Back to Metablogging

Let's take a look at what is happening on some of the blogs we follow here at ESI.

Single she wrote aka Boyfriends Gone Bad

Pinky reports that her e-Harmony inbox is full and she is involved in "guided communication" with a handful of suitors. I hope that none of these turn out to be "personality plagiarists". [Here is a tip for you online daters: If your love interest says he used to be a precious mineral expert, spent some time as a pirate and is now studying French ballads, he stole his online profile from me. (And you'll know it's actually me if the profile is frank about a certain fungus issue.)]

Jo Stockton - She's Also a Talker

On Feb. 12, Jo Stockton was fat, on Feb. 20, she's a slender curvy thing with a waist-hip ratio that looks pretty close to the universally appealling 0.7. Did she get skinny in two weeks or is she also using stunt doubles on her blog?

Then on Feb. 26, she gives us a solid entry for best blog post of the year.

Zoom's Knitkut

We ESIs have to acknowledge Zoom's massive success in the Blogging awards. She surely would have won best post if she hadn't been competing with herself or if there had been a proper voting system. And 4th place Activities Blog when she blogs about her activity roughly once a year is a remarkable achievement. (It would be like Conch Shell getting an award for blogging.)

Of course, we're jealous and can point to the influence of the knitting mafia in her victories. But we could get the same sort of influence behind us if we didn't have a pathological need to alienate every interest group on the web.

Zoom also has a significantly higher Technorati authority rating than we do. She warrants this authority with posts like The police chief called me an idiot.

But because we would like her to stumble so that we could pull ahead, I'm glad to see her recent post The dinner rut in which her readers demonstrate that recipes are boring, boring, boring.

Kate Heartfield - The World Next Door

Although she is a professional blogger, I still feel bad that Kate Heartfield got raked for liking the Kemptville Library. I hope she is one of the thick-skinned bloggers.

Some of her readers could use a bit of internet education. This video might help:

How To Behave On An Internet Forum

A & J: Please Pick up Your Socks

They are thinking of moving to the country. So far it's not working out that well. (But then City life also has it's difficulties.) I hope they work out their little communication glitches before they're living miles away from other human beings.

Backstage at the metablog

A couple of days back, 4th Dwarf suggested, in a debunking tone, that I had not in fact eaten Bucky Katt. Well, duh. The Irregulars are never what they seem. But since Shorty has twitched up the curtain on our artifice anyway, maybe it's time raise it further, give you an ESI metablog studio tour, and show you our secrets.

Most of the time, the ESIs choose not to play up the endless rehearsals, sweat and technical know-how that go into producing this blog. We prefer to make it look all spontaneous, effortless and airy. But our cast and crew are pros, and when those megawatt studio lights are switched off, we're busy in the shadows backstage and offstage, preparing carefully for our respective roles.

It's not all glamour. The Dwarf, f'rinstance, has to wear painful elevator lifts in his bootees when he blogs, to jack him up to regulation dwarf height. He's much shorter in real life. I wear contacts onblog, coke-bottle glasses offstage, and shades on the street to stay incognito. I value my privacy. (I'll have you know, though, that my ears are just as big and pointy as they look on the blog, and all natural. No implants here. I digress.) Of course, too, every one of us has had a stunt double stand in for us during particularly dangerous blog sequences. Insurance.

So, all of you deluded bog-standard kittybloggers in Greely who were horrified by that last Bucky post - you know who you are - get a grip! Enough with the hate mail, already! There is no Bucky Katt. There never was. Bucky was played by a guest actor. But - listen up, because this is really cool - Legal has just told me that it's okay to reveal that the Bucky episodes were in fact Bloggie nomination-worthy performances by an uncredited Brad Pitt.

You didn't know? C'mon! The eyes and hair had to be a dead giveaway! I've gotta say, right here and now, that the guy's a total pro and a joy to work with. And I want his limo.

Blogging with Freya

Freya is sitting on my lap as I type this. She's purring like a muffled V-8 engine where one of the cylinders is missing a stroke. Or maybe it's more like the slant-6 on the old Plymouth Valiant. Anyway, it's loud for a cat.

I'm playing easy to get and lavishing her with attention so that she won't feel the need to sleep on my head tonight. Not that she slept on my head last night. She found somewhere to hide instead. This morning, the only evidence I had that she hadn't run off or gotten trapped down in the caves was that her food was gone and her litter box had been recently used.

But I hear that if you play hard to get with cats they sleep with you. I'm all for having a cat on my lap. It's one of life's true pleasures. But there are certain intimacies I prefer to restrict to my own species.

Perhaps it's because of a trauma I suffered many years ago in my youth. I was about 29 when a friend went away for a week. In exchange for looking after her cat, she let me drive her sports car. The cat was just a young thing, a street cat my friend had taken in. Let's call her Stella. Stella had been in for all its shots, but they were waiting until after she'd gone into heat the first time to do the operation that would prevent unwanted kittens.

As it happened, Stella experienced her first estrus while she was in my care. I knew the signs well having spent some time in a place where cats were encouraged to multiply. But I had never seen a cat in heat who wasn't allowed to run out and take care of her needs. This poor kitty was in distress, yowling and writhing. I called the animal hospital and described the situation. "Is there anything I can do to make her more comfortable?"

"Well," said the young woman, "you could take a cotton swab, like a q-tip, lubricate it with something like vaseline, and stimulate her vaginal opening. That might make her more comfortable and even help it end sooner."

Did I do it? Did I create a tiny cat dildo and then manually stimulate a kitten to the point where she got what she needed?

On one side of the issue was potential humiliation. On the other side was leaving a poor creature in distress. When I have a choice like this, I have a motto: The Dwarf does the difficult thing.

Was it good for Stella? I don't know, but she seemed a bit calmer afterwards.

As for me, there's a reason that I didn't have q-tips in my house even before they turned out to be deadly.

Now I'm a Kitty Blogger

Here she is. I wasn't blowing smoke last week. I am the proud host of a famous Ottawa blog cat. Do you recognize her? It's Freya, the friendly hunting cat who shares an apartment with Megan of Asteroideapress. Megan is away looking for g-spots or something and kindly offered to let Freya stay with me for a few days.

Unlike less sophisticated cats, Freya travels in a cosy backpack rather than in an uncomfortable plastic crate.

She seems to be settling in well. I am hoping she will get along well with the rodents and other creatures who share the place with me.

Cryptic Word Cop: A chewy fruit cookie?

Or did you mean Pure Milk Chocolate Covered Mint Oreo?

* Baylinkbot is a Fig Newton of my imagination.

* No longer a fig-newton of my imagination, Our Lady of Weight Loss: Miraculous and Motivational Musings from the Patron Saint of Permanent Fat Removal - is HERE!

* No doubt a Saxon stronghold in the 10th century, the Normans built the substantial keep in the 11th century. ... In the late 20th century the castle emerged as a fig-newton of my imagination.

* Please explain or better yet show me that coydogs and lynx cats can not exist. I have ridden a mule, was that a fig-newton of my imagination? Give us just one fact Carico, just one.

* I’m sure you wish it were so, good nurse, but alas: Lanny is merely a fig newton of my imagination.

Word Cop: have need of or desire for?

Or, did you mean WONT?

*I looked him up on the internets as I am want to do, and found out he was later in a well respected hardcore band and was even a Versace model at one point.

*After driving Dave nuts for a few weeks he created my blog then as I am want to do, I did nothing with it for another few weeks.

*I was sitting at work, muttering to myself as I am want to do, nibbling on a pistachio nut and avoiding the interminable data entry part of my job

*I'm still combining poorly, but I am taking it slow, so as not to become militant, as I am want to do with eating choices, making it difficult to stick with it.

*She was so personable and kept talking to me about all sorts of things, her piercings and experiences, and I kept babbling as I am want to do in these kinds of situations, and after a few minutes I felt completely at ease – as if it was normal for me to be lying half-naked on a table with a woman cleaning my inner labia.

Buckyblog #4: sayonora

Roasted Cat Curry

- One large cat, deboned, roasted, cubed
- 2 1/2 cups coconut milk
- 10 cherry tomatoes
- 1 cup eggplant, cubed, or sweet spring peas
- 6 pieces of rambutan or pineapple, cubed
- 4 fresh kaffir lime leaves, shredded
- 1 tsp sugar
- 1/2 tsp sea salt
- 2 tbsp Thai fish sauce
- 1/2 cup water or stock
- 1 1/2 tbsp vegetable oil
- 3 tbsp red curry paste

Preparation
Pour vegetable oil into a wok over medium heat and add red curry paste. Stir well. Add 3/4 cups coconut milk and stir to mix thoroughly. Add cat and stir well again. Pour mixture into a pot, add the remaining coconut milk, water, tomatoes, rambutans or pineapple, eggplant or sweet peas, kaffir lime leaves, sugar, salt, and fish sauce. Bring to a boil and remove from heat. Serve on a bed of noodles.

Ummm, ignore the above text. I can't seem to get rid of id... er, it. Must be a Blogger glitch. Don't know where it came from. Anyway, Bucky has left the building. No idea where he went. Nope. None. Inevitable, I suppose. I loved that cute little guy, but we got along like, well, cats and dogs. A teensy tiff last night, and when I woke up this morning, his closet was empty except for a pile of dirty brown socks. His suitcase was gone, and his bicycle wasn't in the driveway either. Didn't even leave a lousy goodbye note, the insensitive jerk.

We had plans for taking the Elgin Street Irregulars to the very edge of the kittyblogosphere. He coulda been a star! Who knows what'll happen now? The manner of our parting was deeply deliciou - ummm, painful. It has left me completely satisf - ummm, shattered. We shall not speak of it again, from this day hence.

Next Show: 2010

Buckyblog #3: self explanatory

Buckyblog #2: too cute by half

Huh. Apparently, kittyblogging has strict rules. Who knew? Since the Short Guy, in addition to being a hairball expert - he's one himself - is also a tiresome pedant, I have no reason to doubt him. Speaking of hairballs, you should see the size of them! Huge, sploogey tan and brown things, covered in cat spit and splattered all over the antique cream broadloom! (We coyotes keep a very retro-stylish den...) Yucko!

I would've asked Aggie what to do about them, followed her advice, then reported the amusing results, but an urgent matter has arisen. Note the calculating expression on Bucky's puss: It comes to my attention that all cats are members of a fiendishly well-organized cabal dedicated to taking over the world. They infiltrate people's homes, weasel their nefarious tunaheaded ways into positions of trust, suck the air out of their alleged owners' lungs until they can't think straight (Various Zoom postings and comments passim) then run the world by proxy whilst their hosts are weakened and suggestable.

But they want more. And they have the means to do it. Read this carefully, and don't let your cat see you when you do it: Every cat in the world is in constant extrasensory communication with every other cat. It's a maleficent feline group brain, dedicated to total domination. When they're ready, they'll pounce, take over the world, and likely snack on your cold, dead fingers as an afterthought. They're determined, cunning, organized, and very, very good. Look at the evidence: innocent coyotes are being chased out of Greely and Richmond as we speak! Coincidence?

The good news, is that you can fight back. If you have an ounce of spine left, break out the tinfoil and start making hats. No, no, no, not for you, you oxygen-deprived fool, for your cat. Slap one of them suckers onto a furline and it'll cut off all group-mind brainwaves instantly. Oh, even then, it'll still try to play the cuteness card. Resist! Don't let your cat doff its tinfoil hat! Your future depends on it...

Sarah Boxer on Blogs

The latest New York Review of Books (Feb. 14, 2008) contains an article by Sarah Boxer on blogs, books on blogs, and the trouble with writing books on blogs. In her article, she asks the following questions about blogs: "Are they a new literary genre?Do they have their own conceits, forms and rules? Do they have an essence?"

She says some pretty interesting things about bloggers and blog writing:

Of course I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure that bloggers have fouler mouths, tougher hides, and cooler thesauruses than most of the people I've read in print.

The very tone of most blogs--reactive, punchy, conversational, knowing, and free-associative--is predicated on linkiness and infused with it.

Blogs are porous to the world of texts and facts and opinions on line.

Bloggers are golden when they're at the bottom of the heap, kicking up. Give them a salary, a book contract, or a press credential, though, and it just isn't the same.

Bloggers at their computers are Supermen in flight. They break the rules. They go into their virtual phone booths, put on their costumes, bring down their personal villains, and save the world.

The law of the blogosphere is Hobbesian: survival of the snarkiest.

Blog writing is id writing--grandiose, dreamy, private, free-associative, infantile, sexy, petty, dirty.

The article contains some good tips for getting famous: "One of the surest ways to hoist your blog to the top of the charts is to bring down a big-time politician or journalist." Sex, doesn't hurt either, apparently, and can "give your blog a lift".

I have prepared a small quiz for all of you (based on the Boxer article) to test your blogging knowledge. Don't cheat. Don't look up anything on Wikipedia. I know, I know -- telling a blogger not to cheat is like telling your cat not to jump on the counter while you're out.

Here's the six-question quiz. No prize this time, because there is no way to prove that you didn't cheat.

1. Define "link whore".
2. What does the Japanese blogging term, ishikoro, refer to?
3. What famous blogger uses the acronym, "SAHM"?
4. Who coined the word "Weblog"?
5. What's a "troll" in blogspeak?
6. What is "astroturfing"?

A blatant ploy to scam in all the kittyblog fans

As creators of chaos, fog, FUD and general mayhem, we are unsurpassed. As generators of capital, not so much. ESI: The Sock Puppet Movie is still 'in development'. Our Mumumelon venture, after a promising start, may not have performed up to expectations in the last quarter. Obviously, if this opus is gonna be our retirement fund, we need to start stepping up our hit counts.

So. People go gaga over the Cats of Parliament Hill. I personally cannot help but note (in an entirely academic way, of course) that when Zoom posts pix of Duncan Donut the Glorious Dogcat (Dogcat?! Sacrilege!) her comment threads go way, way up.

It's worth a try. Ahem. Let me introduce you to Bucky B. Katt. No, not that famous Bucky - not yet - but our very own bundle of kittyblog joy. Behold his awesome cuteness. Feel yourself being sucked deep into his blue, blue eyes. Giggle at his cute li'l pink tongue. Come back to this page again and again, to ooh and aah over his cuddlicious photo. (Ignore the fact that he is, like his namesake, pretty much an irredeemable jerk to all that he encounters.)

Mmmmm, Jerk. Although I see him more likely to be served with zesty lemongrass, coconut milk, green chilis and fermented fish sauce. Oh, nertz. I'm not very good at this kittyblog thing yet, am I? And if I ate him, I'd only be hungry all over again in another hour, right? It's a problem with all those Asian menu items...

Word Cop: in a rebellious or bold, resistant manner?

Or did you mean "definitely"?

* There was defiantly no Cheez Whiz sauce here

* This is defiantly one of my favorite climbs on this side of the valley

* i am only 14 and yet i defiantly want to join the British Army should i keep my options open? I am an intelligent person but want to join the army....

* But the setting is defiantly very nice. High ceilings and gold detailing defiantly makes you feel like you’re in someplace important. However, our server was defiantly not on her game that night. I mean the service was fine but it was ...

* Patrons were either 20 or 92 there was not much of a happy medium so we were defiantly in the minority.

* Anyway I'm defiantly falling way off topic and will find myself with my book again.

* So far I have high expectations for Angels & Airwaves future albums and if you have yet to listen to either album I would defiantly suggest you give them a listen.

* Mom got Paul and I a vacuum cleaner cause the only carpet we have is the upstairs bedroom and it defiantly needs to be cleaned.

* Its defiantly a wierd feeling. Friday marks 100 days till graduation. And I am defiantly going to the happy hour friday.

* ... that I had made the Dean’s List for the fall semester. I was so excited and I can defiantly say that this had to be a success in my life. My parents were so proud that I had made this accomplishment in my life. I was defiantly happy.

* In short I had a rather fantastic time, he tells me likewise, I don’t mind being friends with benefits, because, call me shallow, they were bloody good befits, it is agreed by both parties I should defiantly come visit again.

* She will defiantly appreciate this. You want to surprise her with little things when you can. Women love this type of thing even it is something as simple as flowers or candy from time to time. You can also give her a back rub at night ...

Advice from Audrey: Tuscan Resolution

More useful advice from our dear friend Audrey:

I was discussing my New Year's resolutions with Conch Shell earlier this year and she did not offer up her resolutions. In fact, she told me that she has decided to be unambitious this year.

Unlike me, she is not worrying about: getting the ESIs to meet at a place other than the Usual Spot, losing five pounds, finding a cheap fare to Rome, writing a screenplay, being a better daughter/sister, drinking more champagne, buying more flowers, doing more volunteer work, spending more time on patios, watching more episodes of Tom Green's House Tonight on the Comedy Network, or finding a cute boyfriend.

I thought that maybe I could help a reader to fulfill one of his/her New Year's resolutions. If one of your resolutions is to rent a villa in Tuscany, or purchase property in Italy, read on.

Renting a villa in Tuscany

Several years ago, friends and I rented a delightful villa near the hilltop town Castiglion Fiorentino, in Tuscany. Castiglion Fiorentino is extremely well-located; it is on the rail-line between Rome (2.5 hours) and Florence (1 hour). The next town (but not on the rail-line) is Cortona, the setting of "Under the Tuscan Sun".

The villa was one of five that have been created from the restoration of an ancient country house and outbuildings. The property is exactly what you would wish for: there is a castle at the top of the hill, an olive grove hugs the hillside, grape vines line the laneway, there is a beautifully maintained swimming pool, there are lemon trees in pots, and there is a cute little dog that will sit at your feet if you beg him to!

We stayed in the largest villa, Giogo, and opted for the 3 bedroom/3 bathroom option. We also viewed the smallest villa, Tino, and loved it. The owners rent out late-model cars but you can walk to the train station, the grocery store, and several wineries. The grocery store was just like an Italian Loblaws! It had everything, including wine, fresh bread, fresh pasta, prepared deli food, and wonderful cheeses.

Purchasing a property in Italy

In 2007, the IO and I were in Italy and viewed some properties. Before leaving home, we spent many hours searching for property on-line, primarily at the following sites:

• keyitaly.com
• remax.it
• lalocandina.it
• italianrealestates.com
• sunshineestates.net
  
• property.livinginitaly.co.uk
• immobiliarelaudani.com

One of the agents took us to a medieval hilltop town north of Perugia, in Umbria near the border with Tuscany, where a variety of 1 and 2-bedroom apartments were for sale. These properties had recently been renovated and lacked only finishing touches. Although the location did not suit us, we thought that the properties were delightful and very affordable (starting at 80,000 euros ($120,000)).

Property for sale in Perugia

ESI Emergency Meeting Minutes

In Attendance: Coyote, Independent Observer, Agatha, Conch Shell,Fourth Dwarf (late, with justification). Guests: Crazy Hat (left early), Painted Stick (arrived shortly before end)

Conch Shell offers to take minutes. 4D and others laugh and mention how she never posted the last time she took the minutes. Coyote says CS will have to offer up assurances. CS offers to pay for a round of alcoholic drinks at the next Emergency Meeting if she doesn't post the minutes. It's agreed.

Agatha asks that the minutes reflect that Coyote brought red marshmallow hearts for the group, expressing love toward us all.

Meeting items begin.

IO presents his [redacted] to 4D for the [redacted]. Others are given a deadline extension of a week.

CS inquires if Z is a [redacted.] 4D explains she's too nice. Coyote mentions she called the cover band by the wrong name when she linked to them, further evidence that she isn't one of them.

Move ahead to the main item: the Appearance and Disappearance of [redacted]. CS wonders about the timing of it all, considering that it existed for months when we didn't know about it, but when we find it (Thanks, Aggie!) and begin to enjoy it, within two weeks it's gone.

Aggie: "Is it a Conspiracy?"

All ESIs insist that none of them did anything this time to ruin it for the others. Coyote points out that [redacted] showed her more readers were seeing it, plus she had friends warning her. This makes sense to us. 4D comments that he liked the message of [redacted] being [redacted].

IO puts on Larry King persona and asks: "What is her frame of mind, in one word?"

CS: "Consistent".

ESIs agree that it was enjoyable while it lasted.

Coyote comments that in his experience every woman calls her ex a narcissist. When ESIs attempt to draw personal examples from Coyote's own past, he refuses to indulge. Coyote adds that his canine nose sniffed out that this was an inappropriate relationship from the start, and he didn't think she should go on dates with [redacted] in the first place. 4D says that we all knew it was going to be a disaster, therefore Coyote doesn't deserve a bone. Aggie says she didn't know it would end so fast. Coyote blathers on generally about the rebound/needing time phenomenon. Everybody ignores him, as is usual when he gets onto this topic.

CS asks about whether [redacted] might become a lesbian now, considering all these disappointments. 4D says a lesbian fling is a possibility because all modern women are bisexual. He then asks CS and Aggie to comment on this. They don't.

4D returns tiresomely to the narcissism discussion and points out that narcissism can be relation-based. For instance, if a man is not that into his partner of the moment, he won't be that focused on her, but on himself -- classic narcissism. Coyote furthers that when a man plays a musical instrument or other entertainment tool for a long time, he should pay attention to when his audience gets bored.

Meeting digression: Clinton/Obama? Ann Coulter, Yuck. Is the U.S. anti-English monarchy or just anti-taxation? No decision taken.

[Redacted]: Sorry or Not?
Coyote says [redacted]. Aggie says [redacted]. 4D says it was a facebook problem, not a blog one.

Ethical Discussion of the Day: [Redacted] . . . can we metablog her? 4D points out that we periodically metablog others like Zoom and Megan. Aggie wonders if she'll get scared and delete her blog? It's pointed out that she's writing a book on her blog subject(!!!!) ESIs agree that it's about balance. Anyway, only the Fifth Muse has inspired us as obsessively, and that's unlikely to change. ESIs agree to test-metablog her through these minutes. All feel her date wasn't very successful, and think it good that Three Date Man was honest with her.

Aggie says online dating is depressing and degrading: suggests instead that all hopefuls go to Venus Envy, get some good electronics, and adopt cats. She insists this is what she'd do, if she were [redacted].

CS interrupts: "Let the minutes reveal that IO is blackberrying"

Some Hon. ESIs: "Bad form!!!" IO asks when that was decided.

Group discusses Rebecca Eckler's blog and the finer points of emotional voyeurism. ESIs then congratulate Zoom over her best blog posting awards. 4D states that the knitting bloggers had a lock on the awards, that it was a conspiracy, and a future blog entry will be dedicated to this.

Aggie wants to discuss the Bank Street Irrelevants. "They're trying hard."
IO: "Why?"

It's declared that they're like a [redacted] cover-band, are having a good time, and some ESIs are happy for them.

This brings the conversation around to music, the nature of compliments and insults, and their relativity. It's revealed that IO is a fan of the [redacted] without having ever heard them. CS thinks one can't be a fan in such a scenario. 4D believes IO can be a true fan, just by understanding the concept. CS comments that this is as hollow as an empty shell. Others ignore CS and comment that IO should look the part of [redacted] when he's their [redacted].

Aggie points out that she deleted [redacted] because it revealed [redacted] about [redacted ].

Next Agenda Item: status of our blog & Google search hits. 4D says it's a good blog and he's happy with the postings lately. He likes the Word Cop part, because [redacted] loves it. Coyote states that our #1 Google search hit is for "high maintenance women". 4D loudly takes credit for the posting, and reveals Google ranking tricks: the posting is titled "high maintenance women" and it links to other sites about "high maintenance women". Coyote states that "Mumumelon" is our second mopst popular Google hit, and yoga booty ballet is a distant third. We used to get more hits for yoga.

With all topics covered, we move to Action Items:

Aggie states the next meeting should involve discussion on how to make ESI the most popular blog ever, so we can make money and retire. 4D mentions that CS needs to write up the minutes.

Resolved: That at some point in the future we will discuss creating the Elgin Street Institute, as another moneymaker.

Meeting Adjourned.

Hello... Newman.

Back in the Pleistocene epoch, before Allan Fotheringham became a geriatric nincompoop, and still occasionally sparked up an original neuron or two, he labelled Ottawa "The Town That Fun Forgot". He never stopped calling it that. He aspired to poophood very early on.

Well, I beg to differ. Nuthin' says fun to ardent Ottawankers like an inaugural national teevee newscast right from the Winterlude stage on the canal. Yup, that's right, as of Monday, Canwest Global TV anchor Kevin Newman, late of Vancouver, is now desking the network's evening Global National newscast right here in Fun City, every night.

Since there were general invites to come down and mark the occasion, and I do love an occasion, I went. Okay, maybe the -23° C windchill drove all the usual fun lovers someplace else. I had my tail tucked firmly between my legs, because that's how us coyotes warm up our... oh, crap. Promised I wouldn't go there, didn't I...?

Anyway, the (sparse, yet heavily dressed) studio crew freezing their Aspers off pretty much outnumbered the (even sparser, but just as heavily dressed) audience, yet Kevin's voice seemed fine and his cheery demeanor never faltered. I welcome his regular appearance in the parliamentary press corps, and trust that he will focus his considerable investigative reporting talent on important national issues like John Baird's hair, the startling number of Canadian journalists named Newman (Kevin Newman. Don Newman. Peter C. Newman. What's that all about?) and maybe, maybe, on addressing the burning (heh...) question, "Why the hell did they ever start building cities up here, anyway? It's fucking freezing!"

Drowning in The Current

While life in Florence offers many pleasures (blog entries passim), I frequently pine for a slice of Canadiana. A little Eastern Ontario maple syrup, the distinctive sound of a loonie jingling with a toonie, a good rant by one Donald Cherry, or the clink of glasses with a rousing Caribou! toast.

So I find myself tuning the shortwave to Radio Canada International in hopes of hearing a familiar voice from across the pond. Now let me be clear in the best Paul Martin fashion: I am a grande fanatico of CBC and a special admirer of its talented employees.

But regrettably one of the shows I catch most often is The Current, the daily gabfest that began with such promise, yet has descended into a ritual guilt spiral of histrionic horror. I realize the men and women of the fourth estate must dutifully skulk among the dregs of our ailing global village, overturning slimy stones in an effort to expose the charlatans and evildoers of the age. But enough is enough! Anna Maria Tremonti's radio program is a steady diet of apocalyptic calamity, the aural equivalent of pitching one's holiday weekend smorgasbord tent at the lip of an active volcano.

A mere half-hour of this sonic scare-o-rama makes me want to double-latch the apartamento door, open another bottle of chianti and crawl back beneath the comforting blue duvet.

The Current doesn't have to go all Pollyana on us. It just means less problema, more soluzione.

Why not the occasional documentary about an unsung underdog who has overcome great challenges? A sound-rich missive on an emerging musical talent the record companies ignored? An empowering look at combatting workplace stress? Or what the average Jane, citizen's group or mega-corporation can actually do to reverse global warming?

Meantime, don't stay tuned.

The idiot meter

So, the first thing I saw when I finally limped into town this morning -- boy, are my dogs achin' -- was newspaper boxes filled with headlines about parking meters for cripes sake. I go for a quick vacation (my story, and I'm sticking to it...) and La-la-larryland goes (further) to hell.

I recall hearing (As I was being ushered unceremoniously to the Greyhound depot to ride steerage to Sudbury - it's a sore point...) that council wanted to jack up parking meter rates and the total number of hours during which parkers must pay, and the total number of meters. Dog help us, council has realized that the city now needs money after enacting that dumbass budget, back in the halcyon "zero means five per cent" days. And we'll really be scraping for pocket change if Seimens wins that gigabillion dollar light rail transit suit that certain mayors and city councillors so blithely laughed off, just short months ago.

Never mind that the meters were supposed to be a revenue-neutral way to ensure traffic flow in a congested city centre. Never mind that it's just another tax, no matter how disingenuously you try to relabel it. Never mind that you'd basically promised all those neighbourhoods where you're now hellbent on planting meters that you would do no such thing. Never mind that the cost of installing said new meters mostly negates your already-dubious profits. Never mind that Mayor Larry admits (yet again) that the move might've been a little hasty and ill-thought-out. And never mind that faced with huge protests, the parking committee revisits the idea and, after a token concession on Sunday parking hours, jacks the meter rates even more. We're being fiscally conservative, dammit!

Apparently, "fiscal conservative" in this context is synonymous with "idiot".

But hey! Hizzoner says "kindness meters" solve the homeless problem, so I figure my patented Idiot Meter™ will solve this council's hash. See, the meter starts out fresh right after each municipal election, showing all the goodwill that city politicians have garnered. Every time you make another bonehead move, the total drops. When the little numbers on the digital readout say zero, it's time to vacate that convenient city hall office space where you parked your butt. Or you will be ticketed and fined heavily.

So I'm looking at the meter up there, and it's a bit blurry, but I think you have a little... oh, wait! It's all zeros! Time's up! Get the hell outta here!

Word Cop II

Or, did you mean antidote?

*Pot is a good anecdote to the winter blahs, she thought wistfully.

*I've heard that if your kid accidentally drinks anti-freeze, hard liquor is the anecdote of choice.

*They considered their blog an anecdote to the self-referential wanking so prevalent in the mainstream blogging community.

*What's the anecdote to cyanide poisoning?

*Heparin poisoning is given protamine sulfate as the anecdote.

The great escape

So yesterday around tiffin we're sitting in what the addiction rehab counsellors call 'the sharing circle', though 'the staring circle' is more like it, because we've been eyeing each other all afternoon, mum, glum and wary.

"I think we're very close to a breakthrough here," the counsellor says, in an ineffectually hopeful kind of way.

Suddenly the hot cardboardy smell of takeout pizza blows into the room from one of the offices down the hall. Bad move by somebody, because the gang of pizza-addicted crows from Sarnia predictably goes apeshit, cackling bloody murder and rumbling en masse toward the aroma. Our counsellor rushes off to aid a couple of staff who, from the sounds of things, are getting mugged by crows. The rest of the group charges after to watch and hoot. The din is terrific.

There's just me and the horse left. He sidles out of the corner he's occupied silently for the past dozen days, stands in front of the padlocked emergency door, and looks at me hard. He finally speaks: "I'm busting out. You in?"

His drawl is oddly familiar. I can't place it, but answer, "Oh, yeah!"

A huge hindward kick shatters the door and an alarm pours new clamour over the chaos. Everybody's too busy to notice. The horse turns to head out, pauses, looks over his shoulder and cocks an eyebrow. "Which way you going?"

"Elgin Street. Ottawa," I say.

"I can give you a ride as far as North Bay," he says. "Got business there. Jump on."

Best offer I've had in days. I hop up, circle twice on his broad back, lie down, and cover my nose with my tail. He heads out into the cold twilight. The cacophony fades behind us. "Didn't catch your name," he says, after a mile or so.

"No real name. Just coyote," I say. "What's yours?"

"No name either," he says. "Just horse."

A mile or two more of clip-clopping in the dark, and another question occurs: "What were you in for?"

"Spaghetti," he says, tersely. The tone brooks no further questions. I shut the hell up. Who am I to judge? After awhile, as I start to drowse, his swaying pauses. There's a scrape, a sulphurous flare, quickly damped, then the smell of foul little black cheroot wafts over his shoulder. "Ah," I think as I drift to sleep. "Got it..."

The Horse With No Name's voice reminds me of Clint Eastwood's...

Sign Language and Prime Ministers

A little news story about sign language and the prime minister of Thailand sent me on an internet search quest this week. It seems the Thai PM is not happy with his name sign. Apparently his nose resembles an apple and in Thailand, name signs are often based on a person's physical characteristics. So instead of finger spelling Samak Sundaravej, signers hold their noses between two fingers. [CBC story]

What is the name sign for Stephen Harper? I wondered. He must care given the news last week that the government lobby to the House of Commons has been transformed into a Harper portrait gallery. [1, 2, 3] Alas, after a lengthy search using both Google and Yahoo, I did not find a name sign for our Prime Minister.

However, along the way I learned some interesting things about name signs. In North America, most name signs are finger-spelled initials of the first and last name with the right hand held by the head. Elsewhere in the world, and sometimes here, the name sign is a gesture based on some other characteristic of the person. [Good detail with images here, including Wayne Gretzky's name sign.]

Another important thing about name signs is that you are not supposed to pick your own. Sort of like getting your aboriginal name. You don't get to call yourself "Soaring Eagle" unless a native person gives you that name. And if "Spawning Cod" is what they call you, that is what you get.

Illustrated above is what I think Stephen Harper would like his name sign to be. This is based on the widely reported but so far unproven claim that in his youth he attended Star Trek conventions in costume.

However, unless someone can tell us differently, I believe we should assume that Stephen Harper's name sign is a right-handed finger-spelled "S" followed by a finger-spelled "H" near the top of your head.

Bonus Links for your edification:

Practice reading finger-spelling here

Some signers don't believe in name signs

ASL Browser

Signs for Babies

Word Cop

Or did you mean exacerbated?

* As an adult I believe that the chemical properties of Impramine, while suppressing my ADD, exasperated my propensity towards full-blown TS

* The coarse and vulgar descriptions Mr. Hiaasen utilized exasperated my mild motion sickness to the point where I felt the urge to vomit.

* Her parents exasperated her hunger for the high-life by giving Chantal whatever she wanted; even if it meant they could not afford their basic necessities

* They financed her Military spending sprees and exasperated her severe addiction to oil.

* We have encountered 'problems' as we were both 'newbies'which only exasperated her resistance and reluctance to accept the bit.

* Also since pride was a fundamental part of the Krogen's make up, his race not being able to make decisions autonomously exasperated his offense.

* Teaching fourth grade was already a tiring occupation, and moving to my current home exasperated my situation due to a six-hour round trip commute.

* The direct intervention of Western governments would have further exasperated his humiliation

* My aunt entered noisily, for the cold of the church had exasperated her catarrh, now chronic.

* The scandal of the marriage exasperated his opposition.

* I am CONVINCED that the majority of my extreme health issues have been caused by candida overgrowth which have exagerated and exasperated my ailments

* The death of the Marchioness de Toral, under circumstances so similar, tore open a wound imperfectly skinned over, and so exasperated my affliction,

* I might have personally exasperated my situation by watching a soccer game during the early moments of my sickness