The Book Launch

There is big news today, faithful readers. I am launching my new book - a novel, my first novel, in fact: The Ideal Candidate.

I will quote from the back cover:

"Local politics in the suburban city of Newhazel is gridlocked after decades of domination by a powerful octogenarian female Mayor. Nat Drennan, an idealistic young businessman, wants in and determines the best place to start is at the very bottom - by running for school board trustee.

What he doesn't know is that his opponent, a long-time incumbent, is a puppet of an organized crime family that has long been getting rich by maniuplating school board contracts. The family is not about to let its schemes be upset by the young upstart. But there are others with eyes on the school board money as well.

The danger and violence escalate while Nat and the voting public remain blissfully unaware of the storm in which he is caught - between two mobs, a shadowy arm of the Mayor's municipal government, and a gangster rapper and his entourage.

With cutting political satire, edge-of-your-seat suspense, and a cast of true to life characters, The Ideal Candidate is a remarkable funny reminder that all politics is local."

Nifty, eh? You can take a look at it here.

Unsatisfied

My wife's parents live in Victoria, B.C. She talks to them a couple times a week, and the exchange is usually predictable - stories about the old folks' young granddaughter head west, while stories about the retiree social scene come east.

Well, something different happened last week.

To set this up, you should be aware, faithful readers, that my mother-in-law spends as much of her available time paddling - she is part of a paddling club, socializes with other paddling club members regularly, and bombards my wife with paddling anecdotes, often involving seeing a seal in the harbour.

But on Sunday, my wife relayed to me that Mom and her paddling group came upon - not a seal - but a dead body.

"A dead body?" I asked, astonished. Then I began to ask questions.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Somebody saw it and they called the police," was the reply.

"Do the police know who it was?"

"She didn't say."

"Do they know what happened? Did he drown? Was the body dumped?"

"She didn't say."

"Didn't she follow up?

"Was it a man or a woman?"

"She didn't say."

"Didn't you ask?" I asked.

"No," my wife answered. "I didn't think of it."

It was true. Not only had mother-in-law casually glossed over the whole incident with the barest minimum of detail, but wife had compounded the effect by neglecting to probe any further. Never before had such a juicy anecdote been done such injustice in the retelling. This was the opening scene of a Law & Order episode, and it was rolled into a discussion about the weather and the price of gas on Vancouver Island.

I think you're probably beginning to see how I would have reacted, volunteering to look through mug shots, make statements, whatever (I don't have anything as exciting as paddling to otherwise occupy my thoughts). Then I would dine out on the story for weeks, months, maybe years afterward. Faithful readers I think would be unsurprised at the extensive number of pretexts I might use to bring up 'the time I found a dead body' story.

"I found a five-dollar bill on the sidewalk this morning." - "Oh yeah, I found a dead body."
"The beach in Cuba was so beautiful." - "Last time I saw the ocean there was a dead body in it."
"Do you have the time?" - "I found a dead body."

But I was surprised how blase my wife was about the whole thing. "I don't know. I didn't ask," she kept repeating frustratingly.

Properly chastened, wife followed up with mother-in-law by phone and reported tersely the bare bones of the case: man, roughly 45 , found in the Inner Harbour, wearing black pants and white shirt, no foul play suspected. Well, that's something anyway.

Now, it's possible my morbid curiousity is an overreaction - evidently the story of the body's discovery was mentioned in the Victoria Times-Colonist newspaper (which erroneously listed the dicoverers as 'rowers' not 'paddlers'), but it didn't make the online version. I guess it just wasn't big enough news.

Sling Blade

I have not forgotten you, faithful readers. While I'm sure it's true that absence makes the heart grow fonder, nevertheless I do confess disappointment in myself that nearly a month has passed without update.

But for now, onward and upward. Those of you in the Toronto area will likely have heard of the murder-suicide at the Delta Chelsea Hotel. It has since come to light that the murder weapon was a "Swiss Army multi-tool" with a five-inch blade.

As discomforting as a crime like this is, my personal fear is an over-reaction to Swiss Army Knives. Those who know your humble scribe know that his own SAK has gotten him out of a few scrapes (usually opening tightly taped packages or uncorking wine bottles). I would hate to think that some reactionary politician might impose an unwieldly registry or worse - an outright ban.

You think it's silly, but this is Ontario, where they banned not only pit bulls, but any dogs that resemble them. You gotta watch out for that Michael Bryant.

For the time being, though, the Nine Inch Column comes with a corkscrew, screwdriver and bottle opener.