It's been quite a hiatus, with so much happening in my life over the past several months that I've been hard pressed to read a blog, let alone write one. But finally, after weeks of pneumonia, and with a handful of inhaler devices under my belt, I finally feel the need and ability to write once more.
And so, with a nod to Mr. Bentz, Alice, and others who have given me shit online and off for keeping my thoughts to myself, I'm preparing to spread it around again from my station here in the Maple Leaf Lounge at the Calgary airport. Although you can often find me in one of these places between flights, I'm not much of a drinker and very seldom imbibe before flying. But having decided to venture a tipple, I now wear a puckered expression that will probably last until I get back to Kamloops; the bottle said Malbec, but this stuff in my glass tastes a lot more like paint-thinner. TANSTAAFL, I guess.
But in my weakened condition even half a glass is maybe too much, for between that paragraph and this I meandered over to the restroom on the left instead of the restroom on the right, intent on freshening up a bit before heading to the gate. Thankfully the lack of appropriate fixtures on the wall caught my eye before I entered a stall, otherwise the expression of surprise on the lady behind me at the mirror surely would have been complemented by a somewhat more intense and audible reaction.
OK, I was a little distracted even before the wine.
On the way to the airport, I asked my cabbie whether he followed politics. When on the road, I seek out local opinion in equal measure to local cuisine, and have discovered that cab drivers can usually serve up the first and drive you to the second with similar dexterity. Today (with the Pundit's Guide on my mind), I specifically asked about Michael Ignatieff.
I attended Mr. Ignatieff's luncheon a couple of weeks ago back in Kamloops, and left with a decidedly more favourable impression of a federal Liberal leader than I've formed in some time. Mr. Ignatieff painted many of his responses to the audience's questions in shades of blue, but with enough nuance to put rosy smiles on most faces. In the past I've perhaps incorrectly assumed that most of the audience at these events were card-carrying party members. But if many of the other attendees were invited - like me - by someone who hopes that Iggy can pull Harper Liberals back to the middle party, then Mr. Ignatieff`s ability get a roomful of hinges nodding in agreement was actually quite impressive.
My Pakistani cab driver didn't seem so impressed however, with Iggy or any other politician. "The faces may change, but nothing they do helps me one bit," he replied. He immigrated here in the mid-nineties from Islamabad where he was a successful banker. He and three friends - all professionals - moved to either Canada or the US in search of a better life. But while his friends in the US succeeded on Wall Street and elsewhere, Mr. Cab Driver was turned down by one prospective Canadian employer after another; you don't have any Canadian business experience, you're overqualified, etc.
"But I am not alone," he insisted, "half the cabbies in this town could tell you the same story. We are so many professionals, stuck here driving cab 7 days a week, even with a sore back. My friend was a heart surgeon in Islamabad, but when he came here he cried every day because there was nothing but the taxi for him. Now he has gone back home, so he can make something for his children."
Maybe this is why so many have so little to say about politics. You can't call it apathy if the matters involved are genuinely of little import. If politicians and their policies don't create much impact for citizens one way or the other, maybe politics is more of a pastime than a necessity.
That's a sobering thought. Maybe I'm just tired... it's been a long week on the road and it's always hard being away from the family. But now I fear that even when I return, it will be some time before this lingering sour taste leaves my mouth.
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