Virtues of a Virgin Voter: Or Why I’m Voting NDP

As vociferous a reader I am, Tuesday June 22, 2004 will mark the first time in my 21 years of existence that I have bought a book on the day it is released to the public. I have committed that “sin” with other forms of media: opening day for films; the purchase of an album on its release; every Wednesday I purchase new graphical literature (comic books). Normally with books I carefully peruse the relevant reviews and ratings (online and word-of-mouth) that they have received before making my selection.

However, with My Life, by Bill Clinton (which at 900+ pages is a tome, not a book), I instead am taking a blind plunge into the literary unknown. Why Clinton’s memoirs, you may ask? Simply, he was the first US president that I can clearly remember. I grew up during the Reagan years, and I very vaguely recall Bush 41, but Clinton was the one president that I can associate with that country south of the 49th parallel. That being said, there’s a lot I don’t know about him and hopefully My Life will sate my curiosity.

This leads me directly into the meaty section of today’s post (which should placate the cerebral urges of some of our readership). Monday June 28, 2004 will also be a day to mark in my life calendar, as I will join many across Canada in my very first general election. The last election, which elected the second official that I have some recollection of, Jean Chrétien, was held 2 days before my 18th birthday, so unable to participate in this “joyous” of civic duties, I eagerly look forward to next week when I elect my MP.

I use “joyous” in quotation marks, because, like many in my demographic (the beloved 18-to-24 slice), I honestly have been ambivalent and to a certain extent, ignorant, of Canadian politics. (I shamefully admit that I probably know more about American elections than Canadian, but my associate The Smalrus probably understands this predicament, with him being a Canada-&-Franco-phile American). I belong to the youth that needs to “Rock The Vote,” to participate more, to show an interest in government.

So why the New Democratic Party (NDP)? My choice was 80% made up when the election was called, and these past 2-3 weeks of campaigning has solidified my decision. There are a multitude of reasons why I’m voting NDP; for one, Jack Layton has a moustache. Another reason is that my riding will be represented by Olivia Chow. Yes, my primary choices are base, superficial and nonsensical (but honestly, Layton wears his ‘stache with a certain je ne sais quoi).

Ultimately, campaign promises and platforms don’t mean much to me as: a) I’ve reached an age where policies only begin to apply; b) I haven’t any loyalty to any other party before; and c) I like to consider myself a progressive leftie.

In the end, I can’t guarantee that I will continue participating in future elections. But as they say: there’s a first time for everything.

(System Of A Down, System Of A Down)

I’m playing System Of A Down’s self-titled album (no, this is not a “review”) as the black dog that shares my current domicile seems to be going apeshit upstairs. I’m calmly sipping water from a brandy snifter, staring at a room which looks cleaner than it has ever been in the past 5 months. Welcome to my life.

I’m making this point, as this is the anti-thesis of the generic blog you find populating digital domains. For one, I’m sure our more intrepid readers have noted that infrequent nature of our posts. One of the reasons that Prashant and I began this venture was to give ourselves a platform to voice our often tangential views. We agreed however that the best way to express ourselves was in our own sweet time, so to those who complain: Screw You!

A more personal reason for me to convert these various swirling thoughts into electronic immortality is that I can’t stand shitty writing. And believe you me; there are cartloads of elephant dung out on the Internet. Hopefully we’re not contributing to that festering pile. I’d like to imagine that our writing is collective, as Mao would proudly say, “First among equals.”

I have been called an egotistical bastard by some, that my writing carries about it a pretentious stench. I take pride in the fact that what I write and say touches nerves and sets people off.

(The Who, Meaty Beaty Big And Bouncy)

I’ve never been a fan of the compilation. While Best Of’s tend to showcase, arguably, the best songs recorded by a band, I take to heart a lesson I was taught many moons ago. An album is a snapshot of a musician’s current state of mind, and should stay a snapshot.

That being said, compilations are an excellent way to introduce virgin ears to the exquisite experience that is (insert favourite band name here).

(Vivaldi, The Four Seasons)

For those keeping track, yes, it has taken me about 2 hours to write this drivel. On the other hand, I could have spewed this literary diarrhea in one minute. But you wouldn’t know.

Coherency is simply an illusion created by the oppressors. Revel in the chaos that is stream of consciousness.

Is there some relevant point to all of this? Robert Frost said that it was just a poem about another road.

Propelled by another bout of glowing rhetoric in the alternative press, I sauntered down to Central Square last night to take in the sounds of Boston's 'The Good North'. Little did I know that a relatively unknown opening act would totally overshadow them.

The evening opened with a whirlwind set by another one of the city's avant-garde up-and-comers, The Bon Savants. Having seen them at the same venue a few months earlier, I could sense an overall tightening up of their moody, introspective set. Their seminal single: 'Post-Rock Defends the Nation' sounded far more crisp and gig-tested than on the previous occasion. Its quiet-loud chorus refrain though, was as emotive and haunting as ever. They concluded their set with a highly textured instrumental track that I hadn't heard before and left the stage on a fairly sombre note.

At this point, the club was still only about half full. A motley gathering of the city's mods and hipsters was filing in and out of the place. One got the general feeling that the night's spectacle was still a while away. At approximately 10:30 pm, many of us were quickly disabused of that notion.

From the first synthesizer beep to the last vocal inflection, New York City's 'The Bravery' were an exercise in effortlessly stylish performance. Never sounding contrived or overwrought, their fusion of electronic dance-pop and uptempo art-punk was a delightfully tasty combination. The dynamic interplay of each band member onstage was also pretty remarkable. The brooding 'electronics guy' huddled over his sequencer and laptop was a perfect foil to the animated theatrics of well really, the whole rest of the band. But really, words don't do justice to these guys' stage presence. Go see them if you get the chance. As a last point, it was refreshing to hear the odd outbreak of quickfire guitar solos. Following in the footsteps of Dinosaur Jr., The Bravery aptly demostrate that a little bit of tastefully placed 'shredding' doesn't detract from the indie ethic.

They were, however, a very tough act to follow. While both 'The Information' and 'The Good North' were seething with creative energy, they simply could not match the aura and dynamics of their out-of-town guests. Not to be unfair though, I would really need to go see those two bands independently to make a better assessment. But really, there's no doubt in my mind as to who stole the show last night

Prashant has chastised me for my utter lack of literary contribution to our collective blog. What can I say in my defence? That procrastination is a bitch? That I’ve been preoccupied with a host of other issues in my life? Unfortunately, in this day and age, no excuse will be good enough for the extreme detractors. Take a look at the situation in Iraq (or as the impeccably witty Jon Stewart calls it, “Mess-o-potamia”). No amount of excuses can be made to atone for what has happened. Whenever the dust has settled over the current crisis/atrocity/emergency/, another one will pop right up and take its place.

There will always be fodder for the critics. And as I am a critic myself, I notice things everyday that makes me stop and I and ask: “Why do they even bother?”

One area where I find myself proverbially slapping my forehead in disbelief, is during my daily trips along Toronto’s metro system. The most common occurrence: watching hapless commuters rushing to the closing doors of the subway, knowing too well that they: a) won’t make it; b) even if they did reach the doors, would not fit (what with the mass of bodies already crammed into an individual car); and c) there’s always another train coming in a few minutes.

(On a side note, the public transit system in downtown Toronto is a right mess. My normal route has since March been in disarray, as renovations to the streetcar tracks are scheduled to be completed by October)

On the opposite end of the spectrum of stupidity, I have witnessed the following: In one station, there is one escalator going up, and a flight of stairs next to it. Now, the lazy individual who normally rides the escalator arrives and discovers that, much to his chagrin, this marvel of convenience is not working! Instead of simply walking up the escalator, he steps back (into the crowd of worker drones rushing to work), causing much consternation, and proceeds to climb the flight of stairs.

Instead of wracking our brains for a plausible explanation for this utterly inane behaviour, I leave you with the words of the new Foreign Affairs Minister of India, who made this statement to Outlook, a weekly magazine. I wish our world leaders have half the wit this man has:

“They say Natwar Singh is a hawk. I don’t understand this language of hawks and doves. We’re running a foreign policy, not a bird sanctuary.”