Showing posts with label etiquette. Show all posts
Showing posts with label etiquette. Show all posts

Thursday

Ottawa Openfile: come unHenged...?

I think I've been admirably patient for a species not noted for its impulse control. But now that we've hit the second week of February flatfooted, it behooves me to ask: What the hell happened to Openfile's OttawaHenge photo contest? The one Trevor Pritchard announced on November 30, with a cash prize, and everythin'?

In the spirit of full disclosure, or possibly enlightened self-interest, I confess that some coyotes are not entirely disinterested in the outcome. Okay, I entered it. The idea of a sunset shining straight down the Sparks Street Mall tickled my semi-mythical fancy.

Also in the spirit of full disclosure, or possibly enlightened self-interest, I will note that I did my trademark lurk at the appointed hour, both of the days in the original contest period when an actual sun visibly set. Having taught numerous Fall Continuing Ed workshops in lurking, I think I might've noticed if anybody else had been doing so avec camera. They weren't.

Again in the spirit of full disclosure, or possibly enlightened self-interest, I confess that this turn of events had me rubbing my paws together in highly unseemly anticipation-slash-glee. I figured my entry had really decent odds, me being the only critter on two or four legs that was there to paw a shutter release.

But, noooooooooo... Mr. Pritchard, the morning of the first deadline, posted that sunsetty goodness had been lacking, so the deadline would change. He did not come out and state outright that there might've been only one entry. Loosey-goosey contest design ain't my problem, but I figured, oh what the heck. Maybe he doesn't run a lot of these. He didn't really post any rules -- ummm, other than the deadline -- so maybe he feels okay about changing contest rules - such as they are - after they're already out there.

Fourth Dwarf asked a buncha pointed questions about this on December 13. Since then, when we've run across one another in a back alley (we're both avid dumpster divers, for different reasons...) I've raised what passes for a querying eyebrow on a coyote, and asked, "Seen anything on an OttawaHenge winner yet?" Each time, he's shaken his head and grimaced, "No". Then we commence to scuffling over the pickin's. Woohoo!

But it's a little weird, ya know? Not the scuffling; the black-hole-like lack of a winner for a contest which was announced with a certain hoopla November 30, even if it was extended. The event's maestro may not have run many contests. I dunno - but the lack of caveats and conditions beyond the entry date was notable. But it seems to me that not setting ground rules beyond an entry deadline does not allow one to move the goalposts - twice - without making a token effort to broadcast who won the damn thing at some point. Sure I feel like the rug got pulled out from underneath me. But I'm a fair coyote. Somebody should win, even if it ain't moi. However badly my id may be pissed, you may surmise that my rambunctiously healthy doggy ego can probably take it.

When the Short Guy, always gimlet-eyed about such things, started asking questions in December, a comment from Mr. Pritchard thanked Dwarfy for noticing the contest. The lad also sidestepped 4D's questions with a degree of native talent which suggests that if this Openfile gig doesn't work out, he's still got lucrative career options writing non-reply reply scripts for federal ministers... but I digress.

Except that on this very blog, Trevor said, and I quote, "...we'll definitely be announcing a winner in January."

That's unequivocal. I believe that Trev, and Openfile, will want to make good on it. Now that we've landed flatfooted in the second week of February, 'n all. Possibly before Valentine's Day...

Friday

Sic (Ottawa) Transit (in)Gloria Mundi...

Huh. On Day 51, call the Ottawa transit strike "officially done". Stick a fork in it. And one apiece into Mayor Larry O'Brien, and union leader Andre Cornellier, for utter disgrace under pressure. Oh, hell! Bring out all the place settings and start forkin' everybody over! There's plenty of responsibility to go 'round.

The city and the union last evening agreed to binding arbitration - as much as any two parties with a big honkin' federal gun to their heads can be said to "agree". Seems it was pretty much the solution proposed within the first two days, before the Mayor and the leader of the union local turned the whole city into an arena for an epic personal pissin' match, the like of which even coyotes rarely witness. And we know from pissin' matches.

Now, we semimythical coyotes are never bitter, cynical and obsessive, or anything. Even as we lick chafed and frozen appendages. However, we suspect it will be highly instructive to observe (and carefully note) the order and speed with which this sorry affair's numerous flawed leads and over-confident second bananas trot out their individual attempts to publicly grab credit and apply their over-torqued spins, pre-fab self-justifications, and weaselly personal self aggrandizations. Oh, wait... it's already begun!

Less than 30 minutes after the announcement, unless the cheesy dollar-store digital clock I picked out of the trash one long-ago recycling night was even more bafflingly inaccurate than usual...

Now, excuse me. I'm going to go suck my frostbitten paws. But I'm not bitter. Or anything...

Saturday

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...

Tuesday

Hand Kissing


Last Spring, I was kissed on the hand by three different men - a family friend, a taxi driver, and the doorman at a tavern all within a week of each other.

I was surprised by these unsolicited kisses, and I wondered if hand kissing was back in style. Why had no-one warned me?

I mentioned these incidents to the Word Wizard, who seems to know something about every topic. He quickly responded with questions, "Did you offer your hand to be kissed? Did they touch their lips to your hand?"

No, I had not offered my hand to be kissed, and in all three instances I was tricked into receiving the kiss. And, yes, all three had touched their slobbery lips to the back of my hand.

I have since become a little wiser about hand-kissing, and so, gentlemen, if you want to kiss my tiny tender nymph hand
  • I must be the one who initiates the gesture by offering you my hand palm down;
  • I must know you;
  • You must be of equal or higher mythological standing than I am;
  • You must slip your fingers under the palm of my hand and gently rest your thumb on my knuckles;
  • You may either quietly air kiss the back of my proffered hand, or kiss your thumb;
  • You must kneel at my feet as you kiss my hand to show that you are in awe of my charms, and
  • be forewarned that, according to W.J. Bethancourt III, should you offer an unsolicited kiss I am in my right to eviscerate you on the spot!
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...