Essays in Idleness

The writer — whether for the public prints or on the water of electronic meejah — is in the position of Princess Scheherazade, under threat of death if she ceases to amuse. In my own perusals of the Arabian Nights, I noticed that she never omitted an evening.

*

Several correspondents this morning ask if I was among the victims of the latest multiple shootings in Greater Parkdale. Be assured, they have missed me again — by at least two weeks since the last time I was walking along that stretch of “The Danforth.” We have been getting rather like Chicago, lately — another prominent “gun-free” city, with the standard liberal exception for criminals and terrorists. (Did you know that Toronto is bigger than Chicago, now? Apparently we overtook them in live population several years ago. Still lagging in our murder rate, but don’t count us out.)

Let me copy the bromide of our politicians at every level from City Councillor to Premier Ministre. Let it be known that I am appalled by the violence, that I deplore the shootings (or knifings, or automotive mow-downs, or acid attacks, as appropriate), that I am in a state of apoplectic outrage, generally, and that I would like to thank first responders and extend my sympathy to the victims and their families.

And as they will never add: you get a lot of this sort of thing when a society is cracking up after a half-century or more of liberal “tolerance” and “innovation.” No police force can possibly keep up, especially one that has been debilitated by “sensitivity training,” and so, you might as well get used to it.

Requests for amelioration would best be directed to God.

*

The heat continues here, and has made and been keeping me rather ill. I think I must have reached the age at which I do not flourish when interior temperatures (as within the High Doganate) surpass 100 degrees of F.

Other correspondents complain that they haven’t seen a homily from me in days. I suppose that means I was overdue to write one.

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P.S. there was a piece by me in Friday’s Catholic Thing (here), under title, “Prometheus Unbound.” I challenge any reader to spot the relation between the first and the second half of it. You may be the first. It seemed obvious to me, however.