What It's Like for a Girl? (in Pictures)

Recommended Reading to Dick Away Time...Fav Mags & Zines

1. salon.com
2. radarmagazine.com
3. toromagazine.ca
4. Utne magazine

Why Did Bush Really Bring America to War in Iraq?

W hat if there were no Santa Claus? No obscure, benevolent, do-gooder to drop in to reward all the deserving children? And, how did you feel when you first began noticing something wasn't quite right with Santa's story; or, if it happened, when some not so jolly person dropped the news on you? Still a believer? Good for you. You'll rest better at night without that itchy feeling that you've been had.

You are also probably a Bush supporter. God bless you!

Meanwhile, more Americans are showing tentative signs of disenchantment with president Bush's promise to deliver a big bag of freedom and democracy to the Iraqis. The on-going war in Iraq is getting under America's collective skin and it's making us scratch---not just because things are going badly for U.S. troops and planners---but because back home, a few too many more-than-relevant facts have popped up to the public's eye. As much as we would like to believe we have a hero in our elected president, even true-to-the-finish patriots who normally stand for all things God and good are entering a grey zone after recent exposures; such as the leaked Downing Street Memos, Colin Powell's walk of shame admission to the U.N. of erroneous U.S. intelligence on the existence of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, and subsequently, the White House's very selective reading of that intelligence.

We are going to need a lot of Gold Bond powder for this one.

So the question now begs to be asked: Just why did Bush want war in Iraq? All signs are now pointing to Bush, not so much needing to protect America from harm, but more to gaining regional influence in the Middle East---making this Bush just another power-hungry despot. But, I could be wrong.

montreal

Montreal. Summertime. Up on our balcony sipping cappucino. I have been living with two friends from up north in a 4 1/2 apartment. I sleep in the living room, on the futon sofa I disassemble every night. This is the English side of town but it's more of a smattering of cultures, ethnicities, than anything in particular. Today is Sunday and it's a sunny and warm 24 degrees Celsius, with a bit of a breeze to cool things off. The perfect Sunday afternoon. And, this might be the best place to be.

People walk by, all kinds of people. I'm looking down on the guy in the yarmulke smoking a joint. Three gangling black teenage boys are sauntering back from the community center down the street. There's a haphazard garage sale spread out all over the sidewalk in front of an apartment building, forcing pedestrians to watch where they are stepping. The church bells are ringing. Low-end sports cars cruise by with stereos pumpin' 'n' bumpin'. I'm happy to see the handsome gay man (the one with great posture and classical features) has finally found someone with whom to walk his dog. His neat hair is now fully grey and it looks like he's put on weight. Next, a strange fellow hurries by carrying his shoes in his hands, oddly preferring to walk in his socked feet. The new depanneur owner and his wife, super-friendly Middle Easterners who took over the Korean guy's store and did it up right, they go in and out of their store, alternately sitting on a plastic chair out front while they chat with customers and neighbours. They smile and wave at me whenever I pass by. Five minutes later and the church bells are still ringing. Must be a wedding. It's three o'clock in the afternoon. Cyclists, bladers and skateboarders whiz by, making the most of open stretches on the boulevard. It's Sunday, so that means the kosher sushi restaurant on the corner will soon be bustling with happy Jews chowing down on over-priced Asian fare. Later, I know, before the sun goes down, a young employee will set out the valet parking sign for the three-star Greek restaurant across the street. Next to it is the Persian restaurant with its delightful flower boxes and yellow-painted lanterns. (Persian food really being Iranian food.) I mean to go dine there again when I have a big appetite. Now what is this? A couple out of place, mowing down the sidewalk on scooters with big orange triangular safety flags tailing high. They wouldn't be from here---not hot! Must be American tourists! Then, like a caricature, comes an old man dressed all in black except for his pale brimmed sunhat, strolling with his hands behind his back. He stops every few paces, looks here and there, then continues on. This is Montreal. This is the place I love.