woe

I am not the first, last or best person to comment on the outcome of Monday's Alberta election. I just spent two hours at a bar with people better versed on the intricacies of this province's politics, people who were not calling for Kevin Taft's head as I was roughly 20 minutes after the ballots closed.

(These people point out that Paul Martin stepping down minutes after defeat did no favours to the federal Liberal party. Point taken.)

It does not matter whether you come to politics from the left or right of the spectrum. It does not matter if you think the current (reigning) government has done a good job or not. No party, no democracy, benefits from not having any opposition at all. When I last saw the head count, the Tories had 73 of the Legislature's 83 seats. The Grits had eight. The NDP schlepped in with two, cutting its caucus in half.

Meanwhile, voter turnout was a pathetic -- absolutely pathetic, no matter how you cut it -- 41 per cent. The lowest this province has ever seen.

This was my very first Alberta election. I felt more like I was a part of this province 24 hours ago. Now I'm just really, really sad.

41 years not winning the Cup....

This looks like it will be a ridiculous movie. But props for all the bizarro Canadian content....

let's get it started

(Yes, I think I'm hilarious if I can title a blog in such a way as to leave a song stuck in your head, dear reader. How to get rid of the song, you ask? I suggest Yellow Submarine, of course. Or maybe Sarah Silverman, since you can find this virtually everywhere.)

So, I'm just 60 pages into What is the What, and I'm torn.

It's written so well, but somehow seems like a slow start. It's hard to call it a slow start when the main character is bound and robbed in his American apartment -- I'm not ruining anything for you, fellow book club members, as this happens in the first 10 pages -- but I really want to get to Africa. I want to get to what happens to the Sudanese Lost Boys, to the story. I'm feeling slightly sidelined by the main character's memories of his daydreams from when he was a child.

Also, every time I read the words "TV Boy," I think of "Sick Boy." And then I think of Ewan McGregor (but not, ironically, Jonny Lee Miller), and then I've lost focus altogether.

Where was I? What was I saying?

Hm. In other news....

• Alice Hoffman has a new book coming out this spring. This is very exciting. I love Hoffman; she can make a strawberry seem fascinating, mysterious and somehow ghostly. A summer's day, in her hands, is shadowed by danger. A clear night is a dream. The moon has power. I can't wait to read this.
• While I have given up on Jennifer Crusie's blog, I appreciate it when an author has a full list of upcoming projects.
• I can find nothing new on another favourite author, Ann-Marie MacDonald. This makes me sad.
• Quarterlife apparently did very poorly in its television premiere last week. I didn't watch it either, but that's mostly because I'm addicted to its internet presence. I was especially addicted during the writer's strike, but even now I tune in every Sunday and Thursday. Even if it's horrifically overdramatic at times. But I think the hero and heroine, Dylan and Eric, remind me so much of people I've known (and The Sweet Edge, actually) and been and mocked that I can't help but enjoy.

ring, ring

I promise to post an actual post about books any minute, hour or day now.

But I read Rick Mercer's blog this morning (afternoon), and thought, "I have to share this with everyone, immediately." Because tomorrow is election day in Alberta. And the polls foresee another Tory majority (duh).

But seriously, in the province that has the highest number of young people in the country -- er, thanks to the oil industry, so I'm thinking the Green party's still out of luck -- what do the polls tell us?

I'm still sitting by my two completely innocent cell phones, waiting for someone to pencil me in as "undecided."

note to self:

Do not bring both my personal and work cell phones to Europe.