Monday Morning Soapbox Moment

This is going to stray from the normal humor-injected ramblings that take place here on iBlog and venture more into the "angry man who doesn't understand the world" area.

You've been warned...

With my wife working in the medical field and being around constant shortages of care, budget cuts and finger-wagging about overtime, we've spent a lot of time discussing the allocation of finances a great deal and d'you know what?

We're screwed.

Hospitals can't find enough nurses to staff floors because they're all stressed, tired of working above capacity and having no help.

Schools have more and more students with fewer and fewer teachers, classrooms growing to the size of poorly attended university lectures.

But we've got a bunch of helicopters at the ready should anyone ever invade Canada!

While I understand both Canada and the United States' actions in propping up the automotive industry with billion dollar bailout loans, what kind of message does that send to nurses who spend every day trying to save lives or teachers who try to educate overstuffed classrooms of children?

Sorry, there is no money to better equip and staff your hospital, but we can dump a load of money into the car industry because they bring in a whack of cash each year. Saving lives is great, but if you could start producing a profit too, that would be even better.

We can't provide housing and care for the homeless, but millions can be spent in and around Vancouver so that for three weeks this coming winter, everyone can look and see the ridiculously expensive new buildings and roads and venues cost money that surely could have been better used elsewhere.

Yeah - that makes perfect sense, especially when you couple it with the recent push to get the homeless off the street.

The push isn't "let's find them places to live, help them get back on their feet and doing better" either. This is a "find anywhere you can to keep them out of sight until we give you the signal" type initiative to present the false image that Vancouver is a glorious place without the same problems that every major metropolitan area is plagued with.

There are millions of dollars to give the city a faux-shine, but not a dime for after-school programs to help keep kids active and off the streets.

Maybe we could start giving those kids rides in all the army vehicles we seem to build and produce each and every year?

Or we could just take a better look at where we're spending our money.

Continue reading ...

For Buster...

No Rundown today. This one is real personal, so if you're not into that, come back tomorrow.

I'm asking for your strength and your prayers.

My grandpa and namesake - Edgar Gordon Levy - is in the hospital right now. He went in a couple days ago and while one concern has been dealt with, there are still a handful of unanswered questions to go along with the knowledge that at age 90, being in the hospital is never a good thing.

Buster is the only grandfather I have ever known; my dad's dad died when the old man was six, but somehow, Buster more than made up for the lack of a paternal grandfather. He was the best. Hell, he still is the best.

A gifted and talented artist, I know my passion for prose comes through him, as page upon page of handwritten notes and letters used to arrive at the house about once every two weeks. Some of his paintings still hang in Faye's apartment and I hope to one day scam one from her to have in our place.

Around Cornwall, he is the master of the St. Lawrence - the guy you need to talk to when you're heading out onto the water in search of perch, bass, pike or anything in between. Buster has the spots, the status report and the best homemade minnow traps every produced. Besides, a bad day on the water is better than a good day anywhere else...

Except at the track!

That love of horse racing that courses through the veins of Pete and I may come from Faye and Phil, but Faye sure as shit got it from her old man. For the last I don't know how many years, he's stashed away his allowance every week to build "The Bankroll," a pocket full of potential to wager at the wickets on longshots, sure things and hot tips at the track. Whether it be the old days of crossing the bridge to Massina, New York or hitting one of the shady spots that ran OTB in Cornwall itself, if we were in town, we made a trip to the track.

My mind is going to be preoccupied a little until I know what's going to happen with my grandpa, so I apologize in advance if I miss giving you your fix over the next couple of days...

I'm talking to you here Newt! Just kidding...

I'll be here and I will keep you posted.

When I talked to him last week he told me how proud he was that I had found something I was passionate about, so I can't stop, not for nothing.

That's the way he would want it.

Continue reading ...