John Stall

Given the way things unfolded last Friday night and the TTC strike that followed , it is clear that the transit union leadership has lost the confidence of, and the ability to lead its members. It has also lost the goodwill of the public it was skillfully able to attain right up to and through the original negotiations.

NDP Leader Howard Hampton admitted to me on Sunday. as we gathered at Queen’s Park for the back to work legislation, that the transit union leadership tier was crumbling.

 What’s clear now is that the current leader does not have the confidence of his membership. He was not able to convince them that the deal he negotiated at the table with the city was the best they could get, and that they should ratify it rather than strike . Or,  he is so far out-of-touch and out-of-sync with his members that he was not able to follow their instructions and expectations at the table – so he came away with less (than what we now know they expected).

Ratification of a negotiated settlement rarely fails as this one did, because the members usually trust that their leader has taken their interest as far as it can possibly go before recommending they accept it.

Leadership is not an easy job, and it can be lonely because that’s where the buck stops.  But you gotta lead, follow, or get out of the way! 

I don’t doubt for a second that if Buzz Hargrove recommended a negotiated settlement to his CAW members and they rejected it — he’d get outta the way.

We are in Las Vegas for a few days of R&R and for a family celebration.  This place is, on many levels, like no place on the planet. A place where money loses all value in a casino.  A place where no amount of money has been spared building the hotels and casinos that are larger than many small towns, and it’s a place where you could spend from hundreds to millions of dollars on anything want from condo’s to cars, to jewelry to Lear jets - but it’s hard to find an OUTDOOR patio bar-restaurant-where you can smoke. 

Now this may not sound as bizarre as I’m making it out to be when you consider the number of North American cities, including Toronto, that have extended their smoking bans to outdoor patios sheltered by umbrellas that are touching as opposed to those with no umbrellas, but this city allows smoking INSIDE many of the grandest of hotels and in ALL of the casinos.  Ash trays are happily passed out at all if not most of the card tables and slot machines.  Anyone who sits down at a black-jack table or row of slot machines  and who objects to those around them who are smoking, quickly realizes this place is different from where they come from.

I guess the by-law makers of Nevada figure the air-cleaning technology inside the casinos and hotels that gambling money can buy is more capable of saving the lives (from second-hand smoke) of the gazillions of people who spend 24-7 in them than mother natures open air desert can of the few who sit outside.  In fact, it’s hard to find an outdoor patio on which you can sit and have a drink or light meal.  Wonder why they want everybody inside? Where smoking is allowed and their is no limit to the amount of money you want to gamble.

Viva Las Vegas! 

Of all the rites of spring, from the icicles weeping at the final departure of winter, to the season opening ball games, for my money nothing can trigger the endorphins of a middle-ager the way driving a sports-car or motorcycle can, along a dry road in the first warm sunshine of spring. My “babe-mobile” (as my oldest step-daughter dubbed it at first sight) came out of winter storage this week and ooooh baby, does she ever look and feel good!

It was the summer before last that I succumbed to the mid-life pull to put at least one more sporty-like car under my seat, before maybe beginning to consider the possibility of giving into practicality and maturity. It’s not exactly a Porsche, but a very snappy looking pearl white, five-speed Mitsubishi that’s way too low for the snow, but high enough to clear any railway track on the back roads of my regular path to and from Georgian Bay.  Her name is “Mitsy”– she’s  smooth and sleek, with some great curves in the right spots.

The first day I brought her home, my very attractive 24-year-old  step-daughter dropped her jaw and screamed “it’s a sex machine!,” “a babe-mobile!” — so I coaxed her into the front seat to see how many heads we could turn driving down Yonge Street, with the sunroof open, the windows down and the tunes cranked a little louder than usual. Yes, the heads were turning big time, but I’m not sure if they were looking at her, the car, or the sight of a 50-something alongside a babe who was 30 years younger. Doesn’t matter. It was fun, felt great, was trouble-free and scratched the itch of winter, not to mention mid-life! (just kidding sweetie).

The only other “babes” who have been in the front seat since (apart from my gorgeous mate Marlane), are our two dogs, Tia and Moe, who dig the leather seats, the tunes, the sunroof and who know how to pose for the heads they turn at traffic lights. In the meantime, this older dog is diggin’ it all, especially this weekend’s first coat-free, window down, tune crankin’, run up the ribbon of back roads to Georgian Bay, to the tune of Mack the Knife.  Look out, ole Mitsy’s back!