Hit the road, Jack

Jack Layton is after me; he leaves me notes, flyers, and letters, and has even taken to talking to me by means of radio and television because so far I've not only ignored his calls for jumping aboard the NDP band wagon as it steams its way to power on Parliament Hill, but have made a point of crumpling up his flyers and pointedly tossing them anywhere but the recycling bin.

Now, there is much I like about Jack, not the least of which is his insistence that Paul Martin is a bloated Bay Street weasel that has only the fewest of Canadians in mind when he talks about a new and exciting future for Canada (I paraphrase, of course), or the counterbalance he provides to the rootin' tootin' rodeo ride that is coming east like the Mongol Horde in ten-gallon hats.

But while he's long on bombast, he's also long on pithy handouts that are seriously short on substance.

Just today I received his latest little missive about all the good he plans to do once he and his wife, Toronto city councilor Olivia Chow, get the keys to 24 Sussex Drive and start turning the PMO into a statement for green living (how comfortable the RCMP is going to be trading in their limos for bicycles is anyone's guess). Aside from some fluffy statements about creating jobs through renewable energy, ending homelessness in our time, and guaranteeing not only universal healthcare but improved healthcare, Jack also plans to do this while he's balancing the budget, which he says he's been doing for twenty years.

One can only assume he's referring to his household budget, because while the former Green Hornet of Toronto city council has been involved in everything from arts and health to serving on utilities boards and championing the environment, Jack was never budget chief during his tenure in municipal politics, and the only reason he worked within a budget was because he was forced to.

Regardless, he wanted to make it very clear to me that what he did for Toronto he can do for Canada. Now, if this involves long waiting lines in emergency rooms, smog, dust and enough noise pollution to have your deaf Grandmother start shouting at you to turn down that heathen Elvis and eat your peas, or steaming manhole covers and heating vents around the city covered with bundled lumps of humanity that look more like sunbathing seals with nervous twitches...well, if I were Jack I wouldn't take too much credit for what has become of Toronto, much less threaten the good voters of this country with the idea of doing it to them.

However, this is where that savvy salesman of all things social and progressive thinks he has me covered, because after he was done laying out all the good he has in store for me in terms that would have most welling up like Tammy Faye Bakker with a new PTL charge card, he gave me the opportunity, should I have any reservations about the holy work he has planned, to answer a few questions about whether he was "on the right track." These Yes or No questions ranged from "Canada should be renewing Medicare with new ideas" to "Canada should ensure that post-secondary education doesn't leave students with huge debt," and the ever popular "Canada should be an independent voice for peace and justice in the world."

All that he left off was "Canada should stop legalized puppy beating," which might have added a note of black humour to a biased set of questions that only the Marquis de Sade could say no to.

It should be said that I am all for greener forms of energy, from wind and solar power to programs aimed at conservation, particularly after my lights, water, elevator and beer store all went kaput last August in the great Ontario blackout of 2003. I'm up for stricter air pollution standards, cleaner fuels, public transit, and laws allowing the summary execution of people who idle their cars for more than two minutes, because after a number of years sucking in the thick sludge that accounts for air in Toronto, I suspect my lungs look like that of a four-pack-a-day asbestos miner. And hey, should I have need of something like a triple bypass with a kidney transplant on the side, then yes, I would very much like it if it was not performed in the emergency waiting room area while I'm subjected to the sight of Norman Rockwell prints and muzak.

But until you give me a detailed plan of how you're going to accomplish what amounts to turning a CANDU reactor into a field of daisies with nothing more than a few incantations and a slight of hand that would put David Copperfield to shame, please do me a favour Jack, and leave me alone.