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The blockbusters of the summer of 2002

By G.D. Maxwell I feel as though I’m living through a bad sequel. Grumpy Old Men III: The Leadership Race .

By G.D. Maxwell

I feel as though I’m living through a bad sequel. Grumpy Old Men III: The Leadership Race . You’ll bust a gut laughing as Jean and Paul, formerly rivals in Grumpy Old Men I , then uncomfortable roommates in the first sequel, duke it out over which one of them gets to hold the country’s remote control and choose what we all watch in this latest installment.

Yes, they’re at it again. The irascible Little Guy from Shawinigan, whose antics have delighted us for nearly a decade as he punched out and pepper sprayed protesters, padded the pockets of Friends of Liberals in La Belle Province, rebuked younger rivals with his dithering on whether he was staying or leaving and, of course, made mincemeat of both official languages, is hitting the summer hustings like Marathon Man .

Is it safe? Who knows?

The latest uncertainty over whether Big Jean will take another stab at running the country is most characteristic of a petulant child who, having tired of playing with a once favourite toy, expresses renewed interest in it whenever someone else makes a grab for it. While having spent most of his third mandate steering the ship of state like Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny – indecisively and often in circles – Jean’s come staggering out of his corner like Anthony Quinn in Requiem for a Heavyweight now that it looks like there’s gonna be a fight.

The uncharitable among us might describe Jean’s current style of governance, at least the laissez faire, do nothing approach he’s showered the country with in the past couple of years, as Dead Man Walking . But now that what’s left of his heart has been jump-started with an injection of leadership race adrenaline, we can expect an abrupt policy change back to his old standby, Promises! Promises! , as he suddenly remembers the account numbers to unlock some of the billions the Auditor General was scratching her head about.

It seems as though, after a decade of having no effective opposition from the Progressive Conservatives or Reform-Alliance – Dumb and Dumber – the Liberals have decided the only way to level the playing field is to commit suicide. Why now? Blame it on biology.

Paul Martin’s biological clock is ticking louder than a cheap Rolex knockoff. So close in age to Big Jean as to make the difference a rounding error, Paul has succumbed to the mortal fear that he will not live long enough to fulfil his vision of Canada. What, I hear you say, is Paul’s vision of Canada? That he, Paul Martin Jr., will succeed where his daddy, Paul Martin Sr., failed and become Prime Minister of all Canadians.

That’s it folks. The end is a means unto itself. All this drama, all this smoke is a bad Freudian dream of a little boy grown old, still trying to become the man his father wished he’d been himself. Pathetic.

But it’s the only show in town and holds the hope of a promise of an interesting summer. An interesting hot summer.

This is, of course, in stark contrast to the even hotter summer in the USA where the War With No End continues to be waged with gusto. In case you missed it, the Bush-Lite White House, taking a rare moment away from their assault on fundamental constitutional rights, has admitted what the overwhelming weight of scientific evidence has known for some years now. Human activity – as opposed to the Reagan theory of malevolent trees – is responsible for global warming.

There is a seminal principle in science. It is this: Once the root of a problem is identified, you’re half way to solving it. If you know the cause, you can fashion the remedy. The only problem seems to be that George Bush isn’t a scientist.

My Perfect Partner’s father was something of a carpenter in his productive years. One time when he was visiting, he commented on how our bathroom door closed all by itself. "Isn’t hung properly," was his diagnosis. He offered to fix it and I stood back to watch, hoping I might learn something useful. I imagined he might take the door off and shim one or both of the hinges to make it hang straight or maybe something even more technical.

Grabbing the Universal Tool – a hammer – he popped the hinge pins out, gave ’em a smack to bend them ever so slightly and knocked them back into place. Voila! The door no longer closed under its own power. It stuck in whatever position you put it in because the bent pins exerted just enough pressure to keep it there.

Well, that’s pretty much Dubya’s take on global warming. You don’t like it hot? Buy an air conditioner and get used to it. So elegant and to the point. So short-sighted and narrow-minded. So Texan.

And so hopeful. Up here at Smilin’ Dog Manner – trying out a new name for the cottage; what do you think? – we could use a little global warming in the garden. While the Cariboo sunshine is intense and the northern days are long, the tranquil banks of Sulfuric Lake sit 3,600 feet above sea level. That altitude ensures we’ll never spend a restless night in a stifling hot bedroom but it also produces a growing season too short and a winter too severe to grow much in the way of fruit.

But with Oil & Gas administration securely ensconced in the White House and with Canada teetering on the brink of walking away from Kyoto with them, it bodes well for the future. Once the oil reserves in the Arctic Wildlife Refuge have been plundered, once the US has replaced Saddam with a puppet and locked up Iraq’s black gold, once those pesky Clean Air Act requirements have been further gutted, once the only remaining Chevette driver has seen the light and bought an SUV, then – and I’m certain that day isn’t too far off – we’ll be able to plant banana trees in the Cariboo.

When you think about it in those terms, all the skin cancer, the flooded coastal cities, the drought-ravaged heartland, the increased emphysema seem like a small price to pay. Hell, this could be Canada’s chance for a great future, a citrus industry, winter beach resorts and an indigenous surfin’ culture.

Way to go Georgie.