Before the latest war was declared on Iraq, there was an article printed on the front page of Canada's national newspaper. George Bush was quoted as saying that the U.S. had to go to war to protect the nation's quality of life. I couldn't believe it. (How often do leaders declare their intentions so baldly?) Then, when that didn't have any traction with Americans, he and his advisers moved on within days to someother ludicrous rationalization. That's how you folks ended up with the WMD argument. It seemed patently obvious to us up here that the war was a foregone conclusion. It was just a question of finding the right marketing campaign.

It's unnecessary. In Canada, the state keeps voter rolls unlike the US, where voters have to register.

Around election time, each voter receives a card they submit at the polling station where they cast their ballot (using a pencil to mark their paper ballot thus avoiding controversies triggerd by dangling chads and rigged voting machines).

That's the only form of ID that's necessary.

What Elections Canada should really be looking into is outdated voter rolls and mass mail outs to apartment buildings. Every election I cringe when I see the "wrong address" box at the bank of mailboxes in my building bulging with voter cards. There's nothing stopping some unethical git from pulling one out and tromping off to the polling station.

That's a real source of voter fraud. Targeting veiled women is just another xenophobic bid for votes by our reactionary prime minister.

In the age of identity politics in the late '80s and early '90s, I was a straight young woman often mistaken for a lesbian.

I was a strong supporter of the LGB movement, eager to be a part of a vibrant civil rights movement.

It was the time of grunge in the student press and the wider culture generally. Not comfortable in baby doll dresses and heavy lipstick, I embraced the other end of the anti-fashion trend: combat boots, baggy Levis, flannel shirts. I even went so far as to shave my head at one impulsive moment.

The smug assumption that I was a closet case pissed me off no end. But what are you gonna do? There are certain cultural signifiers that people automatically identify and assign meaning to. Hairy legs. Check. Androgynous clothes. Check. Progressive politics. Check. Must be a dyke.

Sure you can find another job. But office politics are present wherever there's a photocopier, a water cooler and more than two employees.

Ignore the gossips.

I've been buying Macs for at least 11 years, dating back to when I was a destitute freelancer. I've had three laptops and one desktop and I have had ONE big problem that required a specialist to fix. It cost me $60 for an hour of his time.

I've heard many stories from my PC-owning friends about fried motherboards, spyware, viruses and problems with the OS. I saw one friend, a professional writer, lose scripts twice during one season thanks to her (much cheaper to purchase) Dell.

So which machine is cheaper in the long run?

Yeah, I love the design and the usability of the Mac. And I am so confident in the product that I routinely refuse to pay for an extended warranty when I upgrade.

When my common-law partner moved in with me, my career took a dramatic upward arc with a very large pay hike. My fella was eking out a living doing low-level, physical labour four days a month to support his writing. He was not a lot of fun to be around when he was working so when I started making enough to easily support two people, I told him to quit his job. I'd support us while we both could do what we loved.

Fast forward four years and countless resentments later. My good fortune was variable and didn't last for long. But I could continue to support two people on my salary, though it was a bit more of struggle and it meant giving up the dream of having a house.

Meanwhile, my partner had taught himself a skill he loved doing that allowed him to freelance and contribute a little to the household. Then he scored a three-month contract with good pay. We were both thrilled. Lo and behold, he turned back into the guy he was when he was doing the low-level, physical labour he despised. Miserable, whiney, depressed.

I don't expect him to become a nine-to-five guy. I can't do it so I can hardly demand he do it. But I can say that I don't care how he does it, he has to pull his weight financially. Then I step back and stop trying to save him.

You can't do anything to fix him so start with yourself. Practice loving kindness and compassion. Try not to react to his moodiness. Busy yourself with your own friends and activities. Lead by example. But for god's sake, don't move. Wait and see if your husband can rise to meet you. And realize there is nothing you can do if he continues to languish in inaction.

Then decide what it is you want to do.