HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2000-09-06, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 2000. PAGE 5.
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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.