Tag Archives: People

No such thing as ‘Revenue Neutral’

I often spend the early hours of the morning answering transatlantic queries that I could have sworn I answered six months ago. Like this morning, and the one before that. To confirm my suspicions I went into my saved emails, ran a simple text string search and, yup. Already told ’em that. In the same words no less. Sometimes I feel like I’m dealing with Goldfish level attention spans because I have the annoying (To my opponents) ability to recall what was said on a given topic for some time afterwards. And if I’m not sure of a critical detail I bloody well go and check. I make no claims to more than a slightly better than average intelligence, however, some so-called ‘qualified’ people make me despair.

Like with this stupid ‘Carbon tax’ we’re going to get foisted on us by the idiot fop Canadians made Prime Minister. Like with the carbon tax the NDP have just dumped on the Albertans. And these dumb fuck politicians say their new tax will be ‘revenue neutral’.

Well there isn’t such a thing as revenue neutrality. If tax is applied then it has to be collected. New taxes always have a collection cost. Administrative staff need to be recruited and paid, new (often very expensive) offices built or leased and furnished, electricity, sewerage and water for all those workers so they don’t have to work with their legs permanently crossed. Computer systems and support staff. Money to pay for the phone bills and software licences. Then there’s the kind of Ouroboros-like effect of taxing government employees to pay for their own wages, offices, phone and electricity etcetera, etcetera. With every new tax, the tax collection system has to be enlarged. Web sites have to be built with FAQ’s and phone lines to keep frustrated taxpayers on while they stare disbelievingly at the way taxation has just taken yet another bite out of their stagnated income.

In short, you can’t get more out than you put in. Which is a fundamental law of economics. ‘Revenue neutral’ is one of those ghastly hollow little soundbites used by virtue signalling left of centre politicians who don’t have to keep a vice like grip on the family budget. The politico’s and their hangers on (By contrast to ordinary people, for a given value of ‘ordinary’) have privileged little lives insulated from the effects of their actions. What they can’t see is the simple fact that any new tax, like, let me see, the insane ‘Carbon tax’ that Albertans have just been saddled with cannot ever be ‘revenue neutral’. No matter how many cheques are sent out to the people they’ve just sent careering down the slope to energy poverty. Someone has to pay for all the people to administer such a scheme. Ergo any tax take is not going to be anything like ‘revenue neutral’. But anyone with two brain cells to rub together knows this anyway.

Don’t even get me started on the David Suzuki bullshit about ‘saving the planet’ as justification for the new Carbon tax. What does he know? He’s an Entomologist for Christs sake, not an atmospheric physicist. His field, before he found there was more money to be made in advocacy and media whoring, was the study of insects. Ergo, anything he has to say on a climate science can reasonably be assumed to be no more well informed than some random bloke down the pub. Atmospheric Physics requires some serious Mathematical skill, which very few people have, even then climate modelling has failed dismally to reflect reality. Although I do admire Suzuki’s ability for making millions out of scare story advocacy. He’s made a mint from speaking fees and public appearances. The fact that all his prognostications of climate doom have repeatedly been shown to be complete and utter bollocks make me that much more in awe of his talent for turning dross into cold hard cash. That and his much-cited demand to be escorted by a ‘bodyguard’ of the hottest girls on campus. You have to take your hat off to the sheer, bare faced chutzpah of the old con merchant.

Mind you, I don’t think Suzuki had much sway over Harper, but his resurgence as influence over a half wit drama teacher who looks like Mick Jagger was his real father has to be admired. As for when Trump takes office at the end of this week and the pseudo-environmentalists like Suzuki lose their influence within the US, I will be listening to the outraged wails with a grim smile on my face.

Socially contructed

Mrs S loses her leg splint today. I may borrow it when my rugby injured knee starts it’s periodic grumbling. Outside it’s cold and bright, and there’s a massive cloud band over the Juan De Fuca Straits to the sparkling lights of Port Angeles in the USA and the peaks of the Olympic mountains peering over the top. Our new apartment has more much space and my office a cracking view.

Meandering through the morning news, trying manfully to sort the faction from fact, I kept on bumping into the weird idea that gender is a ‘social construct’ To which my response was “WTF!” Especially over a so-called ‘pregnant man’ getting death threats. Because she’s not a man, she’s a surgically altered female on hormone treatments. In order to carry a foetus to term she still must have her Uterus still in place. If she truly was a ‘man’ she would be having an Ectopic or ‘non uterine’ pregnancy, which are usually fatal if untreated.

Open any worthwhile reference book on human biology and read the sections on the male and female Endocrine and reproductive systems, along with certain structures in the brain like the corpus callosum, which tends to be thicker in women than men. This will inform the reader who has an above room temperature IQ, that men and women are quite distinct but complementary members of the species Homo Sapiens (Or Pan Narrans, if like me you are a Pratchett fan).

You are biologically male or female, and no amount of surgery and hormone treatment can turn a man into a woman or vice versa because the glands will always be wrong. Or until some clever dick perfects a genetic technology that can change XX chromosomes to XY and vice versa, which isn’t likely. Then there’s all the new bits that need to be added, like testes and their biological support mechanisms, or a uterus and ovaries. Which is just the obvious stuff. Never mind all those more subtle differences in the brain, circulatory and endocrine systems. The differences between male and female are more than just sex organs, the skeletons are quite distinct, the biggest giveaway being the angle of the pelvis, even if you miss the obvious brow ridge structure of the adult male skull. Or the laryngeal prominence of the male ‘Adams apple’ which is a thickening of the throat cartilage that happens around puberty. Or… well I could go on and on (and on), but you get the picture, yes?

Where the ‘gender is a social construct’ nonsense falls in the biological stakes is at the first hurdle. From even the most cursory analysis the whole concept throws its jockey and then stands looking over the fence neighing with laughter, if you’ll forgive my horse racing metaphor. Even the most casual glance shows that the whole idea is arrant nonsense. Because anatomy and physiology trumps ‘social’ every time. And while surgeons can give the appearance of gender fluidity, it will always be an echoing shell of misery to the patient. Personal anecdote here; having looked after a couple of Transexuals back in the day, both of whom I found out had committed suicide (Nothing to do with me Guv, honest), I’m convinced that these are deeply unhappy individuals for whom life has no respite. I have sympathy for that unhappiness of course, but that sympathy is tempered with a soupcon of “You made your own bed, chum.”

As for the people in liberal arts academia who push these strange ideas, they too should be objects of pity rather than scorn. They cannot fully come to terms with the realities of their own sexuality and as a compensatory mechanism try to project their deeply flawed philosophy on the rest of us. It’s an academic fad, a fashion, an aberration. Yet the real harm these rather unhinged ideas do to individuals, rather like the pregnant ‘man’, will last lifetimes.

You know, the Communist Chinese and Soviet Russians used to complain that the west was “Decadent” meaning that our culture and morals were in decline. Consulting a gently grazing Thesaurus from my bookshelf, I find that one of the synonyms for decadent is ‘lost’. Poor bastards.

As usual, Python got there first.

Food for thought

Not been a stunning success of a festive season, Mrs S has been in hospital with a serious injury and I narrowly avoided getting my right foot broken. Only my braw-boned heredity stood in the way of a more serious injury and my current crop of bruises are truly spectacular. Before that there was the snappishness of Youngest and sneering jibes from Sister in Law over Christmas dinner. Even Mrs S was ‘off’ with me. I’m thinking it may be time to make an excuse in future and give the whole ‘Family Christmas’ thing a miss. This part of the year should be full of good cheer, and mine has been so singularly lacking in that department that another plan is called for. One that involves blue skies, warmth to chase the chill from my bones, wine and stuff I actually like doing. Turkey does not figure large in my plans. Neither as food nor destination.

Frankly I’m glad to see the back of 2016. What with illness, injury and others mishandling of my UK affairs I haven’t made the money I’d have liked, which means I have to spend time I’d rather not have done fixing the mistakes of others. It also means that our planned 2017 European Motorcycle trip is off. I’m rather gutted about this, but no, I haven’t actually lost anything, it’s just that my assets are tied up in bureaucratic limbo and unavailable until maybe September. However, I’ve had an idea which should actually recoup, maybe even boost the value of my investment, and have just submitted it to my co-investors. With luck they’ll see sense this time round. Not that I’m holding out much hope. Collectively they’ve all the foresightedness of an amnesiac blind Anteater under heavy sedation. Bill, why the hell did you get involved with such a bunch of dead-heads? Pass. Next question.

However, despite personal setbacks I’m sanguine about 2017. Only two weeks until the first real dominoes begin tumbling, but when they do it’s going to be fun. And they’re going to keep on tumbling for the top down, arrogant fucks that want to tell everyone else how to live their lives in microcosm. Especially when 31st March and Brexit is triggered. Which I’m sure will ‘trigger’ a whole bunch of people who richly deserve it. The meltdowns when the Trump and Brexit votes didn’t go their way will be nothing when reality bites.

So I draw deep satisfaction that although our planned 2017 road trip has gone the way of all flesh, I haven’t really lost anything. My deals will go through eventually, and I may make even more money because of the delays. In 2016 I made promises which I can’t keep right this minute, but I give my absolute word to make it up to those affected within the next twelvemonth. And you can take that to the bank and cash it.

Happy New Year.

That was fun… not

Wednesday was a bit of a day all things considered. Kind of a good news / bad news day. There used to be a pub game where you had to take an item of news and spin it to either be good or bad. I think the gag has fallen into disuse since the 1970’s, but I’d like to dust this old joke off just for todays post.

First, the bad news; our current landlady refused to give us a reference. (You can boo now)
Now the good news; our new landlord accepted a reference from the bank! (Cheer wildly)
Ah, the bad news; we’ve got to change our address. (Boo, hiss)
Now the good news; to a much bigger apartment! (Yay!)
The bad news; the new apartment needs redecoration. (Euw!)
The good news; new landlord has offered to pay for the paint. (Cool!)

And so on. Okay, we’ve shelled out half the damage deposit already (No need to boo, joke’s over) but that’s secured our new tenancy for January 1st by which time all our kit will be undercover in the new place, and we’ll be painting over the current hideous colour scheme. Opening the doors to let in a bright sparkly 2017 and letting out tired old 2016 and a whole lot of paint fumes. Yes we’ll be paying more rent, but it won’t break the bank.

Now this will inevitably result in complications over the festering season, but complications and challenges are a piece of store bought Christmas cake with fondant icing on top. At least to us.

First complication is new furniture arriving tomorrow with Mrs S due to disappear for the weekend while I deal with the first practicalities. I’m a bloke, so this is my part of the ship. With Mrs S out of the way I can begin packing without interruption. All I need is enough packing tape as we already have boxes galore flat packed and ready for action. No doubt it’ll keep me out of trouble until she arrives back on Sunday. Another complication will be youngest arriving on the 20th of December for a week or so, but I have a cunning plan to have the majority of non-essentials packed and good to go long before then. After which she has decided she wants to stay with sister-in-law mid island. As far as decor is concerned, we can cover any gaps with tinsel and decorations until move out time. This may put me to some minor inconvenience, but what the hell, I’ve probably coped with worse. The decorations will have to come down a few days before 12th Night, but that’s no biggie. Rather reminds me of our first ever move within BC. That happened at New Year as well. Which I did with minimal help. Again from a small suite to a much bigger apartment. When we moved to Victoria in June 2014, we were downsizing. Now we need more space so we can work better.

Regarding the refused reference; no, we haven’t trashed the apartment. Even before packing it’s probably cleaner than when we first moved in, and I’m stone cold certain it will be abso-fucking-lutely sparkling when we move out. Because that’s what we do. You know why our landlady actually refused? Because we’re good tenants and she doesn’t want us to leave. Seriously. Which in an odd sort of way is rather sweet.

Funny old business, life.

Apartment hunting

Mister Sticker, your mission, should you choose to accept it is to find a new apartment with three bedrooms and a den in a specific area of Greater Victoria. Off you go my son. That was a year ago. I think we’ve found a new place on the other side of Langford, subject to acceptance of references. More space. Better view (Sea and Mountains!), and a little further out from downtown. Not that we’re downtown all that often. Barely three times a month now. Unless we have visitors.

Tomorrow we find out whether all the people who have said nice things about Mrs S and I have done the trick. Because despite this blogs frequent irascibility and sarcasm, we’re pretty decent people who just like people to be businesslike and efficient. No fuss, no bother. Just getting on with our lives. Because we’re both pretty average. Mostly. If not, then at least I hope we’re setting an example. What of I’m not sure, but what the hell, we’re doing what we do and that’s our choice.

The new place, if we get it, will give us two proper sized offices where we can vent a bit without impinging on each other’s concentration. There’s a walk in wardrobe or two and a proper garage for our vehicles plus a spare bedroom and a spare double space on the bed couch. My only beef is the decor, which is in serious need of a repaint because previous tenants colour choices have been, now let’s be charitable here, a little eccentric. Bright green and yellow, with one room purple with beige doors were cited to us by our possible new landlord. Even now the main bedroom is in dire need of two coats of white emulsion, as is the kitchen. The current colour scheme is a sort of pastel vomit green. As colours go it’s one of those ‘last one in the showroom’ tints, which has got to go.

One note of sadness for the day; Anna Raccoon has closed her blog. This time (it is said) for the very last time. Anna has been fighting cancer with a vim and verve one can only wonder at. The Raccoon Arms was a host to some particularly fine, whimsical, well researched and above all amusing writing. Now trying to link to the site, like with Counting Cats, throws up a ‘database error’. Which means the blog has been wiped, or is otherwise inaccessible. I will take them off the sidebar after New Year if there is no sign of a return. Guys, if you’re still breathing and have time to drop by, remember that your courage, integrity and skill with words has always been viewed (at least by me) with nothing but admiration. Ave atque vale.

Update. Anna has made one last post which will be available here as a Parish Notice. On January 30 2017, the blog is primed to disappear.

Vices in mundo and we must turn with it.

Important stuff

Well, that’s that. Eldest is now in the Fabled land of Oz. Flight went on time, landed on time, and according to latest message update her immigration visa acceptance was ‘a breeze’. She has a decent place to live, friends in country and even two very reasonable job offers. It threatened to get a bit emotional when we took her to YVR, but my final words into eldest’s ears before we saw her off at the security barriers were; “For god’s sake don’t forget to send pictures and tell us what you’re up to, or your Mum will drive me nuts.”

On the way back to our hotel we had a near-comical Satnag failure where the screen went blank at eleven on a very wet Vancouver evening. Mrs S stressed out at me, but all we needed to do was pull off the main drag, work out what turn we’d missed and memorise an old fashioned road map before setting off in the right direction. Wasn’t that fun? No. If there’s one thing guaranteed to disrupt domestic harmony, it’s driving and navigation.

Notwithstanding, Eldest has a place to run to if things go sour because sister in law now ensconced up Brisbane way can take her in. Mrs S of course is missing her firstborn. Which comes as no surprise. All mothers have this issue, be their offspring two hours or twenty eight years old, ergo my beloved will be less than her usual efficient self for the next two or three days. So I will step into whatever breach is necessary and smooth the path, reminding where necessary, forgiving as much as I can. Settling back to work, planning our next trips to Europe, Australasia and possibly the Caribbean for a little snowbirding in February. Not only that, but Youngest is due for two weeks at Christmas, so there will be another emotional trauma to deal with when she goes back to her London job. Hi-ho, it’s all part of growing up and being part of a global family.

Over here, the story about the Wikileaks Clinton email release and DCleaks Soros information releases is starting to gain momentum. Those in the know have long suspected the interventions and manipulations of various Soros funded organisations, but it’s like being a villager watching for suspicious ripples in a murky swamp that tell you where the Monster is. You can’t see the beast, what it’s target is or what it’s looking at, but you’ve suspected for a long time said critter is up to no good. And you know damn well it’s hungry because stuff goes missing.

Now the evidence is out there in the public domain, defended by a flimsy cordon of hatred-stirring middle class student activist types with their faux-battlecries of ‘Social Justice’, and claiming to be for ‘the people’ when they themselves have no real idea what ‘people’ are really about. ‘People’ are something you can’t learn at a liberal arts university. ‘People’ requires observation and over thirty years of experience. And when you’ve seen ordinary folk in all their light and shadow, will know in your bones that there is no such thing as ‘the masses’ or ‘the people’, just individuals trying to make their way the best they can. Some reekingly bad, some downright monstrous, but also many unaccountably good, the startlingly kind and outrageously decent. All flawed, all imperfect. All in a big, constant murmuration of societal motion.

This being said, itshould come as no surprise that there are those who want to control the motion so that they might personally profit from it. So it seems with the Soros funding machine, which channels millions of dollars (Yikes!) to various politicians and political NGO’s via a series of foundations and ‘charities’, including the ‘Open Societies’ and ‘Tides’ Foundations, which argue and push for more state organisation under the guise of ‘Saving the planet’. For example the news that ‘Global Warming’ pundit Al Gore had at least ten million USD a year bunged his way to ‘aggressively’ push the catastrophic warming agenda should not come as a shock. And there are several thousand more Wikileaks cats gleefully bounding out of bags regarding back door multi-million bungs. So it’s not really surprising that everyone who is anyone wants a taste. It’s easy money these control freaks don’t have to produce or sell anything for and ultimately feeds off society rather than contributing to it in a form of vampire economics.

The word from the sceptical side has always been ‘follow the money’ because the science for Man Made Climate Change / whatever is so obviously weak for any impending man made climate catastrophe. Indeed, certain astrophysicists have predicted that a new Dalton Minimum (possibly worse), when the climate was colder back in the 1800’s will occur over the next thirty to forty years. But there’s no slush fund money for such research, no cash for the activists, so don’t expect to hear much about it outside of academia.

I’ve even heard astrophysicists say that shifts in Earth’s molten nickel iron core have had some effect on climate via changes in our planets Magnetosphere. Which apparently ups the rate of cloud formation. See Svensmark’s work on cloud formation due to cosmic rays (The strange spelling is due to translation errors from Danish to English). Although some atmospheric physicists have claimed that atmospheric CO2 causes shifts in the Earth’s core, which is a mechanism that I have more than a little trouble with, at least from a physical modelling perspective. CO2 is comparatively speaking a very weak climate influence, swamped by all the natural feedbacks and how humanity’s CO2 emissions could alter movements and rotation of the Earth’s core has yet to be satisfactorily explained. Like the laughable claim that all the heat retained by man made CO2 emissions went off to sulk in the deep ocean because no one was paying it any attention rather violates the basic principles of heat transfer.

But we knew all this really, didn’t we? Well, you would have if you’d really been paying attention.

Kill Bill

kill-bill-c16Panic not dear reader. I have not been receiving death threats or any other similar abuse. Not that I care much about such things, I’m ‘too old for that shit’ as they say, and tend to respond with “Yeah, right. Just don’t expect it to be easy.” I’ve survived too much for too long to have any other attitude. Been there, done that, called CCTV. Now when random people call out abuse or other strangeness, I tend to be unimpressed.

Take for example Saturday evening where I was meandering amiably up Government Street following a pleasant evening in the Bard and Banker with Mrs S and Eldest. I was walking along ahead of wife and stepdaughter, noting that the fudge and maple syrup shop was still open when a young woman approached me, right hand stuck out saying “Hi!” Very loudly and cheerfully. A little nonplussed, I gave her my best perplexed look, but did not take my own hand out of my pocket. At which she walked straight past me and made some shouted remark about her thinking that I was a very nice person but…, or some such nonsense. She’d obviously failed to understand that not everyone wants to shake hands with random strangers, no matter how ‘friendly’ they seem. At which I turned, smiled sadly at her, tipped my hat and carried on walking toward our bus stop. My wife and stepdaughter glanced at me with “What was all that about?” expressions, to which I gave a shrug. I had no idea. Drunk kids are all part of the bell curve of human existence and nothing I haven’t come across before. I’d had a few glasses of red and was in a placid state of mind, so I took no offence. It was just a little strange, that’s all.

No, today’s thoughts are focused on the iniquity of ‘speech codes’, and why it is plainest folly to codify what people may or may not say in their own private lives, into law. The Harper Government did a number of good things, and one of those was to remove the ‘Hate Speech’ provisions from the Canadian Human Rights Act with Bill C-304. Now those cuddly kittens in the Liberal party want it back so nanny can tell us all how to think about a tiny minority of freakish people (I’ve met a number of pre and post-op TV’s and TG’s, and yes, ‘freakish is the right word) who most are not likely to meet or interact with, nor even care about.

Apparently the motivation for such idiotic legislation is to stop Transgenders and Transexuals offing themselves because someone said something horrible to them, or failed to call them by their ‘correct’ gender pronoun. Sorry folks, but the bad news is that TG’s and TV’s have the highest suicide rate of any section of the population outside of Kamikaze pilots on a Sake drinking binge. Self loathing and self destructive urges are hard wired into the physiology of the condition. Between 42-46% of Transgenders will actually self destruct. End of. These figures do not of course include suicide attempts as in ‘cries for help’, just those who succeed. There seems to be an endemic self loathing built into transgenderism, a lack of connection with tribe and family, connections which are essential to general psychic well-being in well-balanced individuals.

The above being the case, why is it so essential to shackle the mouths of the rest of the population to spare the feelings of a few who are rabidly poised on the razors edge of self destruction? Will we save them, those who are incapable of saving themselves? Probably not, no matter how much we try to spare their feelings. The sad reality is that no matter what you do, you will trigger these people simply by looking away from them or any other behaviour other than treating them like you’re their newest best friend. Like with Saturday’s random young lady, even inaction is seen as somehow offensive. It’s a no-win scenario.

It’s all academic really, if the politically correct do get their way and Islam becomes the dominant culture, as seems the intent, all the TG’s, TV’s, gays and hard line feminists will be first on their knees for emergency height reduction surgery or a free flying lesson from the very people they sought to empower.

However, I take heart that this is not a certain outcome. Bill C-16 may die. The political pendulum may swing back to point sanity and the bills PC idiocy will fade into the realm of deranged lefty student politics from whence it came. I may die before it does, the University system that nurtures such beliefs may fail even if the bill should become law, and who knows, the horse sense of sanity may even learn to sing?

Reasons why

Trigger warningWarning: this entry probably constitutes ‘hate speech’ (Despite being in a written format) as defined by the loopiness of certain Social Activists, who really need to go out and get proper, productive jobs to occupy their time. It may also shortly be against the law to write what I’ve documented here. At least in Canada if bill C-16 passes. So I’m writing this down while I can still legally do so.

As an aside; Social Activists often say they want ‘free’ speech, but seem to have a strange Stalinesque idea of what ‘free’ actually means. FYI boys and girls, ‘Free’ means unfettered, unrestricted, and may include stuff critical of your chosen cause that you may not like. Yet Twatter, Farcebook and Google have agreed to ‘police’ online debate on given topics. I’m not really bothered because when the next big thing comes along and refuses to sell out to them, watch their stock plummet. One of my Brothers in law thinks Farcebook is here “Forever.” I disagree. Ten years and the next generation will be saying “Face-what?”

But that’s by the by. No poorly thought through legislation backed by our foolishly foppish prime minister, or anyone else, can change anything. You don’t change people’s minds by shutting them up, jailing them, calling them ‘haters’ or lambasting them with any other pejorative.

Anyway. One of the things I’ve given thought to every once in a while, is why certain issues have become more prevalent in Westernised societies all around the world over the past few decades. Why the upsurge in transgender issues (Reportedly up five fold, whatever that means) and the increase in homosexuality? (Up 42.4% in Canada since 2006) What has changed? Were these people always there and just shoved under the carpet? Or is there a bigger issue, one that underlies the increase? A root cause, so to speak.

So I did what I always do, and that is to go have a root around in the professional and medical documentation on a given topic and read up on it. Rather than rely on knee jerk, dog whistle reactive dogma based on incorrect assumptions. I’ve learned not to trust the media (They sell drama, not news) or one source alone, but try to have a look at what the real experts are saying and see if it stacks up against the anecdotal. I think about it this way; anecdotal evidence on its own is not enough to make a judgement, you have to see if the observed empirical evidence concurs. If the two match up, and you’ve winnowed out the impossible, then what you have must be close to the truth, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, right? If it’s a fact, how can it be ‘hate’?

So; here’s the skinny, as they say. Or is that too sizeist, thinnest, fattist, or some other invented and wholly artificial grievance? Dear gods, the economy is in the tank and all the government can come up with is outlawing ‘hate speech’ to buy the votes of professional victims? Clucking bell.

Notwithstanding. Many emotional and mental health issues have their genesis in early childhood emotional development. Modern post industrial society creates many opportunities for child rejection, like parents who place children in ‘childcare’ within weeks or even days of giving birth so they can go back to work. Way before the child is secure enough in its identity to resist the stress of perceived abandonment. Regarding parents; oddly enough it doesn’t seem to matter if both parents are men or women. Or even that the primary caregiver is not related by blood. The important thing is the bonding and nurturing. So long as the child does not suffer feelings of abandonment and feels needed at critical junctures in it’s emotional development, no problem. When this does not take place the child’s sense of loss and fear opens the door to self rejection, known to create emotional issues in later life like transgenderism, homosexuality, depression, addiction and chronic anxiety. All of said disorders are known to be related to dysfunctional upbringings and the inner rage associated with perceived rejection, abandonment or failures of nurture by either or both parents.

Now when a person “self rejects”, the only variable is what they will reject. A healthy body, misalignment of sexual identity, gender, sociality or humanity are all things the emotionally damaged turn against. None of which, it has been proven, have any physical or genetic component. Nor can these conditions be caught or passed on like a disease.

So you can stand next to that odd looking woman in the queue in perfect safety because it’s not contagious. Although sniggering quietly to yourself is a suitable deterrent because they’re so insecure they think everything is all about them. If challenged, come back with a tart; “Yes? What do you want? I’m rather busy.” There’s no law against laughing to yourself. Yet.

Anecdotal observation and several studies indicate that dramatic increases in such disorders have occurred since the mid and late 20th Century. This phenomenon is well known to psychologists but often not acknowledged by the psychiatric profession, who actually pander to transgender dysfunctions with hormone and surgical interventions. The intent being to placate these people’s troubled psyche’s when instead a given patient should be sent to a social psychologist who can help the afflicted reclaim their identities and learn to deal with the rage of perceived rejection that lives at the heart of their disorder.

Surgery and hormone treatment for transgenders is often seen as the solution, but if that is the cure, then why the huge recorded post operative suicide rate? Study here. This uptick in self destruction is attributable to the fact that hormone treatment and surgery and the subsequent public validation of their new gender identity only sublimates the individuals self rejection, confirming that their original gender identity was worthy of rejection, and ultimately resulting in the ultimate self-rejection of suicide. To quote from the study;

It is generally accepted that transsexuals have more psychiatric ill-health than the general population prior to the sex reassignment. It should therefore come as no surprise that studies have found high rates of depression, also after sex reassignment. Notably, however, in this study the increased risk for psychiatric hospitalisation persisted even after adjusting for psychiatric hospitalisation prior to sex reassignment. This suggests that even though sex reassignment alleviates gender dysphoria, there is a need to identify and treat co-occurring psychiatric morbidity in transsexual persons not only before but also after sex reassignment.

Which is a waste. Not only of life, but of the valuable health resources (Operating theatre costs, post operative costs, specialist staff, counselling, drugs, etcetera) expended to changing their gender. However, Trudeau can pass his silly law banning ‘Hate speech’ against a few hundred (?) individuals but it won’t address the problem, because transgenders will still keep self destructing at an alarming rate.

Downtown again

Afternoon, downtown Victoria having recently returned from the USA. The population of ‘street people’ a.k.a. beggars appears to have more than doubled since I last meandered around Fort, Douglas and Government Streets. Might be just a seasonal thing, might be to do with the increase from the homeless encampment back of the court buildings. I’ve got to the stage where I just tune all the begging out and carry on with where I’m going. Same for those raising petitions for ‘Transgender rights’ and suchlike. Frankly you couldn’t pay me to care. I’d probably raise an eyebrow if a person in a dress stood next to me in a public toilet to use the boys urinals, but so long as they keep themselves to themselves I’m not bothered. I’ve spent too much time in Paris and elsewhere to be fazed by such weirdness. Although if I still had small children, my reaction might be a leetle bit more defensive.

However, closer to the camp, Victoria’s usually moribund crime rate has rocketed 46% with all sorts off bad manners. For example; while having coffee yesterday, I observed more than the usual number of uniformed officers on foot. Not in a hurry, just walking purposefully as if they were on the lookout for somebody or something. Which piqued my curiosity. My reasoning is thus; if the local coppers are, then some kind of game is afoot.

I’ve also noted new security measures going up all around downtown in a subdued, very Victorian manner. New railings and barriers in car parks etcetera. I mean the crusties are not a real problem for those who used to people being less than well behaved, but for others who have a fit of the vapours and call 911 on the silliest of pretexts…. Well, perhaps that’s another story.

As for the camp itself, the hearing over its existence has been put back to September, something which a lot of people are not terribly enchanted about. Me, I think the whole issue is borderline out of control since well-meaning, but totally witless, people authorised the provision of plumbing and flush toilets instead of simply kicking out the less desirable elements and providing homeless shelter spaces for those in real need. Which act has made it more comfortable for the less than law-abiding and left local residents with an escalating crime problem. See the comment from ‘Wafflesdemonslayer’ on this thread. I’ll lay odds that’s not the only story of this nature.

At present Mrs S and I are contemplating a move away from Victoria itself. Working online as we do, we don’t need to be this close to downtown as the rents are too high and there’s not enough quality entertainment there to keep us coming back. On the other hand, if increasing crime sends over inflated property and rental prices spiralling downwards, I might be willing to buy in and campaign hard for the nuisance to be removed. On the other hand, knowing how wringing wet some vociferous people are around here, I’d probably be backing a losing horse.

Just as a fantasy exercise; I wonder what would happen if someone with real money wanted the crusties gone? Say they hired four dozen private security guys from off island to wash the camp off the map in the small hours of the night with fire hoses. The local hipsters get plausible deniability and the opportunity to virtue signal frantically about how horrible someone must be to be so mean to all these poor people. The less desirables get a serious eviction message and the crime rate takes a nosedive. But I don’t think anyone round here is really that ruthless. Not that I’m advocating anything of that nature, but it’s a thought.

A more palatable alternative might be to get the local cops to strictly enforce existing bylaws forbidding booze and other intoxicants from being consumed in BC’s public parks and confiscating any containers found. Back it up by threatening the liquor licences of stores who knowingly supply the camp. As it is in a public space, a tent there is not covered by legal restrictions on searches, so, no need for warrants. Sure it’s harassment, but the camp itself is already a source of harassment for local residents. Not that some seem to be interested. They’re more interested in painting the crosswalks.

Heavy sigh. We’ll see what this years tourist season brings.

Après le déluge, nous

Two weeks into our road trip and we’re out of Houston and in New Orleans. The storms have passed and the sky is as clear as if nothing has happened. Our first morning in Houston was another matter. Lightning, thunder and the car park and road outside at least two inches deep in water. All we could do was stand and watch the fireworks, mainly because I didn’t have to drive and didn’t really want to. Road trips are supposed to be fun, right? An adventure at least. So far it has been, but Houston is a business town more than anything else, and although the parks and museum districts are interesting, the rest, well, I’d give it a miss next time round.

After the morning rains passed, we took the bus into the Museum District, only to receive a friendly warning about walking around looking like Canadian tourists from the transit station security people. I can see what they mean, our end of Houston did look a bit worse for wear even after the flooding, and on the way home we had our first real stoner encounter. Talk about a zombiform human. A white guy in his 20’s, buzz cut sandy hair, hollow, hopeless eyes and a shuffling gait. He managed to sneak up close behind Mrs S, but I got her on the bus before he made contact. He was probably harmless, but my beloved certainly isn’t. I probably did him a favour by whisking her away.

New Orleans is a totally different kettle of seafood. It’s a party town, and we spent all nof today wandering around the French Quarter, finding one of the best breakfast spots in town (Camille) and inadvertently wandering into a gay bar for a beer. All of which completely failed to faze either Mrs S or myself. Maybe I’m just getting to old to worry about that shit any more.

I’ve decided I like New Orleans. It’s everything Vegas aspires to be but with attitude. Less of the glitz but more about people. The Big Easy has a history and culture which Vegas lacks, but more than that. At the grass roots it has a real beating heart made up of people. We had more small kindnesses come our way from the locals than in our entire journey so far. Nothing much. Unsolicited directions to great eating and sightseeing experiences. We got a little gentle backsass from certain locals, which we gave right back and got a laugh out of each encounter, which was fun. Even if the local accent is a bit broad, drawly and difficult to understand with all the background noise. Which made us want to return and do the place a little bit more justice than we could in our schedules forty eight hours.

New Orleans is a town not afraid to have some fun at it’s own expense. To be honest, if I was ever forced to walk the streets again, I wouldn’t mind doing it there.