Audrey's Weekend in Rehab Update

Here's a progress report from Audrey:

Just before I fell asleep on Sunday night, I figured out what my addiction was and why I needed rehab.

The weekend started off much as planned, although I started rehab late on Friday night, after going to a book sale (6 books and 12 house magazines for $8) and the movies (Hot Fuzz - funny but too violent!). I watched my favourite house show - Relocation, Relocation and read 2 of the house magazines.

I thought that I would have trouble sleeping, because I'd only had popcorn for dinner, and because most of my friends seem to be having trouble sleeping these days (why? is it the male menopause?) but no, I slept soundly all night.

I think my friends were surprised to see me acting normally at the BBQ on Saturday afternoon - drinking my favourite cocktails, making movies of them, singing. They knew I was "in rehab" for the weekend and maybe they expected that I would be different - more subdued? Maybe they thought that I wouldn't drink in rehab?

After the BBQ, I lounged on my couch, watching hockey (too sad) and reading 2 more of the house magazines. Canadian House and Home is my new favourite magazine! (FYI: The new trends are: chandeliers, bold patterns, flower gardens, and small homes.)

I didn't see the Independent Observer on Sunday. Instead, I sat in the sun in the backyard and read another 4 house magazines. Had to force myself to read the Us Weekly (tabloid) that I'd bought on Thursday night. (Yes, some of the movie stars are too thin, beautiful dresses are always in style, and Reese looks happy again.)

In the bath on Sunday night I was thinking about: pink nail polish, the massage I had on Saturday afternoon, cupcakes (where can I get some in Ottawa?), flowered sheet sets, planting flowers, searching the MLS for homes for friends, travelling with friends, and antique armoires. And then it occurred to me: I wasn't thinking about celebrities - I don't really care about the lives of the celebrities; I care about the lives of my friends. And, I like to read house magazines. So, I think my addiction is house magazines.

In case you were counting, I have 4 house magazines left to read. Now that I know I have a problem, should I put them aside?

Being the helpful guy I am, I have found a number of helpful links for Audrey:

• Meet others who want to end their similar addiction at 43 Things.
• Information on the related condition of bibliomania.
• Hope for Audrey - the anti-addiction pill!
  
• Learn more every month about how to tackle the problem with Treatment Magazine.

Hang in there, Audrey! They say the first step is recognizing that you have a problem.

People in their lounging robes

I love Le Nordik, the scandinavian spa just 20 minutes from Ottawa. It is amazing, and reasonably priced. Much cheaper than therapy, and you come away feeling refreshed and rejuvenated without having to talk to anyone. In fact, they encourage silence there. I loved everything about the place, except for one thing: people wearing lounging robes, robe de chambres, morning dresses, housecoats, bathrobes, wrappers, yukatas -- whatever you happen to call them.
I was trying to explore what I dislike about them, and I think it may all come back to the intimacy problem. I feel strangers are getting too intimate with me when they are wearing those things. On the other hand, I love people in their bathing suits. No problem there. I think I might be ok with them naked, too, if it were a nudist scandinavian spa. But, there was something about seeing that silver-haired devil in the bar area in his red terry cloth robe that freaked me out. Maybe I need to discuss this with my therapist.

Let's all have a good thought for Audrey

Earlier today, Audrey sent out this email:

I just wanted to let you know that I've decided to enter rehab. Just for the weekend, of course.

Like Britney, Lindsay and Jonathan Rhys Meyers, I don't have any specific problem. However, I like to keep up with the latest trends.

Even Michaëlle Jean is taking a little break.

Of course I will leave rehab briefly to attend a Saturday afternoon BBQ.

And I might be persuaded to watch hockey out on Saturday night.

And, too, I might leave rehab to have breakfast out on Elgin Street on Sunday morning.

Maybe the Independent Observer will want to visit open houses with me on Sunday afternoon.

However, I will be in rehab the rest of the time.

Hopefully, during my stint in rehab I will get to eat lots of chocolate, will take long naps, and will read all the tabloids.

Maybe, if I am lucky, I will have a massage.

You will still be able to reach me, since I will be at my usual location - it will be an "in-house" rehab session.

I will keep you informed of my progress.

Caribou! A progress report on Canada's new national toast

It has been almost a year since I christened Caribou! as Canada's national toast. So it seems time for a refreshing update.

With the exception of some initial encouragement from the lovely Aggie, my proposal was met with skepticism on the part of most of the ESIs.

So after generating some summer buzz at Bluesfest, I took the concept on the road. After all, sometimes Canadians honour their own only after people abroad have given their blessing. (Katrina and the Waves are still virtual demigods among the Jarawa of India's Andaman Islands.)

A frothy cappuccino at Heathrow Airport's Caffe Nero in late July marked the first international Caribou! cheer. Only two problems: I am alone. The coffee sets me back £4.30.

On to Morocco, a land renowned for its hospitality and therefore the perfect launching point for the African Caribou! craze. With Audrey as my witness, I raise a Casablanca beer to introduce Canada's national toast the Dark Continent.

However, it soon occurs to us that in a largely Muslim country alcohol is somewhat difficult to find. So the next cry of Caribou! is heard over milkshakes at a rather exotic Marrakech luncheon spot that serves something called the McArabia.

Three continents down. Four to go.

If dogs run free...

Speaking of Ottawa and silly walks, I have a beef with park planners. City, National Capital Commission, doesn't matter -- they all like to draw designs that they think look pretty in aerial photos, insteada planning functional spaces. Take Confederation Park, at the corner of Elgin and Laurier, f'rinstance. Please. Nice space (we coyotes always approve of open green space dotted with lotsa hiding places), dumb pedestrian plan.

Contrary to what some might say, we coyotes walk and think in fairly straight lines. But here, some well-papered plannerly type thought long and hard, then drew a long, carefully arced sidewalk from the entrance just across the street from city hall, to the stairs that take you up to the Mackenzie King Bridge. Then them pesky pedestrians ignored this pretty sidewalk and walked on the grass, bee-lining straight from entrance to stairs, because they could see their destination, and the un-curved distance was shorter. Imagine that.

What the NCC's control freaks did next, rather than admit its planners are less than demigods, was plant a buncha unsightly shrubs across either end of this straight line, to try to passively force people back onto the sidewalk. Didn't work. Bipeds continued to wear a long, straight path through the shrubs, across the grass. Imagine that. Since that proved unsatisfactory, the NCC planted even more unsightly snow fences in the middle of the two shrub beds to make 'em harder to traverse. From my lurking lair I still see people stomp down snow fences on occasion. Imagine that.

One of the smartest park planners I ever ran across had no fancy planning degree, but a lotta horse sense. Entrusted with a big new park, he seeded it to grass, and left it that way for a summer. In fall, he looked at where walkers had worn the heaviest paths in the grass, and had all his sidewalks put right there, along the lines that people were walking anyway! Then they all pretty much stayed on the sidewalks, unless they were playing pick-up frisbee. With coyotes they thought were just plain ol' domestic dogs. Imagine that...!

Why I like the Usual Spot

Coyote dropped by today to drop off an item for one of my secret projects and to collect an aspidistra I'd set aside for him. I enticed him to stay by offering food but then set him to work on a little home repair project.

By ten o'clock, we were a bit tired and thirsty, so I suggested we make our way to the usual spot for a beverage.

Not wanting to leave the aspidistra outside in the bicycle trailer where it could be stolen, I brought it in and put it on our table.

"Maybe this will help us meet girls," suggested the C-dog.

"Not likely," I said. (You'd think the Coyote would know by now that when he's at a bar with me, there'll be no young ladies approaching. It's not like when he's on his own cutting a swath with cagey American coyotes.)

Then the waiter came and asked what beverages we'd like. Coyote ordered his usual libation and I ordered a dark frothy ale (only a small one.)

"And what would you like?" The waiter stared at the aspidistra.

"Our friend will have a glass of water," I said. "No ice."

A few minutes later, he brought us all our drinks. The aspidistra finished his first. Chugged it, you might say.

Keep on Struttin'

Mayor Lex Luthor thinks Ottawa needs to become more swagger worthy. Seems we don’t have enough pride about our town and we need to express it via some kind of new strut. In fact, our mayor is so confident about its impact he thinks citizens may even add a gratuity payment on our tax bill once the swagger takes hold.

I think Lex is on to something. Seeing that the ESIs are now promoting contests, I suggest we put out the call for a new Ottawa swagger.

So get out your video cams and send us a demonstration of what you think Ottawa’s new swagger should be. My nomination is a perennial Ottawa favourite called the bureaucratic two-step: one step forward, two steps backward. Get your ideas to us pronto. We’ll need to rehearse it in time for the Senators Stanley Cup victory parade.

For inspiration in designing a swagger you may want to consult this web-based utility

Of lists and trysts

Metasexual or not, Audrey says blogs need more lists. So she took to the keyboard and tapped out one of her own to spice up the ESI site:




My favourite things besides sex

1 old houses
2 champagne
3 dancing at the Marina Beach Club in Benalmadena, Spain
4 my friends - The IO, Fourth Dwarf, The Chair, The Research Director, Conch Shell, Aggie/Eigga, Coyote, {redacted}
5 books and magazines
6 sunshine
7 sparkly skirts
8 the colour pink
9 Jamaica
10 The Sunday Times
11 my little Canon camera
12 chocolate
13 kissing
14 activities leading up to sex which aren't sex
15 men who read
16 Chris Chelios
17 The Strokes
18 Rome
19 taking baths
20 roses

Introducing the Metasexual

Metrosexuals are so last decade. Now, apparently, the übersexual tag is jostling for alpha-male position among social pundits. This intelligence from no less an authority than Guy Stuff, appearing on Global TV at the flagship time of 2 a.m. weeknights, not too long before something called Booty Boat, about which I'm sure 4th Dwarf knows.

Large, distracting moving CGI greenscreened into the set design help them to do wonders with their $1.95 production budget, and the nine guys in the tiny audience corral look rapt -- probably because their bug-eyed insomnia is worse than mine.

Anyway, we know that pundits propound these kindsa social labels because if they can coin one, write a very thin book about it, and hook it into the prevailing American zeitgeist, even for a nanosecond, well! The route to wealth via the lecture circuit, bookstore self-help sections and guest appearances on Oprah, The View and Dr. Phil is assured. (Extra points if ya can crack CNN or Fox News. And Canadian channels, sadly, count for nothing. Market's too small.) You know, explaining that metrosexuals are narcissists who pluck their eyebrows and wax their backs (very good reason why coyotes don't go that route...), whereas übersexuals are less sexually-ambiguous "guys' guys" types, say, like George Clooney or George Clinton.

Since ESI: The Sock Puppet Movie seems to have stalled in pre-development, and a dog's gotta eat, this scam interests me. As more of a punster than a pundit, I propose we create the Metasexual category: Just off the top of my (unwaxed) head, those of any gender who are not back-waxers, are totally into self-referental wanking in Emergency Meetings, are more concerned with quasi-analysing the relationships of others than their own, and are given to lengthy circular theorizing, at least when their collective Attention Deficit Disorder is properly medicated. And obsessive-compulsive about blogging. Did I mention blogging?

Metasexual. Ya read it here first. A meta category so fresh, even Wikipedia doesn't have it yet. But we can fix that...

Image: BBC North Yorkshire

Another Weekend in Outer Space

Jupiter Ray Project

The Jupiter Ray project is a band. They played at Irene's on Sunday night. They have a cute lead singer named Shannon. She is married to the guy who sings beside her. He has a good steady government job. The band has enough material for one set, so for upcoming performances, we can expect opening acts. (Like Casey Comeau and the Centretown Wilderness Club who are worth seeing on their own.) Their name came from a TV show with a cult following, maybe the Simpsons. They fired one of their first drummers because he was too heavy (with the drumming, this wasn't a weight prejudice thing) and there are no hard feelings.

[How do I know all this? I ask questions. I was really smooth with the marital status: "Is that tall, attractive, blonde woman the lead singer for the Jupiter Ray Project?" I asked one of my informants. Upon being informed that she was, "What does her husband do?" See... That's the smooth way to find out if she's single.]

Here are some of the ways their music has been described by others:

• Folk rock;
• Country rock;
• Canadian roots;
• Melodic, rythm-centered, moody, often trippy, usually acoustic, roots-based music;
• Roots-rock-reggae with a touch of ska and soul; and
  
• Soulful country.

These are all fine with me. If the band is called something like "the Cowboy Junkies"...

But when they're called "The Jupiter Ray Project", I want laser beams, lyrics about robots and DNA and a theremin instead of a fiddle. (Even if it is that incredible Michael Ball fellow playing the fiddle.)

Plan 99

Given the disappointment at Irene's on Friday, I was pessimistic about the Plan 99 reading on Saturday. It was in this bar on Elgin Street called the Manx. Still, Plan 99 is from Outer Space, so perhaps I'd be in luck.

And I was! Being completely unfamiliar with this Manx place, I had no idea that it is the closest thing Ottawa has to the Mos Eisley Cantina.

This fellow Steven Ross Smith began reading what we'd been told was "poetry", but I quickly realized it was something entirely different: viral software intended to shatter a human brain into a Tralfamadorian time warp where all of a life's moments happen simultaneously.

I innoculated myself from this by jotting lines down as I was able to catch them:

the contest poem is an unfettered dog...

recombinant dna alphabet drives me...

maze, a white-tipped sea...

five and a half decades slipping away...

Then Shane Rhodes read his viral programming. His work had more of a narrative flow and would have been less effective at creating time rifts, but most of the audience had been weakened by Ross Smith.

"The only way I've found to kill cockroaches is to tell them tales of depravity."

I was excited that he would be reading about the Birth of Venus until he mentioned it was a pretentious poem about a Botticelli painting, not an ode to the creation of a planet.

"How pretentious can you be when it's printed on napkins?"

But he ended the poem with the words:

"...uranium collapses on a deuterium core."

So it wasn't a total loss.

Oddly enough, he described his concluding piece as a country/western poem. In my experience, the old west and outer space often do not mix well (every cowboy plot episode of Star Trek, new or old, sucks.) But it's been suggested I should be more open-minded (i.e. FireFly).

Before leaving the Manx, I should point out that the art on the wall by an artist named Jenn Farr made me nostalgic for a number of alien planets I've visited.

Contest: Who can find Musie's new blog?

We know she's out there.
Prize: to be determined. We thought an invitation to an Emergency Meeting might be enticing for some, but some ESI members are very shy. Prize suggestions are welcome!

I say it's spring, and I say the hell with it...

No cat, no cradle.

If the shoefitis, wear it

For weeks I saw them dangling there, high above the intersection. But I had no idea why anyone would bother to toss not one but two pairs of sneakers onto the power lines that criss-cross Lisgar and O'Connor streets.

Then I stumbled across the term for this footwear phenomenon: shoefiti. It seems the dangling running shoes have been spotted everywhere from Australia to Poland.

What's it all about? Well, theories abound, from reassuringly innocent to downright disconcerting. Could be kids messing around. A sign that crack cocaine is sold in the neighbourhood. A gangland ritual to celebrate a murder. An act of dissent against government. Or, the most obvious explanation, a vivid illustration of New Wave polysemy.

And then there's this outlandish notion from Eric Nygren, quoted in the Indiana Daily Student. "It's pretty simple," Nygren said. "It's a stupid college thing people do. Somebody probably got drunk and thought it would be fun."

Publog Research: Preston Hardware

Fieldwork by the Research Director and Coyote, Easter Weekend 2007:

Pluses (Features to emulate)

• FREE! ESPRESSO! SHOTS!

Minuses (Features to Avoid)

• FREE! ESPRESSO! SHOTS! TO! COYOTES!

Summary: I realize we normally don't PuBlog non-food establishments, but the Research Director asked if I wanted to ride shotgun in the Bookmobile with him on a consumer survey. And he offered to roll down the window so that I could hang my tongue in the breeze. Really, he had me at "ride". As usual, I digress.

A serious round of research found us at Ottawa's shrine to hardcore hardware cognoscenti, viewing an automated espresso apparatus selling for many thousands of bonez. At the tap of a touchscreen, this gizmo automatically grinds fresh coffee onboard, tamps it into the filter and pumps espresso at a precise temperature and pressure into two demitasses, all untouched by human hands. (Huh. I can do that last part for a lot cheaper. Uh, I digress again.)

The knowledgeable salesperson explained these complexities, then showed it off and gave us FREE! ESPRESSO! SHOTS! -- This was coffee of a velvety blackness to make roadside Elvis painting hawkers weep, with perfect crema and a mellow richness that seems to be taken for granted at every little store along Preston Street, even as certain international chains that shall remain nameless sometimes struggle for the same effect. Gotta love Little Italy...

Ummmm. But. Somebody shoulda warned the sales guy. And the Research Director. I can't think who would be responsible for that.... The RD placed my FREE! ESPRESSO! SHOT! on the floor so I could slurp it. I slurped. I ran in circles. I peed on the Research Director's immaculately polished footwear. (Missed the pant leg, though. I'm proud of that.) Close readers of my solo project may recall that someone inadvertantly let me snarf down too much chocolate about a year ago. And that I reacted predictably badly. People, again: you should never feed a dog chocolate. Even a two-thousand-year-old, semimythical one. Apparently, we must add espresso to this list, too.

Moral: Free espression carries with it great responsibility...

Exploring Outer Space without a Spaceship

With the serious shortage of positions for trained space pirates, I've been forced to find creative ways to explore strange new worlds. This weekend, Coyote joined me on an inner solar system tour of Ottawa.

Lounging on Mercury

We started Friday evening with a voyage to the Mercury Lounge.

We arrived as the inhabitants were engaged in what is apparently a regular celebration they call World Beats and Eats.

Formalities at the entry port were easy, we simply exchanged currency and received a stamp. As we had no passports, they stamped our wrists.

Coyote and I pondered why the females were generally dressed much better than the males. Coyote said he'd heard that females dress for each other. I observed that I had no proof of this, but suspected it might be true of the males as well. Maybe the males deliberately dress like slobs so that other males will not assume they are gay and beat them up.

The Coffee Planet

Our next stop was Planet Coffee. All the natives were consuming a tasty warm beverage and we did our best to blend in. Coyote also ordered a lemon square (apparently sometimes a canine is not in the mood for biscotti). I ordered a Nanaimo bar. It turned out they don't have Nanaimo bars and the young woman taking our orders thought I also ordered a lemon square. This meant that I got a cheesecake square for the lower price of a lemon square.

While Coyote and I enjoyed our beverages, I teased him about his cousin Adrian in Chicago. Bad enough he was discovered and captured, but in a Quiznos!

Planet Ink and Universal Tattoo

Our orbital path home took us past both Planet Ink and Universal Tattoo, but we decided to save our explorations there for another day. Coyote seems to be particularly concerned that every part of his anatomy is heading towards flabby sag and therefore unsuitable for permanent markings.

Breakfast on Venus

Saturday morning the Research Director joined us at the Café Venus for a morning repast. We all enjoyed our breakfasts. I had to ask Coyote what type of meat he'd been given because I didn't recognize it. "Sausage," he told me. As a space explorer, you have to be prepared for this sort of thing: sausage that is flat and rectangular.

We had a wide-ranging discussion. The others were intrigued by my discovery of the PlentyofFish dating service where they make the users do a Meyers-Briggs personality test before they let them search for potential mates. As an ENTJ, this makes excellent sense to me. God forbid I should wind up with and E or I SFP.

Another feature of the PlentyofFish that we all found amusing is that people can specify criteria that others must meet in order to send them messages and one that women seem to often choose is "Must not have messaged users looking for intimate encounters or sex."

Apparently, these women live on a planet where they have a chance of finding a man who has never been interested in casual sex.

[The Ottawa Solar System Map]

The Great Pretender

Hey everyone. Let’s go clubbing! Seal clubbing, that is. As most Canadians don’t know, this marks the start of the annual seal cull. Europeans seem to be more aware of this Canadian tradition than us. If you didn’t catch it, former Pretenders uber-babe Chrissie Hynde waded into the protest with an online piece in the Globe and Mail.

I loved the Pretenders. And Chrissie Hynde was the best thing in tight leather pants in 1980’s. My grand-father clubbed seals to make a living and provide for his family in an isolated out-port on the east coast. But my grandpa was also a sucker for a pretty face from what I remember. Too bad he isn’t around to see the latest celebrity to come to the rescue.

If Ms. Hynde had been around in his heyday and showed up in those tight pants and asked him to stop clubbing those cute little harp seals, he probably would’ve obliged. That’s just the way grandpa was when it came to requests from certain hotties.

Emergency Meeting: Monday, April 2

Called by: Eigga
Venue: The Usual Spot
Present: The Independent Observer, Eigga, Coyote, Fourth Dwarf, The Chair, Conch Shell
Guest: Painted Stick
Food: Soup, Burger
Beverages: Beer, Coke, {redacted}
Major Topics Discussed: New directions for the blog, Post-traumatic unbloggability, A special project
Major Topics Neglected: Shortlist of names for new Rideau Canal pedestrian bridge
Overall: A dreary start to the meeting, but then candid and vigorous exchanges about sex
Minutes by: The IO

Discussion ensues as to whether the meeting should a. even be taking place b. be moved to a different venue.

There is much intermittent debate about whether the blog should take on a new direction.

The Chair: This blog is always trying to find a new direction!

Dissection of gathering Saturday at a different venue where The Chair, in the company of his mother and Fourth Dwarf, witnesses a disturbing incident. The same evening, a barfly hits on his mother, which he finds only mildly disconcerting.

4D chides The Chair for not blogging the episode.

I was too traumatized! The Chair insists. Besides, he adds, I can't blog when I'm hanging with {redacted}.

How are the readership numbers? The blog is drawing 35 visitors a day, says The Chair.

Someone notes that we probably collectively account for the 35 daily hits.

No, says The Chair, these are visits by people other than the ESIs and their virtual posse.

Dwarf notes that a certain local blogger, {redacted}, is doing much better.

An eyebrow or two arch upwards.

Coyote raises the question of SRW tags.

Dwarf: I don't even know what you're talking about.

It turns out SRW stands for Self-referential wanking.

Ideas to help the blog: More revealing titles, more frequent posts, swapping of posting days.

Conch Shell's absence is noted. The IO says the attendance of CS and PS is a 51 to 49 per cent possibility. The Chair puts the possibility at 10 per cent. Fourth Dwarf pegs it at zero.

Conch Shell and Painted Stick arrive.

Other ideas to help the blog: Animated profiles of the ESIs a la Rocket Robin Hood, more sex, theme weeks, adhering to the one-screen rule, sensitively metablogging the {redacted} who is about to begin a blog.

Digressions:

(*) It is observed that tambourines make good tip bowls.

(*) Fourth Dwarf, whose employment prospects appear uncertain, announces he is investigating the colour of his parachute.

(*) Eigga asks about a previous gathering, and whether anyone picked up a vibe that {redacted} was {redacted} the {redacted} woman.

CS: Yes

4D: He was trying to work his mojo.

CS: Do {redacted} people tend to just naturally put their arms around one another?

There is no consensus.

(*) There is, however, agreement that holding the Junos in Saskatchewan was a grave mistake.

(*) PS asks to be completely redacted. His request is denied.

It is decided there will be ESI Theme Weeks, each with the prefix Dysfunctional. For instance, Dysfunctional Ottawa Culture Week.

There is subsequently much talk of a special ESI project, which raises the following questions:

(*) Do we need a lawyer?

(*) Should it be a {redacted} or a {redacted}?

(*) When should we tell {redacted}?

(*) Should the project simply focus on CB Radio culture?

Additional digressions:

(*) Each of the ESIs should have MySpace and Facebook pages.

(*) The new gmail sign-in procedure is a major pain.

Final thoughts on the special project:

(*) Should Will Ferrell be involved? Scarlett Johansson? Colin Firth?

(*) Agreed: First, we need a {redacted}.

PuBlog Research: Canadian Museum of Civilization

Fieldwork by Agatha, Coyote, and the Independent Observer, April 1, 2007:

Pluses (Concepts to Steal)

• Fast cafeteria-style service and nice wrought iron tables beside a glass curtain wall facing pleasingly scenic bits of downdown Hull;
• Handy to a highly eclectic gift shop with a $6.99 price-point fetish;
• Handy to the capital city's combined IMAX/OmniMAX theatre;
• Handy to the children's museum (you may have figured out by now that this wasn't that other, larger cafeteria with the great view of the Ottawa River, but the satellite kiosk on the main floor);
• One hot dog spinning round and round and round on the electric rotisserie. (Call me weird. This appealed to me as a piece of conceptual art.)
  

Minuses (Things to Avoid)

• Shocking lack of booze;
• Nachos sport an un-nachoral orange sauce apparently composed of nuclear waste, salt, semi-liquid "process cheese food" and unknown quantities of food dye;
• Taking its cue from its proximity to a movie theatre, the kiosk obviously ripped its prices and menu straight from Cineplex Odious' playbook. A large popcorn ran to pretty much the better part of 10 bucks. (Let's not even get started on the popcorn/drink combos);
• A preponderance of wailing children (see above) As worthy and educational as museums and IMAXes are for young minds, many of 'em just wanted to get the f*ck outta there... "Right F*cking NOW, Parental Units!"
• One hot dog spinning round and round and round on the electric rotisserie.

Summary: Healthy food choices were in short supply, and soothing libations were non-existent. I do not count fizzy cola drinks as 'soothing', no matter what ad writers may try to impose upon my world view. The IMAX theatre was a nice touch. We all enjoyed Deep Sea - celebrity narration by Johnny Depp and Kate Winslett, creative munching, crunching, smacking and slurping noises dubbed into the Danny Elfman score, as strange marine creatures consumed even stranger ones with gusto. Also, realistic seasicky sensations, due to the extra-large-screen movie format. Let it be noted that Aggie mentioned Gravol, and that we reeled with vertigo when we exited. If we plan to serve food and drink for money, this may not be optimum. Then again, it might've been those radioactive orange nachos...

Begging for Metablogging

I've been trying not to metablog both Jo Stockton and Asteroidea, but with Jo Stockton's announcement that she is moving into the apartment next to Asteroidea's, [the announcement], I've just got to ask, is this where they jump the shark? or will it become a whole new level for us to appreciate?

Jo has compared it to Mary Tyler Moore, but that analogy fails because the show started with them being in the same building, and when Rhoda was well enough established, Rhoda moved away to her own show.

This is more like Mary Tyler Moore moving in to an apartment building with Lucille Ball or Carol Burnett. (If Lucille Ball or Carol Burnett were people who told you about their first orgasms.)

Also, Mary Tyler Moore didn't have bats.