Bram Lebo and another tiresome slush of mooshy, squishy pablum

Terrance Gavan – The Lebo File

Here’s the latest grumble from Haliburton Highlander Publisher Bram Lebo who once again manages to leave his readers in the throes of a deep and wistful wondering.

Wondering why, if he has nothing to say, does he keep on saying so much. When I say not much to say, dear readers. Understand that I am not implying that he does not say a twaddle or a diddle. His diddles on twaddle are like Bo Diddley. They are squat. They are squat, diminutive, paltry, screechy and preachy chicken scratches aimed at ingratiating his presence upon your presence. You are readers. Lebo provides a vehicle built with words. Only Mr. Lebo’s vehicle (his weakly column) is leaking oil like the Exxon Valdez.

Which is to say that Bram Lebo writes to no one in particular. He breezes in and out with nary a glance at his target. There is no target. These are mild ramblings emanating from the deepest darkest crevice of his blowhole. I remember when Lebo would hold up papers because he was having trouble parsing his weekly pissant rendering. He was trepidatious. He was whinging. He was whiny. And a couple of years down the road we may at least take comfort in the same old same old. Pap. Served up on a bed of wonderbread. With a dessert of vanilla ice cream. And the de rigueur dollop of self-serving rhetoric festooned by the usual chewed cud from a cranky Holstein.

This week Lebo is on about newcomers, cottagers, visitors, and interlopers that every year around this time roll into the Highlands. Mr. Lebo, ever-folksy introduces his screed thus:

At lunch today, a colleague mentioned her mother was worried about the future. A life-long resident of Haliburton, she’s concerned that newcomers will change the character and feel of the area with big-city ideas and values.“It’s a reasonable anxiety. According to the 2011 census, a full 20 per cent of our population – one in five – moved here in the last five years. As people die or migrate out, the percentage of newcomers will only increase, leaving “the locals” more and more outnumbered. – (Bram Gazebo) “

You might assume that having come this far? Mr. Lebo would now careen toward a point. Spoiler alert. You may wish away. You may even pray. Dear readers. That there will be a point. But you would be disappointed in the assumption.

Mr. Lebo does not believe in writing to a point. He much more enjoys the tease and the come hither march to oblivion. Thus no points today or any day. Mr. Lebo is just luxuriating, once again, in his mindless wee dally into his own personal twilight. Mr. Lebo is being ingratiating. He is trying to make you all love him. So he will now dilly and dally around the notion (notions, for those things that are not quite ideas) of newcoming, new beginnings and the pursuit of pixie dust.

T”is time now dear readers for Lebo to wax and wane and drive us all mildly insane by following this notion to no point. And lest I disappoint. There is no point. Because this dear readers is Lebo. On a quixotic journey to define something that he picked up at lunch. I would rather he picked up heartburn… than another septic slither into Haliburton’s wild vivid and terribly addictive charms.

When it comes to preserving the Highlands, newcomers may in fact be one of the strongest bulwarks against radical change. We chose this place because of what it is now. The agenda is not to turn it into a suburb, a city, Muskoka or anything else; it’s to preserve what those who came before have created and to defend it from the mounting pressures emerging from a broke province, ageing population and changing economy.  When it comes to supporting local business, conservation, local food, our schools and hospitals and everything that makes this community special, we’re all on the same side. (Gazebo Lebo)

Jesus H Fecking Christ. Isn’t it wonderful when lonesome carpetbaggers roll into the county and then serve up a load of shit, shine and shineola to the locals? That’s what this is. Newcomers? Who the hell are these feckless newcomers? I don’t know about you, but I’m stumped. But this Jasper gets wobblier than all that by professing this thusly:

And therein lies the difference. From the dawn of democracy, the concept of citizenship with its participation and responsibilities has been central to stable societies. Yet by some quirk of Ontario legislation, we allow “non-citizens” to vote in our municipal elections if they own property. That’s a throwback to the days when only landowners could vote; government elected by those with the most stuff. It’s perplexing as to why our councils want to make it possible for cottagers to vote without even stepping into the county. Rights are to be exercised, not to be sent by email. (Absolutely terrible that Mr. Lebo would mislead his readers with this load of hooey. Ask him to read the Ontario elections act.. demand better from your writers Haliburton!)

And yes. There it is. Mr. Lebo disseminating a load of crap as large as the sludge pond at a Mennonite Hog Farm. It’s this type of duplicitous and seditious meandering that pisses off real journalists. It’s Lebo doing his best Fox News impersonation. Lebo channeling Glenn Beck.

I have covered a lot of elections in small towns from BC to Ontario and honestly the capriciousness of this man Lebo is sinful. Shame on any charlatan who purposefully spreads such bupkis in the form of editorial comment.

The Election Act states that a person can only have one residence at a time. Electors may apply to be added to the permanent register of electors in the electoral district in which they permanently reside. (So what point is Lebo making? None. He’s an idiot!)

“From the dawn of democracy…” Bram Lebo.

If my permanent residence is in the Highlands? Then I will vote here. If not. I can’t. There’s no point. Just another two bit hack writer trying to get a rise out of his readers.

Dear Luddites. And plaid toting interlopers. We’re trying to get more people involved in the electoral process. If that can be done via email or on line voting. Hoo-Rah!

Take with a pound of salt what you hear from sputterers and jingoists.

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What Me Worry? Bram Lebo on another psychedelic wander.