Pre-Posthumous Urban T**t (*) Zeitgeist Award

The observant among you will have noticed that I did not post Friday. I can explain: the dog ate my homework. Wait! I am the... oh, crap...

Actually, my reasons have to do with yesterday's state of high fuzzy-headedness. Thursday evening, whilst I was partaking of a postprandial aperitif, (often a blissful moment) the trouble began. Somewhere not unadjacent to the 'ol coyote den, a car with its antitheft alarum's sensors cranked to the max began to honk wildly at the transit of every squirrel - nay, every falling leaf. You know how many leafs are fallin' right now. It sounded like a freight train. Or a Buick.

I assumed some ass had parked and gone off to carouse on Elgin Street, and that all would be well in a few excruciating hours.

Wrong. All night, that horn fired off every five minutes. I then assumed that perhaps said ass had over-imbibed and taxied home. Still an ass, yet at least not endangering the public. But a quick stroll at eight-AM-ish Friday morning pinpointed the offending automobile - indeed a big honkin' new Buick - in a nearby residential driveway.

I contemplated this hyperactive excretion with an austere red eye. Well, two. As I did, a guy with an air of Steve Dallas about him stepped blithely from the porch with his Eddie Bean Insulated Travel Mug, Giant Squid Edition®, blipped the remote, climbed in, started up, and drove off.

I am grateful to Woodsy and Pandora for their thoughtful attempts to caffeinate my sleepless condition at a popular bean juice joint, later that day. They were well-intentioned and well-received.

Yet, maybe it's Seasonal Affective Disorder kicking in, but my ill humour remains. Steve: You are the lucky winner of coyote's Pre-Posthumous Urban T**t Zeitgeist (PPUTZ) Award. This means that I am bending my not-inconsiderable semimythical, totemic telekinetic powers to focus the universe's karma upon you. Kinda like a big psychic magnifying glass aiming the sun at your brain. Soon, your head will explode. All over your brand-new Buick's upholstery, I hope. Fair is fair.

* Toot. Twat. Take your pick...

When in doubt, rearrange the deck chairs

Thank Dog! One election's done with. We can get closer to what passes for normal around here. And what should we do first? Support His Nibs, I think. Ooh, but where to start? So much density, so little gravitas.

Our esteemed mayor this week - the week that the city fired a mittful of its top managers in the name of economy in hard times - announced he wanted to hire a private company to rationalize Ottawa's street furniture. With loadsa advertising plastered on it. Because the current stuff just looks so darn ugly. He was obviously stepping from strength to strength, building on the success of last week's Ottawa Life Magazine hagiography ummm, profile. The one that said that city administration under Ottawa's former mayor, Bob Chiarelli, was 'marred by scandal'.

Now that's spin...!

Naturally, bein' a sensitive aesthete myself, I heartily approve of the impulse behind this pronouncement. (I'm pretty sure it was impulsive.) I mean, we don't have anything else to deal with, do we? The economy's in great shape, our mayor hasn't been convicted of anything, and those nice new CFL franchise owners want to take that ugly, unpopular, useless Lansdowne Park off of the city's hands and turn it into something the city can really be proud of. For a small consideration from the city. Ka-chiinnngggg!

Obviously we need, very badly, to talk about street furniture. Right now. Yup. And since the Irregulars are well acquainted with one or two pieces of anthropomorphized furniture, we herewith offer our expertise in aid of this important issue. For a small consideration from the city. Ka-chiinnngggg!

A modest proposal

This has been the winter of my discontent. Apparently, I'm not alone in this feeling. But it's not just winter. At our last emergency meeting the Irregulars voted to support Larry O'Brien in the belief that this will be good for our karma. Would it be bad karma to point out that there was vociferous undocumented dissent during that debate -- namely, mine?

But noooo. Everybody ignores the damn doggie. And now look at us. Having huge amounts of trouble figuring out what the hell the guy is good for, so we can 'support' him without messing up our already-tottery karmic imbalance even further. And we're not the only ones.

Yet, strangely, I believe I have found a solution that may be able to satisfy us all, the fluffy-bunny supportive types, as well as (ahem) any semimythical totemic animistic sorts who hearken back to older, possibly harsher spiritual systems. (I have to say that considering that Easter originally celebrated nailing a guy to a board, and these days is an excuse for rendering joltingly-gratuitous violence unto Marshmallow PEEPs®, any claims that my roots are uncivilized and backward seem a tad blinkered.)

When I took the problem to a longtime semimythical totemic animistic friend of mine from my old stomping grounds back west, he went straight to the nut: "You're looking for a use for this guy so you can support him in good conscience, right? And winter's been going on way too long, right? So multitask. Make him a human sacrifice to the spirit of winter, so it'll screw off and let spring back in. And the bonfire warms everybody up in the meantime."

Is this guy good or what?

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...

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!

As you were...

Phew. Yesterday's drop in lululemon® stock prices appears to have been a mere knee-jerk market blip. The integrity of our (studiously mimeographed) Mumumelon® business case is intact. Apparently it takes more than being dead wrong about your product having some kinda wearable nutriceutical mojo. Or rather, not.

But lululemon®'s chairman apologized right away. They just trusted suppliers that told them the fabric was impregnated with seaweed: "Hey. It felt different! How were we, sharp business people that we are, to know the stuff was suspect? Now can we go back to making money, here?"

That's the spirit. Pure damage-control genius! As chief spokescoyote for Mumumelon®, I apologize for panicking. It was our news supplier's fault. How were we to know they'd update their story when the market changed direction again, two lousy hours later? Back to sucking on the hems of your favourite 'melon mu'umu'us, everybody... And to the naysayers? I say let the market decide. 'Cuz it's obviously so smart-like...

Image: corg.org

City of Spires II

(Or: The Environment Is the Economy...)
(... Stupid.)

Each autumn, I become a cranky coyote. Something to do with being 'bout six thousand years old, and having the arthritis that goes with that, even if I am partly mythical. And really, I'm not very patient with patent stupidity at the best of times.

When ya combine these two coyote factoids in a guy that watches CPAC while he gnaws his coffeebreak bones (I know. Perverse. And likely to cause indigestion.) ya can imagine the extremity of the yapping aimed at the TV.

I'm especially fascinated (read: 'galled') lately by politipeople who claim to know what's going on in this country cautioning us that "we must balance environmental concerns against the needs of a healthy economy."

Fuck. The environment is the economy.

Let's make this simple, with a metaphor even I can understand: piss in your own bed (or, say, souse it with oil sand tailings) and it ain't worth nothin' anymore -- to you, your children, or anybody else. Everything, including the economy, will be damp, smelly and unhealthy. Why is this simple connection so hard for allegedly 'smart politicians' and 'smart businessmen' to grasp?

So, check out the wondrous sky over Parliament Hill. Because global climate change starts there...

Minutes: Emergency Meeting 27 September 2007

Venue: The Usual Spot
Present: Conch Shell, Fourth Dwarf, Coyote, Agatha (no guests)
Absent with good excuse and notice: Independent Observer
Absent with possibly good excuse but no notice: The Chair
Emergency: Blog in Peril and Meta-Contest
Called by: Agatha
Minutes by: 4D

1. Quorum Count

Those present express their hopes that the IO is enjoying and making good progress on his research mission. Coyote suggests that the Chair is likely engaged in activities that all agree would be noble and an acceptable excuse for absence if we had been notified. There was no motion for censure.

4D points out an attractive young man and woman at a nearby table "do you think they are on a lavalife date?" Consensus: Yes.

4D asks "Did he bring the bicycle seat? If so, is that wise for a first date?"

Agatha, CS and Coyote think it is fine. 4D maintains that it hampers his ability to take her back to her place, share a cab or walk with her after the date. Plus, it draws attention to his possible lack of a car and likely anal retentiveness that he worries about his seat and flasher being stolen.

Agatha and CS note that the woman's skirt is not a good one for cycling, but that the seat and post are so much on her side of the table that it suggests it is hers. Agatha: "Of course, the seat is a phallic symbol."

Coyote: Then what would the rear flasher be?

Conch Shell: A clitoris.

2. The Meta -Contest

4D reviews the contest entries. Each entry is discussed in detail and a winner is chosen.

Aggie: "Do you notice the possible height difference?" All agree that it looks like the woman might be taller than the man. This and her striking beauty may explain why the man seems a bit nervous.

4D: "This could mean that it is not a Lavalife date. Lavalife lets people search on height. It might be OKCupid or Facebook.

3. The Blog in Peril

Aggie: Do we shut down our side projects?

4D admits that all he is doing at Swabbin' th' Deck these days is posting Google poems and he'd put them on the ESI blog but he wasn't sure the others wanted him to. Agatha tells 4D that she loves his Google poems especially the recent one dedicated to Conch Shell. Coyote says, "yeah they're good." Conch Shell indicates that she would probably like them if she had time to read them. With this outpouring of encouragement, 4D announces that he will stop posting on his side project and only post here.

In discussing Coyote's Screeching Orb Singing Moon, Coyote tells us that the work he posts there is written in a different voice and for a different purpose than what he posts on our blog. We all nod in an understanding way and press the poet no further.

4D notes that some of Aggie's postings on the Elgin Street Muse could be posted on ours, while many seem more suited to being on her own personal blog. We have a brief discussion about the difference between the two types of posting, being careful not to say anything that turns Aggie's quivering lower lip into outright crying.

Consensus: 4D will put all his work on ESI, Coyote is already carrying his weight here, Aggie should continue to place her fabulous postings wherever she thinks is best.

Aggie: Now he's playing with the tail light.

CS: You know what that means.

Coyote: Huh? What?

4D: He knows where it is and he knows what to do with it.

CS: Do we need another muse?

All agree that we do, but they are hard to find. 4D suggests that people just aren't baring their souls on the web like they used to. They've learned that as anonymously as they do it, they'll get outed and suffer for it. Aggie: "There are still exhibitionists out there."

Consensus: We will keep looking and perhaps blog more of our search.

Aggie: She's talking about her mother.

CS: Oh that's good.

4D: Oh, yes, very good. Unlike if he was talking about his mother.

Invite someone else to join the blog?

Shying away from this can of worms, we discuss the possibility of instead just inviting one or two of our favourite bloggers to an Emergency Meeting. 4D notes that two of them gave a workshop on blogging on the weekend. "Perhaps we could bring one of them in as a consultant, kind of like when he brought in the Ethics Consultant. They could give us advice on tuning up the blog or finding a new direction." Coyote: "A change management consultant. I like that."

Consensus: We will mull this idea over and come back to it at the next Emergency Meeting.

Aggie: She's flirting with [the waiter]. Nice touch.

All agree.

4D: What about the Schedule?

Aggie: The schedule really doesn't work well for those of us with Oppositional Defiance Disorder like me and the Chair.

CS: It also doesn't work for those of us who are INFP and I think both Aggie and I are INFP.

Coyote: What's INFP?

CS: A Meyer's Briggs classification.

Coyote: Oh yeah, I think I'm that too.

4D: Well, the schedule works well for me. Knowing that I'm supposed to post something on Sunday allows me to post without worrying about the content. It worked for the Chair a couple of times, he posted things that he might not have otherwise that were really good.

Consensus: 4D will post on Sundays. Everyone else will post whenever they feel like it.

Aggie: She's self-touching.

4D: But it's her leg below the table where he can't see it.

Aggie: Doesn't matter. It's a good sign.

4D: So do you think sex tonight?

CS: No!

Aggie: I think could be.

Coyote: I don't think so with his body language.

4D: I think she'd be ready for it, but he's too nervous to make a move. All these signs that are so clear to us are like a fog to him.

4D: So Conch Shell, is there any chance of you posting again?

CS: "Yes. There is." We have a brief discussion on the mollusk endangerment work that has occupied so much of Conchie's time lately. CS is encouraged to write about how she has dealt with the anxieties surrounding this project.

Consensus: All look forward to CS' return to blogging. 4D and Coyote indicate they are happy to assist with graphical support.

4D: She's paying with a credit card.

Aggie: He paid at the counter.

Coyote: So Dutch treat. Bad sign, right?

4D: [Shrugs] Who knows with kids these days.

The meeting is adjourned.

A new couple takes the table next to the ESI table. He is perhaps ten years older than her.

Coyote: He's dressed like a slob and she's dressed like a model. I don't see this going anywhere.

Cryin' the Blues about Chairs

Well, I do find it amusing how the Bluesfest just couldn't figure out how to manage the "chair" problem. So now it's back to the free-for-all mayhem that we've become accustomed to. We might have a new opportunity. Now that Mayor Lex and his posse have stopped funding the crack pipe program, maybe they can divert the saved funds for umpire chairs to distribute to those "standingly-challenged" Blues-festers.

Daddy needs a new cocktail shaker

The banks are having a rough time. Bad publicity about layoffs despite unquestionably handsome profits. Chief NDipper Jack Layton slamming those $1.50 Interac fees. Scurrilous bloggers taking well-aimed potshots.

But there's a golden opportunity to turn things around: Vegas-style cash machines.

Imagine . . . every 500th customer gets an extra $20 bill with their withdrawal.

You're the 10,000th lucky stiff in the queue? A cool $100.

And if you happen to be that most fortunate one millionth button-pusher, get set to walk away with a thousand bucks!

These little prizes would amount to pocket change for the big banks. And, heck, everyone would be so enthralled that the cigar-smoking brandy swillers could quietly jack up Interac fees to $3 a pop.

Further casualties

With all of this blue-skying about saving Winterlude™ with megaQuonsets and peeing en masse into the canal -- yeah, like that doesn't happen already -- we have overlooked the fate of the symbolic, perpetually perky, porcine heart and soul of the festival. I allude, of course, to the National Capital Commission's™ legendary Ice Hogs™.

I mean, if global warming burns their natural environment, indeed, their entire raison d'être, into sodden raison toast, these guys just ain't gonna make it.

Their job is to skate up and down the frozen Rideau Canal and schmooze. When you consider that each of their Body Mass Indices include, conservatively, about a hundred pounds of highly absorbent foam rubber and fun fur, trying to make them swim laps in their melted venue will send them to Davy Jones' Locker™ faster than you can say 'Spongebob'™.

Oh, the, um, humanity. Or whatever...

So we need to stop global warming. C'mon people, ideas! Don't let the Ice Hogs™ drown! Think of all the children world wide who dream of Ice Hog Time™!

Why, just the other week, the ESI™ Research Director was telling me emphatically, if a tad ungrammatically, "Iceswine has become incredibly popular". Oops. I think he also said, "Iceswine is very tasty."

We'd best leave him out of the search party when they founder...

Image: The Good 'Ol NCC™

Winterlude: Three Ideas

It looks like Old Man Winter will finally show up in the nation's capital. I predict a fully functioning Rideau Canal skateway before Ground Hog Day. In the meantime, the NCC should work at some Plan B's -- which I believe they have already started, seeing that global warming is likely more than just a fad.

Here are some strategies in addressing this urgent matter.


Idea #1 – Physics 101 or Don’t Eat the Yellow Ice

Remember from your grade 11 physics class when that wacky guy at the front with the curly gray hair who claimed to be a teacher made that preposterous claim that hot water cools faster than cold water? And you thought, “Yeah. Right. Someone has been sniffing too much mimeograph ink in the teacher’s lounge.” Well, actually, it’s true – I’ve empirically tested it with martini ice-cubes. I won’t bore you with the details, but it is a scientific fact. Something to do with efficient heat transfer, thermodynamics, loss of mass, etc. Google it, if you don’t believe me. So all the NCC has to do is warm up the Rideau Canal, and then it will freeze faster. How to warm it up, you ask? Well, we could start by peeing in it. That’d work. Half the booze-hounds leaving the Byward Market on a Saturday night are already on-board.


Idea #2 – Swee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-p

If any of this global warming stuff is true we may as well give up on the whole outdoor skating thing. Of course, we have a winter tourism industry that’s largely based on those 50 days a year that one can skate on the World’s Largest Skating Rink® so we can’t just close up shop on this matter. Now that the LRT project is dead, we could try to get that $400 million from the government to fund the next big thing for Ottawa – the World’s Longest Curling Rink®. As for a space to build it, I suggest we erect a Quonset hut over the Canal between the National Arts Centre and the first bend at Concorde Avenue and then add some refrigerant pipes under the waterway. That’s roughly a mile in length. That surely must make it the World’s Longest Curling Rink®-- though I’d have to check with what currently exists in Saskatchewan – you never know. Ottawa could host some serious bonspiels. Real Men bonspiels. The Rideau Iron-Man Invitational Bonspiel: One skip, two sweepers, a paramedic and a heart defibrillator. Something like this could bring a newfound respect to a sport that for most of its history could be simultaneously played while smoking and drinking.

Idea #3 – Winterlude: Ottawa’s Annual Tulip Festival

Wouldn’t it be wacky if we celebrated our winter splendor with an aquatic theme? Bathtub boat races in the unfrozen canal. Polar Bear Swim-a-thons. A flotilla. Wait a minute --- we already have some of this. It’s called the Tulip Festival. But if I remember from a few years ago, we actually got snowed out for one of the concerts at Tulip Fest. Maybe that’s the problem: we’ve got things backwards. We need to keep the events but swap the dates. Though I heard recently that the Tulip Fest is bankrupt. That’s what they get for not having an ice carving competition.

Aggie's favourite band: Bob Marley and the Waiters

I have never been in a band. That would probably require at least a thimble full of musical ability. Too bad. Because, as the Bucky Awards understand, one of the best things about forming a group is choosing a name. Here's my shortlist of contenders, in case I suddenly find myself in a sonic collaboration:

(*) The Unhappy Campers
(*) Generation Zed
(*) The Frickin' Wallendas
(*) Johnny Resfellow and the Community Standards
(*) Blogworthy

Beijing punk rockers Brain Failure
Photo: www.covertbooking.com

Carbon Dating Service

From CBC Radio 3's Bucky Awards

Best new band name: Carbon Dating Service

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