Fawkesy

There have been a lot of things on my mind in the past seven days. Some of which I would never have known about if I wrapped myself in the veil of ignorance that most people wear like a badge of honour. “Uh oh, the news is on and that’s just a little too real for me right now. Well that’s okay because it’s a new episode of Grey’s Anatomy tonight. Then, tomorrow night when it seems like there’s nowhere to hide from the freshly brewed events of the world, I can take comfort in the fact that the new season of the O.C. starts.” There are days when a life of sleeping awake seems oh so appealing, when faced with the consequences of those that have come and gone. As a counterbalance, there are days like today when I am confronted with a billboard of a balding old man holding a camera. Coming from the septuagenarian is a speech bubble stating, “I won’t raise taxes”. Well I’ll certainly vote for you in the upcoming mayoral elections based on a campaign promise given through billboard form. I mean if we can’t believe a billboard with a speech bubble, then truly we have descended to the level of animals. For it is only through the sacred covenant of the billboard speech bubble accompanying creepy picture of old man that local politicians are bound, much in the eternal fashion of a Mormon wedding, to their constituents. After passing this billboard my brain decided that it needed a break from all the serious contemplative behavior of this week. Acting on its own volition, my brain took things to a different level. Cue 1960’s announcer: It’s the Mayor, brought to you by Ajax dish soap. Ajax dish soap, the best friend of housewives across America, if you want a happy house and a happy husband use Ajax dish soap. Also brought to you by Viceroy cigarettes, if Steve McQueen smokes them, maybe you should too. The Mayor is brought to you in the splendor of Technicolor Cue generic off-beat knock off of the Magnificent Seven theme song In 1850’s printing press font, the words “The Mayor” appear and then two bullet shots sound, causing the words to spin. As the music rises in the background the camera fades from black to a morning sunrise in the old west and a lone figure riding out of the light. It’s the Mayor, starring Adam Durrant as the Mayor. One town caught in the midst of midterm city council elections. One man dispensing justice with a pair of six shooters in a made up, Manefest Desteny spawned, town in the American west. Square jawed, fast witted, faster on the draw, wearing a hat and always smoking because it’s the sixties, The Mayor. Unfortunately the show came along in the late sixties and the overt killing of “red injuns” and Mexicans was not received well by viewing populace of America. Killing of that quantity, with as many memorable one liners would not be seen again until a brave man named Paul Verhoeven made a seminal film called Robocop. By the time I pulled my car into the parking lot at Brock, The Mayor had been cancelled after only eleven episodes and was replaced by the less violent G.I. Joe versus the Commissar. Realizing that there was no real way I could make an entire post out of my half mad thoughts on the way to work, I thought I would take this moment to be a history teacher. Guy Fawkes Day is upon us once more and those of you of non-English descent, or who did not see V for Vendetta, probably have no idea that the fifth of November is something to be remembered. Has the rhyme jogged your mass media soaked mind yet? Remember, remember…the fifth of November? The year was 1604 and James I was dealing with a tumultuous reign as the King of England. Married to a Catholic and son of a Catholic, he was a natural Catholic sympathizer. However, James soon found out that governing a nation full of Protestants meant a great deal of pandering to the mob. By January of 1604 James was begging to arouse the ire of Catholics in his continuous attempts to please all of England’s religious sects. In a vain appeal to the Puritans and their wacky buckled hat ways, James went so far as to utter his outright detestation of Catholicism. The days that followed saw James exiling Jesuits and Catholic Priests as well as instituting of fines for practicing the Papist ways. Sufficed to say, this did not sit well with the Catholics. Especially to one Guy Fawkes. Seeking out allies to oppose the king, Fawkes traveled around England, Scotland and France. Somewhere along the road he got it in his head that he would blow up parliament, abscond with the king and his daughter and hold them hostage until the oppression against Catholics ended. With parliament dismissed until November 5, 1605, the timeline was set. Fawkes must have pulled the short straw because, his job was to ignite the powder in the catacombs of parliament. In theory he would spark the powder kegs and then go scampering into the night as to avoid bieng caught in the combustion. But the explosion was not meant to be. Loose lips sank the conspiracy and Fawkes and his co-conspirators were tried for treason before they could blow up the government. Some were hung, others were drawn and quartered. To celebrate the triumph of Protestantism over the dirty papists, effigies of Guy Fawkes were burned on successive fifths of November. Today, it is a major celebration in England where effigies are burned, fireworks are lit, and everybody has a wonderful time, despite having to go to work prior to the revelry. What began as nothing more than an attempt by Protestants to en masse rub salt in the wounds of dejected Catholics, is now an excuse to party. Fawkes will no doubt be spinning in his grave come Sunday when after my soccer game I go out to my buddy’s house in the country get drunk and burn an effigy. But what is the lesson we can learn from all this? That mixing fire and alcohol is probably not in my best interest? Probably correct. But beyond that piece of dollar store wisdom is a reminder that the franchise that some of us take so casually, should not be forsaken. 400 years ago people were barred from voting because of their religion - serves them right the dirty Idolaters but that's not the point. Each time that some person says, “it’s only a mayoral election, it is meaningless” they are taking one step closer to surrendering the only real power most of us will ever have in this world. A vote is force. That ballot is your will made manifest. One of the rare moments where society listens to you rather than telling you what you need. Go vote, even if to spoil your ballot because you hate all the candidates, go vote. Next week, we return to things that will depress you in my exploration of environmental sustainability. Eat your sushi now because in fifty years there won’t be any fish left.