Defamation, Really?

          My attraction to blogging is twofold. It has unlimited potential by way of being able to write anything I desire and I can be completely biased. On that note:

        The saga of Laura Robinson vs John Furlong. Ms. Robinson, a freelance journalist took it upon herself to discredit and bring upon Mr. Furlong what she perceived as justice in writing an article detailing reports of him abusing children, which allegedly happened forty years ago at Immaculata School in Burns Lake.

       Now, I've kept abreast of this story since the beginning. I didn't know much about Ms. Robinson, and from all accounts, the article in the Georgia Straight seemed legitimate. I personally didn't have much affinity for Furlong and basically thought he was another boring executive, a talking head, a figure head who got way too much credit for the Olympics. When the news broke about these abuse allegations, I thought, okay, a fearless independent journalist has brought another creep his just deserts.

      Later on I read an article in Vanity Fair about Laura Robinson. I got a much clearer picture of who she was. In my own words, she struck me as a crusading, anti-authority, anti-male activist who threw away many opportunities for a stable career to pursue a vendetta against who she thought was the devil in the form of public male figures in positions of authority,  John Furlong being among them.

     That being said, there are folks out there who would say, "yeah, so? I fully believe in what she stands for. There should be more people out there taking up her cause."

     Fair enough. The results of the various lawsuits, failed criminal investigation, and latest testimony in the defamation lawsuit Ms. Robinson brought against Mr. Furlong tells a different story though. Let me back up here. The woman who initially wrote this article, defaming Furlong, and by all accounts poorly researched and suffering a lack of due diligence is suing the man she defamed for defaming her. Huh?

    This after all the cases against her were dropped, and the alleged criminal conduct of Mr. Furlong wasn't proven in court.

    The nail in Ms. Robinson's coffin is all the witnesses defending John Furlong in the trial against him, and basically calling Ms. Robinson a (my own words) bitch with an axe to grind.

    If Laura Robinson fully stood behind her article and firmly believed in her sources and the legitimacy of said article, why the hell isn't she taking her lumps and moving on with life, admitting she made a mistake as proven by the courts. Instead she insists on dragging herself and Furlong further through the mud to redeem what vestiges of self respect she has left.

   Know when you've been beaten, Laura, and stop hanging onto your vindictive ideals for dear life. Perhaps if you do, you'll realize the world doesn't revolve around you. Maybe you realize that if you drop your campaign, you'll see that you have nothing left. I sincerely pity you if that is the case, because that is a truly terrible place to find yourself.

    

  

Dodge Ram Rave

 Addicted to bass, I stare into the space left by the car in front of me

Through the windshield tinted by necessary shades I see the horizon skyline

Postcard buildings turn into towering walls of downtown valleys 

 I am enclosed in black steel and dark glass, protected from the noisy crush of frenetic activity, the radio provides the soundtrack to the escape from humanity

I drive down an alley tattooed with graffiti, a man stares up at the big truck from a mattress stained with reality

He realizes his life will end shortly if he doesn't move his ass, and scrambles frantically 

Bump, bump, bump...bump, the tires crush the pad and I yell sorry 

Responded to with a middle finger accompanied by a voice slurred by a mickey of whisky 

The Hemi growls, and a ethereal voice carries me through the city, rolling with the beats of a chill melody

The dream comes to an abrupt stop, I have to park and exit my truck into the roiling kinetic energy of the city of prosperity and poverty 

These two titans, one spiffy, the other slovenly, battle constantly 

The wealthy retreat in their Benz's and Bentleys, and cower in their penthouses, and seaside villas dodging the relentless attack of the down and outers and their supporters, "This is villainy, cold and calculating in their ignorance of DTES's state of emergency!"

I feel the pain, and despise the gain, but am I complicit in it, as I roll through in my black and shiny....

Ram, happy in my "middle class" serenity - just as long as my satellite radio maintains its connectivity?

My Dad

       My Dad loves John Wayne. The gruff talking, charismatic cowboy who deals with problems with a gun, his fists or a one liner. Perhaps because John Wayne reminds me of my grandfather. All three men share one thing in common: charisma. Now my dad is not a suave Hollywood star, and he doesn't use guns, and I've never seen him in a brawl, but he is a people person.

      As a kid, this was fascinating, irritating, and a learning experience. Often as a family, we'd be in a restaurant or a grocery store or somewhere in public and he would strike up a conversation with a stranger. "Who's that?" I'd ask my mom, "I don't know," she'd reply. 

     We'd usually be the last ones to leave church after the service because he always had one last person to talk to.

     I met some unique individuals as a kid because of him. I remember parking on the side of a busy street or highway once, hopping a fence, and trekking into the woods to visit a man who'd set up a tent amongst the trees.

    It was in some ways a secure feeling knowing that no matter who we met, my dad would know what to say. Growing up with such a gregarious man however, when I was painfully shy was difficult sometimes. I found that it was easier to relate to my mom than him, and seeing a side of him which he reserved for his family and didn't reveal to others. 

    He was a very public figure and I was a very private person, and I regret to say that for some years I came close to hating him. Despite that there was always a underlying respect which didn't waver. Despite his many faults, he was and is someone to look up to.

    As a father myself, I see many similarities in how I relate to my son. I realize my son will not like everything I do and sometimes even hate me with youthful passion, but I hope he'll see despite my many faults that I truly love him. 

    The same goes for you, Dad. You are a hero. Not without weaknesses or faults. Our journey has been rocky but I still have that security knowing that no matter who you meet, you know what to say or do and that is something I take strength from and emulate.

                                         

Not Another Blog!

     I remember when blogs were the Big New Thing. Everybody and their dog had one. It was all the rage. Eventually they became yet another over saturated fad. Some people became rich and famous because of them though and some became national and international web destinations.

    Now I'm writing one and though thoughts of fame briefly flitted across my brain, I don't have any grandiose expectations. Usually Facebook has been the media of choice for random musings, but it does have its limitations.

    I'll try to write often, as both a creative exercise and a outlet for thoughts, and I will strive to be usually thought provoking, occasionally controversial and always inspiring.