You've been warned

That cell phone law

I held out some hope last fall when Ontario enacted a law banning drivers from using handheld cell phones.

Huh. Didn't make a damn bit of difference. Drivers still yak - and endanger lives - openly.

The observant among you may note the statute exempts police. I'm left to ponder why, since the law came in, every cop who drives past suddenly has a handset glued to their ear. How much back-channel chatter do they need? And why? I digress.

I've filed tonsa anecdotal evidence in my doggy rounds through Ottawa's mean streets. I hafta say, it proves to me that cell phone addicts make the streets meaner. Drivers, walkers, it doesn't matter - I've been mowed down by both, and my once-fine bushy tail is a stomped shadow of its former self.

People on phones do not see their surroundings when they look inward to channel the other end of the line. I have not figured out the mechanism by which drivers think they should continue to (ab)use phones when research suggests strongly that they're so gosh darn bad at it, but the conviction seems universal. Salient signs are a thousand-yard stare and a deep obliviosity to surroundings. So much obliviosity that pedestrian offenders' glazed eyes do not even flicker as they lurch against other sidewalk citizens.

I suspect the only reason everybody thinks they can drive and talk on a cell at the same time is because the very act makes them so heedless that they never register the carnage in their wakes. Recently, f'rinstance, some nit in a high-buck Teutonic conveyance was so other-focussed that he nearly splattered me across a red-lit crosswalk. The shock on his face after he screeched to a hasty halt was compounded when I planted my muddy paws on his window sill, stuck my pointy snout in, and conversationally suggested he turn off his fucking phone so as to forestall another near-murder at the next traffic signal.

Sadly, he was not so shocked that he couldn't whine back a shaky riposte. Along the lines of, "Oh yeah? Fuck you, too!" But we both knew it was the lamest of bids to save his red-lit face...

Wading in to the chocolate morass

As Zoom has noted, these are the dog days of blogging. Oh, hey: I'm a dog. A dog about to risk life and limb by weighing in on the Great Chocolate Controversy.

Our Audrey is a singularity, a force of nature, an iconoclast who sashays to the beat of an entirely different drummer. It's why we of the Irregulars love her. So, while we may not agree with her contention that milk chocolate is the preferred option for romance, we respect it utterly. Ummm, possibly while eating dark chocolate.

Still, it got me thinking. Chocolate, when not served up as an adjunct to love, has - more than occasionally - been mentioned as an outright substitute. Is one better than the other? Obviously, the ESIs needed to research the great milk/dark divide further. Exotic locales are always good for research scams fact-finding missions, and if chocolate be the food of love and Paris la grande ville de l'amour, where better to investigate that love/gestalt/thingy...? Surely, they'd have things to say about it. After all, they speak a romance language...

I counted up my paltry collection of air mile points and found them (greatly) wanting, but it turned out, coincidentally, that the Amazon and 7th Heathen were going anyway. Hmmm. Not the junket I was hoping for, but at least it'd get quick results. Wringing grants outta the Canada Council can take eons, and the Amazon is admirably efficient and goal-oriented.

In the spirit of scientific inquiry and at great personal risk, the dauntless duo agreed to go to Maxim's (yes, that Maxim's...) They returned with the biscuit tin in the photo: "36 fine lace crêpes dipped in dark and milk chocolates". *

Yay! I clawed it open feverishly, alert for clues. Damn! With fine impartiality, and an eye to the tourist trade, those crafty Parisiennes had packed in 18 milk chocolate and 18 dark chocolate crêpes, individually wrapped. But wait! The dark chocolate ones were arrayed at the top of the tin. What can it all mean, Audrey...?

* I suspect I may owe a goodly number of these to Woodsy. Payback for scarfing the dark chocolate stash in her purse during a, ummm, legitimate emergency...

Can you really quit anytime?

Dr. Kimberly S. YoungNow you can use Dr. Kimberly S. Young's Screen Instrument for Internet Addiction to see if you have a problem.

Do you feel preoccupied with the Internet (think about previous on-line activity or anticipate next on-line session)?

• Yes
• No

Do you feel the need to use the Internet with increasing amounts of time in order to achieve satisfaction?

• Yes
• No

Have you repeatedly made unsuccessful efforts to control, cut back, or stop Internet use?

• Yes
• No

Do you feel restless, moody, depressed, or irritable when attempting to cut down or stop Internet use?

• Yes
• No

Do you stay on-line longer than originally intended?

• Yes
• No

Have you jeopardized or risked the loss of significant relationship, job, educational or career opportunity because of the Internet?

• Yes
• No

Have you lied to family members, therapist, or others to conceal the extent of involvement with the Internet?

• Yes
• No

Do you uses the Internet as a way of escaping from problems or of relieving a dysphoric mood (e.g., feelings of helplessness, guilt, anxiety, depression)?

• Yes
• No

Your Pseudonym (Optional)

Most Recent Potential Candidate for Recovery Program:


See everyone's results

Addicting

Ms Army Pants: You are obsessed!
Woodsy: No I am addicted.

Below is a quote from the book that I am reading, In the Realm of the Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction, by Gabor Maté.

“There are almost as many addictions as there are people. In Brahmajala Sutta, the spiritual master Gotama identifies many pleasures as potentially addictive.

…Some ascetics and Brahmins…remain addicted to attending such shows as dancing, singing, music, displays, recitations. Hand music, cymbals and drums, fairy shows…combats with elephants, buffaloes, bulls, rams;…

Gotama, known to us as Buddha, lived and taught about twenty-five hundred years ago in what are now Nepal and northern India. Today he might also include in his sermon: sugar, caffeine, talk show, gourmet cooking, music buying, right-or left-wing politics…”

I would like to add blogging to this list. But I can’t decide if I am addicted to blogging, or if I am addicted to my blogging?

Doggy detox

I've been a bad, bad dog. First Coun. Dog (sic. hah.) Thompson hires trappers to run me outta Dodge - um, okay, Greely. They catch a couple of my slower eastern brethren and bring down all manner of vigilante doofuses (doofi?) on moi's frisky tail.

Okay, I know it's gettin' hot. I scoot the Top Sekrit Furtress of Solitude over to Richmond. Where, suddenly, like, Coun. Jan Harder jumps onto the anti-coyote bandwagon and gets all, like, "you are so not allowed here, either!" What's wrong with these people? Don't they know that a semi-mythical coyote on a heavy chocolate jag is uncatchable?

It's not all bad. A small, vocal pro-coyote lobby is spamming the Petfinder, explaining that ya don't leave small pets and food outside, unsupervised, for long periods in semi-rural areas. (Letters with pix of highly photogenic Alberta coyotes... Yoohoo! Over here, mister shutterguy!) Others kindly and correctly note there's way more than one kind of rural predator checking out the daily specials on the menu. And wonder exactly who's unbalancing the ecology more here, anyway, coyotes or people? I have my opinions.

Still, despite the joy of a good chase, certain of the Irregulars worry. When they finally catch up to me Saturday night, snarfing Hershey's on the curb outside the Mac's on Gladstone, the IO suggests I've been really pissy lately. The Short Guy says I should lay off the chocolate and let my kidneys recover. Aggie fixes me with a gimlet eye -- maybe two, hard to tell because she's a teensy bit unfocused -- and urges me to get the hell out of town and lay low for my own good. A spa retreat, I ask? A nunnery? Hopefully...

Nope. This is intervention, big-time. Those rat bast... ummmmm, friends, concerned for my safety and well-being... jump me and slam me into a travel crate. And ship me to detox. In Sudbury. Here, I languish, jonesing in a lockdown facility. Coyotes have no pockets in which to smuggle in their chocolate stashes. Grim.

It's not all whacks on the nose with newspapers, though. I'm apparently recovering in record time. Heh. The counsellors (No nuns in sight. None.) are very impressed with my progress. If I'm a good dog, they'll let me go on the field trip to the nickel mine. If I'm a really good dog, they might persuade the tour guides to let me spell out my name in glowing slag... and how cool is that?

Living Like a (Reformed) Addict

A few things have inspired me in the last few days that I'd like to share with you. As you have probably gathered, I've been in a creative rut. I have not been crafting. I'm trying to write, but not getting anywhere. I can barely get my ass out to exercise. I have been going to some free meditation classes down the street in a desperate search for inspiration and enlightenment. The meditation helps me just softly and gently embrace the rut rather than dig myself deeper in the rut, which I am rather good at.

I've come to realize that I'm an addict. I'm not pathologizing myself here. In fact, I think there are lots of us out there being addicts of something. We are a culture of addicts. Good for you if you manage not to be one.

Because I'm an addict, I've decided I should strive to live like one. This means, I have to adopt the "every day is a new day" attitude that addicts do. It also means I need to change the way I do things to accommodate my addictions. Chuck Close is a good example of someone who has done this. He rejects the idea of "inspiration" and just gets down to business, grid-by-grid. Julia Child is helping me, too. She could not be more passionate- or addicted - to French cuisine, but describes how it could take hours of work and plenty of failure to get the sauce just right -- or at least good enough to move on to the next recipe.

Some Thoughts on Porn

This is a guest posting from our dear friend Audrey:

I was on a patio on Elgin Street recently with friends, including Conch Shell and Painted Stick. Conch Shell told me that, the evening before, she had been at home, working on her new laptop computer, when Painted Stick came into the room and asked her what she was doing. She said, "looking at porn". He went over and saw she was looking at a real estate website.

Conch Shell and I share a love of real estate. People tell us that we should be agents! We are always delighted to hear this. This summer we checked out the requirements and we were completely daunted by all the steps involved. Is there a way of being an agent without taking a course?

Others in our circle of friends do not share this passion for real estate.

They do not, daily, review homes for sale in the Glebe and Dow's Lake on the Multiple Listing Service. They might even find it odd that neither I, nor Conch Shell, is actually looking to purchase a home. (We are just keeping an eye on the market!)

They do not spend hours in cramped auction houses assessing the beauty and possible utility of hundreds of items.

They do not lust after the sublime furniture at Van Leeuwen's in the Ottawa Byward Market.

They do not order British pottery online from Bridgewater.

They do not share my already-admitted addiction to house magazines.

I recently met a couple who had owned 23 houses over the course of their 25-year marriage. They told me that this was unintentional! They admitted that they had a passion for homes and that they fell in love with the possibilities of a new home - the new canvas, the new location.

And so, my question, dear readers, is this: What should Conch Shell and I do to take our love of real estate to the next level?

WebSlavery Vacation

You've heard of working vacations? Busman's Holidays? I would give anything to be on one of those. Instead I have landed in web slavery.

It all started innocently with a trip to the coast to visit my pirate relatives and an old mining friend. The mining friend, we'll call him "John" has a young daughter, "Juniper", with many interests. Last night, just after I found out about the size of Megan B's feminine attributes, John logged me into his daughter's Webkinz account and started me playing Quzzy's Word Challenge.

Three hours later, I had made it to level 6 and had earned 272 webkinz dollars for Juniper. I spent 3 of those on mushrooms to feed her "pets" and 42 dollars on a pair of brown corduroys for her pink poodle.

That was bad enough, but this morning, Juniper set me to tending her crops. I'll tell you, I wish I was back in the salt mine.

Links: Wipipedia on game farmers; 1 Up on game slaves

Just so you know

I created a more accessible testing instrument: Are You Addicted?

I've a Monkey on My Back

and it's name is Freecell.

Gaming addiction is a psychiatric disorder: U.S. doctors

Last Updated: Friday, June 22, 2007 | 9:51 AM ET
The Associated Press

A leading U.S. council of doctors wants to have video game addiction officially classified as a psychiatric disorder, to raise awareness and enable sufferers to get insurance coverage for treatment.

CBC News

I was going to sign myself into rehab on the weekend, but I couldn't find a clinic with broadband wifi access.

Now, it turns out I may have to wait much longer for funded treatment as the AMA wants to study the issue further. (Just like George Bush and global warming.)

Experts oppose video game addiction designation

By Reuters

Published: June 24, 2007, 6:05 PM PDT

Doctors backed away on Sunday from a controversial proposal to designate video game addiction as a mental disorder akin to alcoholism, saying psychiatrists should study the issue more.

C Net News

I hope that by the time the professionals accept that my internet compulsion is an addiction there will actually be treatment for my insurance to fund. I picture a Legion Hall euchre tournament as the methadone equivalent.

How do I know I need this treatment? I used the Young Screening Instrument. You can too because I've created a test that figures it out for you.

Click Here and find out if you have a problem.

That is the first step after all.

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.