A Conspiracy of Two

The VERY DAY that Ms. Jean gets the royal nod, I knew it was coming - the flood of e-mails about how nowadays you have to be a leftist feminazi refugee journalista to be GG.

Okay, I admit - back to back appointments of two people with very similar backgrounds? Sure, it's going to raise a few eyebrows - AMONG PEOPLE WHO HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN OF MAYONNAISE.

I mean, for the love of Jebus, people, YES, they are very similar on paper. But you know what? That's the story of our GGs. For fuck's sake, the first 17 of our friggin' Governors-General were Dukes or Marquesses or Lords or whatnot - not until good ol' Vincent Massey in 1952 does one of them actually have a real name (aside - you ever think how the British Aristocracy is totally the Diddy of the Industrial Age? All, "Now I want to be called Lord Smith-Bottoms." "No, now I'm to be called His Lordship, the Duke of Yabbersmythe." "Now I'm to be called His Princely Waistcoastness, Sir Viscount the Elder, Earl of Puddingshire. The Third!").

80 years of British nobles followed by several more decades of well-to-do white guys, and then, gasp! A woman! And it only took 117 years! I don't know if people thought that one every century or so would be good enough, but there was a certain amount of backlash when the second woman, first non-white GG was announced, even though, God knows, it was about freakin' time. [God: "Tell me about it..."]

Racism aside (wouldn't that be nice?) the gender issue alone bugs the living shit out of me. "Oh no, two women back to back! That must mean that they're planning to overthrow Canadian society as we know it! Soon there will be women participating in every segment of society and behaving like equal citizens under a democratic government AIEEEEE!!!"

So seriously? Shut up your face. Oh no, two women back to back, that makes...er...three women. Out of 27. So, at this rate, if every single appointee to come was female, we'd reach gender balance in...oh, 110 years. Oy, the revolution moves slowly! But one day our great-great-great-grandchildren will thank us for raising a big stink about a ceremonial appointment, instead of, say, combatting pollution so that they wouldn't be stuck living in rocky caves subsisting on a meager diet of bugs and dirt and longing for the day when the poisoned Earth heals herself and receives her horrifically mutated children back with loving arms.

Aw...kinda gives you a warm feeling inside, just thinking about it.