Saying no

An American acquaintance of mine from some years back, a man of some wisdom, commented over dinner once that one of the notable features of the Canadians he'd worked with was that, in order to say no, they'd simply avoid saying yes... And that this occasionally led to communications breakdowns, when his other staff (usually American) misunderstood, thinking that since the Canadian team to which he'd been talking hadn't actually directly said no, he had their full agreement.

This, of course, I find myself thinking, also reflects an American peculiarity (or, at least, the peculiarity of this particular American)—in that certain other folk, methinks, wouldn't have presumed quite so much. But either way, it's a good insight. Thought of it the other day when another old acquaintance left me a message which, apart from some social conversation, asked if I've any freelance cycles available.

I haven't. So when I answered his message, I just didn't address that particular question.

Didn't wanna say no, see?

In my case, I think this is probably also some weird Scottish/Protestant work ethic thing going on... Somehow, the idea of actually saying 'no' to someone who'd like to hire you, and, eventually, presumably pay you for it is awfully uncomfortable for me. Had a grandfather who, I sometimes suspect, would probably have simply given up sleeping entirely for years at a time before saying no to paying work. And never mind that it's physically impossible, y' greet baby. It's the principle of the thing.

Had to, tho', this time. Principles or no, I'm not getting much sleep as it is. Right now, one full-time job, it seems, is all my body's up to. And some days, even keeping that up, with the infant at home and the other duties of life, is a near thing.

I can do this:

N...

N...

N...

N... o.

So that's what they mean by 'reasons of national security'

Yesterday, human-rights advocates at the inquiry released two versions of the same Foreign Affairs e-mail from Oct. 23, 2002 -- a complete copy obtained under access to information, and another "redacted" by the government.

The complete version reads: "When asked if he wished the Embassy to provide him with anything he might need he answered that his needs were all taken care of by his Syrian hosts (his answer was dictated to him in Arab by the Syrians.)"

In the government-released version, the bracketed clause is blacked out.

— from Expert warns 'culture of secrecy' may block truth about Arar case in The Globe and Mail

So remember, folks, when your government says 'we cannot give you that information for reasons of national security', what they really mean is: 'we cannot give you that information because it plainly reveals our craven complicity in the barbaric violation of your human rights'.

Yep. Adding that translation to my phrasebook, methinks.

Mahfouz, del Toro, and resetting the alarm clock

My cultural life is now interrupt-driven. Or, putting it in English less heavily-laden with silicon metaphors: I now only read, watch movies and listen to music in thin slices sandwiched in between more pressing tasks—or do so while doing something else.

It's not a total wash, tho'. Actually got through a fair bit of Mahfouz' Adrift on the Nile while standing by for my daughter's swimming lesson this weekend, and watched all of The Devil's Backbone (or El Espinazo del diablo,) while putting the littlest one to sleep yestereve (he's little enough and was asleep enough that this activity was not incompatible with my watching such a thing).

The Mahfouz is interesting, so far. I've heard a little of Nasser's Egypt from having Egyptian in-laws and reading the odd bit of history on the subject, so Mahfouz' depiction of life at the time adds a little meat to those bones for me.

As to the film: my call is see it. Ver' neat little thing that borrows a bit of the gothic (yes, there's a ghost) without really qualifying as horror. Reaching for the genre, a bit, it's more a 'tales of atrocities on the homefront' thing—what war (specifically the Spanish civil war, in this case) can do to a nation outside its effects on those who actually take up arms... And it's beautifully stylish, haunting in several senses.

If you go in expecting Alien-type kinetic jump-out-of-your-seat horror, sorry, no, it ain't that. I'd go further and say: don't even expect to be particularly terrified, either. It ain't about that. But it's still well worth seeing.

Thinkin', tho', about that interrupt-driven thing, that I'm gonna commit to setting my alarm early again for a while. Got stuff I gotta get done, and it isn't gonna happen any other way. Looks like it's time to wreck much of what remains of my sleep cycle again, and start doing that ugly crack-of-dawn thing. Otherwise, stuff's just not gonna get written

Just what are they implying?

Spam's been coming in at slightly more than the usual steady trickle, these past few days. Not sure why. But that I get some, anyway, is pretty much inevitable... Got certain addresses that are necessarily very public, so there's not much getting 'round it. Spam filters usually keep it down to a dull roar.

Gets a little insulting, mind you, if you think about it.

I mean, let's see: over a few days, typically, I can usually expect the following sorts of traffic in this department:

• various pitches to buy Viagra and (I quote) 'herbal Viagra' at 'wholesale' prices,
• a few pitches to buy prescription painkillers over the counter,
• at least one or two occasionally disturbingly graphic come-ons to browse or buy various forms of hardcore porn—frequently covering an astonishing and educating range of sexual pecularities, through bestiality to even weirder proclivities,
• at least a letter or two from my long-lost cousin in Nigeria who (I quote again, though somewhat cleaning up his spelling) 'desires urgently to engage in business transactions with me' to move millions of dollars in bullion, diamonds or some other such lucre out of the country, if only I will pass along a few bank account numbers to him,
• besides a few come-ons for 'herbal diet aids'...

So, in other words, the consensus about me somewhere out there on the internet seems to me that I'm (i) fat, (ii) lonely, (iii) gullible, (iv) beset with an astonishing and entertaining range of unusual and disturbing fetishes, (v) addicted to prescription drugs, and (vi) impotent.

To which I have to say: hey, now. I resent that. My fetishes are mostly pretty standard.