerous and/or over-exposed in our culture. I doubt that most feminists would blame anyone other than Marc Lepine for the actual massacre, but perhaps the date has come to stand for a more general protest to support the fight to stop violence against women; sort of like how we remember the contribution by our Canadian soldiers by wearing a poppy, we don a ribbon on December 6 so we don’t forget.

And then: “If abortion is, as Kate O’Beirne calls it, feminism “holy grail,” there are more than a few countries that must wish they’d never stumbled upon it. In the seventies, the average Russian woman apparently exercised her “right to choose” no less than seven times. Today, abortions outnumber live births. As a result, Russia is at the start of a demographic death spiral unprecedented in a relatively advanced society not at war.”

Right, so the problems with Russia have nothing to do with a severely oppressed country battling economic and sociological problems. Nothing to do with the lack of food or medicine or access to basic life needs—oh no, it’s because Russian women are having too many abortions. Anyone ask the question as to why other methods of birth control aren’t available, or even assume they just might not be considering the termination rate is so high. No, no, Mr. Steyn, you’re so right, it’s the fault of feminists, that’s what it is. Ridiculous.

And what’s probably the most offense line in the entire, abysmal article: “That’s a Gloria Steinem line, of course. These days Gloria is — what? 83? 112? — and still looks fabulously hot, but, like The Feminism of Doria Gray, it’s her ideology that’s gotten all wrinkled and saggy.”

Wonderful. So he’s actually stooped to the level of criticizing a woman based on both her age and appearance, while at the same time claiming that feminism has conquered all of the problems women need to overcome in the Western world. So glad he’s obviously gotten the point, ahem, and I’m even happier that he decided to write this pap down, my goodness what if men were denied their right to free speech by us abortion-supporting, well educated, happily feminist women? No, that’s right, there are no more battles to fight on that front, none at all, especially considering men like this have obviously challenged themselves to think, act and, well, be feminists. Not.

Oh, you are so right Mark Steyn, “C’mon, gals! Anyone can beat up post-feminist neutered Western males. Why not pick on a target worth the effort?” Why not indeed, sir, why not indeed. Oh, and just because I can: “Shut up Mark Steyn. Shut the hell up while you’re still on a pulpit worth sprouting from.” And that’s 100% Ragdoll.

Oh and just for the record, I heart the Macleans web site; it’s one of my favourites, and my heart broke just a bit when I found this article there. What was Ken Whyte thinking? Can anyone tell me?

Edited to add: I know Steyn in his own misogynist way, was trying to call attention to the struggles of women outside the Western world, and in no way does my criticism of him downplay and/or disagree that women all around the world are in terrible positions because of various different socio, economical and political or even religious reasons, my point here is to simply state that he went about making that argument all wrong.

Things To Do: Today Being A Monday In January

So, here’s the list of things to do this week:

1. Vote for my RRHB’s band on MuchMoreMusic.com.

2. Vote again.

3. Finish North America’s most over-read book, The Da Vinci Code. I’m honestly not trying to pre-judge the damn book, but I kind of resent having to read it..but I kind of have to read it for work.

4. Try not to throw up. This one is crucial because ever since the non-wedding, I’ve been an almost-barf machine.

5. Watch Scrubs. Thank goodness it’s back on the air. The world needs more Zach Braff.

New Year’s Revolutions Redux

Keep in mind that just a mere 365 days ago, I went back to work after sick leave only to be laid off due to “restructuring.” So today when someone said to me, “Ragdoll, the boss wants to see you,” my stomach dropped to my knees. The last thing I needed was to get fired again!

Of course, I wasn’t getting fired from my almost-new job—she just wanted to let me know that we got cost of living increases, which is always nice. But my panic attack led me to another New Year’s Revolution: try to look at things more positively.

I decided that there’s little I can actually do to control the health situation. I need to give in to the fact that the disease is sort of having its way with me right now and as soon as it’s back into remission, I can concentrate on being super-duper-ooper healthy. For now, surviving is the best I can do.

But thinking positively? Well, that’s something I can start right away. And it comes in small doses, so it shouldn’t be all that hard to keep for the next 365 days.

New Year’s Revolutions

In the past, I celebrated the coming of the new year by getting really drunk and dancing the night away, hopefully ending up in bed with some fellow I only half knew. Ah, the ever-present memory; the stench of my youth. Now that I’m such an old lady, the last thought on my mind was finding some excuse to go out last night. Instead, my RRHB and I stayed home and watched a marathon session of The Lord of the Rings—all three extended editions. The. Entire. Trilogy. In a row. We started at 8 PM last night and finished at 5 PM today (after sleeping in until 10 AM, of course). That’s a perfect New Year’s Eve to me now. How old am I? Sheesh, and just think it was only last year when then RRBF was playing with The Weakerthans opening up for The Tragically Hip at Copp’s in the Hammer. Even now, that seems like a distant memory.

Last year, I had one revolution: to find a new job. Funny how it ended up finding me as today’s the anniversary of the day I got fired by the Boss From Hell. And to think my bionic hip has carried me through a solid 365 days of walking on both legs with no cane and with no pain.

So much happens in a year that you forget what you hoped to accomplish. I guess my only goal for this upcoming year is to be healthy, to be able to live like a regular girl again. I don’t think that’s too much to ask of myself. If it’s a revolution instead of a resolution, there just might be a chance I’ll stick to it and will myself into good health by eating right and at least attempting to exercise.

“Tomorrow’s another day,” she says as she finishes off the last of the Christmas baked goods…

"Champagne Flu"

So, I’ve discovered that drinking far too much champagne in celebration of your nuptials ends with a serious bout of barfing (3.5 hours just wasn’t enough for my body—it was in it for the long haul).

After 48 hours of feeling like the dog’s breakfast, I’m finally starting to feel better. Hey, at least I got to watch 4 movies and when do you get to just sit around and watch 4 movies?

At least I had a good time and isn’t that what your non-wedding is supposed to be, serious fun?

#65 – A Great And Terrible Beauty

Sometimes, I wonder if I should count YA novels towards the final count, but when the book runs over 250 pages, I think it’s a solid book. Libba Bray’s A Great and Terrible Beauty is a fanciful tale about a young girl named Gemma whose mother is murdered. She’s sent off to a finishing school (it’s the Victorian age) where she discovers a lot about herself (she’s got magical powers) and finds herself in over her head in terms of how to use said power for good.

A lot happens, but I found the book kind of silly, perhaps because I’m not a sixteen-year-old, but I loved the character and might read the next installment next year.

So I made it to 65 books this year. I wanted to hit 75, but I didn’t even come close. Guess that’s my goal for 2006!

Happy Wedding?

We just got home from our “non-wedding” and it’s very strange and wonderful to be Mrs. RRBF. I had the most fun of my entire life with everyone (*except my Hannah) there to celebrate the marriage of me and my now-RRHB (rock and roll husband). And I’m still so plastered, I can’t believe I’m typing).

#64 – Galveston

Paul Quarrington’s Galveston comes out of nowhere to knock you on your ass just like the storm hitting Dampier Clay. I had put the book down and picked up Tipping the Velvet it its place—what a mistake that was! The beginning of Galveston didn’t really grab me. I sort of read happily along, feeling out the characters and half-enjoying the tragic mess of each of their lives. But then, as soon as the wind picked up and the rain started, a hurricane of words on the page sped along, and I couldn’t put it down. All in all it’s a supreme read and one I truly enjoyed.

Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy!

In the spirit of the season, I’m going to forgive the following people today:

1. To the person who honked at me while I tried to get on the Gardiner this morning to go to work, I’m sorry if you thought I cut you off, but I’d rather not die on the day before the day before Christmas, and I had to either get in the lane or hit the concrete wall. I chose the latter.

2. To the crazy lady who butted in front of me not once, but twice (once at the bank, the next time at the drug store); it’s okay, we forgive you for being rude, at least you smiled when you were jumping ahead of me, each time.

3. To the idiot tellers at the bank who gave me a hard time about cashing my cheque from a US bank, I know you’re only doing your job, but I’m just looking to get paid.

4. To the wacky drivers of Toronto, I know you’re all just trying to get home for the holidays, so I’ll forgive you for blocking the intersection, for honking at a traffic jam to get into the beer store parking lot that was holding up traffic, for just about every wrong turn and foul temper that made my afternoon that much longer.

I forgive you, all of you, in the true spirit of the holiday.

God bless us, every one.

Happy Christmas!