Into the wild

The movies I love the most, as Lisa or my kids or family might tell you, are movies like Castaway, Life of Pi, All Is Lost, Open Water, and Into The Wild. Which might suggest that, were it not for the ones I love, I’d be gone, baby, gone. Into the wild.

That’s not to suggest I have unrealistic expectations about what the outcome might be. In those last two movies, the protagonist dies, badly. Nature wins.

I live in one of the biggest cities in the world, yes. That’s true. But I dislike – actually, I hate – that I can look out a window, and never see a tree, and only see swarms of people and cars. It doesn’t feel right. (And the zealotry about how wonderful big cities are? It’s bullshit. Nobody who is sane thinks big cities are wonderful.)

This amazing story, therefore, is recommended to you. It’s well worth a read. I loved every word.

Not because it’s a great example of long-form journalism, a genre now as hard to find as the hermit himself. Not because the writer worked so diligently to “get the story” – he’s a con man, like all the great journalists are, and he genially uses deceit and guile to get what he wants. Not because of the insights the hermit has to pass along – after such a long time alone with his thoughts, he’s much more glib than profound. Not because it’s Maine, which I love.

No, you should read it because (I suspect) there are many others out there like me. And we’re always re-watching Into the Wild, and we’re always, always eyeing the exits.

Way to go, daughter

Beacher Emma Kinsella was one of around 4,000 young athletes who travelled to the North American Indigenous Games in Regina in late July. She was invited to swim for Team Ontario, which won the swimming competition. Swimmer Emma Kinsella receives some of her six medals at the National Indigenous Games this July.

She won six medals at the event, two as part of relay teams, and four individual races, including silver in the 200m individual medley and 50m backstroke, and bronze in 100m backstroke and 100m butterfly. Her races were in the U19 division.

The view from here

Doing edits on the new book, 30,000 words in. Dunno if it’ll sell two copies, but it may surprise a few folks.

Heading home in two days. Other surprises await there, too.

(Baseless speculation welcome, as always.)



How to deal with online assholes

I’ve been doing this web stuff – it’s a web site, people, not a blog – for about a decade-and-a-half.

At the start, I didn’t have comments – partly because the web-site-based platform I used, designed by Bjorn and Boris, simply didn’t permit me to do so – and partly because I wasn’t wild about providing an open forum for some jerk to libel someone else, and get me sued in the process.

In 2007, I finally decided to give comments a shot. My web platform had been modernized, and the law had become a bit less muddy. So I opened it up, and was glad I did: I think my commenters are pretty darned smart, and they make me think. Hopefully they make you think, too.

Anyway. With the good, of course, comes the bad.

The trolls. The haters. The defamers. The stalkers. The assholes. Because they have no life – they tend to be unattractive, unsuccessful, unemployed men, between 30 and 55, who are consummate losers – the online world is where they live.

They have all sorts of fake names: Bocanut, Sattva, Skippy, others. They come and go, but one thing is constant: they hate. They live to make others feel lousy.

The New York Times has a fascinating story about these assholes I encourage you to read, here. It has some good tips on how to deal with haters.

Now, through a decade-and-a-half, I’ve developed some tips of my own. Here they are, for you to use, gratis:

Call the cops: If they’re really bad – if they are persistently stalking or harassing you – call the police. I recently recommended someone do that, after being endlessly abused by a very senior political operative. She did. A detective went to visit this creep, and gave him a warning. A file is now open on him, and the attacks (for now) have subsided.

Expose them: Lots of tools now exist to track a hater’s IP, his geolocation, you name it. (Hell, I’ve got software they tells me what kind of computer and operating system trolls use.) Use them. When you are sure about a hater’s identity, shame them online. When you are unsure, seek help: whenever I do so, very talented folks always step forward to help flush the knuckle-draggers out. Thus, thanks to free online tools and online good samaritans, “Bocanut” becomes who he really is – Borys Demchuk, recently let go by Johnvince Foods of North York, who harasses women online. And who we’re going to sue (see below).

Sue them: I have, plenty of times, and I’ve won plenty of apologies (see here). I sue when someone goes after my family, my business, or my professional reputation. Suing someone in Small Claims Court, for real and meaningful defamation, is your legal right – and it’s quite inexpensive and easy to do. You don’t need a lawyer – just a real case, and a determination to see it through. Take my word for it: when you hit them in the pocketbook, they thereafter tend to be much more careful. Or they disappear.

Block early, block often: That’s the advice of my pal Steve Ladurantaye, and it’s advice I’ve been following for years. If some anonymous creep has been coming after you on Twitter, Facebook or elsewhere, block ’em. Their mission in life is to make others feel as worthless as they are – so don’t let them. Turn them off. You’ll feel better when you do.

Read the Terms of Service: If a troll is relentlessly stalking you, defaming you, and upsetting you, check the terms of service for the web platform they favour. Inevitably, their attacks will contravene the rules. Carefully document what’s happening and file a complaint. Nine times out of ten, the troll will be shut down.

Consider the source: The Internet is a bit of an equalizer, which is good: it gives a voice to people who would not otherwise have one. But there’s an unhelpful side to that, too. Namely, it gives a platform to cruel bastards, one that sometimes seems far out of proportion to their significance in real life. So, always consider the source: if some anonymous piece of human garbage is sliming you on Twitter, check their metrics: you’ll inevitably find that they are followed by no more than a dozen people. That is, practically nobody cares about them. You shouldn’t, either.

Consider what they have to say: Sometimes – just sometimes – a critic will have something to say that you need to consider. Sometimes, their criticism of you will be right. Sometimes, a critic won’t be a troll; sometimes, they’ll be a thoughtful person with some thoughtful (but critical) things to say. Heed them, if you can. I try to, by opening up comments every day – and I inevitably receive criticism that gives me pause. Criticism doesn’t always equal hate.

Anyway, that’s my list of tips and tactics. Hopefully, you found it useful. And, if you didn’t, I say:

Everyone’s a damned critic.

In Tuesday’s Sun: out on a limb

Senator Romeo LeBlanc looked around.

It was Spring 1993, and LeBlanc was sitting in a room on Parliament Hill, surrounded by a half-dozen Liberal Party staffers. I was one of them. We called ourselves “the task force,” which we hoped sounded bland. We wanted to avoid being called what we really were, which was the first Liberal Party war room.

LeBlanc was our much-loved boss, and no less than James Carville had personally advised us on how to set ourselves up. Carville had told us what LeBlanc was about to remind us: war room stuff isn’t for the faint of heart.

“Okay guys,” LeBlanc said, softly. “Here’s what I have explained to [Liberal leader Jean] Chretien. The kind of work we are engaged in – the kinds of things we are doing – are going to result in one of you losing a limb. It’s inevitable. If you can’t accept that, you’re in the wrong [expletive deleted] line of work.”

It was true, too. In every war room in which I have volunteered since 1993, someone has indeed lost a limb. It’s just the nature of the work. Doesn’t matter if you are a Grit, Tory or Dipper. It happens.

War roomers do quick response. They chase (or attempt to manufacture) controversy. They continually attempt to attract attention in a crowded news environment.

It’s risky business, you might say.

Me and my war room pals have lost plenty of limbs, over the years. First happened to me in ’93, front-page national news, over my interest in a reporter’s tape of Kim Campbell saying something dumb. Happened again in 2000, with Barney the dinosaur being deployed to mock Stockwell Day. Right wing went crazy over that one.

Provincially, too. Happened infamously in 2007 (with a cartoon about baking cookies), and many times since. Not just with Yours Truly, either. Happens in every campaign, to every war room, pretty much.

Our Grit war rooms may have helped out a little, when we won in 1993, 1997, 2000, 2003, 2007, and 2011. Took a few risks, won.

Because it’s risky work, smart war roomers usually insist on not showing up on any flowcharts. The wiser ones aren’t keen on having a title. In particular, they insist on keeping their tactics away from the leader or the candidate at all times. Protect the boss, always.

Now, over the past few days, I lost yet another limb. It was in all the Toronto papers. Even the paper that gives me space has gotten in on the act. Cartoonish guy Andy Donato – who has previously likened progressives to Hitler, and done up cartoons suggesting battering women is funny – did a cartoon poking fun at Yours Truly.

It was plenty amusing getting a civics lesson from the likes of Donato. But I was fair game.

On a slow news day, I’d criticized an opponent in an ongoing municipal election campaign. I used a strong word – too strong.

What was the criticism about? Well, it drew attention to the fact that a major candidate effectively wants to eliminate transit service to a big part of Canada’s largest city. The area is home to a lot of new Canadians.

I regretted my choice of words, which I did all on my own, with no help from anybody. Apologized to the candidate in question, and he graciously accepted same. I then limped away from the blast radius.

But the issue I was raising, and the candidate I was critiquing, aren’t really the point, here. The point is that, when the media consistently won’t focus on an important issue, war rooms have to. They have no choice.

So, get ready for Stephen Harper and Tom Mulcair’s war room folks to be pushing every and any Justin Trudeau mistake, going back to when the Grit leader was in high school. (That’s why he’s cleverly written a quickie autobiography, by the way: to beat the Tory war room to the punch.)

And, get ready for Trudeau’s gang to be stirring up memories of the Senate spending mess and the Sona election fraud case and quite a few other scandals, too.

Most of all, get ready for quite a few war roomers to be hobbling around on crutches by election’s end. When the stakes are this high, when the very keys to 24 Sussex are up for grabs, it’s going to get nasty. My guess: by January, the war rooms will be going full bore, 24/7.

And take it from this grizzled survivor of the very first Canadian political war room: war room work remains risky work, riskier than ever before.

Inevitably, you lose a limb. I did, this week. But that’s okay.

They grow back.