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The Citizen, 2001-10-10, Page 5.dio of ) in in Ling leg .oro Ion. of the the sels vas: ice- ary, Lin erry pave Tied was Bred ona tion in ir of iron the ions tray raig tole .ggy (ray. fatt, bell. THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 10, 2001. PAGE 5. Other Views Quick, send in the clowns Funny how some entertainers come with theme songs. Frank Sinatra had My Way. Judy Garland's was Somewhere Over The Rainbow. Bob Hope had Thanks-For the Memories (Raquel Welsh should have gone for Thanks For the Mammaries). Rodney Dangerfield has a theme song too — well, not so much a song — more a theme whine. His trademark entrance: he shuffles out on the stage, stares at the audience with those golf ball eyes and grumps "I can't get no respect!" Oh yeah, Rodney? You think you've got it bad? I' the!! you who can't get no respect. Clowns. Those raccoon-eyed, tumbleweed- haired, baggy-drawered bozos with the lightbulb noses and the water-ski shoes — THEY get no respect at all. Which is sad, because clowns have been making us laugh for millennia. In Ye Olde Tymes they were called jesters, mimes, fools or minstrels, but clowns they were. Clowns were pratfalling around the streets of Sparta nine centuries ago. Ancient Romans wet their togas laughing at clowns. Falstaff, one of Shakespeare's . most endearing creations, was pure clown from the toes of his moth-eaten slippers to the top of his fright-wigged head. There's scarcely been a time in recorded history when clowns haven't been around to make us laugh but I fear sometime soon, some clown will be sweeping up his spotlight for the last time. The long, unhumourous arm of the law has, finally caught up with clowning. Let me take you through the doors of a The story is told of a minister who was asked by one of his loyal church members to preach a sermon on heaven and hell. He spent several days going over all his books on the subject but, realizing that most of his congregation were somewhat theologically challenged, he decided to make the whole explanation as simple as possible. On Sunday he announced that he was indeed going to preach on heaven and hell but was 'going to make it as simple as possible. "Heaven," he intoned, "is where all the mechanics are German, all the lovers are Italian, all the cooks are French, all the policemen are British and all the administrators are Swiss." "Hell," he continued, "is where all the cooks are British, all the policemen are German, all the administrators are Italian, all the mechanics are French and all the lovers are Swiss." With that he said "Amen." This story is based on the assumption that we all have both good and bad stereotypes of each nationality. Germans are supposed to be organized and hard working, Italians are just as likely to be rather carefree and easy-going. British policemen are friendly and helpful while the general opinion is that the entire nation can't cook its way out of a frying pan. And so it goes. Political correctness was supposed to change all that. It did change a few things. One of the first, I recall, was when some Italian organization complained that it gave Italians a bad name when all the movies, etc. about the Mafia had characters with Italian names. In less time than it took to serve up a plate *of .spaghetti, Mafia stories started showing bad guys whose names were something like Smith; Jones and Brown. Good English names, it seemed, were all right. _Now that Europe has supposedly put behind it all its likes and dislikes when it comes to other nationalities on that, continent, one might Arthur Black convention hall in London, Eng. to observe a recent annual meeting. It's weird, as annual meetings go. Some of the delegates are wearing pajamas. A couple are lounging around on stilts. Everyone seems to have a bicycle horn and most of them are wearing extremely silly hats. Well, what do you expect — this is the annual general meeting of Clowns International. What's really weird is — no one is laughing. That's because instead of trading routines, they're discussing liability insurance. Ian James, the chairman of the pzrformers' trade union is telling them that they should not go on stage unless they carry at least $10 million worth of public liability insurance. These are primarily British clowns and they are looking nervously across the Atlantic to the plight of clowns in litigation-loony U.S.A. American clowns are increasingly being sued for huge sums by audience members 'injured' during their acts. For clowns it's no laughing matter. These are performers who regularly use custard pies, seltzer bottles, juggling pins, unicycles and stilts — all potentially hazardous accessories for some unscrupulous shyster looking for an easy insurance scam. Zippo, the vice-president of Clowns International sums it up best: "It's a sad world if clowns can't be clowns". I wish I could say the Canadian clown situation is rosier, but I can't. I refer you to the plight of Hans Zahn. He's a clown vvhi specializes in magic acts and he's been criss- crossing the province of Newfoundland with his magic routine. Not, alas, successfully. Mister Zahn belongs to no circus and Newfoundland is a sparsely populated, far- flung venue from which to try to wring a living as a solo-magician-clown. What's more, there were specific disasters. For instance, said Mister Zahn, the rabbits he used in his act began to die from the harsh Newfoundland winters and his pigeons refused to fly. He tried to explain all this to Revenue Canada tax weasels while claiming substantial business losses on his income tax returns. For the past 17 years. But the magic wasn't working for Hans. RevCan didn't buy it. "You try to bring world-class entertainment to the regions," lamented Hans, "and Revenue Canada penalizes you for it." Cheer up, Hans. We'll leave you with a clown joke: these two cannibals are gathered around a big stewpot in which they've just cooked up a clown. One of them turns to the other and says, "Does this taste funny to you?" Feel free to use it, Hans. I stole that joke from the mayor of Toronto. He's the biggest clown in the country. Letter THE EDITOR, I am asking all Ontarians to join me in our annual Salute to Small Business Month in Ontario. Events will be held across the province to acknowledge the outstanding contributions that small busineSS makes to Ontario's economic well-being. More than half of all new jobs are created by small business. Since 1995, there have been 836,000 jobs created in Ontario. The contributions by small business to Ontario's economy are immense, whether it be in trade and export, industry, high tech, e-commerce or the mom-and-pop corner shop. Our government has worked hard to create the right environment for business investment and growth. Small business operators in every region of our province have seized the opportunity' and prospered. The impact on the world economy resulting from the terrible events of Sept. I I makes it more important than ever for Ontario to encourage the creation of new and innovative small businesses. We are urging Ontario entrepreneurs to seek out more opportunities, more information and more ideas 'on how to maximize their potential. And, we are committed to doing more -through our expanding network of Small cnued on page 12 Blessed hard work ixing, baking, chopping, slicing, 1\4 dicing, cleaning, setting up. These are the actions which took up a major portion of my weekend. Like many others I spent my Saturday afternoon and evening, toiling away in the preparations of my family's Thanksgiving feast. While I laboured, I amused myself, not just With a lovely glass of wine, but with the little thought that this was a type of practice run for Christmas. Goodness knows, it certainly appeared so when we awoke Sunday morning. Though I was in no mood to express thanks for the early snowfall which greeted, me as I clambered, bleery-eyed, out of bed before sunrise to get the turkey into the oven, I was, in keeping with the day, feeling especially grateful. As it is with Christmas, there is great delight for me in the fairly ambitious task of setting a bountiful table for my family. Rising early on any other day, for any other reason, does not bring a smile to my face. Yet, as I did the final organization, put the finishing touches in place, made sure all the special culinary preferences would be if not met, then at least addressed (there are at our feast, both vegetarians and veggie haters), I was actually enjoying myself. The meal itself is similar to the traditional Christmas repast, roast fowl, dressing, creamy mashed potatoes (with a nod to my daughter whose superb work in this area has 'given her exclusive rights to the masher), veggies, pies, and so on. At our home, it is served at the noon meal, giving, ourselves time to digest before partaking of lighter repast throughout the day and into the evenir g. But while Christmas is about sharing. about new gifts given and received, Thanksgiving is acknowledging 'he many blessings and gifts we already have. Though my family is now older, and far too-cool to espouce sentimental remarks out loud, I hope they each gave silent thanks for our fortunes this past Sunday. In light of the U.S. and U.K. air strikes on Afghanistan that day, it was all the more important to take stock of the good things. And as family gathers around a table, smiling, teasing, talking, there is no better opportunity, nor more inspiring occasion, to give thanks. My husband and kids have always been my primary source of joy and well-being and, I, having no qualms about appearing a bit mushy, will continue to let them know. I have been . blessed by their presence, in my life, and have welcomed the additions they have brought to us, through marriage, relationships and birth. Yet, with these changes has come the reality of separation. As families grow, they move apart. Mine is no exception and I find every excuse I can to get them home, under my roof, around my table, all at the same time. So, like mothers everywhere, and some fathers of course, when moments of family togetherness present themselves, -when I can thank them for their love, their support, for the joy they have brought me, I do what I must. Lists are made, the shopping is done. Hours are spent preparing the food, cleaning the house and pulling it all together. And when I do it just right, no one notices exactly how much effort it took because it is just there. They eat. they drink. Bowls and plates empty as the Iot'd so lovingly prepared disappears. And I feel very blessed., Raymond Canon The International- Scene assume that political correctness is the norm. In short, you don't say anything bad about any other country. In reality, the old prejudices seem to be alive and well. In a recent report on negotiations within the European Union which I came across and which described how various nations felt about themselves as well as about other member states, I found some old "politically incorrect" feelings resurfacing. The French have played an important role in the creation and development of the European Union and they consider their country as the real leader in future development. For this reason they believe they are the only people who really understand what it is all about. The French are no doubt one of the leaders but, by considering themselves as the main creator, they get very little thanks. In private the other members consider the French to be nothing less than arrogant and consistently so. Next are the Germans. Their role has been and still is equal to that of the French. Furthermore they are the chief net financial contributor to the Union. Because of this they believe this entitles them to more say in how things are done. While the other debtor members may be willing to take German money, the general opinion is that the Germans are not only overly ambitious but to an alarming extent. Some of the smaller countries don't come off any better. Spain is seen as greedy, the Dutch as know-it-allS, the British as wafflers and the stooges of the Americans while the Swedes are A tale of political correctness considered too self-righteous and the Greeks constantly break rules. The Finns are about the only ones who escape criticism; not only do the others envy them their phones (Nokia); they also remark on their willingness to avoid trouble. It all remindS me of when I was a member of a union. We always used to sing Solidarity Forever" but we spent half of our meetings in fratricidal fighting. I often got the feelings that the members, not management, were their own worst enemies.