Zen and the art of blog maintenance.
It should be stated upfront that, in my overall hierarchy of ruling systems, bureaucracy ranks just above kleptocracy and far, far beneath pornocracy. Yet since I've started this blog, I've become more and more willing to submit to the ironclad "rule of the desk," as long as I can write something really snarky and vicious afterwards. In fact, I like to think my outlook on life dovetails nicely with those poor sods on Fear Factor, except that whereas they eat Cambodian Semen Worms, I fill out mauve change of address forms, in triplicate.
So I was all prepared to spew some fiery vitriol in the general direction of OHIP today. I could have spewed said vitriol three weeks ago when I got my first ever piece of government-issued Ontario identification - my OHIP card - in the mail, and my birthdate was wrong (plus, I looked like a surly homeless version of Elvis Costello on my photo). Vitriol spewing could have also occurred when, three days later, I tromped twenty city blocks to the OHIP office only to be told that without a passport or birth certificate, there was nothing the government of Ontario could do.
No, I was waiting for today. Today was the day I was to take my passport in hand and attempt to get my date corrected. The most delicious part in this tableau vivant was that my passport, though valid when I initially applied for OHIP, had since expired. I was totally expecting to be condescendingly turned away, and possibly even deported.
Sadly, the bureaucratic machine was well-lubed this afternoon, and I'll be getting my new OHIP card in the mail shortly. But if it hadn't turned out this way - if I had to spend two hours of my afternoon in line without results - would I have kept myself calm with the knowledge that by the end of the day, the entire blogosphere would be quaking mightily from my wrath? I like to think I would. Blogging as anger management therapy - discuss.
Anyways, since the above is sort of a non-story, mainly written so I could use the word "pornocracy," I'll finish on a high note by linking to perhaps the worst and most pretentious music review ever. Please, if anyone speaks this ancient, mystical dialect, feel free to translate.
So I was all prepared to spew some fiery vitriol in the general direction of OHIP today. I could have spewed said vitriol three weeks ago when I got my first ever piece of government-issued Ontario identification - my OHIP card - in the mail, and my birthdate was wrong (plus, I looked like a surly homeless version of Elvis Costello on my photo). Vitriol spewing could have also occurred when, three days later, I tromped twenty city blocks to the OHIP office only to be told that without a passport or birth certificate, there was nothing the government of Ontario could do.
No, I was waiting for today. Today was the day I was to take my passport in hand and attempt to get my date corrected. The most delicious part in this tableau vivant was that my passport, though valid when I initially applied for OHIP, had since expired. I was totally expecting to be condescendingly turned away, and possibly even deported.
Sadly, the bureaucratic machine was well-lubed this afternoon, and I'll be getting my new OHIP card in the mail shortly. But if it hadn't turned out this way - if I had to spend two hours of my afternoon in line without results - would I have kept myself calm with the knowledge that by the end of the day, the entire blogosphere would be quaking mightily from my wrath? I like to think I would. Blogging as anger management therapy - discuss.
Anyways, since the above is sort of a non-story, mainly written so I could use the word "pornocracy," I'll finish on a high note by linking to perhaps the worst and most pretentious music review ever. Please, if anyone speaks this ancient, mystical dialect, feel free to translate.
posted by Trevor | 11:18 p.m.
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