Welp. Rob Ford won’t be our mayor again.
I find myself not celebratory at all.
I went to Sunday School, dear beloveds. That’s why I call you beloveds, beloveds. Because in Sunday school, you have to recite a Bible verse or two. I chose mine because there was a song of it: “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God, and everyone who knowest lovest God.” or something like that. The song (a jumpy tune!) even has the book and verse right in it! From early on, I realized that music could solve a lot of my problems. Now, right there, that word “Beloved” sums up a lot of my life philosophy– and a lot of that life philosophy wouldn’t have flown in that Sunday School room, so just indulge me for a bit.
“Beloved” is a handy-dandy word to refer to my “errybodys” because:
1. it’s not gendered. I have only recently learned the excellent “sib” as a way to refer to my peeps. I kind of like peeps, but I alway think of easter candy and visualize attempting to coat y’all in pink or yellow sugar and stuff you into my mouth all at in one go. My life philosophy thinks that everyone deserves their pronoun. Doug Ford, extremedemonassholespawnoftheuniverse* doesn’t believe this. Doug Ford hates PRIDE week, which is one of my favourite celebrations of love, life, surviving/thriving, and glitter.
2.It reminds me that there’s a teeny-tiny piece of the divine inside of everything on the entire planet. I love you too, atheist types. I know you’re still reading this, because you hate Doug Ford, extraordinarilyorangeandpossiblysteroidallyenhanced*, more than you hate Sunday School. If you don’t like divine, you can think of star stuff, which I think is also pretty damn cool and amazing and we are made as the same stuff as it. Carl Sagan, who is the best preacher of the Church of Sciencey stuff ever, sorry Dr. Neil DeGrasse Tyson, but Carl Sagan will always be more awesome because he taught me first. We are all made of little tiny bits of star stuff and dinosaurs and Elvis and if that isn’t divine, I just don’t know what is. But, Doug Ford doesn’t know this. Doug Ford says words like “prayers,” but he doesn’t see divinity in anything. He hates people on the autism spectrum, and tells their Dads to “go to hell,” he votes against funding for social programs again and again and again, and the Fords can’t even speak to the benefit of a tree. There are so many benefits to trees. I will list five right now: shade, pretty leaves, pretty sounds in the breezy breezes, shelter from a light rain, and oxygen which helps us all to breath better so that people can drive around and read or flip mothers and children off.
3. It reminds me that love is the most powerful force in the universe. Even if people are sometimes really really awful. Doug Ford, extremelyunlikeablemanwhoappearstohavetransplantedeyesofagreatwhiteshark, is a pretty terrible person. He’s called good people “pieces of shit,” handed out $20s to residents of TCHC (which looks an awful lot like vote buying), and accused Police Chiefs of bias and then issued empty apologies when served with justified libel threats.
So, Rob Ford will go, but I am not celebrating.
I am not celebrating because the Fords continue to make a mockery of Democracy in the city of Toronto. They take their last name and slot it in and out of the ballot as if we should just vote for their dynasty because they say so, and seem to think that they are the bestest folks on the whole round world to run this place, but where they want to take it is a terrible place. It’s a place without glitter, and without art, and without imagination, and without vision, and without beloveds. It’s a place where nothing is made of star stuff, and everything is made of money. There’s a saying I like, which has been variously attributed : “When the last tree is cut down, the last fish eated, and the last stream poisoned, you will realize that you cannot eat money.” When you’re not feeding a city’s vision, or its imagination, and serving all of its people’s interests, as a public servant– welp, in my humble, yet professorial opinion– you can go fuck yourself, Doug Ford. Forever.
Now, a word about Rob Ford, who won’t be our mayor anymore.
I hope that Rob’s tumour isn’t cancer. If it is, I hope he uses his particular tenacity of spirit and bulldog nature which I have witnessed in council chambers many times to fight that fucking cancer and win. I hope he gets better, and I hope he finds peace. Because if there’s one thing I hate more than anything, anything at all. It’s fucking cancer.
Fuck cancer and the horse it rode in on,
Ever yours, ever mine, ever ours,