Caring what happens to Brian Mulroney is not a priority of mine. For that matter, caring what any politician or self-perceived big shot does in the way of greasy behind-closed-doors shenanigans isn’t a priority either. However, watching any of them take a fall is great, unadulterated sheer blissful fun. Martha Stewart, Conrad Black, Richard Nixon, Paris Hilton – it’s all side-splitting hilarity. I wish there were more of them. I need good uplifting moments from time to time. They say that people take delight out of seeing the rich and famous take a fall. There’s something wrong with that? THEY DESERVE IT. Most of these people have nothing in common with the rest of us. They’re arrogant, self-centred, spoiled, greedy, and in the case of Paris Hilton, shallow and dumb. They feel they’re above the law, better than you and me, blah, blah, blah. Conrad Black inherited 8 million bucks from his father. He’s not better or smarter than us. He just picked a rich dad. Richard Nixon? His famous line, “I am not a crook” was the biggest piece of bullshit ever spouted by a President. And Martha Stewart thinks you and I should clean her toilet.
If the team wins tomorrow night against Florida, this will provide me with another good uplifting moment. If Michael Ryder popped two or three goals, ditto for another uplifter.
I’ve got the best neighbours in the history of neighbours. Rob and Patti Helm continue to help in many varied ways, and add precious little moments to Luciena’s and my sometimes downlifting lives. Help with the roof, lending tools, offering advice, taping music, lending movies, and the list goes on and on. So I’m going to stick my tongue out, flap my fingers from my ears, and say to the rest of you, “My neighbours are better than your neighbours, nah, na, nah, na, nah, na!
Fair warning to everyone. The indescribable and continuing “Fascinating Facts” is coming soon. It’s just my way of giving back to society.
I miss the old days of hockey. If there are 600 or so players in the NHL right now, 550 at least could come to my door and I wouldn’t have a clue who they were. But if the Rocket, Eddie Shack, Bobby Orr, Bobby Hull, Gordie Howe, Jean Beliveau, Guy Lafleur, Phil Esposito, Ken Dryden, Yvon Counoyer, Dave Keon, Tim Horton, Gump Worsley, etc. came to my door, I’d know instantly who they were, invite them in for beer and they’d be treated like long lost friends. As long as they didn’t bring Conrad Black, Martha Stewart, and the rest of those sleazy and sad excuses for human beings.