Academic Twaddle

   The IQ test ... a measure of academic intelligence. That and nothing more. They have been found to be lacking in accuracy; to be ethno-centric; in other words, to be of limited use, at best. The same person can achieve different scores on different sessions with the same test. How excited should we get about these tests that only test how well a person can do on IQ tests?
   Apparently, some people get quite excited, indeed. Take Richard Lynn, for instance, Professor Emeritus at the University of Ulster. He has made a great deal of use of IQ test results to prove some very interesting statements over the years. Keep in mind that proponents of IQ testing declare 100 to be average when you read the following gem of wisdom from the enlightened professor:" In 1991 I extended my work on race differences in intelligence to other races. I concluded that the average IQ of blacks in sub-Saharan Africa is approximately 70. It has long been known that the average IQ of blacks in the United States is approximately 85. The explanation for the higher IQ of American blacks is that they have about 25 per cent of Caucasian genes and a better environment."
   To put a little perspective on this, here a few numbers: an IQ of 120 implies that the test-taker is brighter than about 91% of the population, while 130 puts a person ahead of 98% of people. A person with an IQ of 80 to 85 is brighter than only 9% of people.
   Lynn's brilliant theory to explain the difference? Well, says the professor, life was just too darn easy for those dark-skinned, southern lay-abouts. Pluck a date or two from the nearest tree, pop 'em in your mouth, and lie back for another nap. The people who ventured further north found it harder to survive in the cold climes, however, and evolution favoured those who could figure out that they needed to get in out of the snow. Easy to see why whites are so much smarter, eh?
   One statement the man makes, however, should raise the hairs on the back of absolutely everyone's neck, without exception. Remember that eugenics were of very special interest to Hitler when you read the following: "My book Dygenics showed that the eugenicists were right in their belief that modern populations have been deteriorating genetically in respect of health, intelligence and the personality trait of conscientiousness. This deterioration began in the second half of the 19th century and has continued up to the present." Anyone who could buy into any interest in eugenics should be regarded as best used for landfill, and nothing else.
   Now, the moron has made another claim, this time in adjunct to Paul Irwing, Senior Lecturer in Organisational Psychology at Manchester University. Apparently, Irwing was a little unsure about associating with Lynn at first, because of the controversy the man has fomented, but not quite uneasy enough to avoid the man entirely. This time around, they looked at the IQ's of men and women, in order to determine who was smarter. Their research was based on IQ tests given to 80,000 people, plus a further study of 20,000 students.Their study results? Men are supposedly smarter.
    When are these guys ever going to move past the "us and them" mentality?
   Says Irwing, "I'm not particularly pleased with the things we have found. I would like there to be equality between the sexes. In many ways there are, but there are some small differences and this is one of them." Says Lynn, "My work on intelligence and brain size led me to consider the problem that women have smaller brains than men even when allowance is made for their smaller bodies. This implies that men should have higher average ices than women, but it has been universally asserted that men and women have equal average ices. In 1994 I proposed that the solution to this problem is that girls mature faster than boys and this compensates for their lower ices, which only appear at the age of 16 onwards. Among adults men have higher average ices than women by about 4 IQ points. This advantage consists largely of higher spatial abilities but is also present in non-verbal reasoning."
   The paper to be presented by the two towering intellects will argue that there is evidence that at the same level of IQ, women are able to achieve more than men "possibly because they are more conscientious and better adapted to sustained periods of hard work".
   If you're really bored some afternoon and have nothing better to do, put on your hip-waders and get ready to slosh through some knee-high bullshit as you read the latest lunacy offered by these two. Better still, drive to a garden centre, buy some cow manure and fertilize a garden-bed. The returns will be far more worthwhile.

Time for an Assassination?

   I hear that televangelist Pat Robertson has declared it is time for President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela to meet his maker. He aired his views on last Monday's broadcast of the Christian Broadcast Network's 700 Club, saying that the U.S. shouldn't waste money on another war to "get rid of one, you know, strong-arm dictator" but should "have some of the covert operatives do the job."
   Robertson is inciting terrorist activity, and doing it in front of an audience of millions that makes it impossible for anyone to claim there are no witnesses, or no proof. Seems to me that Mr. Robertson should have just earned himself a hurried trip to one of the cells at Guantanamo Bay.
   Amnesty International says Guantanamo has become "a symbol of the US administration’s refusal to put human rights and the rule of law at the heart of its response" to terrorism. Robertson's absence from the ranks of Gitmo's shackle-bearing detainees is simply one more example of the States' holier-than-thou failure to impose the same standards on its own citizens as it feels free to impose on the rest of the world.

Again!

   Here goes again for one of my pet peeves ... the TTC drivers who fail to call out the stops along their route. When are these people going to get the message that there are visually impaired riders, (as well as all the others) who really, really, really need them to do that?
   Their publication "Easier Access" declares "The TTC is everyone's transit system. We hope you enjoy your ride on the better way." (emphasis my own) They certainly have some great programs in place, like the Request Stop Program, for female passengers, but until they have every driver calling every stop, loudly and clearly, they do not have a transit system that is really the better way for every one of their riders.
   Their policy states that "Bus drivers call out major intersections, stops where TTC routed intersect and stops that have been requested by customers.", but they don't yet have every driver on board, so to speak, with their policy. Just this afternoon I was talking with a young man who is visually impaired and he was telling me that he finds bus trips difficult because he has had the experience, more than once, of asking the driver to tell him a certain stop, and having the bus driver fail to do so. Come on people, how long is it going to take before you really do make it "The Better Way"?

Donate a Phone, Save a Life

   So reads the campaign currently underway at the Body Shop locations across the United States and Canada. Drop off any unwanted, used cell phones during the month of August, and they will sell, or refurbish them. Phones that can't be salvaged can be sold for between 50 cents and $1.25 per pound to recycling companies that extract toxic materials either for reuse or for safe disposal. Proceeds go to benefit the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, and the Canadian Women's Foundation. Additionally, a number of phones will be distributed to approximately 200 women's shelters for the use of at-risk women who need access to a personal safety system when domestic violence strikes.
   While many old phones are dumped in a junk drawer, it is currently estimated that over 100 million phones a year are deemed to have outlasted their usefulness, in the States alone. How many of them end up in dumps? There, the toxic substances contained in the circuit board, the liquid crystal display of the screen, and the battery are ready to begin leaking into the ground. How long will it be before the polluted groundwater brings those toxic substances back to your kitchen tap?
   Put the above two scenarios together with some of the following disturbing facts:

*In the United States, a woman is beaten every 15 seconds.
*In Canada, 51% of women have, since the age of 16, experienced violence as defined by the Criminal Code.
*Domestic violence occurs in 25% to 33% of all relationships, heterosexual and other.

   Keeping all of that in mind, I hope you'll take just a little extra time before the end of this month to pick up that phone you don't want anymore, and drop it off at the Body Shop location near to you. It's one heck of a good cause.

Big News

   Who would have thought it? Violence in video games is being denounced by the American Psychological Association.
   The APA is calling on the industry to cut back on the violence, declaring it is bad for children's health. Their research shows that exposure to violence in such games as Doom, Wolfenstein 3D and Mortal Kombat, among others, increases aggressive behaviour and reduces helpful behaviour in daily life settings, among youth. "...even a brief exposure to violent video games can temporarily increase aggressive behavior in all types of participants." The Association states that these games are even more dangerous than TV and movies, " which are known to have substantial effects on aggression and violence."
   The American Psychological Association is the largest scientific and professional organization representing psychology in the United States and the world's largest association of psychologists. Their membership includes more than 159,000 researchers, educators, clinicians, consultants and students. Quite the group for any layman to gainsay. Perhaps their statement could provide a starting point for those wishing to change the stats of gun-related deaths, detailed in my entry on Friday the 19th.
   The Association identifies these games as being so influential because of their interactive nature; because they require the player to identify with the aggressor. Craig A. Anderson, psychologist and author explains that these violent games provide a forum for learning and practicing aggressive solutions to conflict situations, solutions that are more and more likely to be used when real-life conflict situations arise.
   Read the whole article and see what you think. If you empathize with those caught in the tangle of violence, and/or fear to have it ever touch you and yours, it might be time to raise your voice in protest. Isn't it time for a little life-saving change?

Coulter Vilifies A Grieving Mother

   Cindy Sheehan is the mother from California whose 24-year-old son Casey, a soldier, has become one of the casualties of the war in Iraq. She has taken up a post on a road near G.W.'s ranch in Crawford, Texas, where Bush has gone for a five-week vacation in order "to keep a balanced life". Sheehan stands her ground out there, asking the President to meet with her and explain why her son had to die, why the troops were sent out and why they can't be brought home.
   She has become the centre of a groundswell of protest being called the "Mom's Movement". Mothers across the States have gathered on street corners and in front of veterans' memorials, lighting candles and keeping vigils to call for the troops to be brought home. Some mothers have written letters to First Lady Laura Bush, asking her help. A group of mothers from Ohio who lost children on a day heavy with casualties, earlier this month, have gone to the media to make their call for an end to the war.
   While she attracts so much positive support, Sheehan also attracts the negative. Some are accusing her of dishonouring the memory of those who have died there. They suggest that to be an anti-war protester makes it impossible for her also to be a grieving mother. They want to portray her as some kind of unnatural aberration, a mother who has lost her son but does not grieve for him; a mother who instead seeks the glare of publicity's floodlights in which to shed crocodile tears. Bush toady Ann Coulter, conservative publicist, goes so far as to say "Call me old-fashioned, but a grief-stricken war mother shouldn't have her own full-time PR flack. After your third profile on Entertainment Tonight, you're no longer a grieving mom; you're a C-list celebrity trolling for a book deal or a reality show." (quote from the Toronto Daily Star)
   Anyone who has outlived a child has lived through hell. Anyone who has not suffered such a tragedy should never presume to judge those who have. Each one of them will handle it in their own way, and live through it the best they can. Many would eschew the scrutiny of the media, but there are those who would seek it out in order to give vent to their sorrow and their protest against the conditions that robbed them of a child, in the hope that the heart of the nation might be moved. Neither way is wrong. The only wrong here is the voicing of such calumnies as those uttered by Coulter.

A Little Something

   The BBC News Online has one to tickle your funny bone. Apparently the lions in residence at Knowsley Safari Park in Merseyside Britain have been a tad confused lately about what's edible and what isn't. A group of lionesses chased after a Smart Car, and Mini Coopers have also been "stalked". The theory is the felines think they are chasing possible prey.
   Dinner is served!

Who Should They Target?

   Toronto has been through a spate of gun violence lately. 31 gun-related deaths have been among the 45 homicides recorded so far this year and the big topic of discussion has become how to curb this violence. On Wednesday, Toronto City Councillor Michael Thompson was quoted as saying that police should be allowed to target young black men at random as part of their crackdown on guns. He says that since a large number of the guns used and a large number of the people killed are in the black community, the police need to pay special attention to them. It should be noted that Thompson himself is black.
   August 18th's news came with the report of a chorus of protest against Thompson's idea. Ontario Premier McGunity and Federal Defence Minister Bill Graham each issued separate statements condemning Thompson's idea.
   After the backlash began swirling around him, the great thinker saw the need to issue a clarification of his original statement. Says Thompson, he was only trying to stimulate some discussion about a serious problem. What a mental midget.
   There is no one group that needs to be targeted. Society as a whole should be the target. The issue of violence in schools; the issue of violence in families; the issue of violence in "entertainment" - games, song videos and lyrics, movies and TV - all of these need to be addressed and there is not one of them that is the sole domain of any particular group. We are all involved in the problem and we all need to be involved in the solution.
   At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I will return to the issue of violence in schools for just a moment, because I have been on the front lines there. I have been in situations where young teens have been caught in the middle of instances ranging from graphic threats of violence to actual commission thereof. They have been excused outright because "boys will be boys" and "they're just kids" or else had the consequences toned down for them, in order to avoid the creation of "bad rep" for the school, and/or the principal directly involved, and even to avoid having some parent in protesting the punishment meted out to their misunderstood little angel. As long as this state of affairs continues, it bespeaks a societal approach that is all-pervasive at the roots of the whole tangled-up mess.
   I don't know how we'll ever solve the problem. Sometimes, I lose hope entirely that it is even possible to do so.

Home Again, Home Again

   I have been a-travellin' over the past four days. It began on Saturday when a friend and I headed out for the the King's Wharf Theatre in Penetanguishene, and ended today when my oldest daughter and I drove home from Port Hope.
   This friend and I have been part of each other's lives for more than twenty years now. Because her birthday is days away from mine and both are in August, we began after a while to take a day together to do something special each August, something in celebration of our birthdays. This year we chose a summer theatre outing, and went to see the play "The Last Resort", a tongue-in-cheek murder mystery set in Saskatchewan. We stayed the night in a B&B in Midland where a screened in porch made the most wonderful place to sit and talk, while the crickets serenaded us. I hope we will be celebrating together for a long time to come.
   I spent Sunday night at home and then on Monday morning headed out for an adventure with my oldest daughter. She had chosen to go to Port Hope's Capitol Theatre to see their production of "My Fair Lady" and a wonderful choice it was. The B&B where we stayed, "Dr. Corbett's Inn" is one I would recommend to anyone. The walk we took along the Waterfront Trail, on the shore of Lake Ontario, took us to some of the most beautiful scenery, including a little inlet where butterflies by the score hovered over wave upon wave of purple loosestrife. Whether the plant is a problem otherwise or not, at that moment, it was a lovely part of a feast for our eyes. The food at a great little spot we found, the "Dreamers Cafe" , (a winner of the Business Excellence, Entrepreneur Award) was absolutely fabulous. My daughter loved every morsel of the Chocolate Amaretto Cheesecake she had. I loved every minute of our getaway, and feel so privileged to have had that time with my daughter. More than once, I looked at the beautiful young woman beside me, and remembered burying my face in the sweet-newborn-smell of the baby I carried in my arms 23 years ago. What an incredible individual she has become. My daughter is a very special person, indeed.

Mind-Boggling, Indeed

   If you're in the mood for a little mental challenge, go read this and try to answer the questions it raises.

Shame!

   The Royal Museum in Edinburgh should be moving as fast as they can to correct this one. Apparently, in 1827, the museum became the "resting place" of two skulls that should never have left Canadian shores. They are the skulls of Beothuk chief Nonosabasut and his wife, Demasduit, looted from their graves by William Cormack, a Newfoundland-born and Scottish-educated adventurer. It is bad enough that the skulls were taken in the first place, but what happened to them next was even worse. They were apparently kept in the mammals and birds section of the museum and trotted out for display on visitors' requests. The mammals and birds? What does that say about the humanity and sensitivity of the curators?
   What I would like to know is whether or not those skulls have been returned yet to the soil in which they should rest? If they have, there should be a dignified reburial, all the details of which would be left to the First Nations people to arrange. If they haven't been returned yet, they should be sent back on the very next transport available.
   The Beothuk people were hunted to extinction by the whites who colonized Newfoundland. It is time for whites to grant them the dignity they were stripped of in their last days. Yes, I know there were atrocities committed by some of the Beothuk warriors. I know that there were also kindnesses from both sides, but the kindness was not enough, and hatred and fear won out in the end. I know too about extant diaries, written by whites, with entries that detail the boredom of a Sunday afternoon being alleviated by the joy of the hunt. Their quarry? Beothuk people.
   In his last encounter with whites, as described by the white witnesses, Nonosabasut approached his ten heavily armed antagonists bearing only a spruce branch, to show that he had laid aside his weapons. His wife was grabbed and his baby was tossed aside. He reacted in anger, as any husband and father throughout all of history would, and grabbed the leader of the white party by the collar. Other whites bayoneted him in the back, and shot him. His brother ran for his life and was also shot dead. The baby disappears from the records of the incident. Demasduit died in captivity, succumbing to tuberculosis less than a year later.
   With the June 1829 death in captivity of Shanawdithit, a Beothuk woman captured in 1823, the Beothuk people were considered to be extinct. The skulls of Demasduit and Nonosabasut are being used now for DNA samples to investigate the ethnography of the Beothuk people. That is wrong, too. Where are their nearest-of-kin whom authorities have asked for permission? There are none to ask. Let these people lie in peace. Grant them this final dignity.

Flipping Burgers and Books

   They say it takes a whole village to raise a child. In Genoa Township, Michigan, McDonald's franchise owners Kathy and Jerry Olinik are busy doing some of the village's work. This fall, high school and college students who work for the two will be allowed to clock an extra hour before or after their shifts, provided they spend that time doing schoolwork.
   Kathy Olinik says about half of the couple's 125 employees are eligible for the program. If they all took advantage of the program, Kathy estimates it would cost them about $300 per week in wages. The Oliniks are hoping other employers will follow their lead, although, I think most people would tend to share the viewpoint expressed by George Johnson on the likellihood of that happening. Says Johnson, an economics professor at the University of Michigan, " It would be nice if we could expect private business firms to do more than simply provide goods and services. But unless we legally impose constraints on all firms ... it is naive to expect firms to do more than make profits."
   Says Jerry Olinik, "We do it because it's the right thing to do." How wonderful is that?

Competitive Eating, or Reaching Out?

   I was flipping through the pages of 24 Hours, a free daily, and came across a short entry about the "Black Widow", Sonya Thomas. It seems she has just won another speed-eating title by taking only 10 minutes to down 35 sausages in the Johnsonville Brat-Eating World Championship in Wisconsin on the weekend.
   The story was bad enough, all by itself, but things got worse. I searched for "competitive eating" and found the I.F.O.C.E., International Federation of Competitive Eating's site. The woman is credited with having taken first place in 22 contests out of the 77 listed. Soft tacos, quesadilla, pulled pork sandwiches, sweet potato casserole, meatballs, lobsters, oysters ... the list goes on and on, ad nauseam.
   What the hell is wrong with this picture - mental midgets force-feeding themselves and trying to do it faster than the other idiots at their side, while a crowd of brain-dead fans cheers them on? These people who are "competing" could probably all do with some intensive psychotherapy. At the least, they could do with an introductory course in human compassion, something like "Caring About Others: one-oh-one".
   For me, the juxtaposition of the news items in that issue helped things to get even worse still. Literally placed right beside the blurb about the gastronomic excesses being indulged in was a picture of Djamshid Popal, the Afghan boy brought to Toronto for heart surgery last year from his village north of Kabul. The doctors at Sick Kids Hospital did the six-hour surgery for free, replacing two of his damaged valves and repairing a third, and Djamshid came through with flying colours. He was sent home hale and hearty and he slipped out of everyone's thoughts, leaving a warm, comfy after-glow of self-congratulations. Another of the world's impoverished children had been helped by us here in pampered North America.
   I wonder if the 'Black Widow" knows about Djamshid, for instance? I wonder if she would care, if she did know? He went home to a mud-brick house that has no running water. He went home to a brother, Rahmeallah, who stepped on a land-mine and lost a leg while Djamshid was here in the hospital. He went home to a lack of coumadin, the medication he must take to ensure his continued health. His country has been through 20 years of war. There is no medical infrastructure left. Even if there were medication available in ready supply, Djamshid could not have any because his family sold everything to bring the boy to Canada, including the taxi his father used to drive. The family is destitute. Djamshid is one of a family group of thirteen, all trying to survive on little to nothing, at the same time as we in the complacent west stage speed-eating contests.
   One "quick-fix" intervention seems to be what the majority of westerners like to read about in their newspapers. One fairy-tale of happy circumstance where a saviour-westerner heads up the effort to heal the woes of some less fortunate citizen of the third world, and a sparkle-in-the-sun coating of magical smiles leaves everyone freed up to get back to their Game Boy, and credit spending to one-up the Joneses. We as a group are feeding ourselves too many half-hour sitcoms wherein every problem imaginable can be fixed up in a matter of minutes.
   We need to get involved . We need to look past the excesses that happenstance has allowed us and see the horrible deprivation just next door, as close to us as the one story was to the other in that newspaper. We need to forget the quick fixes and start giving over the long-haul. Maybe little miss Sonya and the other "eaters" profiled on the competitive eating site could get together to do something other than indulge in gluttony. Maybe they could brainstorm some ideas on getting the companies that dish up the food for the contests to send equal amounts instead, every month, to destinations in third world countries. Maybe they could think about how to get various companies on-side in a move to "loan" expertise and technology to people like Djamshid's family, so they can use it to dig their way out of the quagmires of misery that ensnare them.
   Maybe they could do something that is a little less disgusting and just a little more noble.

Could You Trust Your Ears?

   If you've stopped by here before, you might know that I volunteer at the CNIB. I was there yesterday to work one-on-one with a young Jamaican gentleman I have had the privilege of helping lately. He was telling me yesterday about his orientation and mobility worker spending time with him on practising how to get across busy intersections. When I asked him how it's going, he told me quite simply, "I am scared. I can't do it alone."
   I couldn't stop thinking about that yesterday. It stayed with me all day. When I went for a walk in the evening, his words were still bouncing around inside my head. I simply could not imagine what it must feel like to take that first step out into an intersection you can not see.
   As I was walking along, I came to a busy intersection, one that is still hustle and bustle even into the quieter hours of the evening. Here in Toronto, some of the main intersections have had audio signals installed to assist pedestrians who are blind or visually impaired. If pedestrians hear a “cuckoo” sound, they can cross in a north/south direction. A “chirp” means they can cross in an east/west direction. Silence indicates that pedestrians should not start crossing in any direction. Sounds good? Imagine trusting life and limb to a "cuckoo" sound, and hoping that there's no reckless driver bearing down on you in spite of the traffic signals. How could you be sure you heard them correctly above the din of rush-hour traffic? These audio signals are not even present at every intersection, and not every blind person has a dog to help them. My friend doesn't.
   The intersection I was standing at is one with no audio signals. I know that people such as my friend are coached to "listen carefully" to the sounds of the traffic. Yeah, right. So I stood there, and seeing that the red light was against me at the moment, I tried closing my eyes and listening for the change of sound that would tell me the light had changed. I concentrated for all I was worth, and realized almost immediately that I was listening to an indistinguishable cacophony. I persevered. After a moment, it seemed to me that the part right in front of me had gone quiet. I opened my eyes expecting to find the green light facing me and saw instead that it was still red. I tried again but found I had no faith at all in my ears keeping me safe, and I kept opening my eyes. It was bewildering. It was frightening to think of not being able to look before I stepped out. How will my friend be able to make his way about?
   If you have your vision, you have so very much.


   I continued on my way, trying to be very, very present in the moment, so as to free my mind of the disquieting thoughts. I wanted to feel and see the beauty around me again, instead of searching every inch for the possible pratfalls awaiting the visually impaired.
   I felt my way through my consciousness to find my arms and became aware of them. That was when I realized a soft breeze was playing tag with me, wafting its breath across my arms before it darted ahead of me. I centred my thoughts on my legs and revelled in the warmth of the afternoon sun, tingling its way down my shins. I raised my eyes to look ahead and see where my steps would lead me and I saw a private residence whose front yard was encircled by a low, brick wall. A jumble of ivy vines had splashed over the wall, dripping a cascade of lobed leaves down the bricks and sending questing tendrils out into the grass bordering the sidewalk. The jewel tones of the ivy's green, the sun and the breeze all served as becalming bounty provided by nature to send me on my way, my senses soothed.

Welcome

   PM Paul Martin introduced Canada to its next governor-general on Thursday. Haitian-born Michaëlle Jean will be installed as Canada's 27th Governor-General on Sept. 27, following Adrienne Clarkson. Ms. Jean accepted her appointment at a press conference on Thursday, promising to make the rights of women, youth, aboriginals and the disadvantaged a priority during her speech. We welcome her with hopes that she will indeed do as she says, and return to the office some of the dignity stolen from it by Clarkson and her profligate spending.
   The 48-year-old's family fled the tyranny and chaos of Papa Doc Duvalier's Haiti when she was 11 years old in 1968 and came to Quebec, where she grew up. Ms. Jean is fluent in French, English, Spanish, Italian and Haitian Creole. She has studied at the University of Montreal and universities in Florence, Milan and Perugia, Italy, and like Clarkson before her, has been a TV host for CBC. Unlike any governor-general before her, Michaëlle Jean is black.
   Welcome to the office, Madame Jean. May your years at Rideau Hall be years of accomplishment and pride.

Farewell

   In October 2004, I wrote about Ernest "Smoky" Smith, Canada's last surviving recipient of the Victoria Cross, and one of very few privates ever to win the Cross. Today I write again, but this time to say a farewell. He left us, on Wednesday, at the age of 91. Now he can join his fallen comrades and be forever young with them.
   Mr. Smith was 25 when he joined the Seaforth Highlanders in 1940 in his native Vancouver. His actions in October 1944 won him the award. Smith, however, was not a man to rest on his laurels. When conflict began in Korea, he signed up again and this time stayed in the armed forces until he retired as a sergeant at the age of 50. He promptly started a new career as a travel agent and retired again when he was 82. An ordinary man who was anything but ordinary under fire.
   Legion branches across Canada, the U.S, and Europe will fly their flags at half-mast until his funeral.

McMaster Medics

   Women made up 75.7% of McMaster Medical student graduates this year. That makes it the most female medical class in Canada, ahead of U of Montreal at 75.6%, U of Toronto at 52.9%, U of Western Ontario at 50.8%, and McGill at 48.9%. McMaster must know something the others don't.
   What a whole different scenario plays itself out for the women who graduate now than the one played for Emily Howard Jennings Stowe She was the first Canadian woman to practise medicine in Canada. Born in 1831, in Norwich, Oxford County about 150 kilometres southwest of Toronto, Emily became first a teacher and then a principal of a Brantford public school. In 1856 she married and had three children before her husband contracted tuberculosis and she had to return to teaching to support the family.
   When she decided to become a doctor, she slammed into the brickwall of the "old boys' club" which denied her access to Canadian medical schools, so she entered the New York Medical College for Women in the United States. In 1867, Dr. Emily Stowe returned to Canada and established a medical practice in Toronto. Although she had a medical degree, she was refused a license from the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario. American-trained physicians were required to attend sessions at an Ontario medical school and then sit qualifying examinations. Because no Ontario medical schools would admit women, Stowe was unable to meet this requirement. She was finally admitted for courses at the Toronto School of Medicine in the early 1870s and granted an Ontario medical license in 1880.
   Stowe brought new meaning to the term "determined". She needed her unshakable resolve in order to survive the ongoing animosity from her classmates and endure the endless puerile pranks staged by them. Each morning, for instance, she had to brace herself for the first glimpse of her chair. Waiting for her might be limbs severed from the school's cadavers or even human excrement. Stowe would calmly clean the seat and then settle down for the lecture. What giants of intellect she studied with.
   Her refusal to be cowed went a long way toward breaking down barriers for the next generation of females who aspired to take the Hippocratic Oath. In 1883, she helped to found the Ontario Medical College for Women, and her own daughter, Augusta Stowe, became the first female doctor to graduate from a Canadian medical school.
   The women who make up that 75.7% of McMaster's medical graduates should give a kind thought to Emily Stowe. Actually, the men of the 24.3% should, too. Schools that are inclusive and unbiased are better schools for every student.

Chill!

   It's 7:19 a.m. as I sit typing these words, and Toronto heads into another day of heat, heat,heat. The thermometer reads 22 degrees Celsius but the humidex already has it feeling like 30 degrees. It's only going to get worse as the day goes on. That makes it a good time to talk about ice cream makers, don't you think? Anything to stay a little cooler.
   The July issue of Wired Magazine looks at 4 models and reports the results of their testing with each of them. The worst was the Nemox Gelato Chef 2200, which they said does not freeze the product evenly and has a lid that keeps "popping off" during use. The best was the Cuisinart Supreme Ice Cream Maker, which even beat out the "chic Italian gelato makers" they tested. It rings in at $400.00 per unit, and is one of the quickest to finish its task, and they said it produces the most consistently smooth, firm batches of the frozen delicacy. A big selling point for the Cuisinart Supreme, as far as Wired is concerned, is that "it's a snap to take apart for easy cleaning" .
   This model may produce 1.5 quarts of ice cream in just 45 minutes, which all sounds fine and good, but it has that "classic stainless-steel look". Aaaargh! I hate that look. Sterile. Cold. Institutional. Who came up with that look? I'm not a huge fan of ice cream in the first place, but if I were looking for a home ice cream maker, that 'look' would send me scurrying right past this baby and on to the next model. This is a point of contention between my sweetcheeks and me. He loves the look and would redo our whole kitchen that way if possible. Now that would really chill things out between the two of us, no Cuisinart Supreme needed.

The Wheels Go Round

   My sweetcake and I took out the bikes today and cycled our way along some sidestreets, then through some of the East Don Parklands. Part of the way, we were following gravel paths that run beside the East Don River. The Don was named in 1793 after England's Don River in Yorkshire. It was originally known as the Nechinquakakonk to the First Nations people who lived here, but the whites couldn't get their tongues wrapped successfully around those syllables. A long-term naturalization program has been undertaken here, including rehabilitation of a sedge-marsh that seeks to achieve enhanced fish habitat and healthy plant communities.
   That's all well and good, but in today's heat and humidity, none of that was on my mind. My senses were totally occupied instead with the sights and sounds of the summer day. There were monarch butterflies flaunting their delicate beauty so near to us, and yet if we tried to catch them in our lenses, they flitted away before we had a chance to blink. Katydids in the bushes to either side of us chorused their joy at being alive, while birds trilled their lyrical odes to the summer's day. My bicycle helmet shaded my face, but the rays of the sun were laying warm, lingering caresses all along the length of my arms. The breeze was hovering constantly all about me, wanting to be included in the blazing orb's languorous playfulness and all the while, the wheels of my bike rolled over the gravel, marking the rhythm of pleasure, the tempo of this day's diversion.