Based on today’s public opinion, there’s only one thing worse you could do than hunt and kill a cherished lion… and it’s to vote for Harper.

Proclaim you may have voted for Harper in the past and before you can log out of your Facebook account the abuse will start. The posts will be relentless. You will be called stupid, uninformed and ignorant. You will be told you have allowed a murderer to desecrate Canada. You don’t care about science or children or the arts. You have harboured the most evil man to ever lead our country.

And that will only be for the first five minutes. The haters are just getting warmed up.

If you’re transgendered or have religious beliefs or just want to show your breasts in public, you can scream about your rights and people will defend you. You might even be regarded as a hero. You can speak your truth and even if people don’t agree with your choice it is now accepted that you should not be persecuted. But if you voted for Harper you must keep it a secret or become a target for hate.

I’m constantly told Harper is a bully. If I don’t agree, you will start to bully me.

How ironic.

How did we ever come to this? Who do you think you are?

I feel like we’ve wandered down the path and followed the US’s style of politics. We are no longer able to have a conversation. The lines have been drawn. I vote with you or I am wrong. When did we lose the respect for each other?

The diarrhea of verbal slams against our Prime Minister are boring. Trust me: I know how you are going to vote. But guess what, you have no idea how or why I will vote the way I do. You never ask, you just yell.

Twice in the past four years I have been afraid of losing my job because of how I voted. That is not the accommodating, kind and inclusive Canadians we are known to be.

Silence has been my refuge.

Seriously, how did we ever come to this? I know some people will blame Harper.

A few months ago I promised James Moore I would stop being afraid of the backlash. Mr. Moore was making a tough decision to quit politics; I admired his reasons and respected his stance. My promise was to not hide my opinion or choice.

But a respectful dialogue is required.

Here’s the other point I think gets lost. I always vote locally. I try to meet the candidates in my area and vote for the person I like best. End of. It’s how I’ve always voted and how I will continue to vote in the future. How can you argue with that?

I have a good reason for not hating Harper. It’s personal and not up for debate. It’s something he did years ago and also the reason I looked into his eyes, shook his hand and said thanks.

Now I will sit back and let the mudslinging begin.

Oh, and before you start… a fact that should never be forgotten, I love Canada.

 

 

 

Haven’t we all been taught that gossip is bad? I love that even the Oxford Dictionary has it’s say about the word.This week I was reminded that gossip can be a good thing. Talking about people you know can be positive…

And it all started off with another of my evening walks. I was strolling through the local neighbourhood. The views are spectacular and it’s fun to look at some of the big houses.

I’m not the only one that does this and crossed paths a couple of times with a man also out for a stroll. As we passed by each other again I laughed and asked if he was following me? He smiled back and asked the same.

I was wearing a shirt with the SFU Centre for Scottish Studies logo and that prompted him to tell me about his recent trip to Scotland. The conversation was just getting started.

We stood on the corner for almost 30 minutes chatting about shared acquaintances. This man knew some of my more prominent clients. Vancouver can seem like a very small town where in certain circles everyone seems to know everyone.

Good gossip at its best. The ripple had been started.

When I got home I immediately googled the man and yes… he was who he said he was. (Am I wrong to do this? It seems weird but it’s such an easy way to fact-check. And so helpful when pictures are also shown.)

I then emailed the two people we had chatted about and shared with them the lovely things that had been said. Shared the words that were used to describe them, “man of high integrity”, “extremely intelligent”, and “honourable” to name a few.

The ripple was now gaining a little momentum.

It didn’t take long before I got replies and I could feel the smiles in the words of thanks.

It’s not often we hear about the conversations people are having about us. It’s not often we want to hear what people gossip about.

I can’t wait to run into that man again and tell him how his idle gossip about two colleagues had brought so much joy.

It’s now confirmed, I love good gossip.

 

 

Let me speak on behalf of the “selfie”.

When did it get such a negative connotation?

Maybe it’s a lot easier to explain the annoyance of “selfies” by looking at the Kardashian Klan. Do we really need to see another picture Kim has taken of herself? No.

But not all “selfies” are annoying.

The “selfie” is a victim of bad press. A “selfie” is just a picture of you, taken by yourself. So what? Really, what is the big deal?

And a question… if I asked you to take my picture is that now called a “youie”?

 

 

Lately, I’ve spent my evenings walking around some of Vancouver’s iconic tourist sites.

 

 

When I see someone struggling to take a shot of themselves surrounded by the harbor with the mountains in the background I always ask if I can take the picture for them. They always say yes. No one has ever said… “No, I really just want to take a selfie so it won’t count if I don’t do this on my own.”

This has led to some wonderful chats. People on holidays are usually in a good mood. They are agog by Vancouver’s beauty. The young couple I met last night was thrilled to discover that if they walked to the end of the pier a big bald eagle was sitting on a pole just waiting for photo opts. They hurried away with the “youie” I had taken of them.

I love words but we can’t label everything. Or maybe what I’m trying to say is we can’t judge everything.

My dear friend, Jen, took a “selfie” of us… so does this make it an “usie”? I cropped the shot to use as an on-line profile picture. I don’t even want to think how to label that variation! In the end a “selfie” is just a picture, a “youie” is just a picture, and that old framed snapshot of my mother is just a picture. Who cares who took it? If it’s a photograph of someone you care about it will be precious for years to come.

A “selfie” is just a silly name for a picture.

A “youie” means you had to speak to someone to get the job done.

 

“Anne Murray.”

“Really, that’s your favourite Canadian hero? I would have thought maybe singer, but hero?”

My reply could have and maybe should have been, “You stupid idiot, Anne Murray is no hero! She hasn’t even had a hit song for like 50 years!”

And in that small exchange I demonstrate one of our Canadian traits, politeness.

For the last few days I have been asking people who is Canada’s most famous hero. The answers have been predictable and odd and telling. We Canadians are a strange bunch. And we are opinionated! (In a very polite way.)

Being Canadian has made me smug. I can’t help feeling just a little superior when someone asks where I was born and I get to say “Canada.”

I have no idea what twist of fate and karma allowed me to be born in Vancouver but each and every day I feel blessed. You may complain about politics, taxes, the weather or god-forbid, multiculturalism, but I just smile and feel smug. I get to live here.

I am Canadian.

So on this Canada Day I can’t help but have a smirky little smile on my face.

I love Canada.

And my favourite Canadian hero? Terry Fox.

Around the time people started to suggest I write a book I started to fantasize on being interviewed about this yet unwritten novel. Yes, this is weird and terribly narcissistic.

If you want to procrastinate, contemplating famous interviewers asking you questions is a great pastime. I am a prolific procrastinator.

The habit started decades ago when the ultimate was to be on Oprah’s couch. Write a book and have Oprah like it made an instant best-seller and you wealthy. This storyline didn’t last long because I was never a huge Oprah fan and more important, I had not started writing a book.

Fast-forward through the years… Rosie O’Donnell would ask me hilarious questions and I would be just as funny in my replies. Matt Lauer, with a full head of hair, had insightful thoughts. Ellen DeGeneres wanted to know why I didn’t like to dance. Katie Couric inquired about my childhood trauma. Larry King was just crazy.

All of these conversations were alive in my head. I would see the set, the cameras, hell, I even imagined my nerves. Clearly I watched far too much US television.

As I started concrete work on my book the imaginary interviews toned down. This was all becoming much too real. The daunting reality of it set in. You actually had to write a book, finish it and publish the sucker for someone to care.

Yet I still procrastinate and what better way than to take a walk and imagine a famous interviewer asking me questions. (Yes, I’m still narcissistic.) Who could resist thinking about being on the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson? I would get to meet Geoff the robot!

For years I thought about being on CKNW with Bill Good. Dad would have been so proud. Bill retired and my focused switched to Michael Eckford. Mike’s a great interviewer and better still, I had finished writing my book. Somehow this might all just work; fantasy becomes reality.

Then Mike Eckford retired. My book is nowhere near being published.

There is just one last hope. My best go-to fake interview has always been with Jon Stewart of the Daily Show. I’ve got the whole encounter scripted. The trip to New York. Meeting all the people on the show. Sitting in that chair with Jon across the desk. Trying to breathe because I can’t believe I’m actually talking to the man I’ve worshiped for years. I imagine Jon telling me he has one specific story in my book that touched him the most.

Now I’ll never know which one it is.

Jon Stewart is retiring from the Daily Show at the end of the summer.

The dream will officially be dead.