Personal Trainer Update 1: Olga not Carlos

So, I've begun working with my Personal Trainer (PT). When I arrived at the gym, Carlos was nowhere to be seen. Then, suddenly a large 60-something woman approached me and said, "Carlos will not be able to work with you. Madonna needs him to be with her on her current tour. I'm OLGA. I will be your Personal Trainer.

Then, Olga invited me to her office where I sat in a nice comfortable lazy-boy. I thought to myself-- "I guess this is not tooo bad, although it would be even better if I had a coffee in my hand and Carlos at my side. However, I tried to stay positive about this new experience.

First, Olga asked me some very pointed questions about what kind of exercise I'd been doing. It seemed all very pleasant and friendly for while. I told her I enjoyed walking with Conch Shell, that I did the occasional yoga class, that I walked from parking lots into buildings, etc..., that my bike had flat tires, but that if it were functioning, I would be out there with all those Ottawa fitness nuts on the canal.

I think this is when Olga started disliking my attitude. She said, "It's all very nice talking about this exercise stuff in an intellectual way as you're sitting in that comfortable chair, isn't it? Well--you know what? You're not ready to go into the gym. I'm not taking you there. You need to move your ass for the next 8 weeks, then I might consider it."

I became a bit defensive, again pointing out how much I loved walking with Conch Shell while chatting, and how we sometimes walked briskly. Then, Olga asked sharply, "Would you say your walks are fairly light or somewhat hard?"

I responded, "Definitely somewhat hard."

She snorted, "Your definition of somewhat hard is likely fairly light." Then, she wrote something down in her notebook. She looked up and said, "My dear, if you are able to talk to your friend while walking, you are not working very hard at all, are you?" Then, Olga proceeded to give me the following homework for the week:

1) get my old bicycle tuned up (She said it was good that I had an old bicycle because it would make me work harder).

2) buy a coffee maker - the kind that has a timer so I can set it the night before and wake up to the smell of coffee. (She said that she was certain that I was unable to function without coffee)

3) buy or find a gym bag and get some things to put in it, including antiperspirant (I guess I was sweating at that point...)

She said, "Just do the homework. I don't care about the exercise at this point." Then, Olga dismissed me from her office with a brusque, "See you next week."

Caribou!

While imbibing a pint with associates recently, one lifted his stein and said, Ookpik! Another said, Don't you mean, Chimo!? And so began the debate: what is the great lost Canadian equivalent of Cheers! Or was there ever one? Hazy recollections were traded about a movement in the 1960s to get folks to say something uniquely Canuck-like. Well, this was news to me. But I like the idea. And I think we should have a toast to exclaim when we hoist a cold one other than the name of that good ol' TV show featuring Sam, Diane and Woody. After all, the Chinese have Gan bei, the Germans Prost and the Zulus Oogy wawa. For Canada, I propose .... Caribou! Yes, why not evoke the proud northern reindeer? Caribou conjures images of a strong creature on the frosty tundra, sounds pretty good rolling off the tongue and can easily be pronounced even when one is mildly spifflicated. So I will use this toast from now on (unless someone suggests a better phrase emblematic of our nation). From humble beginnings on Elgin Street, the saying could catch on ... And before long Canadians from sea to sea to sea will be clinking glasses with a resounding Caribou!

50th birthday of the bikini: A brief analysis (of unintended consequences)

Coyote and I were musing the other day that some things just can't miss. Until they go horribly awry. Remember, for instance, the paperless society? The four-day work week? Or the Senators' Cup prospects? In this vein, it's worth noting the 50th anniversary of that flirtatiously eyebrow-raising fashion, the bikini.

Upon its debut, only the most daring and darling of models donned the revealing swimsuit. Fast forward to your latest trip to the beach. While some bikini devotees still do justice to the outfit, many others may be better off with swimwear that is, well, more suited to their form. And so we have yet another invention that, like the airplane, is just wonderful when all is right. But one that can be no less than disastrous when things go wrong.

The skimpy swimsuit celebrating a golden anniversary takes its name from the Bikini atoll of the South Pacific, where the atomic bomb was tested. It's not surprising, somehow, that the nuclear weapon dropped on Nagasaki was nicknamed Fat Man. For people of both genders now think nothing of strolling along the sand in a minimal amount of lycra-spandex, no matter how bounteous their shape may be.

And so I, for one, cannot help but applaud our dear Agatha for her springfound desire to nip, tuck and tone. While Aggie is indisputably an admirable paragon of fitness and grooming, she strives to do even better by working with her very own personal trainer. Let us hope that unlike the hapless Sens, she can look forward to success, with no untoward incidents in the arduous months ahead.

After all, history records that none other than Priscilla Presley succumbed to temptation in the arms of her fitness trainer. But let us not be too harsh. Who knows what led Priscilla astray? Just maybe, one 1975 summer day, she caught a poolside glimpse of her husband ... clad only in a Speedo.

Emergency Meeting Minutes: 2006-05-24

Emergency ESI meeting, May 24, 2006, at the usual spot

Present: Agatha, Coyote, The Independent Observer (minute-taker), 4th Dwarf, Conch Shell
Conspicuously absent: The Chair

Assorted beverages are taken, then comestibles.

1. There is consensus the blog is going well after a somewhat shaky relaunch.
2. Agatha suggests a series on her personal trainer.
3. 4D arrives and soon after orders a Gloucester Sunrise. He proceeds to spend what some consider a disturbingly long period of time commenting aloud while staring at the lava lamp-like concoction: "Cranberry, orange. Cranberry, orange. Cranberry, orange."
4. 4D announces he cannot find the [Redacted] card, nor the field binder in which it was held. 4D later asks how and why this issue came up. The IO and Coyote provide an explanation related to the Da Vinci Code that need not be detailed here.
5. The group summarily rejects the idea of front-channelling previously back-channelled material out of concern it would reveal [Redacted] and scurrilous gossip.
6. The group, however, resolves to begin front-channelling redacted versions of meeting minutes.
7. CS suggests a "how-it-all-began" posting.
   Agatha, seemingly suspicious, revisits the [Redacted] card issue: Where is it?
8. 4D recaps finding the [Redacted] card, he recalls being stunned and amazed and insists it was not an elaborate hoax. He then suggests the Chair may be in cahoots with [Redacted], as he is the only one who had opportunity to plant the card in his jacket pocket.
9. CS compliments 4D on his high-maintenance women posting. The others concur. Discussion of HMW ensues.
10. CS raises the issue of HM men. CS then asks whether all HMW are selfish. 4D says yes, they are.
11. CS asks if Angelina Jolie is HM. Coyote says that in order to tell, one would have to live with her for a time, but not in the carnal sense.
12. Discusson of Brangelina. Aggie suggests Brad Pitt is a narcissist.
13. 4D believes Jennifer Aniston is adorable, and recounts an anecdote involving Oprah as evidence.
14. Oprah, says 4D, is definitely a narcissist.
15. 4D "acts out" the Brad / Jennifer breakup dynamic.
16. Discussion of various personal relationship examples / illustrations / horror stories takes place.
17. The 5M: Is she pregnant? Married? Both?
18. Discussion of The Chair's trip to [Redacted] follows. Is he back?
19. ESI vote: 4 in favour of calling The Chair, with 1 abstention. The Chair does not answer the IO's subsequent calls. A sternly worded message, punctuated by group catcalls, is left at his home.
20. 4D approves of Aggie blogging about her personal trainer.
21. CS makes an abrupt exit.
22. In rather awkward fashion, some of the ESIs discover they are not invited to [Redacted]'s party.
23. The meeting degenerates rapidly into aimless banter and wanton rumour-mongering.
24. Agatha continues to wonder about the [Redacted] card episode.
25. The IO, Coyote and Agatha discuss 4D's sly suggestion that The Chair and the 5M are secret allies.
26. 4D departs following an exposition on the "black ballot" technique (used previously to nix idea of front-channelling back-channelled messages). 4D notes the technique was commonly employed during meetings in the dormitory of his university.
27. The IO notes that during meetings in the dormitory of his university, residents drank alcool-spiked grape drink from large containers. Aggie notes this beverage is known as Purple Jesus. The remaining ESIs nod in agreement.
28. The meeting is adjourned.
    

Aggy Gets Personal Trainer

With all the "high-maintenance" talk, I have decided to do a little "maintenance" of my own. (Bob has also inspired me, but what else is new).

So, fellow ESIs and other readers, I am announcing officially today that I have employed a Personal Trainer. Some of you may remember him -- you know, the one who did some work with Madonna? I will be reporting regularly on the progress of my "fitness plan." Carlos has his work cut out for him.

High Maintenance Women 2 - Defining Terms

High maintenance women are like high maintenance sports cars. They're lots of fun when you're out on the town together, but for every hour of showing off, there are another 10 spent on upkeep and repair behind the scenes. After hours of polishing the headlights in your garage, you might ask yourself -- is this really worth it, just for a couple of rides?
[from Are High Maintenance Women Worth It? by Madeline Murphy]

Distraught over my poor finish in New York and busy with my upcoming Astrogation and Biosphere exams, it still behooves me to bring some clarity to the discussion on high maintenance women.

Why me? While the other ESI lads have had experience with high maintenance women, there is general agreement that if one of us is truly an expert on the topic, it's the Dwarf. (Although it could be Coyote. There are unexplained gaps on his curiculuum vitae if you catch my drift. And for all that he's a semi-mythical prairie creature, he's the one you'd ask to fix your Volvo.)

Let's get precise: Agatha, if you conclude that all women are high maintenance, the term has no meaning. Similarly, Bob, if you conclude that no women are, the term also becomes useless.

I've gone to the web and surveyed the attempts others have made at defining "high maintenance".

There are definitions on Urban Dictionary, a number of lists with titles like "Four signs she's high maintenance", as well as the comments from the Chair, Coyote and the IO. There is no universal definition, but we can identify qualities that appear on most lists:

• Extremely Self-absorbed - focussed only on her own needs (Coyote coupled this with narcissism and sociopathy, however, I 'd say other personality disorders could also lead to the extreme self-absorption of the high maintenance individual.)
• High HBA factor (HBA: Health, Beauty & Accessories)
• High emotional needs
  
• Controlling - outrageous or irrational demands, wants constant presence, etc.
• Communication difficulties - misinterprets positive and neutral statements to be insults, cannot understand statements about others needs.
• Unfair: She will blame her partner for things that are not his fault, like a sudden rainfall; or hold him to expectations that she does not expect herself to meet.

The Chair says there could be a woman with a high HBA factor and low emotional needs (or vice versa) who would qualify as a high maintenance woman; while Coyote and the IO seem to think high HBA can be missing, but high emotional needs are a mandatory part of the definition.

In my review of the literature, I'd say that while most experts agree with Coyote and the IO, some suggest that a high HBA factor is a strong indicator of high emotional needs. Others say a high HBA factor should only be a concern when it is a problem for the man, for example, if it means she is never ready when she says she will be ready, or if she can never be kissed or touched because it will muss her makeup or hair.

Corollary factors: Several lists mention big money problems as a sign of the high maintenance woman. It all depends on the cause of the money problem. Out of control spending to fill emotional needs? or simply not earning enough money to meet basic needs?

Some writers link high maintenance to low intelligence, others to high intelligence. In my experience, high mainenance cuts across all IQs, but the more intelligent, the more attractive and the more diabolical they can be.

Aren't there also High Maintenance Men? Of course there are. We usually characterize them differently. First of all, the HBA factor is often completely absent, or is expressed very differently. Also, while it's cute for a man to be with a controlling, self-absorbed woman; women with controlling, self-absorbed men are referred to spousal abuse experts.

So this High Maintenance business is sexist crap, right? Yes and no.

When it's used to refer to the ordinary maintenance that any woman needs, it is sexist crap. (For evidence that this happens, read this news article about a massive sexual harassment and sexist hiring practice lawsuit.)

But maintenance isn't a bad thing: Right. Every intricate mechanism needs ongoing and emergency maintenance. Without it, the most reliable machine can become high maintenance or just stop working.

Annotated bibilography:

• Top 10 Signs She's High Maintenance by Shawn Croft: I think Croft has dated one high maintenance woman for a couple of weeks and thinks he's got the field covered.
  
• Lists: A High Maintenance Woman by Tintin: this blogger hasn't been out with any high maintenance women, but he's watched Paris Hilton on TV and thinks he's got it figured out.
• MensHealth forum on the topic: a bunch of wankers like us flailing away at the topic without the benefit of illustrations and HTML formatting.
• EveryThing2.com's article: a fair compare and contrast that gives the flavour for the term without being definitive.
• Wikipedia's definition: a nice, neutral definition. Clearly influenced by women with expensive tastes who like the idea of being considered "high maintenance" or by others who want to dispel the stigma of the term.
• MSN's Four signs she's high maintenance by Marcia Jedd: A well-researched piece that goes to the core of the issues.
• Blog Quiz Are You High Maintenance? A set of lame hypotheticals that leads to obvious results with the mandatory pros and cons of whatever personality type you turn out to be ("... while it's good to aim high - you're scaring Mr. Perfect away.")
• Are High Maintenance Women Worth It? by Madeline Murphy: Murphy also tries to balance the pros and cons, but she does it in an insightful way and has makes some excellent points. ("Do you let her pick out her own gifts on her birthday and at Christmas because she's so picky that you don't want to bother giving her something she'll only return anyway?")

Now then, Aggie, you were asking about the positives and negatives? I think maybe we fellas are more interested in discussing how to avoid ensnarement.

Sorry, I'm not here ... in either language

OK, something's steaming the lens of my telescope, so bear with me. Why must outgoing telephone messages from federal government offices be in both official languages? It's a staggering waste of time.

As a well-connected astronomer, I dial a lot of government phone numbers and rountinely spend up to two minutes listening to people tell me twice that they are not around, in two separate languages.

Did I miss a bone-headed Treasury Board directive? Are public servants forced to do this? As a popular comedian once remarked, I think we're all pretty familiar with the whole answering-machine-please-leave-a-message drill no matter what language we speak. The thing beeps and you talk into the phone. That's it. There are no special instructions, cryptic Da Vinci Code passwords or skill-testing questions.

The outgoing bilingual phone message is a gigantic time burglar. If Stats Can were to study this phenomenon, I'm certain we would discover it is costing the Canadian economy hundreds of millions of dollars in productivity annually while people sit stupefied at their desks, listening for cumulative hours on end to repetitive and entirely annoying messages. And then having to hang up because they forgot why they called in the first place. (Yes, laugh if you must, but this has happened to me.)

What's next, English, French, then Inuit throat singing versions of the I'm-not-here spiel to let us know the bureaucrat is in yet another meeting? Don't get me wrong, I support the whole idea of bilingualism and the Official Languages Act. But there has to be a smarter way to do this.

So a fervent plea to the tens of thousands of federal employees who regularly read this blog: How about simply answering with, "Hello, you've reached Wanda Prudentmanager's voice mail. Je ne suis pas disponible en ce moment. Please leave a message. Merci."

This will work for 99.9 per cent of callers. And trust me, you don't want a message from the other 0.1 per cent anyway.

What's wrong with high-maintenance women?

In an ESI meeting last evening, the issue of 'the high-maintenance woman' came up. Some implied that being involved with a high-maintenance woman was a negative thing. Some suggested that it could be ok. I challenge the ESIs - and Bob - to define 'high maintenance' and to discuss both positives and negatives of being involved with a high-maintenance woman. We'll deal with high-maintenance men another day. Here are some prompts to help you get started: "High-maintenance women are....."; "High-maintenance women are challenging because...."; "High-maintenance women are wonderful because...".

Courtroom Sketch Artist

So the cover of today's petfinder has a sketch of three men being tried for a firebombing that left two children dead in 2004. Indeed a tragic story, but I found the sketch rather interesting as it appears to be something one would see right out of the pages of DC comics. Without knowing the details I would say the guy in the middle was the ringleader, the guy on the left was the weasel-like backstabbing henchman, and bald guy on the right as the dopey lackey.

Maybe it's time we repeal the "no cameras in courtroom" laws.

The Id in ideologue

In the nation's nominal capital, one tends to soak up, osmotically, more politics than one likes. Even if one is a hairy-ass quadruped that wishes to avoid politics altogether, one trips over an extremely unhealthy number of agenda-driven wonks.

I tolerate some of 'em, with severe reservations. I am a laissez-faire kinda coyote.

However, I fear and loathe the ideologues. Lest you think I contemptuously lift my pointed snout (or perhaps a rear limb) only at the current contol-freak Prime Minister and his merry (yet just now, strangely muted) gang, I'll say up front that I fear and loathe all ideologues from all colours of the visible and near-visible political spectrum -- from infrared to ultraviolet. I speak of a phenomenon with unfortunate cross-party appeal. Personally, I think that anyone that honestly thinks they might actually be competent to run any country is a borderline whack-job. If they're that sure they can, they scare the willies outta me.

Lest you think I'm gonna steer the Elgin Street Irregulars onto some kind of political soapbox, nope. Countless others in this city blog early, often, and way too loudly about politics from their particular podia. And welcome. I only wish somebody'd kick the soapboxes out from under a few and shut 'em up....

Ideologues, whatever their slants, are people who brook little opposition to their views. In fact, they can't wrap their heads around the idea that they might be wrong, no matter what their IQs. Many ideologues have very high IQs, but unfortunately this almost never prevents them from doing appallingly stupid things. I believe intelligence and stupidity were school buddies at Upper Canada College, years ago.

As long as I personally can avoid ideologues, that's fine. However, inside every ideologue is an id screaming to get out. One way it gets out is by getting itself elected,. But the only thing that really satisfies that self-gratifying (okay, 'wanking') portion of the lower psyche is to make everybody else follow his rules, no matter how badly they may fit a majority of the people. A majority, I hasten to add, that statistically, did not elect whichever ideologue claims to run the show.

Speaking of majorities, a majority of ideologues who say they're guided by 'strong principles' actually seem to take said principles on faith. Oh, they claim all sortsa intellectual rigour in the process of arriving at them. But really, they don't want to be confounded too much by facts. They believe what they believe. And, being faithful ideologues, they believe their ideas should be rammed down the throats of that majority of citizens (remember them?) that at best are disinterested in, and at worst disagree with, their ideas.

You might think that a coyote, as a native to Western Canada, (and often found lurking in the tall grass at the borders of the man's federal riding) would say that Stephen Harper walks on water. You'd be soooo wrong... wasn't that Stockwell Day's wetsuit press conference? And by the way, if you want to make a donation to the Coyote Party, please drop it in the collection plate at the door on the way out. I promise faithfully to use it to stay unelected. And maybe buy brunch. You've been a wonderful crowd. Thank you, and good night...

Why Bob Rocks

Ok, just let me go on a bit about Bob. Isn't he fabulous? We met him because he was the Muse's best commentator. Then, he started his own blog, and it is delightful. Here are just a few reasons I love Bob:
1) He is not a pretentious asshole.(Sorry, that is kind of a negative reason, isn't it?). He is obviously a skilled cook, and yet he is so casual about it. He'll talk about soaking red onions "to sweeten", which is something completely out of my cooking vocabulary. And yet, then he'll comment "that's good shit". This is the same reason why I love the Naked Chef, Jamie Oliver. I think Bob may be the Naked Chef of Ottawa.
2) He understands the yin/yang thing. He has a smoke after a jog. He understands that 'good living' isn't about this joyless puritanical existence that we see on some of the serious,earnest faces of some Ottawa people. You know the ones that go to bed at 9, eat only organic, get up at 6 and jog along the canal with a $1000 stroller. (Actually, I just know one person who does that!)
3) He knows how to fix things. I'm not just talking about hanging a Monet print; this guy can lay tiles and other complex tasks.
4) He is modest about his gifts. Modesty is underrated these days.
5) He is adorable. Remember when the 5M posted that photo of him. Sigh...

I promise, ESIs, I will not go on and on and on about Bob any more. I just had to get this out of my system.

Famous Chokers

Once again, the Senators are on the verge of being the top playoff veterans with the lowest golf handicap. The only solace I have is that those miserable Toronto Maple Leafs have been on the fairways for the last three weeks.

Loonie Fever

The Canadian dollar hit 91 cents U.S. today. The last time it was at that level was back in the middle of January, 1978. Coincidentally, the movie Saturday Night Fever was released around that same time. The thing is, the dollar was in the dumps for a long time before this sudden upsurge in value, and I wondered what is the true cause of the gain? Avoiding all that macro-economic mumbo-jumbo talk, I attribute it to the popularity of retro-nights around Canadian dance clubs and music halls. The dollar is high in value, because we THINK it's a different era. If this is true we may be able to get Bank of Canada Governor, David Dodge, to use monetary intervention measures to completely ban any potential late 90's revival nights. I could do without hearing another Ricky Martin, Jewel, or Britney Spears song.

Uncivil liberties

There I was on the bus, standing in the aisle near the back as passengers tried to navigate their way to the rear door to clamber off. It was more jam-packed than the Liberal leadership race and, despite my best efforts to let people by, there was little if any wiggle room. Unless I were to crowd-surf above the seats, I simply had nowhere to go.

"You're going to have to move," an amply proportioned lady said to me as she barrelled from the back of the vehicle toward the exit.

Not, "Excuse me, please." Or even, "I'll just squeeze by."

If civility lives, it is primed for Last Rites.

Consider this, from the Financial Post of April 15: "Businesses know that bad manners carry big costs. Recent studies have found that nearly half of all workers have experienced yelling or verbal abuse related to 'desk rage,' that more than half have been seriously distracted from work by rudeness, and that most believe that workplace incivility is out of control."

So, seeing as some of us have yet to file our taxes (OK, I have yet to file my taxes), here are suggested deductions that would both encourage civility and bolster the pocketbook:

Non-refundable tax credits

Multiply total annual income by 0.01 per cent and enter on line 251 if in 2005 you:

(*) Refrained from whistling Sinatra tunes (see Schedule 18) in elevators.

(*) Routinely put the little dividing bar in place after unloading your groceries onto the conveyor belt, so others could begin unloading theirs.

(*) Did not scream, without good reason (see "Dire Emergencies" in the Tax Guide), while standing beside the desk of a co-worker who was on the phone.

(*) Sent at least one thank-you note by regular postal mail.

(*) Did not deposit trash on the IO's lawn.

Straight from the hearth

Lately I have been casually looking for a chateau, a new place with a good perch to view the stars. And it strikes me how similar house-hunting is to dating. You keep your eyes open, show a little interest and the interaction begins.

In each case, let's face it, looks are usually the first thing that catches the attention. And soon after, traits like personality (warm and inviting), interests (recreation and shopping nearby), job and social status (location, location, location, preferably in a good neighbourhood), and salary (a solid investment) become the focus.

And as with the buzz of excitement over a new flame, often hopes are dashed with the first real get-to-know-you session. (Hmmm, this is nothing like the photo ... the roof is missing some shingles, the street is really noisy and the backyard is kind of funny-shaped.) In these little dramas the real estate agent plays the role of matchmaker, like the best friend of the prospective paramour who trumpets all the virtues and plays down any shortcomings. (Well, yes, the master bathroom may be a little small, but don't you love the walk-in closets?) Maybe we're intrigued enough to arrange a second viewing or, if truly curious, a third one. After a while, the inevitable question arises: is this where I belong? Or should I keep looking?

To stretch the analogy a little, renting is sort of like living together, while buying a place is akin to getting hitched. And we all know about the seven-year itch. Like that attractive new co-worker who appears out of nowhere, sometimes an enticing development with granite countertops and a spacious deck springs up just down the street.

If, like me, you're thinking of moving on to a new abode, you must decide whether the grass is truly greener in the verdant garden of that beckoning property. Or is it worth the trouble and expense of starting over?

My place is kind of small, has too many stairs and no backyard. But I now realize I would miss my house. I enjoy seeing the big maple tree blossom, like the way the sun hits my bay window mid-morning, and have become fond of the quirky, lighthouse-like layout. Maybe, as with any relationship of nine years, mine just needs some renewed love and attention.

Maggie Wasn't Just On the Raggie

Margaret Trudeau has finally come forward in public to discuss her problems dealing with mental illness. Good for her in addressing her issues and getting the help she needed.

Maggie was always a celebrity around the household I grew up in. After she split up with PET, she moved to one of the tonier little streets in New Edinburgh. When friends and family were visiting from out of town, my mother would always want me to take them to see Maggie's little house as part of any tour of the sites around Bytown.

"She keeps a nice kitchen," I remember my Great-Aunt Hazel once saying as she peered through lace-covered windows.

So if you're reading this Ms. Trudeau, maybe it wasn't all in your head. It might have been one of my relatives you thought you saw that time.

Missing Our Muse

I am missing the 5M. I'm not saying she should come back. I support her in her new private life with R, and send her my best wishes. And, I am pleased that perhaps the ESIs -in some small way - played a part in getting her married off (ie. some ESIs suggesting she go on lavalife).

We must, however, move on to new blogs. We are, after all, metabloggers. There is much much work to be done. The problem is that in my cursory search for an interesting Ottawa blog, I have come up dry. I have identified several blog categories: hockey blogs (yawn!), hoser blogs, hoser/hockey blogs, smug married blogs, photo blogs, wanker blogs (but all bloggers are wankers...), knitter blogs (they are sweet, but how many pairs of socks can one look at...), self-absorbed/ignorant youth blogs (wankers in training). I'm sure there are plenty more, but this is what I've come up with so far.

In my quick search, I did see an interesting comment in the smug married category that suggests that bloggers are afraid to write what is REALLY going on in their lives: "...coming here and blogging all PollyAnna about how wonderful the children are and how great it is that the tulips are starting to poke up is just not me." (www.xerxia.blogspot.com). She says this, but - like most of us - is afraid to really put it all out there. Which is why we miss the Muse. She was brave enough to put it all out there.

Alphababble

So, I was trying to hold my tongue in just the right way to tweak the ol' rabbit ears around to the optimal orientation to snare CSI-NY outta the snowy ether last night, when the picture suddenly faded in, and I was hit with this glorious sampling of perverse obtusity: "Coming, tomorrow, in primetime on CTV, The O.C., followed by CSI and ER".

It was a revelation. I mean, this is Ottawa, and dog only knows the number of crackberry whores circling the parliamentary precincts, whose status, nay, very existence, hinges on their ability to quickly discriminate between largely meaningless-sounding acronyms like DFAIT, DIAND, JTF2 and, for all I know, EMU (but some of us coyotes fantasize a lot about eating large, flightless, free-range drumsticks, so that may just be me). They also need to be able sort out which ones are now current and which have been discarded in the neverending series of (also largely meaningless) governmental department shuffles.

Nevertheless -- and I say this as a canine fan of such dogs as NCIS, V.I.P., ET, 24, and even the NHL during playoffs -- we may have gone a little too far with the alphabet souping of civilization, when an entire on-air promo is devoted to an announcer spitting out a string of letters and trying to make them sound like must-see TV. Don'cha think it lacks elegance? LOL. Oops. That last thing just slipped in there... But then, as a member of a group of erstwhile metabloggers who style themselves in private conversation as ESIs, I probably shouldn't be too critical.

Back from the Beard-Off

Hi, everyone, I'm back from Germany. I didn't do well at the International Championship, but I picked up some tips for New York in two weeks.

Tip #1: You might think it's trite and derivative but the judges and the crowds love an architectural design.

Tip #2: Wear a tie that complements your design

The main thing for me now is to get ready for the World Championship in 2007.

[p.s. Let's not get into the politics and bad blood between the World Championship and the International Championship. I want to go back to the good old days when it was only about the beards.]

[p.p.s Even though I didn't make it to the podium, a big thanks to the Research Department for the help with the great nebula in Orion design. It's not your fault the judges had no appreciation for astronomy.]