Victoria Fire and Rescue Team

On Saturday at my construction site post I watched about a dozen fellows with backpacks march through the gate and up the steps to the catwalk. Who are these guys and what are they doing here I wondered. It seems they were members of Victoria's special rescue team, arrived for their yearly crane rescue drill. Its gratifying to me to see these young guys willing to take on such dangerous work. They are conscientious, take the the work seriously, and practice so they can do it right when it's for real. Here are a few pictures.

The Goracle

So Al Gore was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. It just goes to show that not all of the quislings were run out of Norway after the war. I suppose it was like Canada's own Red Cross big boys who, having presided over a tainted blood scandal leading to the deaths of thousands, are quietly reabsorbed into the upper class fabric instead of sitting in jail where they belong. Gore joins an estimable fraternity. Kofi Annan, architect of the oil-for-food ripoff, and Yassar Arafat, inventor of the use of children for suicide bombers, are alumni. With company like that I suppose someday in the future Joseph Stalin and Adolph Hitler will be awarded the prize posthumously. But what has Gore done to deserve the honour? I can only speculate. So far, although the potential is clearly there, nothing he has done has led to mass murder or thieving on an industrial scale. (He is working hard on the latter with his carbon credit scheme) He is arguably the world's biggest ass, and that certainly deserves an award of some sort, but personally I think that Allmadinthehat fellow from Iran is the real Nobel material. Of course, I know Arafat had already done a lot of work toward extinguishing the only prosperous, functioning democracy in the Middle East, keeping his Palestinian constituency in a state of abject misery and poverty for all those years and so far Allmad has only started a small war or two with his good neighbor policy. Weasels like them are more Nobel-like than asses. Maybe Allmad's time is yet to come, especially if he succeeds in setting off a nuclear device somewhere in the middle of, say Antwerp. A worth attainment for an honour funded by the estate of the inventor of dynamite. Self flagelation seems to be the default setting of the European intellectual class these days so I'm sure it would shiver and squeal with pleasure.
I can only guess at the reason for including Gore in this company, but maybe it's this: Arafat, a murderer, Annan, a thief, and Gore fraud... all three masters at their trades. A trifecta.
But seriously, folks, where is the absurdly wealthy patron who is willing to endow an anti- Nobel prize? Something is clearly needed to reward human beings of genuine courage, high purpose and integrity as opposed to the frauds and schemers so admired in Norway. And there is certainly one human being living on this planet right now who deserves elevation to sainthood, a modern day Joan of Arc. Her name is Ayaan Hirsi Ali, and she has been run out of Holland, which is a good sign in itself. Not only does she think with a rare clarity and express herself in plain, unvarnished truthful words, she is beautiful and endowed with a wonderful nobility. It's no wonder the religion of peace hates her: she seems to be hated by all the right people.

Autumn in Victoria

Some leaves are falling in Victoria but much of the city is still green. Methinks that means we have a pleasant Indian summer in store, my theory being that the trees are the best forecasters of upcoming weather patterns. Even the trees are wrong sometimes, so I tried my best to enjoy the sunshine. The days get shorter and shorter and at this time of the year and you never know for sure how long it will be before the next really gorgeous day comes, or if I'll still be here when it does.

Murder in the north

We haven't had much good weather in Victoria this year and so a lovely autumn day like this is precious. Some leaves are turning but most trees are still dressed in green. In places the ground is littered with horse chestnuts, acorns, and apples, and the wasps are ravenous for their last meal. A few weeks ago the hanging flower baskets were taken down from the light posts, and the light bulbs on the parliament building are being changed. But at Goodacre lake in Beacon Hill Park it still looks like summer.
It's too bad a certain young RCMP officer in the Northwest Territories can't enjoy these photos, but someone cut his life off last Saturday.
The article in the paper Monday made the front page but it didn't tell us much. Skim it quickly and you might be forgiven for thinking he had met with an unfortunate accident while raking the lawn. We were mostly told how his young wife felt, as if there were something unusual about her grieving for her murdered husband and their life together. In fact, I don't remember the word 'murder' being used. A few more specifics, not many, were furnished in a separate article inside the paper. Ho hum, another dead cop. Nothing to get angry about. That would be so uncool. I don't blame the reporters so much, they're probably young and haven't thought about these things very much. They've seen lots of murders in the movies, and when was the last time you took a movie seriously?
But I have thought about it and it does make me angry, very angry, that reporters, movie stars, and left wing politicians are more apt to sympathize with the murderer than the victim. And don't let me forget the criminal justice industry who profit from crime. The lawyers, judges, social workers, advocacy groups, they all have a stake in maintaining a high crime rate. The police are a part of the system, too, and it's a wonder most of them aren't corrupted by it. But I don't think they are as a rule. They are the ones who see every day the consequences of a justice system that refuses to enforce the laws. They are the ones who do the dirty work.
The name of the suspect in this case is Emrah Bulatci who came to Canada from Turkey when he was four years old. He doesn't seem to like his adopted country very much. In the last three years he has been up for 25 charges in four Alberta towns. People familiar with him say he is violent and aggressive. His father had an interesting response with regard to his son's whereabouts: "Even if I know I won't call the cops. Why should I? Maybe they are lying." Sounds like the father is part of the problem.
Today's Edmonton Journal gives us a look at Emrah's rap sheet. Assault, uttering threats, vehicle violations, possession of proceeds of crime, and many more. But aside from a few slap-on-the-wrist fines, and one 'intermittent' ten month sentence, almost no convictions. But lots of court time, I'll bet. Lots of counseling sessions, I'll bet. Lots of publicly funded defense lawyers, I'll bet. But what do I know? Maybe he's just a poor, misunderstood young man who is being unfairly persecuted.
One thing is sure: I wouldn't know anything about his rap sheet if the mountie hadn't been killed, just like I seldom hear about other rap sheets until some innocent person is killed. Then I wonder: why wasn't that person put in a cage? Why was he on the loose? A few months ago the Victoria police shot and killed a fugitive driver who rammed a police barricade. His rap sheet was right up there with the best. You would think the reaction would be to pin a medal on the chest of the cop who shot him and kept him from killing some innocent party who got in the fugitive's way. Writeups by a rational newspaper reporter would have questioned the judiciary on why this guy was on the loose in the first place. Nope. To the newspaper writers it was the cop who had to explain himself.
Why are things like this in enlightened, modern Canada? The answer is that the people who have taken on the responsibility of enforcing the law do not believe in the punishment principle. That went out a long time ago and was replaced by the rehabilitation principle. However that was only a passing phase. Nowadays there is no longer any concept of 'criminal,' there is only the victim. Who is the victim, you might ask? Certainly not you or I who may have had a windshield smashed by vandals, or purse snatched, or tools stolen out of a truck. Oh, no. The victim is the person who did the crime...and it's all our fault because we have crated such an unjust society. If you work hard, have money in the bank, a regular job, a mortgage, that means you are an oppressor, you capitalist pig. If you are a heterosexual white male who supports a family, pays taxes, contributes time and money to your community, and maybe even (god forbid) attends church, you are the epitome of evil, the true criminal. It only follows that when law breakers are released on parole or given minimal sentences and while they are free to roam whatever violent acts they commit on you- why, it's all your fault.
I don't know when this slide into idiocy started exactly, but I think it must have been when we became too squeamish to use the noose. When murderers are allowed to walk away from their crimes, then what happens to lesser felons? It becomes like a devaluation of the currency. If a murderer only serves a year or two then what do you do with someone who steals? Why, it's catch and release. What about someone who scribbles graffiti on the side of your grocery store? In Victoria you, the proprietor, are the one who gets fined. The scribbler, often one of the "homeless," is one of your victims. That's why he breaks into your dumpster to stash his drugs and leaves his government supplied needles strewn in your back alley.
The same people, philosophy, advocacy groups, whatever, that have brought us to this sorry state are currently working openly to 'decriminalize' drugs altogether, and in the background are quietly working to legitimize what they call 'intergenerational sex,' or what you or I would call child abuse.
I have no idea what to do about it, but I get angrier by the day. Not to excuse the murderer of the young Mountie, whether or not it was Emrah Bulatci, but he is a victim all right. He is a victim of the prevailing unwisdom that there is no absolute right or wrong, and its companion unwisdom that our actions are predetermined and so we can not really be held accountable for them.
But the fate of the murderer when he is apprehended is easily foreseen. There will be endless hearings, depositions, court appointed lawyers, counseling sessions, all subject to a court ordered information ban. Because we wouldn't want to violate his rights, would we?
Meanwhile Christopher Worden's widow is left with an urn of ashes. Yes, I get very angry sometimes. My condolences to her and their child.

The meaning of miracles

An interesting piece on the First Things blog last week by Matthew J. Milliner recounts an experience he had while visiting a church in Crete that dated from the period of Venetian rule. Catholic Venetians and Orthodox Cretans had divergent liturgies, a problem that was resolved by building churches with naves on opposite ends of the structure so that services from each rite could be celebrated in the same space. I was unfamiliar with this bit of historic lore and so it caught my imagination at once. I like stuff like this.
Milliner was there in his capacity as an art historian, and while there he encountered an English speaking Cretan who was well-versed in the iconography on display. In response to an inquiry about a depiction of Mary consoling the infant Christ, the Cretan explained the story behind it.
"Mary was permitted, due to her wisdom, to study in the Temple from an early age. Because of her access to Solomon's mysteries, she knew what was to happen to her son. And so, as Gabriel confronts Christ in this icon with the instruments of the Passion, Mary comforts her son."
Milliner, not believing the historicity of this legend, launches into a meditation on how these mythic tales could be true and untrue at the same time. The story contains a code, the Cretan elaborated, something that needs interpretation to be intelligible. Because, how could it be literally true? He tells us about other legends that require similar readings, like the Turin shroud. Never fear. They do not contradict the gospels but amplify them.
This is familiar territory for me, a long time enthusiast for poetry in general and mythic literature in particular. The challenge for a poet is to transcend the limitations of language itself, just as a painter is challenged by the two dimensional limitations of his medium. This is somewhat easier to do when poetry is transmitted by a blind harper like Homer, a mythic character himself. He used gesture and vocal expressiveness to augment his words. Verse itself has no literal meaning but without verse the meaning of the words in the poem are diminished, even neutralized or altered to an entirely different meaning. A great poet, as opposed to a hobbyist versifier, turns these limitations into opportunities. The limitations amount to a kind of traction. Robert Graves' "The White Goddess" is an eye opening introduction to reading myth, if you can figure out what he's talking about while trying to separate out all his misdirections. But I'm convinced he understood myth better than anyone else I have ever read.
The specific problem Milliner mentions in the reading of that icon is Mary's presence in the temple. The story is new to me, and surprising. Were women taught religious doctrine in the Temple? Wasn't the Judaism of that date as patriarchal as Mosquism of today? Milliner doesn't say anything at all about the angel Gabriel. Does that mean he believes that part, or is he avoiding that question? I don't know.
But these are important questions in the context of Christian belief since the authenticity of the religion itself depends on the literal truth of supernatural events occurring in real, literal, historic time. IE, the Son of God, come to earth, suffering torture and death, only to come to life again for a few days before returning to heaven. Stories in the gospels of miracles he performed are important only if they actually happened.
A school of thought among Christian believers doesn't care for these tricks and would prefer to forget about them. As for me, I have never seen a miracle performed. I have never seen an angel. I have never seen or heard of a documented case of a dead man coming back to life. To the skeptical mind that seems preposterous, and I have a skeptical habit of mind. I always subject ideas and theories to critical assessment. For someone like me claims of a virgin birth, a resurrection, visitations by angels and so on are hard to accept.
At the same time dogmatic skepticism is a trap that unimaginative minds often fall into. The classic example is the case of the museum curator who didn't believe there could be such an animal as a platypus even after examining a preserved specimen. Skepticism shouldn't be a closing of the mind to unfamiliar phenomena. Often skepticism is a mask for the kind of intellectual laziness that doesn't want to go to the terrifying trouble of reexamining all previous premises.
The reason I can take the gospels seriously is not just because they are great literary works written by intelligent and honest men of serious purpose who set them down because of something utterly momentuous they had witnessed. The reason I am open to ideas of the miraculous events they recorded is that I already know life is an astonishing miracle. Nevertheless, I am still troubled over the built in limitations of my ability to know what it all means. These limitations are not transcended by means of reason or through an accumulation of information or an amplification of my sensory faculties. They are inherent. All I know is that there has to be something more to it.
That's where the 'tricks' in the gospels enter into the discussion. We do see people who set themselves up as gurus and prophets and anyone with half a brain can tell they are crackpots. Presumably things weren't much different in the Roman province of Judea, a place literally crawling with preachers and prophets. Mystery religions were a shekel a dozen. Can Pontius Pilate really be blamed for not wanting to get caught between warring factions in his own consulship? It would look bad on his resume, and interfere with the Roman penchant for accumulating plunder.
The problem for the gospel writers was to distinguish Jesus from all the other preachers, and the miracles were the proof. The kinds of miracles Jesus performed were contrary to the natural order. In the natural order of things corpses do not come back to life. In the natural order of things cripples do not throw their crutches away and leap in the air. In the natural order of things the blind remain blind. In the natural order of things loaves and fishes do not proliferate in baskets. According to the scriptures all these miracles occurred in the presence of witnesses. If a man was blind, he was known to all in the vicinity as a blind man. There would be no faking it. Even in the Temple in front of the most hostile of skeptics Jesus was said to perform miracles.
We are told Jesus' reasons for performing miracles. He was backing up his claim to be the Son of God. He was proving that he was not bound by the rules of the world. He was proving he was not as others so that when he submitted to the same sufferings as thieves and murderers the world would know that it was through his choice. Even more it was to prove to the descendants of Abraham that he was the Messiah and that he was therefore entitled to change the terms of the Covenant made with Moses. Through the miracles he left the skeptics with no option but to reexamine their doctrines.
We moderns don't have the evidence of plain vision before us. We only have the words of the gospel writers and in spite of my own habitual skepticism I find them convincing...though not quite enough to salve all qualms.
As for the icon in the Venetian church on Crete, I wish I could see it for myself, and I wish I knew more about the legend that goes with it. The gospels are the bedrock of Christian belief, but that doesn't mean the gospels were the only accounts recorded or memorized by the early congregations. The gospels were accorded privileged status by the early Church Fathers as a preemptive strike against promulgators of mainly gnostic cults that would have been fatal to the Church. For an excellent discussion on why heresies are so important to counteract I refer the interested reader to a website- The Great Heresies, by Hilaire Belloc. These issues never fade, but we have been disarmed by philosophical trends that trivialize their importance.
I would think feminist researchers into Christian history would be very interested in this icon...if their minds weren't so closed to anything but the blather preached by the sorority.

Mickey Rooney

I had despaired ever again of finding any new issues of Hollywood Golden Age musicals in A&B Sound. Since being bought out by a computer maker, Victoria's best source of good music and DVDs has drastically downsized. And they wonder why customers have been turning to online sources. I wouldn't go in there that often anymore if it wasn't just across the street from my bus stop.
But on Sunday I hit the jackpot. They had a nice boxed set of Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney musicals at under 50 bucks. I only hesitated a minute before running down to the bank to refresh my wallet. Didn't even miss my bus.
I have only watched two of them so far, "Babes in Arms," and "Girl Crazy." Bookends, the first and the last of that collaboration. Early on in the first film, Mickey is sitting at the piano while Judy sings "Good morning, good morning...it's great to be out late...good morning, good morning, to you." It's a cheerful, upbeat ditty written by Arthur Freed, producer of the movie, and his song writing partner Nacio Herb Brown. I think Judy was seventeen when she made the movie. Standing by the piano she is dressed demurely, looking perky, neat and stylish, with a wicked little sparkle in her eye. She and Mickey are in a music publisher's office trying to sell this, Mickey's latest song. Toward the end of the song Mickey sees he has caught the interest of the music publisher and he looks at Judy and says, "Hit it, mama!" And boy, does she hit it. Judy Garland could deliver more smoldering sexuality by just arching an eyebrow than Paris Hilton can dream of by spreading her legs.
The plot sounds corny. Judy and Mickey are both children of vaudeville parents who have been put out of work by 'talking pictures.' A social worker threatens to put the children of all the out of work performers into reform school so they can learn honest trades. While all the adults are on the road trying to restart their careers, Mickey decides to organize a show using the talents of all the kids left behind and put it on in a local barn.
It isn't so corny when you know that both Mickey and Judy were children of vaudeville performers, and that when Mickey became MGM's top star he persuaded Louis B. Mayer to hire his father, who was playing in a run down L.A. burlesque house, for the studio. One of the threads of the movie plot duplicates this real life experience of the real Mickey Rooney.
Judy Garland I have always been in love with, but I have never known that much about Mickey Rooney. The more I know about him, though, the more I like him. He made his stage debut at the age of 17 months, and he worked constantly from then on. It was work he loved, not really distinguishing his life from his work. He could do everything: dance, sing, play piano, play drums, write songs. Many of the big stars who knew him said he was the most talented movie actor ever. A bonus disc in the set replays an interview he did as an old man for TV that really helps to give a sense of what it was like to be Mickey Rooney, and I envy him. All that exuberant youth erodes inexorably into old age and death, but what a life to look back on. I'm absolutely certain he was in love with Judy, has been in love with her all his long life, and not even Ava Gardner, to whom he was married for three years, was a satisfactory substitute. Mickey Rooney was definitely a guy with little man's syndrome who punched above his weight! Everyone was above his weight! Even Frank Sinatra had trouble handling Ava. Now that I do know more about what kind of a person he was, I have developed a real fondness for him, and the more I see of his work, the more respect I have for him. Singing and dancing,and kissing some of the most beautiful women who have ever lived...it was a tough job, but somebody had to do it. And what a gift to the world these performances are. When you watch his movies you can see that Mickey was often better than his scripts. By the way, Mickey did his duty and went to war when his country called, earning a few medals in the process.
"Girl Crazy" was an an adaptation of a Gershwin Broadway production and has a lot of great songs. As with all Hollywood adaptations it's a mixture of good and bad. Hollywood had trouble just leaving things alone without adding overblown spectacle. Sometimes it works and you just have to accept it on its own terms, like Busby Berkeley's infatuation with Art Deco effects. But when Gershwin's music is involved any embellishment amounts to gilding the lily, and we have just a little too much embellishment in this production. At least Arthur Freed didn't try to shoehorn one of his own songs into it. He wrote good songs but he was no Gershwin. However, many of the songs were over orchestrated, and some good songs were removed from the score. But believe me, Mickey and Judy could rescue any song from maltreatment and they make the movie a delight all the way through.
For anyone who loves music and great singing and dancing, this set is highly recommended. I know I'm going to be able to enjoy watching these movies over and over again.