High-tech: Destroyer or saviour?

I just caught the opening night presentation of the film The Crazies, a remake of the early seventies film by zombie veteran George Romero. It’s the very unsettling story of a U.S. military plane crashing and unleashing a virus among a small town population, a virus which turns ordinary people into rabid killers. The story’s been done a hundred times, usually by depicting the killers in zombie guise, but this version of The Crazies is particularly well done and unsettling.

It really made me think, not that unusual a phenomenon, because I think far too often sometimes, generally about how the world is going to hell in a hand basket. When the first Crazies was released, I was in my early teens and life was far more simple than it is today. We had no computers or cell phones, my family had not yet even acquired a colour TV and as for video games... let’s just say that the high-tech miracle of the day was Pong, where you stared at a white line on a black screen that knocked a white blip to your buddy’s white line until you were dizzy with a mix of boredom and, yeah, fascination.

My world then changed, about 1975 or so, when my buddy Cherif and I were at a local bar that had just picked up this stunning new game called Pac Man. We were amazed... or rather “a-mazed,” spending about 50 quarters and two hours watching Inky, Blinky and friends scurry around trying to avoid being eaten by Pac Man. We had no idea at the time, but Pac Woman and even more astounding games weren’t so far behind. I think the burgeoning video game craze caused me to read less, down to one book a week from two.

Truly, we had no idea about anything back then, none of us. The genome? Black holes? Global warming? The ECOLOGY? What the heck were those things? We still had cords attached to our rotary telephones and also to our TV remote controls in the late seventies, for heaven’s sake! Digital? That meant our fingers.

Then, suddenly, the early eighties appeared and with it the production of home computers far more complex than the Commodore 64 you may have been using as a fancy adding machine till then. And since those days of amber monitors and horrendously slow activity (remember what it was like to download a picture using a 286 and dial up? ARGGHHHH!), can you possibly get your head around all the technological advances that have multiplied at an exponential rate? I mean, really, can a kid possibly exist without the latest mobile phone, or Wii game, or laptop, or fancy coffee shop to WiFi it into? Invite most teens or young adults to watch a black-and-white classic movie with you and they look at you as if you are daft. They can’t even get through a song without fidgeting madly, as if on speed.

And we adults are no better. The Internet, with its buckets of email, plethora of opportunities to watch porn, multitudinous pathways toward engaging in extramarital relations with others who are SO lonely because their husbands, or wives, and children are all so thoroughly bored with life that the family unit is a prehistoric concept... well, if the Internet isn’t the face of evil, I don’t know what is. Don’t get me wrong, I am not preaching and I am not innocent. I, too, have been warped by the Scientific-Technological Complex and I am scared to death of what happens if it all comes crashing down around us. Because there is NOTHING else anymore and The Crazies made me realize that we have all been made a lot crazy by technology.

Here is one really unsettling thought. The world, as it stands, is so precariously close to annihilation and it will not take a massive nuclear exchange to end it all. You have all likely heard of EMP, or Electro Magnetic Pulse, no doubt. That is the signal given off by the detonation of a nuclear weapon, which causes electronics to stop functioning. Cars, for instance would stop in their tracks if a nuke was dropped on a city quite far off.

Well, a few recently published books have postulated that the explosion of a low-yield nuclear weapon above a city would not kill that many people through radiation, blast effects, etc., but would fry all electronics below that are not properly shielded. Set off a few of these nukes in the skies above a country and you will fry most of the electronics of that nation.

Think about this. Everything today uses electronic components, because everything is digital. Computers – and computers run everything, from the fire department and EMS services, to the water filtration plants, nuclear reactors, hospital equipment and such – will not function. Neither will trains, planes or automobiles, because all their electronics will be fried. We rely on transportation to deliver food, medical supplies... everything. We rely on electronics to stay warm in the winter, or if we use oil, oil trucks to deliver it to us. We rely on transportation to deliver new electronic components from elsewhere in the world, to replace the fried ones, because everything we have as replacements will also be fried. And we certainly rely on transportation and electronics to run the military machine that would protect us if, following an EMP strike, the villainous nation that attacked us decided to move in for the kill.

High-tech’s a great thing? I challenge you to tell me how we are better off today than we were in the 1970s. We have a lot more to worry about today than what happens when television networks all switch to High-Definition, or whether Blue Ray forces their competition out of business, but even then, we have been duped into laziness and complacency while the Scientific-Technological Complex has waived the bait under our very noses... and we took it, hook, line and sinker. It’s almost like the computer-run devils in the Terminator films have engineered the world we now live in... and are tightening the noose on humankind with every passing technological advance.

But then again, The Terminator and The Crazies are just movies, aren’t they? In reality, it’s not 2012 and its bad acting that has me worried. Actually, a three-mile high tsunami or an earthquake off the scale would be a blessing, compared to some of the other possible scenarios that we are directing ourselves.

Pong, where are you when we need ya?

My roots: A diary is all I have

I've got this little diary perched upon my computer desk as I write this. A Five Year Diary, dating back to 1957, bound in satin with a blue and aqua floral motif and with a little lock on it. It's cute. My mother wrote the words "A bundle of joy" on the first page. It's also all I have to go on when trying to uncover the biggest mystery ever... where I come from. The still-legible, beautifully-written words of my adopted mother, Mina Eisenthal, jump out at me from a bygone era. The day of my birth, April 26. My various booster shots. The assortment of doctors she used to treat my many ear infections. The time I cut my hand and had to be rushed to the hospital. All my weight and height measurements.

And reading through this precious little tome about 10 years ago is when I realized something didn't add up. A Jewish baby's bris, his circumcision, is Halachically (according to Talmudic law) supposed to take place upon the eighth day following his birth... so why was mine on May 24, 1957, 28 days later? Doing some digging, and using the diary's entry on May 24 (which in the diary, contained the guest list), I learned from our since-deceased family rabbi, A. Bernard Leffell that a "beit din," or Rabbinical Court, had been established at my bris for the purpose of ritual conversion. So, I was not born Jewish. The mystery deepened.

My late mother and father, Mike (Mendel) Eisenthal, had always told me I was born at the Jewish General Hospital here in Montreal. But when I happened upon his cheque registry for 1957, I found a listing for a cheque made out to the Royal Victoria Anasthesiologists, dated April 25, 1957 in the amount of $25. So, somebody needed anasthesia the day before my birth... my birth mother, perhaps?

Then again, the late date of the circumcision is troubling, because it could also mean that they managed to fudge the date of my birth in the official records, a procedure done all the time in the black and gray market baby adoptions of that period... and I could have been born eight days before May 24, or May 17. Wanna hear a funny coincidence? Growing up, my parents celebrated my birthday on two dates, making me sound like a lunatic in elementary school when you had to stand up and tell the class about yourself at the start of each new year. I had TWO birthdays, lucky me... April 26 and May 18!!!! My parents' explanation for this seemed logical at the time: I always seemed to have a cold around my birthday in April, so they held my party on May 18, 18 being a lucky number in Judaism, representing life.

I have researched the circumstances behind my adoption as best I can throughout my adult years and I always hit a brick wall. Since birth files are still sealed in Quebec, there is no way to get into them and I have exhausted virtually every other means of finding out what my roots are. Many of you won't get why this is important, but for many adoptees, this uncertainty is agony. Just imagine, for instance, every time you have been asked by a doctor whether you have a family history of something...and then ponder each and every time you have known absolutely nothing about your background.

I hold onto this little diary as if my life depends on it. I guess it does.

Zen and the art of muffler maintenance

I don't know about you, but I have never been a creature of habit with many things. I guess because I was born with an impulsive nature, I tend to like change, yearn for it in some instances. Take work, for example. When I was younger, give me a year in one place and I went stir-crazy. There was always a better opportunity to make more money, to improve my position. I got tired of people commenting on the swiss cheese appearance of my CV. So, as I got older, I stuck with jobs even though they were never perfect. Then again, what is? Who among you can rave about your perfect marriage? Are you rushing off to get divorced? Okay, maybe that's a bad example... but you get the point.

MY point is that, no matter what, it is always good to look around. Stuck in a rut at work? Keep your eyes open and apply for jobs you might like better. It's a crap shoot, because, as I learned not so long ago, something that looks like Little Red Riding Hood's grandma might turn out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. The move might bite you on the ass.

The ideal lesson for me culminated with today's amazing news that I would only have to pay $50 for a pipe to replace my car muffler's cracked resonator. When I went to Mr. Muffler in September (the one on Saint-Jacques in NDG for those of you living in Montreal), they quoted me NINE NUNDRED AND FIFTY dollars to replace the resonator and two attached tailpipes on my Grand Prix. I mean, WTF? When I went to a great little indy garage called Otto Pucher (12 Place Legault, right off De La Savanne, corner Jean Talon), they referred me to the Mr. Muffler next door, which quoted me $550 for a patch job they would gladly do for me. Crying the financial blues worked for me, because I was quite sincere about it. I have been financially blue of late.

Now, in the past, I likely would have grabbed the chance to save $400, bitten the bullet and had the work done. My muffler was almost done-for, I was breathing carbon monoxide fumes every time I was stopped in traffic and the cops would be nailing me anytime at all for a noisy muffler.

But I dallied. I procrastinated. I remembered my buddy Ami telling me about a year ago of a place in the north end of the city, near Saint-Leonard, called Kiko, that had the best deals in town for muffler repairs. Then, I went to another small independent garage I was referred to recently (SpeedZone in the Cote des Neiges district), where owner Mike also referred me to Kiko. So, I finally drove to Kiko this morning and met with the Spanish-speaking owner, Frankiko, telling him I needed the best deal he could give me. He checked the muffler for two minutes and reported that he could replace the part with a pipe, for just $50. I almost broke down and cried... or almost hugged the man, I was so overjoyed. And I had the job done.

I must stress that the part replaced with a pipe was NOT the catalytic converter, a replacement that would have been illegal. And not very eco-friendly!

I asked him, in French (if you speak neither language, you will need to bring a translator with you, as he speaks almost no English... or Yiddish, for that matter), how he could afford to do work for so little, when Mr. Muffler was raping clients at almost 20 times that amount. Very outgoing and charming (this cool 55-year old dude also hosts a Latino music radio show on AM radio 1610 in Montreal, Mondays to Fridays from 12:30 - 2:30 p.m.) , he explained to me that God inspires him to be good to people, to help them when they are in need. Had it come from someone else, I might have snickered inside. I mean, how many people evoke the name of God on their way to screwing someone? It was believable coming from him, however, as I looked around his busy garage and realized that he could easily have charged me hundreds of dollars more. Hardly an Einstein when dealing with cars, I never would have known the difference.

He didn't... and I am passing on this information in return. You may as well all benefit if you are in need and about to drive to Mr. Muffler to get massively ripped off. Hey, I looked around and was rewarded bigtime. It never hurts to try.

And if you do go to Kiko, even if you are just visiting Montreal, wish him a heartfelt Vaya Con Dios from Bram. He richly deserves the divine intervention.




Frankiko, at Mufflers Kiko, is found at 8657 8th Avenue, off the St. Michel exit, tel: 514-722-6603.

Mike at SpeedZone can be found at 7138 Cote des Neiges, tel: 514-504-4683. He does all manner of quality repairs and is quite affordable.

Ron Scolack of Otto Pucher is closeby, at 12 Place Legault in TMR, tel: 514-341-6493.He also does general repairs and has also been highly recommended.

I do not recommend Mr. Muffler for anything, unless you are in the mood to get massively ripped off. If you have no choice, at least the Jean Talon location attempted to save me some money. Boo to St. Jacques.

Time to get together and protest irresponsible government

When I first saw the movie V for Vendetta several years ago, I was so inspired that I saw it again... and again. Based on a graphic novel, it's a futuristic tale set in a London, England where government resembles a Nazi rogue's gallery... and masked hero V (portrayed by Hugo Weaving, just post his Lord of the Rings role as Elf King Elrond), a formerly incarcerated medical guinea pig, makes it his task to bring that government down with the help of a character played by Nathalie Portman. The poster's slug line is People Should Not Be Afraid of Its Government, Government Should Be Afraid of Its People, and as I watched, I found myself getting angrier and angrier. As the British citizens were inspired by V to rise up in full-scale PEACEFUL revolt, I felt the urge to do the same.

Once upon a time, despite the rogues in government who were dishonest and self-serving, I think government respected its people a lot more. If they did take advantage of them, they weren't as blatant about their actions.

I don't know if it's just me, but nowadays it seems our governments don't really give a damn what we think once they are elected. Like the British government in V for Vendetta, they act any way they desire, pass laws that are totally self-serving and rather than come up with bold, creative initiatives to battle rising deficits, all they do is raise taxes, to the point where we have less for ourselves and our families to show for all our hard work.

Here in Quebec, it's a losing battle every election. Regardless of which party is in power, we keep paying the highest taxes in Canada without a peep. The Liberals aren't any better than their predecessors the Parti Quebecois in that area, but what choice do we have? Voting for the PQ is giving them a mandate to follow a separatist agenda and there are NO better alternatives. The Quebec Solidaire party, which is more leftist than the PQ, would strive to rip us out of Canada in an even more extreme fashion. We HAD a potentially good leader in Mario Dumont, late of the ADQ party he founded and ultimately didn't know what to do with. And there is no up-and-coming leader in the wings worth mentioning, unless someone inspirational like the NDP's Thomas Mulcair gets agressive someday and founds a new party in his home province.

At the municipal level, it's a total disaster. Montreal's mayor, Gerald Tremblay, was just re-elected for a third time, despite one of the most horrendous records in the history of that office. Why? Because his opposition was weak and, in one instance, a virtually unilingual separtist and former PQ minister. Meanwhile, Tremblay only does one thing well, two if you count cutting ribbons at opening ceremonies: inflicting new taxes on us. He is destroying downtown businesses by raising parking meter fares to impossible levels, and is about to force indoor and outdoor lots to pay taxes they will have to pass on to the consumer. And, admittedly, we in Montreal pay more for gas than people in the regions around us, due to higher taxes on the stuff. You would think that our government would try to help us during a tough economic downturn, but we have already proven that we will take all the tax hikes they dish out, so why would they? We grumble, we complain, but in the end, we do nothing. We are angry, but impotent.

I am just curious how much more punishment we will take at the hands of our elected officials before we crack. There ARE methods of combating government abuse, you know. There is civil disobedience and, certainly, there are other options available to us if we all got together and acted within the boundaries of the law.

I remember visiting Jamaica in the early 1980s during one of their periods of extreme gas price hikes and everywhere my tour bus took us, there were burning tires blocking the way. As our visit to Ocho Rios was delayed and we were inconvenienced, I remember thinking that the Jamaicans responsible were uncivilized, that this would never happen in Canada. But these were a people fighting for their livelihood and, in reality, what is wrong with that? Is there a difference between burning tires and blocking roads with large trucks during protests, which our trucker's union is wont to do... other than damage to the local ecology? Do we have any less of a right to insist that our govenments heed the fact we are suffering and use their offices to develop plans that do NOT involve taxing us to death?

In my Briefly Bram column in Montreal's West End weekly, The Monitor, about two years ago, I tackled the subject of the large gas companies and their penchant to raise gas prices, fiddling with them every few days and raising them high, even when the world's per-barrel prices were declining. I told readers which companies were not engaged in this obvious price fixing and suggested we patronize one business in our area and hurt the others by sticking to our guns and not shopping there. I was not the only one advocating this notion, but was merely passing it on using my local column to point the way. And like sheep, most people kept going to their neighborhood favourites, despite the fact the competitor three blocks away was charging a few cents less per liter.

If you are going to shut up and put up, then you have no right to complain. If your government abuses you financially and you do nothing, you merely empower them to act more outrageously the next time. V for Vendetta may just be a movie, but it's got a powerful message. I suggest you rent it on DVD sometime. Maybe your subsequent anger will spur you on some action. As long as we live in a free society, we have options. Not exercising them... well, like any appendage, don't use it and you lose it. Keep that in mind as you drown in complacency.

Montreal Jewish community unique

It was when I was interviewing Max Cantor, who was the head honcho behind Montreal's Cantor Bakery chain, following in his late father's footsteps as a food entrepreneur, that I realized how lucky I have been to experience something as unique as Montreal's Jewish community. Now, I am far from religious. I'm more of a traditional Jew, when it suits me, and am more spiritual than not. I believe in God, but the concept that he is a "Jewish" God is in my opinion a suitable fabrication... just as an Allah for Muslims is quite convenient and anointing Hebrew-born-and-raised Joshua/Jesus as a Christian leader -better yet the Son of God - has certainly proven convenient for Christians since the early first millennium. God as Creator is a concept that includes every living being on Earth... and you either believe or you don't.

But I have to tell you, growing up in Jewish Montreal has been unique. There truly IS no other community quite like it. The community as it stands today is in a state of decline, down from its high of 126,000 right before the separatist Parti Quebecois first came into power in 1975, thus beginning a mass exodus throughout Canada and the U.S. that continues to this day. At this time, the community hovers in the low 80,000s and a full quarter of the community is over the age of 65. About one third - and rapidly growing - are French-speaking Sephardim, while the balance are Ashkenazim, hailing from Europe originally. So, this community, one of the smallest cultural groups in the city at this point, is in dire need of a population infusion, which is difficult with so many of its members aging and the younger ones in the Ashkenazi community having very few children.

Our Jewish community's history is, however, so storied, its impact on the general populace (particularly in business) so vast, it is easy to become awe-struck when you think about it. The interview with Max Cantor reminded me of this history. Until the past decade, it was hard to throw a rock without hitting a Cantor Bakery. There were about 60 of them (including some in Ottawa) and, oy, you would dream of biting into their kreplach, danish, cheese bagelach, hamentashen, meats, cheeses and delectable pastries. I worked at a Cantor on De Salaberry Street, around the corner from Belmont Park - Montreal's best amusement grounds ever until its closure in 1982... for my then- girlfriend's dad, Philip Migicovsky. For two years part-time in the late 1970s, I served a mix of French-Canadian and English-speaking Jewish clients and one of the perks was wolfing down several of those dreamy desserts every shift. The mocha squares, eclairs, milles feuilles and other pastries still resonate on my taste buds. In fact, my buds are vibrating as I write! Only one other Jewish-owned business, a restaurant called Pumpernik’s, and the non-Jewish F.W. Woolworth, both defunct businesses, ever created cakes I still salivate for more than these.

One of THE most memorable visuals you still associate with Cantor is its famous poster, seen in every store window for decades, featuring an actual Eskimo, a toothless older aboriginal man from Frobisher Bay, grasping a Cantor bagel and the words You Don't Have to Be Jewish to Love Cantor's Bagels. It's a classic and I am actually in possession of an original. May make a good movie prop in a period film sometime.

Over the years, with the advent of specialty bakeries like Premiere Moisson and cafes that sell all manner of baked goods, Cantor became a bit obsolete, to the point where there are only a few left. Mr. Cantor, who maintains a part-time link to his old head office, also admitted that individual owners have become too independent. So Cantor is slowly turning into dust, I am sad to say.

At least it has outlived our city's finest grocery store chain, though. The name Steinberg's is well known to anyone 30 and up and we will never see its like again. The organization, started by Sam Steinberg and eventually involving his entire family, with his wife as matriarch, was massive and generations of Quebecers appreciated the professionalism that ruled the company. I have heard that, as shrewd and consumer-savvy as Steinberg was, he suffered fools lightly and could be brutal to his upper management if he was disappointed. But to this day, his employees remember him fondly, virtually all of them thanking him for expertly educating them in the entrepreneurial arts. After Sam's death, under heavy mismanagement by the family members who took over, the chain went bankrupt, its place assumed by companies like Provigo, Metro, IGA and Loblaws, which expanded into Quebec from Ontario.

That's not to say that Montreal's Jews are still not a force to be reckoned with in business and entrepreneurs, as well as Jewish professionals like doctors, lawyers and writers (LOL... my little homage to my craft... AS IF!) are still extremely active in the fabric of this city.

On the communal side, Jews here have really scripted a success story. Our small community, small compared to some others, raises more philanthropic funds per capita than almost any other Jewish community in the world... despite the fact that almost a third, seniors over 65, have a frightening percentage of impoverished shut-ins. The money raised through the Combined Jewish Appeal and other groups - as well as a terrific Meals on Wheels program via several organizations and synagogues - goes a long way in assisting these people. Several years ago, approximately $40 million was raised from this base of 85,000, many of whom are far from rich, as Jews are too often stereotyped. We do not all have big noses, either, but that's another story. If you believe either of these two supposed facts, quit reading this blog immediately and go and get your signed copy of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion.

We have the third largest community of Holocaust survivors outside Israel and New York City, which is probably why we have been so dedicated to combating anti-Semitism (just visit our impressive, world-class Holocaust Museum). And by that I refer to hate against Jews, not hatred of Arabs. People from Arab lands may be a Semitic people, but when the term anti-Semitism was spawned via the actions of racists in the late 1800s, it was Jews they were targeting. We also support Israel in massive numbers, with eight of 10 community members of all ages visiting the Jewish state at least once. I am proud to say I have been there eight times, supporting Israelis as much as I can. In the U.S., the number is more like three out of 10.

Montreal is also home to both the oldest synagogue in British North America, the Spanish & Portuguese, opened in the late 1700s, and Canada's second eldest, Congregation Shaar Hashomayim, whose membership split off from the Spanish in 1846 and formed its own synagogue, the German, Polish and English Congregation. It later became the Shaar. Both are still extremely active and are maintained in lovely historic buildings worth visiting.

I could go on and on about this community, because I am so impressed by how people of my generation and beyond have laboured to make Jewish life viable here. I guess what worries me regards what's to come. The community is shrinking and many young people don't seem to give a hoot about communal philanthropy. They are also leaving Quebec in droves as they complete their degrees and desire a life far away from constant separatist rhetoric from xenophobic governments-in-waiting like the Parti Quebecois... and worse.

Yet I suppose that we are okay as long as we have our world-famous bagels, knighted by none other than the Washington Post as the finest anywhere. For me, as long as I can still patronize Moishe's Steak House (opened in the 1930s as Moishe's Roumanian Paradise by the late Moishe Lighter), life as a Jewish Montrealer will always be good.

If, that is, I keep my teeth.


(Bram has written extensively on the Montreal Jewish community for various media and was the Montreal correspondent for the New York-based Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA) for almost 20 years. )

Loto-Quebec's poor man's tax taken to the limit

Let's say you have a friend who likely isn't doing nearly as well as you are financially. He's got a wife and kids and he's bleeding money. While pretending to be an even better friend, you send this person to a bookie to borrow money, knowing full well that your friend will end up getting even more screwed financially and likely lose his life because he will never be able to pay the thief back.

Let's now say that you, the friend of the people, are the Quebec government, whose crony Loto Quebec is screwing the citizens of this province on a daily basis with its many games of chance, where the odds of winning anything over a few dollars or a free ticket are virtually astronomical... and it can't open enough casinos to deprive already poor people from their food and rent money.

I am no virgin, you may be surprised to learn. And that extends to my predisposition to play Loto 6-49 once or twice a week and occasionally go to the casino. I have gone to the one in Montreal far too often, though not as much of late, and have been to the one in Charlevoix, Quebec, where a meteor once ploughed into the ground and carved out one of the largest impact craters on Earth and where, more recently, I won a $1,500 slot jackpot. I also won two similar jackpots at the Montreal casino, which occasioned me to visit again often enough that I have likely now lost as much as I have won there.

I have also been to Las Vegas nine times, once as part of an extended California honeymoon and several times as a journalist attending the opening of new properties. While the sites are indeed fascinating and entertaining and the buffets are cheap and extremely gluttonous affairs, you generally go to Las Vegas to gamble, though you can deny this till the cows come home. At first, I always won in Las Vegas, coming out $500 - $1,000 ahead every time out, but that too, ceased and the losses have been piling up to the point that I am not as anxious to go there anymore.

You see, gambling is addictive and in essence for losers. Yeah, I know that once in a while people win extraordinary amounts of cash, money that is non-taxable in Canada. But the casino people would be out of business in the blink of an eye if they were handing out more money than they take in. And they take in many millions more than they hand out, believe me.

So, Loto Quebec, in an infinite showcase of care and empathy for all the Quebec people who are unemployed, or elderly and living on fixed incomes, or mentally unstable, or just plain jackasses, has decided to go one step further in its role of psychotic state Robin Hood, taking from the poor to give to the rich. Mainly because its casinos in Montreal, Ottawa-Hull, Charlevoix and its latest cash cow in Mont-Tremblant aren't raking in enough millions every day to satisfy the cackling bureaucrats in charge, it has decided to take its obscene fishing derby onto the Internet.

Its rationale is quite simple: since so many Quebecers are pursuing on-line gambling run by other jurisdictions, that is unacceptable. If Loto Quebec can't have its share of those hard-earned, or too-easily-dispensed (think "welfare," ladies and gentlemen), funds, that simply isn't acceptable. So, Loto Quebec intends to start its own on-line gambling scam. Yeah, scam. Some people will become very wealthy as a result. Most, however, will not put as much food on the table for their children. Or won't have enough money for much-needed medicine.

Sol Boxenbaum, who hosts a radio show on CJAD radio, 800 AM here in Montreal, weeknights from 3 - 6 a.m., is a gambling addiction counsellor. I imagine Sol will be working his butt off to try to prevent this insidious plan from ever taking shape. If he fails, I ask Loto Quebec to at least give gamblers and potential gamblers another option. Hand them guns and let them shoot themselves first... it's far quicker than letting them slowly starve to death and eventually commit suicide anyways, when they have nothing left and are faced with living on the street.

And this is a cultured, forward-thinking society we live in? Give me a break.