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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2000-09-06, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 2000. PAGE 5. Other Views A parrot is You're familiar with the classic Monty Python parrot skit, right? Where John Cleese conies into a pet shop with a dead parrot and tries to get his money back? It's a very funny skit except for one thing - the premise. What sane, rationally operating human would ever complain about having a parrot that died? A dead parrot is the only kind of parrot I’d ever consider owning. I know some people love the birds, but they suffer from a disadvantage: they never met Sydney. Sydney was the name of the parrot I once, it is to laugh, owned. At least that’s what I thought the shop owner called him. I believe now that it was a mispronunciation of 'Satan'. Sydney/Satan was a scarlet macaw - beak by Jimmy Durante, wardrobe by Pimps R Us. He was gaudy - all flaming red plumage with, blue/green accessory feathers and beady black- pupilled stoplight yellow eyes that never seemed to blink. Sydney was - I have to admit it - beautiful, in his own Boy George way. He was also the Pet From Hell. “Does your parrot talk?’’ curious guests would inquire as they peered at Sydney, slouching like Brando in The Wild Ones, resplendent and insouciant on his perch. Talk? No. Sydney did not 'talk’. Sydney screamed. Louder than a jackhammer. More piercingly than a Skilsaw striking a spike. More excruciatingly than a bevy of F-18’s in mid flypast. Sydney was loud. He was also a tyrant. He transformed my feisty border collie into. a shuffling Yowsahmutt the very afternoon they met. I never did learn what he did to my cat, but the poor beast went outside to live in the hedge The truth of the Tigers’ tale Every once in a while there are indications that some minority in Canada is being used to raise funds for military action in their country of origin. The latest accusations to fly are that some Tamils living here are contributing money to be channelled to the cause of the Tamil Tigers who are carrying out a violent uprising in Sri Lanka. Like many another story, the truth of these accusations depends on who is doing the telling. In order to help you out a bit with sorting out the facts, here is a bit of background. Sri Lanka is the island just off the southeast coast of India; it used to be known as Ceylon and hence is a name better recognized for its tea than for anything else. Like Canada it is part of the British Commonwealth of Nations and it has accordingly contributed a goodly number of immigrants to this country. The country is divided into two linguistic groups, the main one of which speaks Sinhalese and which occupies the capital Colombo and most of the island. The other group, the Tamils, live for the most part along the east coast with the heaviest concentrations being in the north-east. The two groups are quite different in both race and language. Like many another minority group (like the Separatists in Quebec), the Tamils would like more autonomy than they currently have. However, there are some that would like a totally independent state (again like the hard­ core Separatists in Quebec). To take the matter even further, there are some Tamils who (this time unlike the Quebec Separatists) for the past 17 years have been fighting for this independence regardless of a man’s best friend shortly after Sydney arrived. She still wouldn’t come out six weeks after Sydney departed. Sydney's beak was more powerful than a set of bull clippers. He ate the spines off seven volumes of my Encyclopedia Britannica and severed the 'phone cord in three places. He chewed up the door trim and uprooted a jade plant onto the living room carpet just, I believe, to watch it die. In his brief gangbang of my life that parrot managed to trash my home, traumatize my family and estrange us from the next door neighbours. My dictionary defines ‘parricide’ as the killing of a close relative, but for me, parricide is an act I would have performed, with relish and bare hands, on a certain bird Had not Fate, in the form of Sydney's former owner, taken the beast away. Oh well. Could have been worse, I suppose. Could have been Flounder. Flounder is a Rainbow Lone currently living in the Humane Society Animal Shelter in Charlotte, North Carolina. He’s petite, gorgeous ... and he’s got a mouth on him like Blackbeard the pirate. This is a truly foul fowl. He uses the S-word. He uses several B-words. He uses the F-word so often it’s boring. Flounder has also picked up some charming routines somewhere along his checkered flight path. He lures newcomers to his cage and then Raymond Canon The International Sc'ene how much violence is involved. These are generally known as the Tamil Tigers and it is this group which indirectly concerns Canada. Like any other revolting group, the Tamil Tigers need money for arms and, judging from the modern weapons they are using in their fight against the government forces in Sri Lanka, they need plenty of money. One place to get this wold be from Tamils living overseas and, as there are a considerable number of these living in Canada, the question has come up whether the Tigers are soliciting donations from these people. A Toronto newspaper which dared to suggest that such solicitations might be going on was promptly threatened with a lawsuit by the Federation of Associations of Canadian Tamils (FACT) in Toronto. This, in spite of the fact that a former co­ ordinator of FACT is currently facing a deportation order for allegedly fundraising for the same Tamil Tigers. In addition, the same paper has received hundreds of letters from Tamils in Canada supporting the gist of the articles. It is believed that similar solicitations are being carried out in the United States, the United Kingdom and Switzerland since these countries, like Canada, have considerable number of Tamils living there legally or illegally. shrieks “Get away from me, you %*&A#+*@%-!” He’s turned simple defecation into a form of military assault. He can nail you with Gattling gun guano from three feet away. His most embarrassing party trick? Waiting until anyone in the shop sits down, whereupon Flounder makes a sound like passing gas and follows it with “Excuuuuuuuuuse me.” Reminds me of a story about another foul- mouthed parrot, purchased by an unwitting Saskatoon dowager. It wasn’t until she got it home that the lady realized the bird was ... tainted. It sang ribald songs. It told dirty jokes. It screamed swear words that Eddie Murphy doesn’t know. Which was a problem, what with the vicar coming to tea that very afternoon. The lady tossed a bedsheet over the birdcage; the bird sang four unexpurgated verses of Mademoiselle from Armentieres. The lady screamed at the parrot to hush; the parrot told the lady to perform an unnatural act. In desperation - for she could hear the vicar’s footsteps at the door - the woman snatched the parrot and threw him in the freezer. A half-hour later1, after the vicar's departure the woman opened the freezer and found the parrot standing there, shivering slightly, but decidedly amenable. “Are you alright?” she asked. “Fine, ma’am, thank you for asking,” said the parrot humbly. “But you seem so quiet,” said the dowager. “Is there anything wrong?” “Nothing at all ma’am” said the parrot. “I couldn’t be happier. But I was just wondering - could you tell me ... what it was the turkey did? The truth of all this will ultimately be sorted out, but it goes without saying that if such fundraising is true, it will not be the first time that money has been raised in Canada for such uprisings. The Irish, for one, come to mind immediately, while it has just been reported that the Hezbullah, the Iranian group with terrorist proclivities, was active among Iranian Canadians. Letter Continued from page 4 expecting to steal patronage away from other local eating establishments but I was hoping for (at the very least) a division of the dining experience. In fact, my family tries to frequent the other eating establishments in Blyth as much as possible and it would be nice to see this returned. The division of the dining experience happened in the very beginning and everything was fine financially but then it just stopped. Again, it might have something to do with my attitude I’m not exactly sure. I’m still not probably doing things the proper small town way but I figured I'm already on the outs with the majority so what the heck. Publish it in the paper. I’m not sure what tomorrow will hold, so until something else comes along I’ll try to remain open tor sell) to pay off my ever-increasing debt. Thanks to those people locally who .upport the Bistro and to those who are reading this and haven’t been in yet, come on in and give it a try. I really can cook well and my prices are reasonable. I'll try my best to ensure you have a pleasjrable dining experience. Sincerely yours, Lisa Love at The Olde Village Bistro. Bonnie Gropp The short of it A party beyond, compare As I have mentioned in an earlier column, this was the year for weddings for the Gropp household. And, as a friend noted recently, having so many occasions so close together has made comparisons, not just likely, but inevitable. There is no question that all the weddings were lovely, each in its own way. From the elaborate to the more relaxed the evidence of meticulous planning and hard work in pulling the momentous event together was noted in many aspects. Regardless of size and style, there is little doubt that such occasions require both of the above. Arrangements must be made, contacts in place for things to run as smoothly as Donovan Bailey on an open track. When they do you can't help but admire the organizers. The same can be said for any major happening. Service clubs and individuals spend countless volunteer hours organizing fundraisers and fun-raisers. Unlike a wedding, however, the success of these festivities often means its return year after year. And often for this reason those in charge tend to get a little worn down so that ultimately they or the party suffers. There are always, of course and fortunately, exceptions, and one need look no further than the Huron Pioneer Thresher Association to see the epitome of continued success. I will admit to ignorance about the steam show which occurs this weekend, until coming to work in Blyth over a decade ago. Certainly, I had heard of the Thresher Reunion, but had no idea of its scope, nor the magnitude its impact on attendees. In the years since, however, I have come to know many of the people who work behind the scenes and in front, and of course have had continued occasion to see the enjoyment it gives. To those of you without this advantage let me apprise yoi of some of the more impressive points of the Association and the function they organize. In the past 11 years, I have witnessed an enthusiastic, apparently tireless, group of people dedicated to bringing to life the agricultural past. And rather than reiving on the die-hard fans, they met the challenges of an aging audience by introducing fresh ideas almost annually to attract new visitors. The Thresher Reunion, a huge success when I attended my first, continues to grow, prosper and thrive. All of this could not happen of course, without the team work of the Association members and their continued interest. I can honestly say, and this is not meant to take anything away from those hard-working volunteers in other organizations, that I have never seen such continued enthusiasm, camaraderie and support among a group of people year after year. Despite putting together a show that attracts thousands, as well as maintaining and improving the area on which they hold the Reunion, they are always co­ operative and friendly when approached by us for information or news. They make the time to talk and seem almost pleased to be able to share their views on their beloved Reunion. Its membership grows, its attractions just keep getting better and its campsites fill a year in advance. Through it all the volunteers work quietly, always positive, always appearing to have fun, to pull off a party beyond compare.