Aggie's perfect storm

Zoom needs a little time to pull her extra-special prize guest bloggage together, but watch this space. It's coming soon, and it's gonna be brilliant! In the meantime, to cover, I'll do what ESIs do best. No, not that. I mean metablogging.

It has become overwhelmingly needful to metablog our own Essex girl.

Evidence suggests Aggie has found that the road to new-age enlightenment is no easy thing, strewn as it is with a perfect storm of pitfalls. And bad hair days. Not to mention bent-to-broken metaphors. Poor thing is now so confused, she's laying off drinking and trying to reinvent herself as a common craft blogger...

What are the ethics, here? Aggie is one of us. I mean, I love her, and she is, like Mary Poppins, Practically Perfect in Every Way. Uh, but she remains in place as our next-best Muse. Better yet, she's not here to defend herself... and we need material. No honour among metabloggers. 'Nuff said.

Anyway, I was at Bank & Slater yesterday, nose to the ground, sniffin' opportunity, when I chanced to look up. And was struck with awe. I mean, the signage at this one corner has Aggie's enlightenment covered: martini lounge named for her favorite yoga position, strong coffee options, a hair salon to repair the unfortunate mullet experiment, and a relaxing day spa. The salon's name? Perfection. Nothing better than that.

And what about that constant, soothing flow of large American cars, huh?

Truly, when one seeks satori, the devil is in the distractions. Crafting? Aggie, we barely recognize you! Just ignore the proven fact that when anyone in a dysfunctional group tries to change for the better, other members will pressure her to return to old, familiar patterns, so they can avoid confronting their own dysfunctions. Instead, think about this, Ags: Lotus Martini Lounge!

Caribou! A progress report on Canada's new national toast

It has been almost a year since I christened Caribou! as Canada's national toast. So it seems time for a refreshing update.

With the exception of some initial encouragement from the lovely Aggie, my proposal was met with skepticism on the part of most of the ESIs.

So after generating some summer buzz at Bluesfest, I took the concept on the road. After all, sometimes Canadians honour their own only after people abroad have given their blessing. (Katrina and the Waves are still virtual demigods among the Jarawa of India's Andaman Islands.)

A frothy cappuccino at Heathrow Airport's Caffe Nero in late July marked the first international Caribou! cheer. Only two problems: I am alone. The coffee sets me back £4.30.

On to Morocco, a land renowned for its hospitality and therefore the perfect launching point for the African Caribou! craze. With Audrey as my witness, I raise a Casablanca beer to introduce Canada's national toast the Dark Continent.

However, it soon occurs to us that in a largely Muslim country alcohol is somewhat difficult to find. So the next cry of Caribou! is heard over milkshakes at a rather exotic Marrakech luncheon spot that serves something called the McArabia.

Three continents down. Four to go.

Why I like the Usual Spot

Coyote dropped by today to drop off an item for one of my secret projects and to collect an aspidistra I'd set aside for him. I enticed him to stay by offering food but then set him to work on a little home repair project.

By ten o'clock, we were a bit tired and thirsty, so I suggested we make our way to the usual spot for a beverage.

Not wanting to leave the aspidistra outside in the bicycle trailer where it could be stolen, I brought it in and put it on our table.

"Maybe this will help us meet girls," suggested the C-dog.

"Not likely," I said. (You'd think the Coyote would know by now that when he's at a bar with me, there'll be no young ladies approaching. It's not like when he's on his own cutting a swath with cagey American coyotes.)

Then the waiter came and asked what beverages we'd like. Coyote ordered his usual libation and I ordered a dark frothy ale (only a small one.)

"And what would you like?" The waiter stared at the aspidistra.

"Our friend will have a glass of water," I said. "No ice."

A few minutes later, he brought us all our drinks. The aspidistra finished his first. Chugged it, you might say.