The factual reporting from Pope Francis’ visit to Rio de Janeiro for World Youth Day tells us that more between two million and three million people are estimated to have gathered for his final Mass.
A quirky thing about being a photographer in Montreal is the contrast between people’s understanding of their right not to have their images published – and their willingness to walk with total disregard through a shot being taken.
One of the great things about being a Montreal photographer in summer is the amazing variety of photographic opportunities the city throws at someone with a camera and a need/want/passion to click.
Canada’s airports may not exactly meet all the qualifications of a gulag archipelago, but they are arguably our single most significant institutional reminder of liberty lost.
Only those who have run marathons fully understand the event’s power to shred body, soul and psyche. Runners of half-marathons don’t half understand that power because the full 42.1 kilometres does not split arithmetically in two. It is commonly said the marathon truly begins at 30 kilometres.
If journalism is, as G.K. Chesterton so brilliantly said, saying “Lord Jones dead” to people who didn’t know Lord Jones was alive, then the outpouring of commentary about Margaret Thatcher amounts to saying “Iron Lady dead” to people who have forgotten what the Iron Lady truly meant.
As someone who can smell the incense from the last pew of the church, it was no challenge for me to sniff the billows of the beer coming off Ralph Klein.
As Ottawa’s echo-ocracy worked itself into stage five incoherence over a backbench MP’s motion on sex-selection abortion, the following words quietly appeared on another MP’s website:
I am not a convert. Yet. But I confess to having taken meaningful steps away from my ancient iron-clad convictions.
I am utterly incompetent to comment on, much less offer pseudo-diagnosis of, the latest U.S. school shooting. I cannot watch the television reportage. My eyes dart past the web and newspaper stories/commentary like a man sprinting to avoid being hit by a bus. I’m not confident I even know the correct name of the town where the killings occurred.