No Respect? Pity.

I didn't say anything about Rob Ford on my radio show today. I have nothing nice to say, so I completely refrained.

I am not proud of feeling this way, but I can't bring myself to adopt the hushed tones of respect that have taken over Twitter and facebook and the TV news, with people saying things that invariably begin with, 'I don't agree with his politics but...' and then express hope for a speedy recovery, continue with an expression of how cancer sucks and then wind up with a bunch of other high-minded stuff that is really only about the fact that the writer or speaker wants you to think well of them for having a big heart.

I don't know what I do wish, but right now, today, I can't summon good wishes for a person who has been such a complete and utter jerk for so very long.

Here are some examples of how Rob Ford himself shows respect, in his own words:

“If you are not doing needles and you are not gay, you wouldn’t get AIDS probably, that’s the bottom line.”

“My heart bleeds for them (cyclists) when someone gets killed. But it’s their own fault at the end of the day.”

“This is an insult to my constituents to even think about having a (homeless) shelter in my ward!”

and let's not forget, "I have plenty to eat at home."

Rob Ford is an ass, and now he has a tumour in his ass. Like so much in the Ford saga, you just can't make this stuff up. Although Rob Ford has made up plenty, like telling a reporter just this week that he had a lung biopsy, which he did not. He told the same reporter this week, from his hospital bed, that he had a tumour removed from his appendix a few years ago, which he did not.

Just because someone is sick, they're not suddenly a saint. Please, let's stop the solemn tones of respect for someone who has squandered any right he has to it.

Pity, yes, for the cancer, for the neediness, for the addiction, for the drugs and the booze and the lying and the bullying and the shame he has brought to a great city. But not respect. No bloody way.

About those Celebrity Pics

I'm so glad I grew up in the age before the Internet. I can only imagine how much trouble I would have gotten my impulsive self into if I'd had a cellphone camera in my teens.

No doubt you've heard how Jennifer Lawrence and other celebrities had their private stashes of intimate self-portraits stolen and posted online by creepy hackers in a corner of the Internet many of us would rather not visit.

Those pictures could easily be of your daughter or granddaughter. Or maybe your son. Many, many people take nude selfies these days, especially those of us who work hard on and are proud of our bodies.

Some people say the celebrities shouldn't have racy pictures of themselves, but that is totally blaming the victim.

What if, instead of pictures that were stolen by the hackers, they were love letters or bank account access? What if the pictures were hard copies and in a safety deposit box? Still the celebrities' fault?

It's exactly the same thing. Private property. Stolen.

And, while I hate to say this, Playboy had it right, asking readers not to look at the purloined pics in an article saying that consent is the sexiest thing they can think of. Although, Playboy may have a conflict of interest.

I also have noticed a different set of beliefs for men and women: I'm a huge, huge fan of Hugh Jackman, but even if he sent it directly to me himself, I never, ever want to see a picture of his junk.

Offhand

If you spend any time with me at all, you'll know I'm a talker.
I even talk in my sleep, although I have only my Sweetie's word on that.
I speak for a living, working at various radio stations over the past 20+ years since I graduated journalism school.

In the seven years since I started hosting the morning show and the morning news at our little station in Wasaga Beach, I have done thousands of breaks, thousands of newscasts and done thousands of interviews.

Even though my job is to inform and entertain out loud, and we literally bank on the fact that people are listening in, I sometimes wonder. Is there anyone out there? Are they paying attention, and if they're paying attention, am I informing or entertaining them? Even 20 years later, I remain surprised when someone says they've heard something I've told them, or tells me that I made them laugh.

Several years ago, I was flabbergasted when a woman I know from childhood told me I had saved her life one snowy night as she crept her way down Airport Road in a terrible snowstorm. I was working the night shift at a station in Toronto at the time, and she says she was calmed by hearing the voice of someone she knew personally, coming out of her car radio.

There have been times when what I've said has gotten me in trouble, too. I find most people who are upset calm down a lot when they get the chance to explain why they're angry. That said, I have never and will never apologize to anyone who calls me names or otherwise abuses me or anyone I work with.

Today, I was the beneficiary of simply being out there, on the air.

Last week, I made mention of a networking meeting in Wasaga Beach that was being held at the candy store at the main end. Offhandedly, I said, "Hey, if anyone is going, could you pick me up some Thrills?" You remember Thrills, don't you? It's chewing gum, purple and the worst tasting stuff you can imagine. It's lavender flavoured. Yup, it tastes like soap.

Sure enough, this morning, Trudie from the Wasaga Beach Chamber of Commerce dropped by the station, carrying two packs of the horrible gum. I love it, and I love the reminder that usually, somewhere, someone really is listening.