you can't live on the stairs (it's either up or down); pencil and inks on paper.
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Namely, an article about the de-evolution of Canadian politics by Elizabeth Renzetti. I have more than a few problems with the Globe, which on most weekdays resembles the bastard flyer child of Sears and RBC, but the weekend edition still holds out a few readables, and this column was one of them. The gist: our political system is getting dirtier while the electorate grows more cynical (and dumb, reduced to a kind of meanness over dollars and cents) and the only growth in public discourse is the sound of silence, as more and more people don't participate at all.
And then here's my two cents -- people only care about housing prices, employment (but only their own), and schools (but only the ones their own kids go to). That's it, that's what it's all boiled down to. Yes, there are a few hot buttons that can still be pushed -- abortion, terrorism, crime -- but otherwise it takes a pretty big scandal to make people do anything other than join a Facebook group. We have reached the end of real engagement, which is usually (when it comes to affluent societies) about the time that the wheels start to come off. For my generation (and certainly for Renzetti's), it's fine; there's still plenty of new kitchens and cottages and MBA's and lines of credit to go around. But my kid might have a problem. All she might get are Instagram photos of the wreckage left behind. Which is why we're furiously saving for her.
And then here's my two cents -- people only care about housing prices, employment (but only their own), and schools (but only the ones their own kids go to). That's it, that's what it's all boiled down to. Yes, there are a few hot buttons that can still be pushed -- abortion, terrorism, crime -- but otherwise it takes a pretty big scandal to make people do anything other than join a Facebook group. We have reached the end of real engagement, which is usually (when it comes to affluent societies) about the time that the wheels start to come off. For my generation (and certainly for Renzetti's), it's fine; there's still plenty of new kitchens and cottages and MBA's and lines of credit to go around. But my kid might have a problem. All she might get are Instagram photos of the wreckage left behind. Which is why we're furiously saving for her.