Friday

Mister Sloppy's hard drive hygiene hints

Of a recycling eve, I often meet a guy we'll call "Mister Sloppy", due to the perpetual cloud of kitty litter crumbs surrounding him. And because evil geniuses need snappy pseudonyms. And because he refuses to be called the traditional "Doctor Sloppy". Go figure.

Mister Sloppy often carries a computer or two rescued from recycling, because he's wiring together some kind of junkyard supercomputer with which to take over the world. The mounds of grubby beige boxes crammed into his place would confound Michael Dell. I avoid asking exactly what 'ol Slop plans, because the thought of any world run by him horrifies me. He, discretely, eschews details.

But he does tell what he sees on these castoffs when he fires 'em up to wipe off Windows and load his personal homemade Mister Sloppy World Domination Operating System (MS-WDOS). The latest find was exemplary: right on the desktop, two PDFs, each a filled-in loan application form. Birthday, income details, mother's maiden name -- bog-standard identity-theft stuff, really. Not very well hidden in the directories were about a quarter of a sizable hard-drive's worth of pirated MP3s, mostly bad thug rap and Britney's and Christina's (and Bananarama's) sappier stuff. Another quarter-drive was, ummm, educational literature and videos. Or possibly pornography. The rest comprised a truly astounding variety of worms, viruses, trojans, keyloggers, scamware, scumware, pestware and the like. Guess that's what ya get for piratin' dodgy MP3s and porn.

Oh, and a mess of Internet chat logs. Didja know MSN automatically archives a plain-text transcript of every personal text conversation for just any old evil genius to read? Not hard to find, either. The guy who owned this computer apparently had five or seven girlfriends on the hop, judging by the logs. And the photos. He left a startling number of JPEGs of himself, getting slitty-eyed drunk with buddies and appearing to behave somewhat better with young women. I say "appearing" because also in there was a 120-page PDF file disclosing full techniques for boffing one's companion for the evening on the first date, whether she wanted to or not.

Now, Mr. Sloppy has no interest in following any of this up for purposes of penny-ante evil. He has, ummm, far bigger fish to fry.

But I just have to give an advisory shout out to this guy (whom we'll call Pete): PETE! Although the personal information you left hangin' out in the digital wind ironically suggests that you work in a supervisory capacity in a security-related field, I do believe you're insecure (in many senses of the phrase). Don't you know that there's both information and all sorts of free program downloads on that same Internet you so enthusiastically trolled for movies of [redacted] sex and incredibly bad music? That, like, wipe files and hard drives in such a way that interested (or disinterested) snoopers can't read them? Mister Sloppy tells me they're easily available at download sites like this. And this.

Now, certain schools think industrial shredders, shotguns or explosives are the only certain ways to ensure that personal data on hard drives are erased beyond redemption. But I disapprove of firearms, and have better uses for explosives. So, Pete. Next time ya kick a computer to the curb, do yourself a favour, search out one more tiny little download from Bit Torrent, and cover your ass in all senses of the phrase. Because right now, Mr. Sloppy and I know way more about you than is good for any of us. And while he has deleted it to get on with his own thing - you don't know that, do you...?

Wednesday

Burlesque, yes. Tawdry, no.

Probably more than he can chew: Coyote's photo (yes, he has opposable paw digits) of Spartacat was taken, appropriately enough, at a Phoenix Coyotes game

Photo: Coyote

Monday

Buy Me

I took a picture of this ad last August because something about it weirded me out.

Also, notice how:
  1. She is not that much taller than he is, but her waist is much higher than his.
  2. Her belly button is showing.
  3. She looks much younger than him.
  4. Her forearm looks like it belongs to a much older woman.
  5. Skip to number 6 (this space is reserved for Aggie's "there is no 5th thing").
  6. She is looking right past him.
  7. He is looking right past her.
  8. Her eyebrows are plucked in the 70s style.
  9. He has a visible tan line on his wrist.
If you want to know the subliminal message that I got from this ad that disturbed me, check the labels for this post.

Sunday

Google Poem – Extreme Love

* I loved him so much that I just never told him.

* I loved her so much that I didn't feel like I could lie to her about anything

* I loved her so much.. that I did lie

* I loved her so much that I started to lay my cards about the coming days.

* I loved him so much that I didn't want to face the truth.

* I loved him so much that I’d rather be forgotten by him than cause him a moment’s pain in the remembering

* I loved him so much that I just learned to overlook things like forgotten anniversaries or Valentine's Day.

* I loved him so much that I let him go fulfill his dreams.

* I loved him so much that my heart fell out

* I loved him so much that I even forgave him that weird habit he had of describing the slightly sagging flesh of women's upper arms and knees...

* I loved him so much that I felt like I was killing off the part of me that loved being a radical feminist dyke.

* I loved her so much that I loved her to death, because two weeks later she got killed in a car accident...

* I loved her so much that I would always go with her if I could. I hate to shop and she knew that.

* I loved him so much that I asked the vet to put me down as well when he was ill and full of suffering ...

* I loved him so much that I gave up my job and moved.

* I loved her so much that I bought a shirt.


* I loved him so much that I held on even when he proved he wasn’t the guy I thought he was.

* I loved her so much that I even accepted her after two breakups

* I loved him so much that I didn't really care if a sexual relationship ever developed.

* I loved her so much that she was never sold, and never ended up on the supper table.

* I loved him so much that it terrified me.

* I loved her so much that I did not stop to think.

* Oh, I loved him so much that his tail and nose fell off. I hope to recreate that love for my daughter one day.

* I loved her so much that I’m even called “t*nga”.

* My wife and I loved him so much, that he went on our honeymoon with us.

* I loved him so much, that I wanted to fix him.

[source]

Friday

Not just another tawdry burlesque...

What a richness of embarrassments! This is a day when I could be blogging about how frigid Ottawatamies finally experienced the Big O - with Beaver Tails instead of ESI BeaverBalls™, no less - or the utterly, indefensibly brain dead and lame reasoning (Paragraph seven is the howler) offered up by the Ottawa Transit Committee, for disallowing some gently quizzical atheist bus ads. Which, whether you personally hold with atheists' views or not, they should be reasonably be able to do. Even the Christians say so. And which, if you take an already insane argument to its even more illogically insane extreme, could be grounds for charging every proselytizer for every religion on the planet, past and present, with hate speech crimes. But I, unusually, digress.

We Irregulars know where our valuable core constituency lies. And so I just want to make very, very clear that this is not a kitty blog post. Oh, no. It isn't. Uh uh.

This is partly because the Independent Observer has quite rightly voiced severe doubts about that particular slippery slope to hell, and partly because we, like our current PM, hold exceedingly high - in fact inviolate - principles. We would never stoop to some kind of sleazy compromise, in a cheap and transparent attempt to jack up our public approval numbers. Oh, wait...

Still! Nope, this photograph is not of a kitty. No way. It is in fact a museum-quality image of an exceedingly rare, devastatingly cutesy, and therefore totally hit-grabbing and web-sticky specimen of a Bhutanese Pander Bear. There. I said it. I'm not ashamed.

Thank you for dropping by to see it. Come back often. Bring all your friends. Before I eat it.

Tuesday

Change we really could believe in


Took a Tuesday evening stroll to Parliament Hill to see how preparations for arrival of the world's Political Elvis are shaping up. I snapped a few photos and was later amazed to discover the tiny speck hovering next to the Peace Tower was a strange-shaped craft!

Yes, Ottawa is being buzzed by UFOs... well, at least one flying saucer, on the eve of Barack Obama's visit. What can it mean? Are the aliens curious about this charismatic new leader, getting ready to follow Obama's every move during his first international whistlestop?

Or are they taking pity on Canadians, deciding to spare us grave embarrassment during Obama's stay by pre-emptively whisking our less-than-interstellar political leaders back to their home planets?



















Burlesque Beauty

Today, I am "making a tawdry burlesque of the blog" by writing about my cat, Magi.


Magi is bored and she is whiny. It seems that she wants:
  • a play date with Clint Eastwood,
  • (sex) toys like Bazel's,
  • the kind of infamy that Duncan exudes,
  • a quilt and mutual licking with Freya,
  • a sugar daddy to cuddle with like Ti-gris has, and
  • to be immortalized in one of Coyote's recipes poems.

Monday

RNDP 23: More on Online


The Globe and Mail says people's financial troubles make online dating more appealing. Interestingly, back before the financial troubles, online dating was more appealing because hardworking people didn't have time for real life dating. What does this mean? It means that every time a journalist puts a profile on a dating site we can expect to get a story about how these services are growing.

SomeCards.com has line of e-cards tailored to online dating and ready for you to send to people you can't be bothered to buy a postage stamp for.

Two researchers from Indiana University have concluded that "eligible women express themselves better" than eligible men by studying text messages on Italy's real-time interactive music television channel Allmusic. The say, "it is the women who push their messages closest to the character-count limit, who use more abbreviations and insertions, and who implement more emoticons".

Their findings must be legitimate because they were expecting to find the opposite result.

Saturday

Emergency Meeting Minutes: Next stop, Bulk Barn


Present: Aggie, The Chair, Conch Shell, Coyote, Fourth Dwarf, The Independent Observer, Woodsy.

Special Guests: Dishevelled Man, Harmony, La Belle Chanteuse, Painted Stick

Venue: The Somewhat Unusual Spot.

Once food and beverages are lustily consumed, the meeting comes to order.

Conch Shell and Painted Stick depart. Conch Shell assures Fourth Dwarf she will "probably" blog soon.

Coyote moves to hang sewage-splattered 4D out to dry.

4D: I thought there was a standing order to that effect.

Aggie and Woodsy make a joint joy-spreading proposal as an homage to Mae Callen: knitting items and leaving them around town. For instance, statues could be outfitted with earmuffs.

4D: On the evening of Sept. 18 or early Sept. 19, all statues could be dressed as pirates.

Coyote: How about a new product, Eau de Joy Perfume?

Woodsy asks The Chair, "What are you going to make?"

The Chair: (awaking from nap) Make what? Er, a coffin for the mayor.

Aggie: A coffin is too negative. We must brainstorm. There are are no bad ideas, except yours. Besides, two negatives don't make a positive.

4D asks Aggie, "Is this about ideas, or you getting your bon mots in the minutes?" He then asks The Chair if he plans to blog any time soon.

The Chair: Maybe. I haven't been inspired.

Aggie, Dishevelled Man, The Chair, Harmony and La Belle Chanteuse depart.

Woodsy confesses she is concerned about missing Project Runway Canada. She corrects herself, saying that actually 4D (redacted). She also declares that the waitress is a cutie, to the general agreement of the others.

4D suggests (redacted) may be our new muse. He notes that she writes with candour about her revolving-door bedroom escapades. Further, he cites a recent incident in which she described texting a friend about Mr. VIP's hydraulic problems, all while he was sorting out his mechanics during a timeout in the bathroom.

Coyote wonders if she has any clue that people are actually reading her blog.

IO: She may be a virtual exhibitionist.

Coyote: She is.

The IO then expresses concern the ESIs have stooped to pandering, making a tawdry burlesque of the blog by writing about cats and real estate simply because these are the subjects that draw the most visitors.

4D: We are not pandering enough! There's been nothing about real estate lately.

4D and Coyote suggest metablogging cat sites.

IO: I think this screams creative bankruptcy. To go from the 5M to four paws is simply wrong.

4D recalls that even the 5M blogged about kittens. He adds, "You have forgotten the heritage the 5M has left us."

The IO, clearly struggling to come up with anything better, suggests a series of Overheard segments, such as Overheard on OCTranspo.

There is agreement the blog is best when we play off of each other's posts.

IO: What about liveblogging?

Discussion turns to the techniques of liveblogger Kady O'Malley, a former 4D Blog Crush.

4D: We could each cover an event in our own way.

Coyote suggests taking the OTrain to Bulk Barn as an ESI field trip, after which we would each blog the event in our own way.

Woodsy declares that she would like to use the proposed field trip to buy the mayor a jockstrap. Indeed, this gives a whole new meaning to supporting the mayor.

As the meeting begins to wind down, Woodsy invites the others to stroke her unusually textured notebook. Without hesitation, they do.

Woodsy: I'm a very tactile person.

The ESIs agree, it's all about the senses.

The meeting is adjourned.

A heartfelt Valentine to our readers...

Friday

Beware ye faint of heart

Yes, it is that time again. When the anxiety-ridden among us prepare to spend a difficult night fraught with troubling memories.

I speak, of course, about Friday the 13th (as Coyote alluded in his intuitive post of earlier today).

Fear of this day is known as paraskavedekatriaphobia. And we better get used to this poysyllabic syndrome because there are three -- count 'em -- three Friday the 13ths this year. The next one is just a month away, in March, and we're haunted by the spectre of yet another in November.

Apparently fear of this fateful date affects millions of people. The U.S. Navy will not launch a ship on a Friday the 13th. And there are suggestions that accidents actually increase.

A survey by Richard Wiseman, noted in National Geographic, led the British psychologist to conclude that people who have negative feelings about Friday the 13th are likely to be more freaked out and therefore more likely to have mishaps.

In other words, we have nothing to fear but fear of each and every waking minute until midnight tonight.

Heart shaped world

On the eve of St. Valentine's Day, I am pleased that our inimitable Audrey continues her endless honeymoon. Her Top Ten Romantic Things list now stands at thirty items, and counting. She floats on a pink chiffon cloud wherever she goes, stylishly pink-clad feet barely touching the ground. I rather picture her wearing heart-shaped pink sunglasses on her (yes...) romantic trip to Jamaica. It suits her.

However, we coyotes' glowing yellow eyes see things that are not quite so uniformly tickety-boo with others. XUP may be pro - hard to tell, because she ain't dishing much personal - but there's a twist of asperity. Jo's buy-in seemed at one point to be coming and going in (dishwasher) cycles. Megan is bucketing along between righteous sistah militancy and feeling a little more ummn, disheartened. J is flirting with what Jo labels as one of the oldest standard guy "Plan B" lines going.

Now, we coyotes draw our semimythical mojo from cultures considered by some to be based on superstition, or magical thinking. So, we are wont to wonder if it may not have something to do with Valentine's Day chasing hot on the heels of Friday the 13th. What with that, and the big event residing not unadjacent to the scientifically-calculated crappiest day of the year, ya gotta ask if the vibes ain't clashing.

If it weren't for the mountains of chocolate that would go begging, I'd wonder if the whole day was worth... huh.

Woodsy just emailed me a SweeTart. Awww...! I know she hands 'em out to everybody like candy, but suddenly I feel, like, all sweet and warm and smooshy. Maybe even like taking another pre-diabetic look at Zoom's nuzzling kitties and fawns. Must be the tiny perfect sugar hit. Anyway, when that wears off, there's good eatin' at Zoom's blog...

Thursday

Valentine's Special: Audrey’s top-ten list of romantic gestures - continued

Audrey writes:
My boyfriend and I were on vacation in Jamaica earlier this month. One evening at the outdoor nightclub, the host began to select couples to appear onstage for a silly game. When he motioned to us, my boyfriend waved his hand to indicate “no”. At the same moment, I jumped up and said “yes”. It turned out that we four couples had two minutes to exchange clothing with our partners!

I raced inside the hotel, dragging my boyfriend behind me. I pulled off my top and he quickly unbuttoned his and took it off. He draped my little top around his neck while I buttoned up his big shirt. Then, I motioned to him to take off his pants. He laughed and asked me if I was serious! I insisted and we were both shocked to discover that he fit into my capris!

We didn’t win the contest but my boyfriend later told me that, when I rushed into the building to change, he thought we were making our getaway!

Once again, I thought I would share some of my boyfriend’s romantic gestures, in the hope that my list will improve someone else’s search for true love.

  1. Surprise her by bringing 1 kg (!) of her favourite milk chocolate in your luggage when going away on vacation.
  2. One evening at your vacation resort, sing karaoke with her, even though you have never done this before.
  3. Stand outside in the bitter cold (-25C) making Jamaican jerk chicken on the BBQ for a romantic dinner, and insist that she stay indoors.
  4. Give her your old laptop, which is still in perfect condition. Surprise her by loading the photos you have gathered of the two of you.
  5. Add her family members to your Skype contacts list and call them even when she is not with you.
  6. Eat her Christmas shortbread so slowly that she realizes that you really do love it. (Note: I secretly baked him more shortbread.)
  7. Visit the doctor for a full physical at her suggestion.
  8. Buy her vitamin D.
  9. Express intelligent opinions about her work.
  10. When you discover the long line-up to see Slumdog Millionaire at the World Exchange Cinema, act like it is an adventure and drive to the SilverCity Gloucester Cinema. Do not give up hope, even when, as you approach the cashier, the cinema posts a “limited seating” notice for the movie.
Previously:

Tuesday

Nod to Bob

Bob, from tap my glass and nod my chin, who is one of Aggie's crushes, has started a series photographing nasty loos. This series appeals to me, and Aggie claims that she is loving this nasty loo series so far.

Friday night, I stepped into the washroom stall at a local Indian restaurant, and I was surprised to see an old dented pewter kettle at the foot of the toilet. I crossed my legs for a minute more, and in Bob's honour I took a picture.

Was I supposed to use the kettle water to rinse my delicate parts?

Monday

OC Transpo: Still a few bugs in the system


Baseline Station 5:29PM

RNDP: Phoning It In

I'm just too tired for a proper post this week. I've got most of the cleaning up done from yesterday's shit shower but still some to go. Yes, if you've gone through something challenging, you call it a shitstorm, but if you've actually been sprayed by raw sewage, no need to exaggerate.

So here's a picture of Elgin Street. Police cars and ambulance down near whatever they're calling the Penguin Café these days, just after midnight on Saturday. Nothing to do with my troubles. Just a picture.

While I'm about as out of it as the little boy who went to the dentist and so can't help those of you looking for a revolutionary new dating paradigm, there are still plenty of others with creativity, energy and insights to help you along the way. Here is a roundup of this week's scholarship in the field:

p.s. Word is the Emergency Meeting might take place before the end of the month. Any agenda items?

Friday

The InterTubes According to Google

The Internet...*

  • ...is a Series of Tubes.
  • ...is no 21st century boob tube.
  • ...is Never Gonna Give Rick Astley Up.
  • ...is mainly for complaining.
  • ...is an internet based on the Internet Protocol suite.
  • ...is broken.
  • ...is different.
  • ...is almost full.
  • ...is missing.
  • ...is the enemy.
  • ...is an Orgy.
  • ...is an Ogre.
  • ...is a copy machine.
  • ...is a prime news source.
  • ...is not a truck.
  • ...is a good thing because it is unregulatable.
  • ...is shit. It is vitally important that we all realize this and move on.
* With (sincerely faked) apologies to the Fourth Dwarf for being either too busy or too lazy to be original, and totally ripping off his Google Poem thing instead.
* Opinions expressed are the views of their authors and do not necessarily represent the viewpoint of the ESI Editorial Board. But they might.

Tuesday

OCTranspo: A streetcar named disaster



Back in the day, we knew how to rebound from a transit disruption [read more]


Newspaper item: New York Times, July 19, 1919; Photo: Wikimedia

Balls!

Dwarfie dropped by tonight and found me knitting...


"Wow, Woodsy, you sure have big wool balls!"

Sunday

More Art and Joy!

The amazing Mae Callen singlehandedly transformed Ottawa last week with her red balloons. Her goal: to bring a little joy into the hearts of weather-beaten, oppressed, depressed, despondent Ottawans.
There is a lot of suffering out there. January lasted forever. Mercury is in retrograde. People are breaking up everywhere you look. And then there's the economy. People are dying. People are sick. People are sad.
So, Irregulars, I'm calling an Emergency Meeting to discuss initiatives to promote joy -- in the spirit of Mae Callen's groundbreaking balloon project.
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