Margaret Atwood’s recent dig at Stephen Harper for his arts funding cuts at the Globe and Mail contains a curious factoid of which I was hitherto unaware.

Harper’s idea of what sort of art you should hang on your wall was signalled by his removal of all pictures of previous Conservative prime ministers from their lobby room – including John A. and Dief the Chief – and their replacement by pictures of none other than Mr. Harper himself.

What!?  How did I miss that??  Harper Kim Jonged up a Conservative lobby room and I missed it?  I know the man’s an ass, but that’s a bit… well, I don’t know what that is.  I will ask my boyfriend’s psychoanalyst mother next time we go for Sunday dinner.  I do know it’s something a reasonable person would be embarrassed to do.

Anyway, as the inimitable Ms Atwood says, it’s only a rumor, but I have to know more!  I’ve been looking for independent verification of the breadth of Harper’s penchant for such “redecoration” (and how much of it is tax-funded), and in my travels I came across this:

A heartwarming photograph of Stephen Harper gazing at photographs of himself.

This may be yesterday’s news, but I didn’t hear of this before.  I didn’t make it home for Christmas last year, so I had to make do with photos of my loved ones as well.  (Zing.)

The photo reminds me of a piece of my intimate personal history, which I will now share:  I dated a Harper Conservative once.  I enjoyed the beer-fuelled debates, but I soon realized our deep-seated ideological contempt for one another was not a good basis for a relationship and broke it off.  He was upset.  There was drama.  “But where will you ever find somebody better than me?” he demanded, as if he felt the real pathos was my failure to appreciate his unmatchable specialness.

My point is: even that guy wouldn’t have sent out such an audaciously narcissistic Christmas card.

Anyway, I will stay on the job of researching the extent to which Harper’s taste in decorating leans toward that of Chairman Mao.  I might have to file an FOI request if the internet refuses to deliver.  The curiosity is killing me.