Carbon Dating Service

From CBC Radio 3's Bucky Awards

Best new band name: Carbon Dating Service

Website: www.myspace.com/carbondatingservice
Download: Carbon Dating Service - 2006 Press Kit

Things that go click in the night

An acquaintance is grappling with a mystery. Her television frequently turns on by itself in the middle of the night. Prime theories to explain this odd phenomenon:

1) The TV was manufactured on a Monday
2) North Korea's Kim Jong Il is beaming electromagnetic waves at North America to mess with our minds and our home appliances
3) Gnomes
4) People are wandering around on the sidewalk with remote controls, randomly zapping away
5) The TV, unable to start a blog, has found another way of expressing itself

Publog Research: Café Paradiso

Based on fieldwork by the Independent Observer, Agatha, AODWF (Aggie's Off-Duty Waiter Friend), Coyote, and the Research Director, on 23 December 2006:

The Pluses (or things we'd rip off wholesale our spot)

• Garage door windows that can be opened onto the street in fine weather (They were closed when we were there...) ;
• Funky future-deco curved ceiling and wall details;
• Nifty light fixtures that looked like little Sputnik satellites, that 4th Dwarf would've liked a lot if he'd been there;
  
• A well-handled fusion menu (Butternut Squash Chili and Apricot and Chorizo Stuffed Chicken Supreme were sampled and judged excellent);
  
• A superior live jazz trio playing selections by Vince Guaraldi;
  
• Service that blended attentiveness and efficiency without becoming presumptuously chummy (We believe waiter-waitee relationships desirable, but best when cultivated over time);
  
• Enough beautiful/handsome/rich patrons to create an exclusive atmosphere.
  

The Minuses (or things we should avoid)

• No convenient watering dish for thirsty dogs at the entrance;
• A waiter who was shocked (Shocked!) to discover that the Paradiso in fact sold pitchers of draught beer -- although he did manage to unearth a clean pitcher and serve it up, once informed that this was the case;
• A decided lack of solo French fry or potato wedge items on the menu, although these could be had with main dishes. AODWF also noted the absence of an intriguingly exotic comestible he called 'deluxe poutine' (don't ask);
• Portion sizes that certain circumferentially-enhanced, low-altitude, high-attitude ESI members would have considered most disappointing, had they been in attendance, and;
• Atmosphere perhaps a little too upmarket and exclusive for ESIs and their usual circle.

These work against it being a regular hangout for our target market, although it's certainly a nice place to dress up for and visit occasionally. Assuming, of course, that you're not wearing permanent fur already.

Publog Research: 4th Ave Wine Bar

Based on fieldwork by Coyote, 4D, the Chair, Audrey, Conchie, the Research Director, Painted Stick and Aggie on 19 December 2006:

The Pluses (or things we should try to copy in our spot)

• Huge fish tank;
• Excellent red wine; and
  
• Full-size robot sculpture made of junk (at least I think it's a sculpture and not just a robot that's been switched off).
  

The Minuses (or things we should avoid)

• Diabolically uncomfortable bar stools;
• $ 5 for a tiny plate of spindly little fries that arrive without salt (instead of a large basket of big potato wedges);
• Waiter takes one person's drink order, ignores others with empty glasses, (and is apparently anti-dwarfistic); and
• A croque-monsieur with fries (spindly little ones) and a salad takes an hour to make.
  

Publog Research: The Parliamentary Restaurant

Based on fieldwork by the IO, Coyote, 4D, Audrey and the Amazon on 19 December 2006:

The Pluses (or things we should try to copy in our spot)

• Put all guests through metal detector and x-ray their belongings to give them confidence in their safety and a heightened sense of exclusivity;
• Gold crest on all china;
• Great view of Ottawa River, Parliament Buildings, etc.;
• Strong possibility of seeing famous people;
• Big selection of desserts;
• Friendly service; and
• When seating people in remote corner with no view of celebrities, tell them "this is the Prime Minister's corner but it's yours today".

The Minuses (or things we should avoid)

• Staff should know whether diet ginger ale is available or not; and
• People with empty coffee cups should be offered refills.

[See: Business Case for the Brilliant Idea]

I was spifflicated, okay?

'Twas the week before Yuletide, and all round the wharf
Not a creature was stirring, not one hyper dwarf
Though his britches were hung from the bowsprit with care
In hopes NASA'd mistakenly crash a shuttle in there

Meanwhile, down fathoms beneath the ship's keel
Conch Shell was saving the world with great zeal
Using ploys and devices considered quite salty
Though no one could argue the outcome was faulty

And The Chair was reclined beneath fresh Naugahyde
For which dozens of innocent Naugas had died
While visions of choo choo trains danced through his slats
City councillors abandoned the O-Train like rats

The IO was polishing personas in his lair
The Don Cherry one wore a plaid-laden glare
That sputtered and stuttered against the formalities
Ya gotta love a hard checker with multiple personalities

The coyote had chronicled it all in bad doggerel
(Something to do with overproof rum and egg noggerel)
When what to his unfocussed eye should appear
But a Mini full of chinchillas, and a cat dressed as reindeer

"They're fake antlers," said Aggie, "And I'll see you later
I'm off for a fling with a much-younger waiter,
And while I'm not certain it'll qualify as intimate,
I can say without doubt that I'm totally into it."

By now all our readers were dazed and confused:
"Hey, wasn't this metablog about that nice young Fifth Muse?"
But Agatha clarified as she jumped on a bus
"Merry Christmas to her -- but it's all about us!!"

...and from somewhere close by, but concealed from sight
Harmony hummed a few bars of O Holy Night...

Newsflash: Conch Shell and Aggie's Brilliant Idea!

Conch Shell and I went to the "Regular Place" (also known as "the usual spot"), and it was too busy, yet again. We realized that Ottawa needs another "regular place". In fact, Ottawa needs the Irregulars PUBLOG. It's more than a pub, more than a blog; it's a lifestyle. You heard it first here, folks.

I faxed the business proposal (that we hashed out last night) to the Chair this afternoon, and we hope he will make a powerpoint presentation laying out some features of the plan. An Emergency Meeting may be called, so do stay tuned.

Ottawa Transit Plan B's

So it looks like Ottawa’s transit plan is about to be de-railed. Anyway, if it looks like Mayor Lex Luthor and his posse are about to fully capitulate on the whole idea of public transit, I offer the following plan B’s for consideration.

Idea#1 – Very, very, very-light rail



Did any of you ever visit Upper Canada Village as a kid? Or maybe even as an adult? It seems every year of my life between grade 2 and grade 7, our annual school trip took us to that wonderful pioneer world just off the banks of the St. Lawrence River. I hated it, of course. At the time, I wasn’t into history and found it all very boring. But the cool thing was the miniature train. I’m sure it doesn’t cost hundreds of millions of dollars to build. Once the Feds and the province back out, it may be all we can afford. On the plus side, I imagine we can build enough track to cover all major coordinates on the compass. Imagine taking the North by Northeast Line and transferring to the West by Southwest line to get from Vanier to the Airport. Cool. Of course, we would have to have mandatory tunnels on all lines to appease the coolness factor for the kids. I imagine most of the materials could be provided from a mini-putt supplier.

Idea#2 -- Everyone Loves a Parade

What is the only fun one can have while driving at 5 mph? Answer: when it’s a parade. Under this scheme we don’t do anything to the road infrastructure. Instead, the Queensway commute officially becomes a parade 5 days a week (and anytime there is a Senators home game). I’m pretty sure we can hire those Shriner guys with the go-carts for a song, and Max Keeping is probably good for a couple of shifts a week as parade marshal. Throw in a brass band and some bag-pipers and we’re all set. The Pride-Week commute alone could make it all very entertaining and enjoyable.

Idea#3 -- Return the Rideau Canal to its roots

Before pleasure boaters and skaters monopolized that swath of waterway that cuts through the city, the canal’s main purpose was for transportation (namely to by-pass hostile American waters of Loyalist times). Why not resurrect this function? I like the idea of a high-speed hydrofoil connecting the Rideau Centre to Carleton University, but that’s mostly for the selfish desire that we get a James Bond film shoot in town someday. That said, this whole scheme could be completely self-financing with the tourism spin-offs. First, we would have to dismantle the NCC seeing that they would never support anything so fun. And maybe send Randall Denley on a sabbatical. Wow. This would solve several problems in this town.

Just some ideas, City Hall, in case you're too busy figuring out how to spend your big fat raises on Christmas presents, instead of trying to run a municipality.

Some Canadian Jokes to Lighten the Mood

I ended up getting books for the little ones (the illiterate bastards). There were not enough monster mittens for everyone. Since one of my wee nephews lives in Essex, I decided to educate him about Canada by giving him a book entitled 101 Cool Canadian Jokes by Erin O'Connor.

Here are a few highlights from the collection:

Knock,knock!
Who's there?
Caribou!
Caribou who?
Don't cry--it's only a joke!

What do pigs clean the ice with?
A Hamboni.

What do you get when you cross a great hockey player and a plumber?
Drain Gretzky.

What's smelly, green and gross and works on Parliament Hill?
The slime minister!

Yes, they are lame little jokes...

Required reading

Don't despair, fellow ESIs. We all should take a deep co-dependent breath and avoid a needless slide into a destructive shame spiral. I urge you to read this pamphlet distributed by the good people at The Nonist. It will cure our collective e-ennui.

Why are the ESIs not blogging?

Is it because....

1) They miss Musie, and refuse to blog until she comments?

2) They are now all busy saving the world?

3) They are suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder and don't even have the mental energy to blog?

4) They are all out buying monster mittens for their loved ones?

5) They are all having a party that I haven't been invited to -- perhaps on a boat that got lost at sea?

Christmas shopping strategy

My Christmas shopping strategy is simple: get everyone the same thing. Do not enter more than one store, or even one on-line shop.
This year is the year of monster mittens shown above. Last year, I entered one bookstore and got everyone books. The little ones informed me that books are boring. So, this year the little illiterate bastards will get monster mittens.

Delusions of reindeer

Up-front disclaimer: I like Christmas. As a coyote with a walk-on part in another pantheon myself, I also fully approve of, and support, Diwali, Kwanzaa, Ramadan, Hanukkah, Sun Dances, Nirvana Day and Ukrainian Christmas. In fact, any open and joyous celebrations of the cosmic oom that haven't been co-opted by politicos or retailers.

Politicizing of religion, or vice versa, is a weighty topic for another time and place. What I'm on about here is Christmas Muzak. Trite and overdone, I know, but anything to help keep the Short Guy's butt from dragging, what with all his unassisted effort posting over the past week. Especially considering the size of his butt, and how close it is to the ground, already. I digress.

In a store last week, I noted with alarm that consumer traffic was way up, its awareness of its surroundings was way down, and supplies of the really good cheap bittersweet chocolate were non-existent. All while I tried to avoid gettin' my tail stomped. Not pretty. But the capper was the shitty 'seasonal' muzak, all crap when it was issued, and completely unimproved by age. Or overplaying. I mean, in this setting, if there's gonna be any pained yowling goin' on, it should be mine.

The Petfinder recently published an article stating that retail surveys show that piping in unending seasonal music beginning in October or so, boosts sales. Gotta love those surveyors.

My trite objection: Retailers never play the better hymns or carols. There's good seasonal pop, too, but nooooo. Might remind people of the true nature of of the holiday, blah blah blah and they don't want that. They go instead for the scummy dregs of recent popular Christmas music, played by the scummy dregs of cover bands, knowing full well that the jackhammer effects of The Little Drummer Boy, Holly Jolly Christmas, Rockin' round the Christmas Tree and, dog help us, any random track from the Boney M. Christmas Album, ad nausæum, puree customers' brains to the point where they'll buy anything. It is useless to resist. Ka-Chinggggg!

Okay, I'll make one (trite) exception. Snoopy's Christmas by the Royal Guardsmen, 'cuz it's about a dog. And the harmonies are terrific. Now, excuse me. I need to go bite a retail surveyor. Or a retailer.

Interesting Links

How to fight with other bloggers
DIGESTIVE TABLE by Amy Young
the Bad Sex Award Blood Scarf
Ottawa is 6th Angriest City: We Feel Fine

Asteroidea questions for the ESIs

Over at Asteroidea Press, Megan and Coyote are having an interesting discussion about blogging. Megan asks:

How blogging fits into my writing; how it's changed me; and the nature of the blogging community are all things that are currently vexing me. Maybe you ESIs need to have a meeting and come up with something entertaining to counterpoint my eventual blather.

After some blather from Coyote in which he disavows knowledge of a blogging community, (seriously, he does) Megan asks more questions:

Were all you ESIs friends before the blog started? Are you better friends now? Different friends? Think of new live relationships, new e-relationships, or old acquaintances that have developed into something different because we're all putting our words out there. That's community, no?

If I was engaged in an intimacy challenge, I might try to answer these questions.

p.s. Megan also did an excellent job of describing a phenomenon she dubbed "blog-brain".

p.p.s. Before I get a citation, I want the Content Review Task Force to know that I realize I am in flagrant violation of Guideline A(4). With Aggie on her intimacy challenge, Coyote off chatting up the cuties, and everybody else apparently too busy shagging to post, it's left to me.

Intimacy may not be for everyone

I hope Aggie's Intimacy Challenge is going well. Here are excerpts of a case study of a fellow who found intimacy so stressful, he attempted suicide:

Like a Fish Needs a Bicycle: For Some People, Intimacy Is Toxic by Richard a. Friedman, M.D

...

Everything seemed to be going well until, one day, the father got a call from his son’s girlfriend. She had not heard from the son for several days, so she went to his apartment and found him semiconscious in a pool of blood. He had taken an overdose of sleeping pills and slit his wrists.

After a brief hospitalization, where he was treated for depression with medication, he returned home and broke off the relationship. Soon after, he moved to Europe to work but remained in frequent e-mail contact with his family. His messages were always pleasant, though businesslike, full of the day-to-day details of his life. The only thing missing, his father recalled, was any sense
of feeling

....

And then I suddenly understood. He wasn’t depressed or unhappy at all. He enjoyed his work as a software engineer immensely, and he was obviously successful at it. It was just that human relationships were not that important to him; in fact, he found them stressfull.

...

I had a hard time explaining all this to the patient’s father. Finally, I came up with an analogy that I had some hesitation about, but since I discovered that both of us were dog lovers, I gave it a try. I explained that some breeds, like Labradors, are extremely affiliative; other breeds are more aloof and will squirm if you try to hold them.

If we found her...

Suppose she is blogging... Somewhere else... Under a new pseudonym... Sharing stories that show it's not all happily ever after?

And suppose we found her new blog...

Would it be wrong to start writing about it here? and link to her? Yeah, probably wrong, right? Some of the people who were mean to her check in here from time to time. And I know this will sound crazy, but what if we were the ones she wanted to get away from?

I suppose if she wanted us to find her, she'd give us a clue. Maybe link to us so it would show up in the tracking stats.

But it still wouldn't be obvious what we should do. Suppose she's back giving the intimate details that we love so much? On the one hand, I'd want to discuss it with the ESIs and our readers, but on the other hand, I wouldn't want to force her to relocate to another secret blog.

What do you folks think?

And Robbed Again!

Yes, the conspiracy is still at work. This time we've been locked out of the 2006 Canadian Blog Awards.

How do I know it's the conspiracy?

Occam's razor says you choose the simplest explanation that fits the facts. In this case, it's the only explanation.

Minutes: Emergency Meeting 27 Nov 2006

27 Nov 2006 Emergency meeting

Minutes by: I.O.
Redacted by: █████████

Venue: The Usual Place
Present: Agatha, The Chair, Coyote, Fourth Dwarf, The Independent Observer
Absent without good excuse but with attitude: Conch Shell

Emergency: ██████████████████

Coyote: ████ wants to ████████████████ with ████ ?

The Chair: Clearly ██████████████████

The IO: ████ might as well have a ████████████████ me."

Coyote: I'm not sure I want to ███████ ████ .

General discussion of ████████████████

Aggie phones Conch Shell, exclaims "Omigod!" CS tells Aggie to instruct the group not to make any big decisions.

The Chair: The ████████████████ drama.

The IO: I.e. █████████ same as always.

Aggie discusses her plans for more openness on her blog, which may involve yoga and the opening of chakras.
4D suggests Aggie reveal her true feelings about the other ESIs.

Aggie and the IO workshop an idea for the ESI blog based on 4D's draft post ████████████████

The Chair again raises the ████████████████████ ████ ████ .

4D: ███████ ████ up now.

Coyote: More than before. He surmises the change of ███████████████ a ████.

Some honourable bloggers: Can the ████████████ be far behind?

Consensus: We don't want to █████████████████. We would rather continue on as now, with varied topics and the search for a new muse, with Aggie yet striving to fill the role.

Despite the desire to avoid ███████████, we agree the possibilities are rich:
(*)████████████████
(*)█████████and ████████
(*)██████████ connection

Discussion: Have Bob, Minty or Lana █████████████ ? Will "████████████████████████████████████████████████ ?

Specious "theories" of ███████████ are proferred, met with open guffaws and eye-rolling.

Discussion: Who's hotter? "██" or ████? Consensus: Easily ████. Recap of ████ relationship with ████████████. The Chair wonders aloud why he ever wanted to ████ her. Robust analysis of ████████'s finer points.

Agatha: Hello? Sitting right here?

General apologies and rationalizations. In which Aggie's feelings are callously ignored.

Coyote: I revel in my inadequacy.

The Chair: I embrace my inadequacy as often as I can.

The 4D suddenly challenges CS's decree that we cannot make a big decision without her.

Discussion: Should there be minimal posting-frequency standards for continued membership in the blog? E.g. at least one main post a month or five comments?

More discussion: the ████ assertion that ████ does not really know us. ████ is wilfully blind. Maybe ████ should join the ESIs?

The IO: We used to be worried about whether our metablogging would ████████████████, now we worry whether not metablogging will ██████████████.

Discussion of 4D's sketching technique morphs into speculation about a certain Ottawa journalist’s apparent fetish for IT guys and her refreshment habits, as well as her exhusband’s alleged personality disorder.

Aggie: "Personality disorder" is just a polite way of saying "f*ing a*hole".

Discussion of optimal posting length. Consensus: one screen is plenty.

Aggie proposes Elgin Street Nostalgia Week for next April to mark the second anniversary of the blog.

Discussion of ██████████ blog, ████launch, ████, ████and likely sex life.

4D: Given her liberal application of ████████████████████, it looks like ████ is the ██████████ in any relationship equation.

Banter about Venus Envy. Agatha likes it because the sales people are attentive. The others either avoid sex shops or, if frequenting such establishments, would prefer to have a very distracted male cashier serve them. 4D used to buy condoms at Big Bud's but did not relish discussing his purchases with the 16-year-old cashiers.

██████ once bought condoms at Shoppers Drug Mart for a young friend, then promptly ran into a senior colleagueat the checkout. He winked knowingly.

Discussion of the lame XPress Blog Awards.

Oddly, the ████████ was sighted recently at the ████████ with a box of fishing tackle (insert witty remark here).

Uncharacteristically, 4D embarks on a philosophical flight of fancy: Just 'cause you're on a plane doesn't mean you're going toward your destination. The ESIs agree a more appropriate saying, given ██████ recent luck, would be: Just 'cause you're in a ████ , doesn't mean you're going anywhere.

The meeting drew to an unceremonious close.

Book Review: A Guide to the Mannerly Wooing and Winning of the Object of Your Affection

When I opened the door this morning, I found an unmarked manila envelope on the welcome mat. I've had bad experiences opening unmarked containers in the past, but this one looked thin enough that I figured any explosion would only take off the outer layers of my beard. But it was no bomb, instead it was:

A Guide to the Mannerly Wooing and Winning of the Object of Your Affection by Ms. Matilda Manners and Ms. Edwina Etiquette.

It is a well-packed little volume that purports to tell a person how to get themselves that all important first date with the object of their affection. There is an especially large section that our friend Agatha should read titled "The Object of Your Affection at Work". Here is an excerpt:

6. On Flirting

Anthing involving sexual innuendo is strictly off limits if your Object of Affection is working. There is an inherant power imbalance in the server/served, retail whore/customer relationship. You, the customer, hold the power: your Object of Affection must be nice to you or risk getting fired. Your Object of Affection cannot leave if they do not like you.

This guide is not perfect. For example, in the section titled "On Managing Your Peer Group and Your Object of Affection," the authors suggest that if you meet your OA at an event that your friends are attending it is only in a restrict range of circumstances polite to blow off your friends These circumstances include having "established some kind of prior agreement or code" allowing for the OA to take precedence.

Huh? If your friends are too stupid to know that an OA automatically takes precedence, the best way to show them the hierarchy is to blow them off on that rare occasion you have a shot at an OA. They'll figure it out.

I suspect the authors are a pair of hotties who find themselves in situations where there are OAs so often that they'd never spend time with their friends if they didn't set certain limits. They aren't approaching the situation from the perspective of a less-than-tall, more-than-slender, under-employed mineral-extraction-specialist.

That they are hotties is also apparent in the flow chart that constitutes the centre of the volume. Don't get me wrong, it is a major piece of scholarship in dating theory. However they have paths in the chart that lead to boxes that say "Politely request contact information (and then use promptly)". These boxes have only lines that lead to "Date". I can assure Ms M and Ms E that there is another entire module that needs to be inserted after the "Contact Info" box and that "Date" is not the only possibility.

Snog&Blog -- a short primer

Snog 'n Blog -- it's the new Kiss 'n Tell. And our recent back 'n forth in this area suggests a need to open discussion on some kind of further metablog standards for ourselves.

The intimate sexual confessional has been around a helluva long time -- anybody who cares to, may check out the Biblical Song of Solomon. More recently, we have the mutual erotic gotchas published by Henry Miller and Anais Nin in the '30s and '40s, or the differing intricacies of James Joyce or Lawrence Durrell, or the blunt force of D. H. Lawrence. Panting sexual description that shocked at the time, but these were actual literary works, covering more emotional ground than the kind of people who bookmark only the dirty bits ever give 'em credit for. I'd say this enterprise ain't interested in that. We ain't looking for porn, either. It's plain boring, often creepy, and way over-represented on the Web, already. Anybody who wants that sort of stuff has only to knuckle a few unimaginative terms into Google, or answer spam.

Considering how long we've mulled our own search criteria, and how difficult we're finding it to uncover someone similar to the 5th Muse, (You're good in your own right, Aggie, but quite different) our needs seem more subtle and complex.

We've already mentioned that the Muse never really blogged sex, per se, anyway. She was (and probably still is, somewhere) more about chronicling a very personal interior landscape, hoping to understand herself (and, at one point not too long ago, hoping to finally find a date that didn't appal. The two were linked) Her talent is in emotional confession of a sort that is raw, sometimes painful to witness, but that doesn't actually reveal all. It was highly open to interpretation, and interesting because of that, a quality that attracted our metablog in the first place.

Her abilities in this sort of edgy emotional striptease -- I've labelled it 'breathtaking', for too many reasons, too many times already -- seem to have made it hard to find a parallel. We've quite often thought the Muse's own analysis of her writing was way off, but, boy, she leads a rich and strange interior life, and she put a unique slice of it out there. It's about emotion, selective revelation, and relationships. We're real relationship junkies...

Unreasonable demands

A number of demands have been made on me as the new muse that I deem to be unreasonable.

1) That I disclose details of my sex life. The 5th Muse rarely disclosed details of her sex life except to complain that she wasn't getting as much as she'd like because of M's asexual issues.

2) That I blog more. Yes, the 5th blogged a lot. But, she also took breaks when she was busy.

3) That I talk more about my relationship problems. Unlike our original Muse, I'm not aiming for the happy ending. But why are problems so interesting? Do you really think you can learn from my problems? Aren't you interested in hearing about all the things that are going well?

Perhaps we could hire a muse...

Remember in our early days when we were looking to fit out a van for metablogging and we spent all that time on eBay? Maybe it's time we went back there for a muse.

Here's an auction we missed:

Let me be your fantasy imaginary psycho girlfriend for a month. I am 29 years old, 115 pounds, with natural purple hair and a fascination with death. I am certifiably insane (copy of certificate available upon request). The details of this auction are listed below... [Link]

Misreading: I think Musie still wants to blog

There are unreliable narrators. Then, there are unreliable readers. In this case, I think we have been unreliable readers in our readings of the 5th Muse's so-called last post.

There is enough ambivalence in her latest (and perhaps last) to drive a truck through. The woman is dying to blog. When Musie says she is "leaning towards elsewhere", can't you all see that she just wants some reassurance? She wants us to beg her to keep the narrative going. Just as I would want all of you to beg me to keep blogging if I ever threaten to take it off-line.

But, this isn't about me. It's about Musie. Let's talk about the negativity. All the great bloggers out there have encountered it. Remember when Dwarfie got slammed by Lana and Minty? That took the wind right out of his sails. The lcp took quite a few knocks, too, at one point. And, Musie herself weathered some harsh comments and commentary. She says she wants to protect R and the Chinchillas from the negative energies of cyberworld. I think she just wants to protect her happy ending. Sure, turn off the comments if they are nasty. And, we'll delete anything too nasty over at this end and reactivate the ethics committee.

There will be plenty more happy endings to look forward to. I say, blog on, hon!!

Healing Well

The news is that Agatha's finger is doing well. She has her stitches demurely covered with a bandaid that made me jealous until she gave me two.

Aggie is good with sharing.

She would have given me more, but I don't cut myself often, and there's no sign of any more rat moles.

Speaking of the rat mole, I now have a tidy anchor-shaped scar on my forehead.

When it throbs, I know that Lana and her minions are plotting something.

Addio, buona fortuna. . .

Our Muse has broken her silence to say goodbye. She says it's time for a new narrative, and really, she's right. A fairly classy wrap, I think, all things considered. So long, ma'am, and good luck...

Sign of the times

Turn right at the fallen statue
Past the spent shell casings
That litter the flats
Till you see the charred bones
That don't seem real
Until you smell
The unmistakable smell
Of burning flesh
If you reach an olive grove
Stroked by the sun
And hear the quiet cooing
Of those who sleep without fear
You have gone too far

Our dog is back on top

Several of us had the opportunity to participate in a delightful soiree on Sunday. The evening consisted of a wide variety of performances.

The Chair playing his hurdy-gurdy with the first act, a trio of old-timers playing favourite songs from their youth. After this the Chair became the master of ceremonies, introducing the other acts with his usual wit and charm.

As a regular at these soirees, I usually do a solo performance of some kind, but for once I took a back seat and did a whistling harmony and counter melody accompaniment for two folks who do lovely Kate Bush covers.

Conch Shell was there, but like here, she stayed in the audience.

Then there was Coyote. He read a selection of some of his more popular poetry. He started with two of his emo poems, then went dramatic with Yelling for Stella (dedicated to me of course), and closed with a breathless Straight Eight.

And after the show, it became obvious that our furry friend doesn't need an online dating service. He just needs to get out and read his poems in front of eligible babes. One little honey sat down next to him and started telling him that his poetry held thoughts she had but didn't know how to express. While her boyfriend was in the same room.

I'm told that another woman who may or may not be attached poetically said, "that Coyote is just my type. I'd like to jump his bones."

Emergency: supplemental report

"Ah..." said Agatha, over the telephone.

She's far too collected to ever raise a flap, but I sensed a certain strain untypical of her for a Saturday evening. When she told me that she had inadvertently slashed her hand, and that an ER was in the cards, I told her I was coming with her. Her 'thank-you' sounded relieved.

It was a measure of her condition that she also asked me to drive. Now, Aggie's auto these days is a 60s-vintage Mini Cooper. None of this recent revisionist Teutonic crap -- the noisy little original, with wheels the size of tea saucers, a pair of cranky side-draft carburettors, and a general mass suited to go-kart tracks, or being beaten up by Swatch Smart Cars in back alleys. In (naturally) British racing green. Perfect, actually, for coyotes that drive by chinning themselves on the steering wheel with their front paws, shifting the stick with our right hind paws, and tap dancing between the, uh, petrol, and the brake with our left hind paws. Clutch? Coyotes don't need no stinkin' clutches. We don't need no stinkin' cops, either. We not only don't have a valid operator's license, we don't even have pockets to put one into.

Wth a blip or two of the throttle (in vintage Brit, one never revs, one blips) we roared smokily off to the ER, Aggie clutching a sizeable towel around one hand, and the weekend Times of London in the other. She knows the state of Canadian health care, and she's a planner. I considered asking for details of the accident, then thought better of it. I considered asking details of the wound, and thought better of that. We chatted about other things.

The intake nurse had her seen-it-all, Saturday-night game face on, but it was early, so the regulars weren't out of the bars yet, and seating was plentiful. She said the wait would be only two hours. We settled in with the Times, Hockey Night in Canada, and a little anthropological observation. With aid in sight, if not yet very close, Aggie amused me greatly with her adventures at IKEA. We yukked it up so hard that a couple of possible heart attacks began to look askance at us. We were, frankly, obnoxious. Lucky for them, they were ahead in the line-up and could escape

We waited for the predicted two hours, knowledgeably discussing the other intakes: "I bet he's gangrene," and, "Ooh, d'ya think she's a prussic acid overdose?" -- that sort of thing. We noticed that that women with large stomachs and labour pains got quick preferential treatment, and approved. Then the PA quacked, sending Aggie to Urgent Care. Where she stayed for another two hours, as Saturday night reaped its Darwinian toll. The waiting room grew feistier, and more festive.

Two female cops brought in a handcuffed guy with no shirt. Shirtless Guy was impressively fat, and otherwise unremarkable. But I was fascinated by the cops. I couldn't help scoping ring fingers, and facial expressions for signs of recent decree nisis. Was it possible that the tall blonde amazonish one might conceivably have an ex-husband who is a firefighter...? She gave me a fishy stare, kinda brushed her Glock with her hand. I thought better of asking her about it and hastily lowered my snout into the Times personals. Coyotes don't got no IDs in their non-existent pockets either, and I wasn't aiming to cause trouble. Aggie needed my moral support. Or at least her car keys, still in my hot paws.

It was well past the witching hour, and both hockey games had long ended, when Dame Agatha sauntered back in. A glance at her spoke volumes.

"Ma'am, unless I am highly mistaken, you have been behaving extremely saucily with a very young medical intern or three, have you not?"

The answering smile was pure, vintage Agatha -- mysterious, demure, ladylike -- positively Mona Lisa. But I'd seen the complacent micro-smirk that preceded it. Our Aggie was definitely well on the mend, already. We broke into howls of laughter, then beat a hasty retreat into the night. The third possible heart attack, in the queue behind, seemed, perhaps, relieved...

And maybe that intake nurse had seen a thing or two more than usual. Certainly she'd had the night cleaning staff wet-mopping around me pretty regularly....

Image: www.hungryhugo.co.uk

Emergency - No Meeting

Last evening (ie. Saturday night) after the Ikea Incident , I had an accident that involved running with scissors that resulted in my index finger looking like the above photo. It was an EMERGENCY.

I thought about calling an ESI Emergency Meeting, but instead, I called Coyote, who I know is level-headed in these kinds of situations. He very kindly drove me to the ER while I held my bloody finger in a towel in the passenger seat. Some people gave us strange looks when they saw Coyote's pointy little snout peering over the steering wheel. However, he seemed to fit right in with the motley crew in the ER.

In the ER, we waited and waited and waited. We watched the hockey game and commented on how ridiculous the 15-second-delayed closed captioning was, and how annoyed we'd be if we were hearing impaired. When the hockey became tiresome, We watched the deadpan-faced intake nurse interview patients: "You slid off the roof?" "How many feet?" "How did you land?" "On your feet?" Then, we commented on the fellow who walked in with a bottle of coke in a mixing bowl, and agreed that it is a myth that Coke is good for nausea.

Finally, they called my name and I followed a series of yellow dots to Urgent Care where I waited for another couple of hours in an examination room. I walked around a bit and checked in on some of the patients. My wounded finger was not considered to be top priority. The guy who fell off the roof spent some time in a stretcher in the hall after a fainting spell. The barfing guy was just noisy and annoying so I stayed away from him.

Close to midnight, a sixteen-year old intern named Matt came in to examine my finger. He said, "Hmmm. I don't know if you need stitches or not. These are the kind of decisions I guess I should be making myself." I assured him that it was ok if he wanted to get another opinion. He brought in an old geezer doctor who said to Matt, "Yes, definitely stitches. Three of them. A digital square. Do you know how to do that?" Matt said he did. Then, when the doctor left, Matt confessed that my index finger was the first he'd ever stitched. He added that he was proud of the work he was doing and was excited about how the stitches were turning out. I congratulated him. Then, we talked about the tetanus shot I would get later, and he explained what "lockjaw" was, which just sounds nasty.

Finally, I was ready to leave. Coyote had his nose in a newspaper, and didn't complain about the wait.

Lessons learned: 1) Coyote is good in an emergency. 2) Don't run with scissors.

Coyote and Dating

Coyote should not listen to any ESI pressure to enter into dating world. Dating is an evil construct, based on regressive, repressive outdated courtship rituals. Don't go there, Coyote!

Lavalife and all those places are spaces for people who think they are too busy to get away from their monitors or who just generally have screen addictions. Do you really want to hang around with these types?

In addition to the lavalife stuff, there are a plethora of "dating advice" sites and quizzes out there that are completely obnoxious, and promote relationships that last forever. That's not very postmodern, is it? And talk about heterocentric! We're still in the middle ages with all this dating propaganda.

I also think some of these sites give bad advice. One site advised young men to use this pick-up line: Carry an empty chair to a woman's table and say, "Is this seat taken?"

Now, I would likely tell the young man to bugger off if he used that one. I dare you to try that one, 4th Dwarf! Or, Chair, you could use this line, and replace the word "seat" for "chair". That might be appealing to the ladies, especially if you asked it rhetorically: "Is this Chair taken? Why yes, I believe it is!"

But back to the dating thing, Coyote. The goal should be good old-fashioned shagging, not dating. Don't date. Just shag. Shagging is good for you, you shaggy dog, you!

So Long to the Rat Mole

"The technical term is basal cell carcinoma, but I think you might as well call it a rodent ulcer," said the surgeon at our first consultation.

"Rodent ulcer?" I asked.

"Uh huh," he said and went on to explain that yes, it's "malignant" but almost never metastasises, and it's no big deal to remove.

I nodded calmly, but in my head, I was thinking, what kind of medical marketing genius came up with rodent ulcer as a euphemism? Might as well call it a rat mole.

Anyway, the pesky thing is gone now. It was interesting how few people seemed to notice the growing scabby thing on my forehead while it was there. Many more people noticed the bandage, but I suppose when you use it as display space that is only natural.

First, I went with a post-it note that said "You should see the other guy." Later I realized I could save myself $2.50 on a birthday card. I was surprised at how many people read "Happy Birthday, Jim!" on my forehead and assumed I was Jim. People who actually seemed intelligent in other ways.

"I'm not Jim," I politely said when they wished me a happy birthday. "If I was Jim, this would be written backwards."

Back to the rat mole, it's gone. The stitches come out on Friday and the biopsy results will be a few weeks.

Robbed Again

The Rabid Posse is back at their dastardly tricks! This time, they have kept us off the prestigious Ottawa Xpress Best of Ottawa Readers Poll for best Ottawa blog!

Let's have a look at the nominees and I'll tell you what is wrong with them:

Dial 6-1-3_: It's a music blog. Do they have a cam in the sidebar column for music videos? No. In this post they said "no shows on Monday." The Xpress differs. And the Xpress doesn't even mention the music that's always on at that quaint little pub at Elgin and Frank. On top of that, they don't even mention Bjorn Again at the Casino tonight!

rob mclennan's blog: Of course they had to put that genius at self-promotion on this list, but really, a blog about poetry? More worthy than a blog about blogs?

The Blog of Amanda Earl: Yes, in a transparent attempt to be put on the ballot, she gives links to her erotic writing. But has she ever helped someone find the right mojomaster for their birthday? No.

Matilda: This Jennifer Whiteford is too good to be true. She writes well, is kind to everyone she comes across, loves children, is into indie rock. Even used to be in a band and likely will be again some day. I'd ask where is her edge,? but she hangs out with that sex fiend Megan Butcher. But has she ever posted a series of cartoons that create a comment thread that turns into an alien abduction theory? No.

Asteroidea Press: Speaking of sex fiend Megan Butcher, here she is on the award ballot. Yes, none of us has volunteered to have needles stuck into our tender flesh to gain readership for the blog, and Megan has us beat there. Perhaps IO or CS, this is what you could do to get back into our good graces. Still, Butcher has never created a game based on a blog.

David Scrimshaw's Blog: This pathetic lad may have something going with his groundbreaking series on binder clips. But reading his blog, you'd get the idea that he hasn't had a date since the late 80s.

Humanyms: This is one of those blogs that you have to follow for a while to understand what is going on. Not like our readily accessible blog.

John W. MacDonald's Weblog: This MacDonald is taking terrific portraits of Ottawa writers and artists. He's still getting out even though he's a new father. Admirable, yes. But his blog is so huge it loads forever and where's the RSS feed?

Through the Broken Viewfinder: Fine photos, an RSS feed, but does he have excellent advice on how to get along in a relationship? No.

OnVertigo: She takes amazing photos, and apparently she has big boobs and looks great in a short skirt. But if you've seen me in a kilt, you know I could say the same thing (aside from the photos).

Space to Live: Well, well. Look who is at the bottom of the ballot. Our old friend Lana. Yes, I've heard through the grape vine that she doesn't hate me. But answer this, how does someone who hasn't posted since September 30, and whose blog has only 15 postings wind up on the ballot when we're on the scrap heap?

Conclusion: We're not at our best. Musie is lying low and certain Irregulars have become more like Incommunicados. But I'd match the recent work from the Chair against anything on these other blogs. (Except perhaps Ms Butcher's tattoo photos.)

Still, we're not the only ones who got robbed. What about Marmite and Sot?

Fishing Off the Company Pier

Office dating is nothing new. It’s a product of our time. Most of us have done it. Most of us have survived. It will continue. In fact, at my old haunts, I didn’t think this topic warranted discussion. In the words of one colleague: It’s passé. Or as those in Ottawa on French training say: it’s passé composé.

Then Peter McKay comes along and reminds us that not all have learned the conventional wisdom on this topic. Given Musie hasn’t given the ESI’s much to work with lately, I thought I’d use the moment to help the Peters out there to understand the wisdom around office dating. Most of you know this, and I apologize for the redundancy of this lecture.

The Chair’s Wisdom on Office Dating

Rule #1: Keep it a secret, even to yourself

Okay. So you’ve bedded the office hottie. All your buddies (married ones included) have been vying for this chance and you’ve landed her. Don’t parade the trophy. We know the primal urge is to throw your catch over your shoulder and trot through the office showing all potential threats that you have won and that you are now the king but you must not succumb. And it’s no better if you passively let it out when asked. Be coy. Lie. Psych yourself into believing it is not happening. This denial will help you in the future.

As for Peter and Belinda, while the backroom press chat had long confirmed the two were an item (having been spotted jumping on the same plane to the Caribbean), it wasn’t until Mr. MacKay started doing public interviews on the subject that things got out of hand.

Rule#2: Know your partner’s m.o.

Knowing whether your recent office love partner has a history of fishing off the company pier can help you keep things in perspective as to where things might go. With one of my indiscretions, I had already learned that there had been a recent “other guy” who was currently in therapy following his momentary lapse in judgment involving the same woman. This prepared me well for the final relationship crash, allowing me to immediately access the appropriate therapy, which, by this point, had turned into an encounter group of ex’s meeting weekly over coffee and cigarettes in an Anglican Church basement.

If Peter had done his homework he would have realized Belinda’s first marriage was to Don Well, a Magna executive she got friendly with while on company road trips. Her second marriage was to a Norwegian Olympic gold medal-winning speed skater. Okay, maybe not work-related on the second go, but a Norwegian? Two words: The Scream.

Rule#3: When it goes south – suck it up.

I’ve been twice burned on the office romance front. And in both instances, the formers started up new romances with other office mates. Yeah. Major bummer. Taking my cue from the Queen, I’ve always remained stoic. Found a few confidants to take me out for drinks, maybe a side trip to a peeler bar, and offer some solace. What I didn’t do was have a camera crew follow me out to a potato patch (what were you thinking??) while I tried to find a dog to pretend to like me. Just sad.

Rule#4: Keep it civil

So they’re not going to be your best friend. Or maybe they will be. Either way, getting sulky doesn’t work on so many levels. Level one, the more you sulk, the more your former will be vindicated for dropping such a loser. Being civil may actually instill some guilt in her for her behaviour, and I’m always a big fan of passive-aggressive behaviour. Level two, it doesn’t help your case with chasing after the new hottie on the backbench (or front bench, for that matter --- hello Rona Ambrose, let me tell you about my global warming…). Level three: have you seen her new beau? I’ve never been a fan of Tie Domi, but I’m not going to slag his girlfriend either. He’s sort of mental. Taunting former Leafs goons is not a good play.

Rule#5: If you can’t be civil, at least be witty

Maybe Hansard doesn’t have a fuddle duddle equivalent for referring to one’s ex-girlfriend as a dog. So the record will never show what was said. Either way, Peter Mackay’s response was just plain un-witty. And to boot, I’m just waiting for a Garth Turner / Belinda Stronach joint-appearance on Rick Mercer to one-up the whole thing. At that point, we will be laughing, Peter. But not with you. Just at you.

BlogAdmin and the Cams

Our Blog Administrator is a quiet fellow, his only comment comes with the cam views in the side panel. I don't catch them all, but here are the ones I have caught along with my best guess as to what he is referring to.

15 Dec 2006: Mayor Lex Shops for Lawyers Cam [Ref: LRT - Plan B; CBC]

11 Dec 2006: Depression Cam [Ref: 1, 2, 3]

1 Dec 2006: Porno for Asexuals Cam [Ref: six reasons to love an asexual ?]

29 Nov 2006: Keeping Secrets Cam [Ref: Emergency Meeting 27 Nov 2006]

28 Nov 2006: How To Flirt at the Office Cam [Ref: The Mannerly Guide]

22 Nov 2006: Searching for New Muse Cam - Candidate #2: Psycho Girlfriend

21 Nov 2006: Searching for New Muse Cam - Candidate #1: Yuckos the Clown

20 Nov 2006: What Really Happened to Aggie Cam [Ref: 1 2 3]

19 Nov 2006: Dueling Hipster's Cam [Ref: MatildaZine]

17 Nov 2006: Happily Ever After Cam [Ref: Musie's Goodbye]

15 Nov 2006: Good-Bye-Rummy, Now-Lets-Go-Home Cam

13 Nov 2006: ESI's Salute Coyote's Good Deed Cam [Ref: 1 2]

Great Google features: A cautionary tale

Overhead in the coffee line-up this morning:

Guy 1: So, I'm not going to the ball hockey tournament in Windsor this weekend?

Guy 2: Why not?

Guy 1: My wife was doing a Google on our home computer and when she typed the letter 'S', the auto-complete displayed 'strippers windsor'.

Guy 2: So, she won't let you go because of that?

Guy 1: I guess. Like what does she think is going to happen?

Conch Shell greets her fellow ESI's, and issues message

Ah, you guys. Thanks for making the Conchie Returns video for me, although aren't you giving your identities away? Yes, it's been a long dry season. But slamming organic food was just too much.
Especially when I know what all those toxins are doing to my fellow marine creatures. You know, all that run off of chemicals goes somewhere. But, on a related note, I have a public message for my fellow bloggers. Not organic, or recycling. No, sustainable seafood. If you care about the future of Conch Shell's essential habitat, maybe you could follow ethical seafood eating guidelines. In short: say no to food produced from bottom dragging the ocean floor (and other horrendous things). Say yes to fish taken in a sustainable fashion: Do a Seafood Search Or print off your handy little guide.
Anyways, that's my one "Save me! Save me!" message of the year.
On a side note, I knew Aggie wouldn't give up juicy details about herself. She hasn't yet even taken off her bandages.

Newsflash: Conch Shell is back!

Conch Shell has finally resurfaced on my blog. It seems that my trashing organic food got a rise out of her.

Alternatives to Muses?

Although Aggie has been trying to make up for 5M's lack of edge, the sad fact is that her life lacks drama that she is willing to detail and she's not mean enough to name initials. With this in mind, I thought I would do a targetted search for women who identify themselves as being perhaps not so nice.

Unfortunately, as you will see by my comments, while some come close to being metabloggable, I failed to find a perfect replacement muse.

AngryBlackBitch: Comments on all the American stories that everyone else is commenting on, with the occasional pointed rant you don't get everywhere, and enough references to vodka and cranberry to you'd think she had a thing for our friend the Chair.

Bitch Ph.D.: A leftist, feminist American academic who invites comments and discussions and seems to get them.

Claiming my Inner Bitch: This self-described progressive, born-again Christian has an amusing adult content warning, but spends more time battling depression and complaining about things than talking about sex.

coldbitch.blogspot.com: A 20-year-old in Singapore who doesn't know how to use periods or the shift key. Calls her boyfriend "mi dearest", gets struck with jealousy, and blames herself for it. Not bitchy.

coldheartedbitch.blogspot.com: Dead blog. Depressed 18-year-old who thought swearing made her a bitch.

coldheartedbitch.com: Porn site. And not a good one.

The Company Bitch: A highly readable blog by a young woman in NYC. I especially like her nicknames, for example: "Re-boyfriend". [If she lived closer to Ottawa, I'd metablog her.]

Confessions of a Horny Bitch : A sex loving and monogamous young woman who gets really worked up by uninformed negative comments on her blog.

Heartless Bitch for sale at Heartless Bitches International

Heartless Bitches International: A club for Heartless Bitches, where those whose applications contain grammar and spelling mistakes are mocked, "nice" guys are pilloried, and you can buy Heartless Bitch merchandise. Definite bitchiness here, but the head heartless bitch just spent over $900 to save her cat's life, on the other hand, she didn't seem to care about the third world people she could have saved with that money.

humorless bitch: Rants on Mac software and U.S. politics that assume you know the context.

innerbitch.com: Under construction

innerbitch.net: Two computer gals who like blogging, sci-fi, and the seafaring novels of Patrick O'Brian. They'd be perfect for the Dwarf, but the one with a cat is married, and the other has a dog. The bitchiness is so "inner" it's invisible.

innerbitch.blogspot.com: A dead blog with a single posting from a woman with poor writing, typing and spelling skills.

kinky bitch: It looks like this young woman who enjoys pleasuring herself and thinking about sex with men is more interested in finding love now.

outlaw bitch: A fellow Canadian who goes apple-picking and coos over baby cows. An outlaw? A bitch? Maybe not.

Reap the whirlwind

Hmmm. What to do, what to do. With all of this back and forth between A)Muse and B)Muse, a coyote feels like he's mostly chasin' his own tail.

Shrug.

'Scuse me, now. I need to go find something I think I left behind. Where did that furry thing go...?

Why the Chinchillas are not being blogged

1. R may have suggested that the wee chinchillas are not a suitable topic;


2. 5M had several rough experiences with previous pets and perhaps suspected that unkind commenters would leave nasty remarks or speculations on her reasons for even having chinchillas; or
   


3. that others would make satirical cartoon series about them.

Those are my guesses.

I wish her well with them.

I understand that chinchillas aren't the easiest pets to care for, but I'm sure she's up to the challenge.

No Coat for Siren

What's this? The original Muse is back? And where are the baby Chinchillas? This is so confusing. However, I find it a little too coincidental that Aggie disappears just when Musie comes back. Hmmm. Enough said.

As for finding a 1st-year-since-1st-date anniversary gift, I found out that Ms. Hatton does have some works for sale at the Dale Smith Gallery. They range from $800 and up. Maybe a bit out Musie's price range, but when it comes to 1st-date anniversaries, is there really a price too high? And if it is a money problem, I believe our former ESI'er, Siren, would buy a few of those new Chinchillas.

Lushness and Aggie

Is our Aggie an incipient lush? This is not an idle question. When the Irregulars enter the social whirl, the girl's always enjoyed a hearty pink gin. Or two. In her brave quest to develop interesting new dysfunctions for us to metablog, she has lately mentioned scarfing two bottles of red in quick succession.

And she's a writer. We all know what that means. Big risk factor. Think Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dorothy Parker (Hell, the entire Algonquin Round Table...), Raymond Carver, Adela Rogers St. John, Charles Bukowski, Jean Stafford, and for all I know, Ann Landers and Dear Abby.

Just yesterday, she posted that trying to be a metamuse was more difficult than she'd ever imagined, and wondered what it took for us to notice her. I sense that this bid for attention may be a wrenching cry for help.

Must we ESIs stand idly by as Agatha sinks into a slough of sloe? Will we urge her to find a 12-step program as we enter one of our own, for co-dependents? Should we stage a showy intervention, a la certain extended-cable-package reality televison programs with lamentable production values?

Or perhaps we need look to the danger signs behind the windows of our own glass houses first, and ask ourselves what roles we have played in this sorry saga -- 4th Dwarf's ever-present rum flagon and documented bent for erratic nautical courses; the Chair's trademark martini glass and Dean Martin-esque warbles at parties; Conch Shell's secret compartments and unexplained -- but fishy -- long absences; the Independent Observer's penchant for glasses of all kinds. And yes, my own weakness for quantities of fermented chokecherries.

Tangled questions. Perhaps we need to call an emergency meeting...

Those clever buggers at the Ottawa Citizen are pretty sharp at knowing which stories to give free access to and which ones to put their little key symbol next to.

Turning strip club into university earns Ducharme an award

Ex-Hull mayor joins diplomat, elections boss as recipient of highest Mexican decoration

The former mayor of Hull, and later Gatineau, has been inducted into a major Mexican order for turning a strip club into a university. [link]

A bit of web searching has turned up an award speech. My French is weak, so I'm not exactly sure where it talks about the Strip Club, but I think it must be the espace plus confortablement they call the Maison des Citoyens.

Il a également logé les fondateurs de l'école représentant l'Extension de l'UNAM au Canada, l'UNAM-ESECA, leur offrant tout d'abord un petit espace dans les installations de la Société pour le Développement Économique de l'Outaouais, puis il a généreusement offert un autre espace, ce qui nous a permis de travailler plus confortablement car les deux espaces se trouvent dans la Maison du Citoyen.

Crittercizing design

Being who -- and what -- I am, I'm a huge fan of lurking alongside roads at night, so that when headlights reflect the red glare from my baby-yellows, it jolts the crap outta drivers. It's a coyote thing. It amuses me.

But last night, restless 'round three or so, I was rudely aware of the rather astounding number of unwanted and unasked-for little electrical eyes floating in the once-pristine dark of my den -- smoke detector blinking every 30 seconds, power strips, clock, CD player, DVD player, VCR, amps, tuners, modems, RF converters, cell phone charger, cordless phone, answering device, microwave oven, what-have-you. (I'm a surprisingly plugged-in coyote...)

Each of these indoor light pollutants, singly, is egregious enough. In concert, they turn the joint into a red/green/yellow/blue Christmas tree. I thoroughly resent the clueless electronics components makers, engineers and industrial designers who perpetrate this. Light emitting diodes and backlit liquid crystal displays have become dirt cheap -- a penny a pop. So product designers all plonk these things unthinkingly onto their gimcracks, some merely to let me know the damned thing is plugged in. (Of course it is. I plugged it, and don't expect the f*ing plug to fall outta the wall anytime soon.)

Costs 'em squat, and they can call it a 'feature'. A pointless one, resulting in one more selling point to list on the box, when I'd actually pay extra for its removal. Feature this, boneheads: one irritating little light to 'inform' me a thing is plugged in, and yet another to 'confirm' that it's actually turned on, when I know that already too, ain't a feature, it is crappy industrial design. And I have black electrical tape that trumps your stupidity. And makes your ugly 'design' even uglier, but so what?.

I am an aesthetical coyote. I just figure little glowing eyes in the dark are a privilege to be reserved for animate (and animistic) critters. Thank you very much. You may now return to more blogworthy creepy videos of little girls being harrassed about breakfast.

(Image: Environmental Science Program, Dedman College, Southern Methodist University)

Moderation

Wine Pour by katiew

It's hard to imagine Aggie being down to only two bottles of wine on a weekend. I wonder how this'll go with her seasonal affective disorder.

For my part, I'm going to make sure to not bring Dame Aggie to any genocide movies this year and the next time I'm at the store, I'll picking up some very bright lightbulbs for her. Some of these new energy savers can really brighten a place up.

Conchie, have you been taking our dear friend for her constitutionals? You know those are always good for her spirits.

A Break from Regular Programming

While Musie is on an extended break taking care of her Chinchillas, I've pulled out the following film from my Grade 4 Social Studies class. I ask all the ESI's (and guests) to view and discuss.

5th Muse Pregnancy Issue; New Muse on Elgin; Undeclared Meeting Minutes

Undeclared Meeting Minutes

Location: A place new to most of the Irregulars

Members present: 4D (scribe), IO (convenor), Aggie, Coyote, the Chair, CS (late w/o excuse)

Guests present: the Ethicist's Daughter, PS (arrived w/ CS)

1. Aggie related details of improvisational performance she and the ED attended in which a man played the role of a kayak and a woman acted the part of a kayaker. They concurred it was the most interesting part of the evening. All present agreed that "the kayak" would make a great name for a sexual position to be practised by Canadians. (Scribe's notes: I imagine a natural step during the Kayak, would be an Eskimo roll or two.)
   


2. All congratulated the IO for the great work he is doing for democracy. As Aggie said, "he's protecting our freedoms more than those fucking soldiers in Afghanistan."


3. Aggie asked if there is anything on TV that would warrant her acquiring a TV. Coyote allowed that he finds it necessary to watch House. "He's brilliant and obnoxious." (Scribe's note: I believe the canine identifies with at least one of those qualities.) Before the dwarf could admit that he has also been sucked into a damn medical show (yes, the dwarf has to admit it's not all home improvement shows and pirate movies on his TV screen), the Chair began making an exageratted gesture in which his cupped hand appeared to be moving up and down along a vertical cylinder. "Wank, wank, wank. You could just masturbate and have more fun. I hate that show."


4. The ESIs adjourned their meeting to enjoy a performance by Mr. William Bragg of England.


5. The ESIs reconvened at the same spot. All but the dwarf were greatly amused when the waitress implied that the humble scribe did not need the caffeinated beverage he ordered.


6. CS asked for everyone's opinions on whether Canadian troops should be in Afghanistan. PS suggested that other topics would be more interesting. For example, how was dwarfie's week in the salt mine or what aquatic species is endangered.


7. CS informed us that in fact, the dwarf wedge mussell has become extirpated. (Scribe's note: It's true. When we get our band going, we should do a benefit.)


8. CS asked which Canadian is famous enough that people would vote for them for Prime Minister. Many names were suggested, but all were shot down because they were either: too weird, linked to drugs, or only famous in Canada. In the end, the only name that remained was Mike Holmes of Holmes on Homes. All agreed that he'd tear down the structure of government, rebuild it to code, and get it right. All but Aggie, of course, because she has no TV and has never seen Mr. Homes solve people's renovation nightmares.


9. On the subject of the 5th Muse, all agreed that she is not entertaining us the way she was when she actually told us about what was happening in her life.

New Muse on Elgin

Leave it to Agatha to step in when others have dropped the ball. I am delighted that she has started her own blog and hope that it doesn't become one of the millions of blogs that start with great promise and then get dropped. I also hope that she gives us some real dirt on people she knows and gives us some straight talk about sex.

5th Muse Pregnancy Issue

Yes, there is something the muse has not been blogging about. But she is discussing it on a forum. Cleverly disguising herself as being from Barrie (clever because rather than being unnamed, it's a named Canadian City.) She's got concerns about diet, ledges, and maybe even a C-section. You can read all about it here.

I'm not reading Middlemarch, but....

I'm considering renting the video... the protagonist there looks like a hottie.

Here's what Aggie's reading right now:
1) In Praise of the Slow - A book about slowing the f**%&! down. Musie would love this one right now at the rate she's going. I have to confess that after eating 10 chocolate- covered coffee beans today, I felt like throwing the book and the whole fucking slow movement across the room...

2) Yoga for Depression - I'm gearing up for my annual bout of Seasonal Affective Disorder. It is the first day of fall, after all. After the 10 chocolate-covered coffee beans, I didn't feel that I will really need this book.

3) A pile of trashy magazines - After those 10 chocolate-covered coffee beans, these seemed just right.

What some of the blogging experts are saying....

Today I was surfing some other blogs, including the famous Mommy-blogger, Dooce. She was pimping a friend's book today called No One Cares What You Had for Lunch:100 Ideas For Your Blog. I'm thinking that we should obtain this book and write a collaborative review of it.

Personally, I love it when the lovely Bob writes about what he eats for lunch.

Introducing Marmite and Söt

Friends, I have found a new blog for us to follow. It is the pictorial record of the adventures of two toy animals. Marmite is the monkey.

These two have a clear passion for life and embrace their new enthusiasms. The photo I have selected here is titled: Marmite & Söt's Favourite Film

They are on a trip right now. Perhaps to England. I suspect that careful analysis of these photos will teach us much about life.

Message to R---Lose the Nightlight!

I am pro-R. I love his red hair. I love his soups, his dishwasher purchase, his gregarious nature. I love that he married Musie. I love what this relationship has done for Musie. Marriage may not be for everyone, but it is certainly is doing positive things for Musie. Hurray for R!!!

But R needs to lose the nightlight. That is not something Musie should have to put up with.

Feeding the Hand that Bites You

So once again, the nation’s capital is caught in a storm of controversy regarding animal welfare. I sometimes wonder whether this town is a world-class city what with the media obsession with anything furry (sorry, Coyote).

The latest brouhaha involves the local Humane Society’s procedures regarding the assessment of adoptability of pets. Both the Citizen and the CBC Radio covered the story extensively this morning.

The big controversy revolves around one particular test, that being the animal’s response to a fake hand on the end of a stick poking at it while it tries to eat its food. Failing this test apparently sends Fido to death row. While I don’t want to debate the merits of this test on dogs, I can relate to it when it comes to people. I can think of at least two girlfriends that I would not have put my hand anywhere in their vicinity while at the all-you-can-eat buffet. It was just plain stupid.

I just wish I knew about the fake hand test prior to some of those courtships. For one thing, I’d be much better at playing the piano today.

Fall

In the promising light
of a cloudless morning
rich in symbol
in early September
a city's hidden vertigo
dances out between
rippling waves of heat
shaken
by improbable fire
and much more basic
imponderables
until
mirrored towers shiver
sway
tremble
lurch against gravity
like drunks
on their morning way
home
groan
then fall
to the curbstones
raining shattered glass
steel
and life
down to the streets
boiling chalky choking dust
out from the centre.

Dazed night falls too
as people pick
frantically
uncertainly
through the
still smoking shifting
heap
of what once was
for survivors
where there are none
under emergency lights.

That first night
at the edge of their glare
one camera's
recording eye
gropes blindly
past a billboard
from a
jauntier time
lost only hours before
still standing
impossibly
on the rim
of ground zero:
"A hit from
way
off Broadway..."

Plutonic relations

Pity poor Pluto. For more than 75 years it held the enviable status of ninth planet from the sun. Then the International Astronomical Union comes along and demotes Pluto to dwarf planet (no offence, Dwarfie). And the space scientists compound the humiliation by assigning the once-proud sphere the nondescript identifier 134340.

It must be unsettling to go through life thinking you are one thing, then waking up to find you have been pigeonholed by others as something else entirely.

We may not be able to guide our personal fates, but we can sure try. So when the Muse picks herself up, dusts herself off and makes a new go of it, that is to be applauded. In crafting a life with R she has surrendered a measure of control over her destiny. But she has embarked on a journey in the hope of something better. And no one can take that away.

The meaning of life

With this title, I figure BlogAdmin will fire up that antique Monty Python Cam any sec...

But really. Humans' wanting meaning to exist, and being disposed to look for meaning, doesn't always mean that it's there. Maybe it just means they're being particularly over-ingenious at pattern recognition. I'll make a small nod here to Sartre as a quotable authority on life's meaninglessness. 'Small' because while I began Being and Nothingness, I didn't finish it. It was giving me nausea... but the guy did have an argument.

I've been reading the Muse's last few entries with a certain puzzlement. I'm not a very bright coyote, but it seems to me that some of this stuff about life's circles within circles, karmic payback, &cetera, may come from the vantage point -- that of having achieved the longed-for great love and marriage, after going through relationship hell. Oh, I'm big on karma and the circle(s) of life myself. Having figured somewhat in one or two local creation myths, a coyote of my ilk can barely do otherwise. But what about that PA guy, who has not found his own blessed state? And come to it, was she quite so certain of life's karmic gyres back she she was feeling desperate herself?

"I understand PA's desire to "settle" and find ground. For so long, I too was looking for that. I was desperate for it. Now, I can just focus on making this work, which is a much more rewarding process than trying to find someone to work with," she says.

Uh, exactly. I'm sceptical that her current high cycle may have been pre-ordained by the low that preceded it. Could just be dumb luck, appropos of no cosmic plan whatever. She's an undeniably bright one, but the gloppy and sticky goo of sentiment soaking through the reasoning here is musielage.

(Image: thecakelady.ca)

Labour Day Epiphany

Epiphany: 3 a (1) : a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3) : an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure b : a revealing scene or moment

First, I want to apologize for not attending the Emergency ESI meeting. As 4D mentioned below in the meeting minutes, my excuse was shoddy. The truth is, I continue to have trouble coming off of vacation: my health has gone into decline, and my spirits have been low. However,there was a gradual upturn on the weekend, punctuated by an epiphany. The epiphany came out of three unrelated things -- Musie's recent blog postings, a singer/songwriter I saw on the weekend, and a conversation I had with a young mystery writer last week. The epiphany was this: One of the great struggles of life is knowing when to work and when not to work. Overworking can be as bad as underworking. But, underworking can be bad, too! Pretty deep, eh?

Musie is doing well right now because she is not working so hard. She is learning to relax and enjoy the details of her life. Like many of us, her natural inclination is to overwork. She worked far too hard on the "M" relationship. That was not good. Relationships may be 'work' sometimes, but they should not be that much work. The relationship with "R" seems easy right now. I like that the man got them a dishwasher. Again... less work!! I also like that "R" is sleeping a lot and is still managing to fix things around the house.

Second event. I saw a really intelligent, great singer/songwriter on the weekend. Unfortunately, I felt that he ruined two potentially great songs by overworking them. They were too much. He didn't give his listeners enough credit, and they came across a bit wanky. Another example of how things can be ruined by overwork.

Third thing. A conversation with a young mystery writer. Here was the conversation:
Young mystery writer: What do you think I should do?
Agatha: Why are you asking me?
YMW: Because I want your opinion.
Agatha: OK. I think you need to work your ass off and stop asking people what you should do.

My goal for the next few months--figure out where I need to work more and where I need to work less.