I was reading with breath-holding excitement the doings of Lord and Lady Black, which were plastered all over the media this morning, and I thought to myself: "What the hell?"
There they stood, he with the tussled grey hair, dressed in country gentleman classic Rosen, she decked out in cotton, silk, baubles worth more than my house, her hair framed in perfect strands of dark copper. What a pair. They were looking for all the world like they were getting ready for a Vanity Fair shoot with their fancy, schmantzy dogs and expensive cars parked strategically at the gate.
And the media was lapping it up.
Black was being treated like The Good Son, a misunderstood rogue from Upper Canada College who was caught pulling down the pants of a fellow classmate. Poor boy, come here and let mummy take care of you, darling.
Come, let me oil your tired feet, massage you maligned buttocks and soothe your aching corns.
There was much talk in the media about whether he would be awarded a book award, whether he would be accepted back into society in Hogtown again.
Are you kidding us, gushed the National Post. Who wouldn't want to have him at the dinner table, sharing a fine Chablis? What tales Conrad would tell. How he blessed his fellow inmates with literacy. How he railed against the dying of the light to fight the good fight.
Funny, there was scant talk about how a convicted felon facing deportation to Britain by the U.S. government managed to catch a private flight to Toronto from Florida before breakfast. Less talk about why our government chose to look the other way, shrug and just allow the bureaucrats to make this happen so quickly while Ronald Smith languished on death row.
Well, it's not like it was a really crime, right?
I heard one of his neighbors on the news say this: "Well it's not like he's a murderer. It was just business."
A little short-term pain for long-term gain for another master of the universe.
I'm sure Martha Stewart and Black will have a chuckle over that one.
Must be nice to have friends in high places.
I guess our standards aren't what they used to be.
I don't really care. It's a nice day in the nation's capital. I took my Kindle out of doors to read all this drivel in the Globe and Mail. It was nice to be out in the sunshine, feeling the Vitamin D fill my pores, watching Finnigan pummel Gordie.
And then the coolest thing happened.
A Monarch butterfly landed on my knee and just sat there, content to take a rest for the longest time.
There are a lot of more important things going in the world today besides what Lord Black is having for dinner. There is goodness, joy and beauty in the world.
When I put down the Kindle, I felt like taking a shower.
Lord Black can just go fuck himself.