Showing posts with label analysis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label analysis. Show all posts

Thursday

Greasy pols, greasy polls and greasy poles

An election now lunges toward either the final gong or buzzer, I forget which, with a speed approaching terminal gravitational acceleration. Certain half-smart tory backroom operators who helped manipulate the damn thing in the first place have hit the ground. Not running gracefully, as they thought they would, but with aerodynamic qualities akin to lead pancakes.

It is telling that Stephen Harper has stomped on (m)any faces in his scramble for a majority. It is also telling, in a negative way, that he hasn't really told anybody what he would do with a majority if he got it.

But it is even more telling that some opinion polls place those unhinged socialists he keeps harpering on about, within hard spitballing range of "his" majority.

Citizenship fatigue, finally, maybe? Five years ago, in the face of a decayed liberal machine, Harper promised Reform-a-Tory honesty and transparency if elected. Since, he and his stable of hyper-partisan frat boys have ridden a breathtaking string of dishonesty, opacity and mean-spiritedness to where we are now.

Their fallback strategy when nailed - and there have been nailings aplenty - has been to wriggle, split hairs and misdirect. Say they're only doing what the Liberals did already. Maybe throw someone who's not named Harper under the bus.

That pristine Tory bus is gettin' pretty gory.

Then, if your name is Harper, you feign an eerily robotic approximation of calm reason to state, "Now, now, you know that's simply not true."

Provable lies, but they play real well with the rural base in Alberta. Also, apparently, with the Globe and Mail, which just endorsed the crud-covered incumbent as the best choice for PM. Because he's you know, a good financial manager. Yucko! As if!

Where was I? Oh yeah: so the reductio ad absurdem Con subtext is that they are now exactly what the Libs were, right? The devil's spawn of which their endless barrage of attack ads do constantly remind?

Seems like the copious backsplatter from all that ugly ordnance may finally be soiling the tailored blue Harry Rosen suits of the firing crews. One can hope.

This election ain't a done deal. What we seem to be learning as the campaign closes is that liberals are still wandering the political wasteland, and that conservatives have emulated them, badly. Could explain the surge of a former fourth-place long shot who seems pretty upbeat and positive.

How it'll play at the real polls, as opposed to the fleeting snapshots of opinion polls, is anybody's guess.

If it's a Tory majority, I still have my doggy helmet, flack jacket and poisoned ink supply from Ontario's Mike Harris years. Anything else, that yodelling, yipping laugh you hear in the distant night after the ballot count will be moi.

Meantime, I'll stock in the English breakfast tea and a crumpy or six for a big, very early-morning wedding. I approve of weddings. They're a welcome diversion. And more important than politics.

Sunday

Oar not...



It's unclear at the moment, what with different sources touting vastly different he-said-she-said versions of the story on Sunday. But it seems at least likely that the reason the incumbent minority PM is so certain that those costly new stealth fighter planes he's set his heart on would cost ludicrously less, by at least half, than the figures that every other financial and military authority other than the PM and the Department of National Defence has come up with, is because they're ummm, gliders.

But us coyotes can see the, ummm, logic. Yeah. That's it. Logic. Because this solves everything. All the haters who've pointed out that our
economically-trained PM has never actually practiced economics - nor, apparently, economy of any kind - look like losers this time.

Because ordering motorless planes saves a veritable billions-and-billions bundle on up-front costs and downline engine maintenance. And it'll put the Canadian military at the tippy-top forefront of those petroleum conservation and low carbon footprint thingies. Just what the country needs to counterbalance that plethora of negative tar sands environmental impacts, I'm sure. Not to mention how much stealthier they'll be than everybody else's stealth fighters, if they don't make any noise.

How to make 'em go, then? Look no further than Canada's proud and ancient voyageur tradition, people! Just borrow the Olympic rowing team's supply of high-tech carbon fibre oars (to match the high-tech carbon fibre wings, y'unnerstand...) and paddle them suckers! Using penitentiary prisoners as galley slaves would, without a Tory doubt, save huge bucks on the big prison-building schema, too!

All done within budget, just like those prudent, conservative fiscal managers said they would! Problem solved! Mission accomplished! Where have I heard that line before? Never mind! How could I have ever doubted?

Friday

Smells like diss-spirit

Like all canines, we coyotes are connoisseurs of the aromatic. And the strong whiff we whiffed in the environs of Hizzoner-the-mayor yesterday was the reek of sweaty failure.

The mayor had lurched off the high road he claimed he would stick to when he started campaigning, to diss 77-year-old opponent Andrew Haydon with the jibe that he was "past his best-before date".

Them darned gotcha media picked up on it, and by the evening news, His Nibs was making like a Maytag, trying to respin that infelicitous turn of phrase to mean only Haydon's ideas, not the man himself.

That the mayor was pissed about looking like a jerk (again) was self-evident. Whether he accepted that he authored his own misfortune was less so. He tried to force a smile as he twisted in the wind - but the TV interviews betrayed a flat, clipped voice, a hard glare and gritted teeth behind perfunctorily-curved lips.

With about two weeks left to campaign, he's transitioned from his usual baseless confidence into a muted desperation hallmarked, in about equal parts, by abortive Hail Mary passes and highly defensive-sounding damage control.

He still struggles to project a self-confident visual, but the invisible bouquet that cascades from him belies it. Somebody else, I might feel sorry for. Since it's Larry 0'Brien, I'm snappin' a clothes peg over my snout to block the growing odour of flop sweat. And as has been my habit for four years, rolling my eyes heavenward until election day and trusting in the, ummm, wisdom of crowds.

Bunk. And double bunk.

We coyotes note with (uncompounded) interest that G8 and G20 leaders visiting Toronto for next month's world summit - mostly a grand (standing) photo-op for the Prime Minister - are now projected to cost Canadians, according to one estimate, something approaching $1.1 billion. With a "B". As in "Bunk".

It's more than three times - closing on four times - the cost of any previous "most expensive G20 summit". The record until now was a paltry $300 million. With an "M".

The billion buck boondoggle arises, says Public Safety Minister Vic Toews, and I quote, probably pretty accurately: "Because since 9/11... mutter spread fear mutter ... terrorism... mutter non sequitur mutter... high tech security!!!!" Huh. Even the lately-habitual conservative defender Rex Murphy couldn't buy that.

Mr. T. is also the government's designated faux-hardass in charge of cluelessly punitive prison policy. As in, "If we build lots more jails and lock up everybody for everything no matter how trivial, crime will drop."

Apparently Tories haven't been reading Statistics Canada analysis showing that, ummm, crime has been dropping steadily for a couple of decades already in the absence of such ideologically-driven programs. Damn statistics, anyway! Never let 'em get in the way of a good media line!

Lately, confronted with, you know, actual costs for building all them penitential buildings that ain't revivalist churches, Mr. T had to do some quick media spin. He now alleges his government's policies won't cost much. Because, hey, having thought deeply about it - possibly for the first time, although what passes for deep in this case would barely cover my doggy toenails if I stepped in it - he'll just double bunk all the new prisoners in existing hoosegows. No problemo!

In the spirit of liberté, fraternité et egalité, we coyotes suggest that if double bunkin' is gonna save so damn much in incarceration costs, howzabout double-bunking G20 leaders? And all of their high-tech security? By Mr. Toews', ummm, logic, if it saves proportionately as much for the G20 bunfest as he thinks it'll save the corrections system - I admit you're free to argue that's complete bunk - us coyotes figure we're back down to only equalling the previous most expensive G20 summit. Bargoon!

Turn, turn, turn

Dimwitted coyote I may be, but there's nothing wrong with my efficiently pointy snout. Lately, the whiffy scent near this burg's sundry halls of power has smelled powerfully like, well, crap.

I keep hearing politicos make these sorts of claims:
  • "It's a terrific idea! It died because we didn't explain it right!
  • "The public is far too dumb to understood this idea. If they really got it, they'd love it!"
  • "Only a vocal minority is against us. The Silent Majority is on our side!"
Et cetera. But is it coincidence that the guy who used that Silent Majority argument most famously was an utter scoundrel...?

Actual, you know, good ideas, seem to be irrelevant. Now, the game is all spin.

Political guys in the last few decades have turned increasingly to spin doctors to help them sell their agendas. Mind numbing repetition, bad propaganda worthy only of tinpot tyrannies, slung mud, outright lies, and stifled democratic debate are all in the toolkit. Screw honest debate in a democracy! The public needs what's good for it, even if it doesn't know what that is. And spin doctors are happy to supply their dubious commodities. It brings in a very nice buck or six.

Problem seems to be that spin doctors by any other name totally drive the bus these days. And, sadly, lotsa politicians', ummm, wonderful ideas are, ummm, unsupported by facts. Or repugnant to the majority, silent and otherwise. Take your pick of recent federal sales jobs. Or city ones. Check the spin. Comfortable?

If you aren't, many politicians apparently are. Bathed in the lush suds of their own spin cycles ever more often, they don't seem to see that, pretty often, the public understands what they're on about just fine. And hates it. Spin may sway people some of the time. It does not, cannot, make shitty ideas brilliant.

The spin technique I spot most often in the public discourse of late is called, I believe, "putting lipstick on a pig". If you've ever gotten close enough to a pig to contemplate putting lipstick on it, ya have an idea of what anybody with that job smells like... and we're all downwind.

Wednesday

Trials of Larry: The Offishul Evil Genius

We're not outta the woods yet - the verdict doesn't come down until August 12. But as of yesterday, Mayor Larry's influence-peddling trial is all over but for the gavel slam. Done. Like summer barbecue. Or your back, say, after falling asleep on your boat in the sun, whilst contemplating a mayoral candidacy over a beer or two.

All we citizens have to do is kick back on the patio for another month and let the assorted smog from burnt hot dogs, journalists' Blackberrying thumbs and lawyers' overheated brains dissipate into the ozone, while Mr O'Brien sweats it out in his secret lair exclusive penthouse.

As an occasionally black and white kinda coyote, I really appreciated the lawyers' summations.

Prosecutor Scott Hutchison faint-praised main witness Terry Kilrea as "hardly Machiavellian." Then Larry's best-money-could-buy defense guy, Michael Edelson, did his darndest to paint him up as some kinda evil genius.

Which on the evidence, compared to Larry, he may be...

Friday

Screw it. I'm goin' surfin'


We have a mayor striving to make Mel Lastman look good. We have a former prime minister striving to make hisself look good - and good luck with that lost cause, Brian! And we have a current PM striving to make the same-old, same-old troughing, mendacity and general ass-covering evil look good. After he swore he was going to change all of that. The big, flashy promises are always easier in opposition, huh, Steve?

I have had my fill of these shmucks. I'm going surfin'. Got the board. Got the wax. Got the hibachi. Now. Where did I put the damn orange sauce...?

Of big swinging appendages *

Our on-hiatus for legal reasons mayor has a pottymouth problem. Among others, since his fascination with the felicitous phrase, "big swinging dick contest", entered the court record this week past on a lo-def police interrogation video. (Hey - who doesn't look guilty on those...? But with no corroborating evidence, he could safely deny the whole rat fuck thing. This was right there in grainy black and white.)

Citizen editorial writer Kate Heartfield - one of the good guys at that eroding edifice - has smartly and thoroughly whacked the language's psychology with a post-modern feminist yardstick, in print and on air. I think that covers it completely, except for small additional light the phrase may cast on O'Brien's record. Ummm, in office.

It's not as if we didn't suspect that he regards his political day - or in the case of the Transpo strike, most of a financial quarter - as an endless series of big dick swinging contests. Supporting evidence for this inference is rich.

Maybe the mayor enters such duels because he honestly thinks his is bigger than everybody else's. Why would he believe this? Possibly because he lucked out in business and has a lotta money. Maybe because he only hires assistants that reinforce his own perceptions. Perhaps because he has temper in private and has demonstrably whirled through a veritable spin cycle of revolving-door staffers.

Doesn't matter. Unfortunately for Ottawa, this view was probably never grounded in reality. Also unfortunately, Mayor Larry is a guy who for some time has been enthusiastically dick-swinging his way straight into The Peter Principle. Problem is, he's so pathologically - and unjustifiably - self confident, he'll never know it. Sorry to keep going on like this. Honestly, I was tired of him before he was elected.
* Just so you know, the photo is named that way because original graphic concept for this post did not make it past certain members of the ESI Ethics Committee. (It also grossed out Woodsy, which takes some doing. I'm kinda proud of that.) And no, it was not what you were thinking just now... and neither is this one. It's a perfectly innocent tee-shirt graphic, for cripe's sake. Purell® your minds, people! We run a squeaky clean metablog here!

Saturday

Recessionomony 101


According the latest stats, it's not only a recession we are facing, it's a he-cession. More men are losing jobs in this downturn than women. To clarify public policy for headline writers, I'll throw the following taxonomy into the fold:


We-cession: your work section gets the boot but the rest of your company keeps going; or, what your 4 year-old calls the recession

Me-cession: you get laid off but everyone else at your office gets promoted

Pre-cession: period before the recession; some called it the economic boom but now we know the glass was half-empty

Free-cession: the economy is so bad you can't even afford stuff they give away for nothing

Pee-cession: people don't even have a pot to piss in

G-session: men can't find jobs nor can they find their partners g-spot --- bad, very bad

e-session: the downturn has reduced bloggers' output to the point where they employ cheap tactics to solicit comments on otherwise pointless blog entries

Friday

A Wellington Street view

I best know local uber-partisan Conservative MP Pierre Poilievre for an endless series of rabid political cheap shots that seem to me to be firmly rooted in a deeply considered intellectual process involving either cartoon logic or clinical insanity. Come to think of it, his parliamentary question period antics probably give rabies a bad name. He regards John Baird (or possibly Baird's hair) as his political mentor, for cripes' sakes...

So, earlier this week when PP, a member of the federal access to information, privacy and ethics committee, took a, ummm, principled stand against Google Street View in Ottawa, I immediately began looking for the guy's ummm, well-reasoned angle. There has to be one. There always is.

PP claimed that he had concerns about the service's potential for invading privacy. Since he backs a law 'n order agenda, which can occasionally involve stuff like, oh, ubiquitous closed circuit TV cameras aimed at the general populace for no particular reason, I hadda kinda wonder.

Now, suddenly he has flipflopped, (assuming foursquare, steadfastly antiflipflop Tories can ever be said to flipflop. I'm sure they call it something else among themselves. I digress.) musing that a "useful and popular service" like Street View could fall victim to Canada's privacy laws vis-a-vis public surveillance. Which, unlike earlier this week, are now apparently too strong. And so must be modified to make them weaker. To allow, ummm, useful and popular services. To whom, exactly, other as yet unspecified services might also be useful and popular with, remains an open question for now.

Oh. Now I get it... and I'm torn. And perhaps slightly more paranoid than usual. Tooling around virtual versions of the great cities of the world amuses me. Pretending Ottawa is a great city of the world would amuse me even more. I like Street View. But if a little git like PP supports it...

Unfit to print...?

We coyotes like news papers. Probably due to puppyhood training, about which the less said in polite company, the better. So when the vivacious Jo S. began a thread on the health of the media, many, including your faithful/unreliable reporter/narrator, had things to say. I had a lot. You may safely surmise that I have not finished sucking my paws and, ummm, pawndering. And I'm not the only one. Just the only coyote...

Current world economic woes are not themselves killing newspapers and legacy electronic media. They've exposed pre-existing rot. Newspapers were a disruptive technology for their time, an artifact of (mostly) the 19th century, freshened for the 20th by the advent of giant, costly, high-speed presses. These allowed papers to meet radio, then TV, pretty much head-on, even as pundits forecast the end of hard copy.

But papers' attempts to compete with later media on their (newer) terms have lost subtle ground with each new disruption, and the Net changes the game totally. In developed societies, it's faster, more accessible and scalable than its ancestors, and cheaper for content makers. The computers we pay for download many of their distribution costs - legacy media need printing presses, delivery trucks, transmitters - right onto our desks.

And the Net's tuned to the ADD nanosecond. Why write, edit, publish and distribute articles about Paris' latest deep thinkage or Britney's wardrobe malfunctions when they can be fully, ummm, exposed in 140-character Tweets? The Craigslists and Kijijis efficiently nabbed the papers' classified lifeblood from under publishers' noses. Topping it all, media outlets began more than a decade ago to throw up content on the Net - often badly, always for free - hoping to somehow gain beachheads there until they somehow figured out how to make a buck from it. They never really did.

Newspaper presses used to pretty much print money for their owners. The Thomsons, Blacks and Aspers of Canada, and the Hearsts and Knights and Murdochs of the world, got into the business because profits were so amazingly fat. But rather than improving the product when faced with competition or adversity, they too often acted to protect profit margins with chiselling economies that made newspapers less enjoyable and more irrelevant. And unhealthy.

Oh, the Petfinder's former editor in chief tried to regain hip cred by hanging major news stories on movie and comic book leads - complete with movie publicity stills instead of, like, actual news photos. Maybe he could have thought the other way around, instead of trivializing his content. Now the paper's latest owner, Canwest-Global, tries to economize by half-gutting local newsrooms to centralize its newspaper chain's content, inappropriately like the network feed for its TV stations.

These band aids and others do not play to the strength of a good paper, which is to reflect and record local thoughts and events and people. Placing them well within in their larger regional, national and global contexts, yes, but with the aim of really good local coverage. People trying to understand themselves, and their place in the world, are constant. I think.

I'm not saying that that newspapers need to be all serious. There's plenty of room for playful print. But there should be room for context and analysis too. And maybe they could back off a little from brain-dead takes on LiLo and Amy W. That's what the Net is for.

Tuesday

Dream Interpretation Request #2

I need help to interpret another one of my dreams.

Zoom, I was in the back of a police car with a hottie policeman, and he said that we had to make out. I thought, Well, he's a policeman, I have to listen to what he says.

Megan, when pants removal ensued, I realized he was actually a policewoman with a derriere to rival Kim Bassinger's tooshie.

What does it all mean?

Friday

In the nick of name

OK OK OK, so the transit strike is still on. But what's really grabbing the chattering class - at least the one that chatters on the Globe & Mail letters page - is a deplorable and disrespectful media tendency to label the new opposition leader, Michael Ignatieff, as "Iggy". Shame!

Some go so far as to suggest a Tory smear campaign to reduce the head Liberal guy's stature in the eyes of the Canadian public, both by trivializing his name and associating him with some guys called "The Stooges". As if that would ever happen... Are Tories really so dumb as not to realize Iggy and the Stooges are (were?)* a kick-ass band?

Actually I discount this theory a little less after a quick coyote snuffle through Google images -- I note that most media outlets metalabel Mr I's web images with his full last name. Except those tighty-righty funsters at The National Post, who use, yes, "Iggy".

This got me thinking. With the exception of G.W. Bush, who is socially tone-deaf and maladroit to a fault, and Newfoundland's premier Danny Williams, who calls him "Stevie" just to piss him off, most public comment on our prime minister just labels him "Harper" . Except the Petfinder, whose retro-archaic stylebook insists on giving everybody an honorific such as "Mr." or "Mrs.". Even Michael Jackson, who appears to be neither of the above.

But we coyotes say fair is fair. If we are willing to degrade the tone of the nation's public discourse so much as to call Michael Ignatieff "Iggy" in headlines, then Mr Harper deserves parallel treatment, no matter how starchily he tries to stare down transgressors. "Stevie" is all well and fine, but in recognition of his performance of late - oh, all right, his performance, period - I nominate "Harpo". Because... heh... I do believe that associating him with anybody named Marx is gonna piss him off more than "Stevie"...
* R.I.P. Ronald Franklin Asheton July 17, 1948 - January 6, 2009

Sunday

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...

Wednesday

RNDP 10: Recycling and Rules

Moving away from Histocompatibility for now, the next Google hit to explore in the world of new dating paradigms shows up in a comment to a livejournal posting. 30-year-old featherynscale asked her readers:10 - it's okay; 20 - it depends; 2 - never okay

If you are friends with someone, and they break it off with a person they are dating/sleeping with/married to/whatever, is it okay for you to pursue their ex?
She broke her question into sub-questions and created several polls that 32 of her readers responded to. She also invited her readers to leave comments expanding on their answers and to describe circumstances that would make it okay or not okay.

Her first commenter, saffronhare, replied:

This is one of those areas where it always depends on some other shading of relationships. If both people of the deceased relationship (dating or married) still travel in the same social circles, then one would perhaps want to maintain some amicability in any new dating paradigm. You know, and *talking* to the people involved. But I bet you already knew that. :)

4D Analysis: Saffronhare is using the phrase "new dating paradigm" to refer to a new dating situation that a person might be in, in this case, with a person who used to be involved with a friend, not to a whole new model for dating. You might assume that, because Saffronhare and Featherynscale are not endorsing this model as a new paradigm, I also wouldn't endorse it. But let's not sail away from this port before seeing all the sights.

2 out of a non-random sample of 32 people say it's not okay to date a friend's ex even if the friend is dead. I hope these two are in happy relationships that last until they die and if after their death their widows or widowers get involved with a friend, there really is no afterlife so they won't ever know about it.

A majority (20/32) say it can be okay in certain circumstances, but this also means they think it is not okay in other circumstances. I assume that they are all referring to it being morally not okay. Not to it being practically not okay.

Because let's face it, while dating a friend's ex may have pitfalls like possible fistfights, slashed tires, and late night hangup phone calls, it also has benefits like already knowing the person you're dating and knowing what you can do to compare favourably to the last paramour. And you can date a stranger and get the pitfalls anyway.

If you've got a screening list like Kirshenbaum, Coyote and Milan do, you might be tempted to add not a friend's ex to it, or if you're not a hardliner, not the ex of a friend who says it's not okay.

What I ask if you have a screening list is, do you actually want to date? Or are you trying to come up with reasons to justify not dating? Sure we don't want you getting involved with an ax-murderer or somebody you'll come to despise, but at the pre-dating stage, where you are trying to find somebody to go out with, a list of criteria that removes people from consideration may just keep you from getting involved with somebody wonderful.

Monday

A Dating Paradigm for the ADD

Revolutionary new dating paradigms are all very well, but I can't help noticing that the Short Guy is taking a darned long time to reach the punchline. And he says I tell shaggy dog stories! In these ADD times, the only worthwhile solutions come in ten second soundbites. And the Elgin Street Irregulars are all over Attention Deficit Disorder, because... Ooh! Look! Shiny object!

Now, where was I? Uh, yeah... instant dating paradigms. We're not talking about high-speed dating - that's something else entirely. As an example of what I mean, Michael Pollan in the New York Times recently managed to reduce the complexities of good nutrition to three stunningly simple sentences: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. That would probably even work for me. If cats count as vegetables.

So what we seek here is a way to measure dating suitability in a nanosecond. The less time you waste in deciding if the person before you is suitable, the more quickly you may proceed toward the decided charms of lolling and fubbing. Normally, the Irregulars would be all over formulating something like this, but, hey, it's sweltering out and we're feeling dopey. Conveniently, somebody's already done the work for us. Mira Kirshenbaum, a relationship therapist who seems to have a nice sideline in self-help books has just released a feel-good opus entitled When Good People Have Affairs, which according to this week's Maclean's is a book "for the decent person who made a mistake and got themselves into a complicated, messy, and dangerous situation."

Sort of off our chosen topic, because an affair presupposes a relationship already, which means that you've already figured out the... Ooh! Look! Shiny object!... However, a short paragraph toward the end of the review describes how Kirshenbaum attempts to do for dating, what Pollan did for food. Here's what she says to look for:
  • Not stupid.
  • Not crazy.
  • Not wierd.
  • Not mean.
  • Not ugly.
  • Not smelly.
Roughly twice the word count of Pollan's dictum, yes. But dating's roughly twice as complicated as food.

Sunday

Can you really quit anytime?

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




















Most Recent Potential Candidate for Recovery Program:


See everyone's results

Tuesday

Are we Cool Over 40?

Our friend XUP is all over the blogosphere these days and is even back to blogging. Last week, she posted two excellent pieces, one on how to be cool over the age of 40 and another on how to live to be much older than 40.

Today I am taking a break from the smoking and drinking XUP recommended, from my quest for an RNDP and from wooing Ms Twain, to bring you:

A handy table that shows how the ESIs stack up on XUP's coolness indicators











Quality4DAggieChairCoyoteCSIOWoodsy

Cool Job-11-11111

Hair-1111111

Shoes-111-1111

Clothes-111-1101

Teeth-1111111

Gadgets001101220

In a Band11110.5301

Avoid malls1111111

Talk Cool-1411-15111

Walk Cool-16111111

Hangs with the Cool1-1-1-1-1-1-1

Activist1000100

Total-38729.588

Notes
  1. Aggie has a laptop and a cell phone, but doesn't know how to use either very well.
  2. The IO has a Blackberry.
  3. CS says she's in a band. Her bandmates are not so sure.
  4. 4D actually says "in my day" on a regular basis.
  5. Coyote: "***BLAMMO*** I'm on my butt with my tail smokin' and my ears ringing. You figure out which side I take".
  6. Unless you think 4D's limp-hop-stride is cool.
Obvious conclusion: If I am negatively cool, that means I am hot.
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