Trudeau played Trump card, too

The never-ending U.S. election campaign is heating up, and the resemblance to Canada's federal election is striking. Bear with me here. 

Sure, Donald Trump is a much older, grumpier Justin Trudeau. He campaigns on fear, Trudeau on hope. He threatens to build walls; Trudeau invites more refugees. He's a wealthy businessman, Trudeau a former drama teacher. But once you get past these differences, you see that the two are almost one in the same. 

Both are so-called political outsiders. Both are famous in some respect. Both of them have thick, beautiful hair.  

Both are kind of maybe not so smart in the traditional IQ sense of the term. As a result, both are quote-worthy. 

Both carry the star power that garners endless media attention. From the moment Trudeau became an MP, he was asked when he would run for prime minister. From the moment Trump announced his candidacy, his brash voice has filled the airwaves. Whether it's their gaffes or their hair, the media gives them oodles of free advertising. 

Both of them caught a wave of voter angst against the current administration. They've harnessed both hope and fear. The Canadian election was determined by millions who didn't vote in the previous one, most of whom voted for Trudeau. Thousands of Republican voters who've never voted in the primaries are voting for Trump.  

Both have remarkably simple messages. "I will run a deficit," promised Trudeau. "I will build a wall, and Mexico will pay for it!" says Trump.  

Strangely, both of them appeal to the everyday Joe. They make mistakes; they act human, and ordinary people can relate. Those who never read the newspaper or faintly understand how government works are enthralled by their character. Yes, Trump loves the uneducated. 

Then there's Hillary Clinton. And Thomas Mulcair. Both are policy wonks. Both are very intelligent. And yes, both have a full head of hair.  

Clinton is struggling to win a nomination that should have been hers from the start. She's having the race of her life against a a seventy-four-year-old American "socialist" senator (such an oxymoron).  

Mulcair entered the federal race with a commanding lead over Trudeau. He was measuring the drapes in the Prime Minister's Office when, if you recall, Trudeau was taking selfies with topless women in Vancouver's Pride Parade. 

Both Clinton and Mulcair attract audiences who may not really want to hear their entire speech. They have trouble relating to the average Joe. 

Now some humble advice for Clinton, who could possibly be the only one capable of stopping Trump from occupying the White House. If you pay attention to Canadian politics at all, learn from Mulcair. Stop with the policy talk. Don't utter one more word about foreign policy and what you know about Libya. The average voter knows you know, and may even resent you for being in the know.   

 Go out and make it look like people could enjoy a drink with you. Actually have a drink. Dance on some tables. Say something dumb. 

It's a tough thing to do for someone who's been in politics all her life. But as Trudeau has shown, a little human folly can go a long way. In the case of Trump, it's more than a little. And we all fear how far he could go.

When aging hurts

My wife doesn't like to be reminded that she's older than me. 

I'm not sure why. She's only six months older. 

For only half the year, her age is one digit different than mine. Mind you, when you hit those landmark birthdays like 40, it's two digits difference. Now that is a bit more significant. 

Not to say she's anywhere near the age of 40. I, on the other hand, am getting close. One and a half more years of the glorious 30s. I'm just about as old as Peyton Manning, and he's about to be the oldest quarterback to ever play in a Superbowl (he's 39). 

In football years, Manning is over the hill. One's football age, so I've read, is determined by multiplying your real age by 2.5. He's 98 in football years, and it shows. We'll see how he does on Sunday, but he clearly lacks the arm strength he had just two years ago. 

I've started to notice a difference, too. This year I began to play badminton twice a week instead of only once. You wouldn't think badminton to be as hard on one's body as football, and I admit, it's not. I'm sure your badminton age can be determined by multiplying your real age by a factor of 1.2, or something like that. But I feel it, nonetheless. First it was a sore wrist, then sore feet, then a sore ankle. I can't even jog anymore because of my knees. I'm afraid the best years might be behind me. Until my wrist/ankle/knee replacement surgeries anyway. 

 It's in your 30s that you start to realize your youth is now behind you. Sometimes there are subtle hints. Like when my daughter asked me what the save icon means on the computer. It resembles a floppy disk, I explained to her. 

"What's a floppy disk, Daddy?" she asked.  

Oh, if only she knew the hardships I grew up with, when hard drives didn't even exist. Back in the day, we had to boot up our computer from a five-and-a-quarter-inch floppy disk. They were actually floppy, you see, unlike the three-and-half-inch disks that came out a few years later. Their non-floppiness was revolutionary.  

Then she asks me something like: "What was the Internet like when you were small?" 

Believe it or not, child, we didn't have the Internet. We had to consult with books called encyclopedias. They were very heavy and rarely current. 

 I even notice the age gap when talking to our 20-year-old co-op student at work. I can just imagine someone recalling a particular episode of the Cosby Show and him asking: "What's the Cosby Show?" 

"Oh, it was a family comedy starring Bill Cosby." 

"Uh, the rapist?" 

"Yah, well, uh, he wasn't  quite known for that back then. He was a great, uh, family man." 

Oh, how times change. Fortunately the Simpsons are still being produced, so I have at least something in common with him. Although it's probably mostly watched by 40-year-olds. 

But the biggest difference I've noticed as I grow older is in my understanding of the world. This increased understanding has made me far less fun (if I ever was) and far more cynical. 

I used to be an idealist. Now I'm bound by pragmatism. 

I used to oppose government, now I work for one.  

I used to want to change the world in one fell swoop. Now I want to incrementally improve society as budgets permit. 

It's all part of the natural progression of life. And I welcome it. 

Good luck to you, Peyton Manning. All us old fogeys are rootin' for ya.