Stirring the election pot. And licking it.

Grandad coyote was an austere guy. The sort of dog one would associate with a large framed portrait frowning severely down on a big, lustrous boardroom table surrounded by overstuffed chairs gliding on discrete casters. A portrait of the sort one might, indeed, associate with the founder of a well-established semimythical enterprise.

I know it may surprise some of you who have noted my, ummm, occasional case of pottymouth, but Grandad very much discouraged expletives of the anglo-saxon monosyllabic sort. Well, what the hell else do you call it when your breath sometimes betrays a swig or two from the occasional toilet? I digress.

I understand this credo had something to do with a long-ago day when the world was very young, when he and his callow young littermates holed up in a culvert, smoked way too many green hayseed cigarettes rolled in pages from yellowback novels, and uttered every filthy word any of 'em could think up. Family history offers no clues as to why they considered this plan sound in the first place. I blame youth. Nowadays, I imagine they'd all drink Red Bull until they ran in confused circles and peed down their own legs while hacking WiFi signals, or something.

Anyway, by the end of the day, they all felt so nauseated they swore off (heh...) swearing for life. Come to that, I don't think any of 'em smoked, either. Score one for proto aversion therapy. Oops... another digression.

Anyway. When severely riled, Grandad would admit to "having my dander up". Someone of whose conduct he generally disapproved, he might allow, was "a so-and-so". Truly egregious types, he called "stinkers". For one totally beyond the pale, he reserved the terrifying term "Dirty Potlicker".

You did not want to be someone whom Grandad called a Dirty Potlicker.

I am uncertain to this day of the true etymological origins of this prairie epithet, but the tone with which he uttered it told me all I need to know. Oh, I've seen attempts to define it (1) (2), but I'm pretty sure, on the evidence, that Grandad meant something a whole bunch worse.

Could explain why, at times much like now, when he scanned the election news in the original Calgary Eye Opener, he could be heard muttering "Dirty Potlickers!!!" under his doggy breath. Over and over and over.

Look up. Wa-a-a-a-a-a-ay up.

Something we coyotes notice about many Ottawa residents is that they don't seem to look up much. We do, because we're just like that. It's survival instinct. Ya never know when one of them crows is gonna swoop in and try to swipe your bag lunch.

Anyway, this being the nation's capital, when we're swivelling our heads around, we often see stuff that you rarely see in other places, apparently unnoticed by everyone around us.

Things like a whole team of guys in black helmets and jumpsuits, from who knows what tactical team and who knows what paramilitary/military outfit, casually rappelling down the side of the Westin Hotel on a sunny November afternoon. Taking lotsa pictures of themselves doing it, presumably for their Top Sekrit Taktical Skrapbooks...






...so I took some for my Top Sekrit Taktical Skrapbook too. We coyotes are just like that.

A Woody for You

Dear Zoom and GC,

The first one of you to contact me and offer me a bribe gets to know the secret location of this temporarily parked* Woody.

It's a Grand Slam just waiting to happen!

*It's for sale - only $4900

Cabinet secrets indeed...

Can the election get any more boring? The eye-glazing ennui sent me scurrying to the observatory library to dig up these little-known but fascinating facts about Canadian politics:

1. Historians believe William Lyon Mackenzie King wrote a final but now lost volume of his famous diaries. Known cryptically among scholars as "Tranche 21," it has never surfaced. But King did mention the volume in at least two letters penned shortly before his death. In one of these missives, King suggests he fabricated stories in the earlier volumes about séances and conversations with his dog to dispel the notion he was tremendously dull.

2. Sir John A. Macdonald's fondness of drink is well documented. But his true weakness was pie. During whistle-stop campaign tours, Macdonald insisted that a fresh-baked pastry -- preferably blueberry or strawberry -- be waiting on the train platform, to be lustily consumed immediately after his public addresses. He even travelled with a personal pastry chef. During the 1891 campaign, the chef fell ill in northern Ontario. Party minions were left scrambling to ensure a suitable pie was ready for the stop in Kenora, Ont., and sent frantic telegraph messages to the kitchen at Rideau Hall in Ottawa for advice. Nervous aides feared the crust would be too soggy or, even worse, too flaky, sending Sir John A. into another of his drunken tirades.

3. In the late 19th century, men in sparsely populated western Canada were allowed as many as three votes: one for themselves, and up to two others for their livestock -- either two head of cattle, or one cow and one sheep. Several years later, women got the vote.

4. The Green Party's campaign signs are completely edible. Coming in three flavours -- mango, pomegranate and rhubarb -- each certified-organic sign contains more protein than the average veggie burger.

5. All of Environment Minister John Baird's toupées are hand-woven from imported chinchilla fur. A special order-in-council was signed last year to allow a dozen of the Andean rodents, which face extinction, to be quietly brought into Canada. They are raised at a secret location in Baird's Ottawa riding.

Images: Sir John A.: Politics, Polls and Pastry, Nofifththing Press, 1976; Cows: www.rampantgames.com/

Backstage at the metablog

A couple of days back, 4th Dwarf suggested, in a debunking tone, that I had not in fact eaten Bucky Katt. Well, duh. The Irregulars are never what they seem. But since Shorty has twitched up the curtain on our artifice anyway, maybe it's time raise it further, give you an ESI metablog studio tour, and show you our secrets.

Most of the time, the ESIs choose not to play up the endless rehearsals, sweat and technical know-how that go into producing this blog. We prefer to make it look all spontaneous, effortless and airy. But our cast and crew are pros, and when those megawatt studio lights are switched off, we're busy in the shadows backstage and offstage, preparing carefully for our respective roles.

It's not all glamour. The Dwarf, f'rinstance, has to wear painful elevator lifts in his bootees when he blogs, to jack him up to regulation dwarf height. He's much shorter in real life. I wear contacts onblog, coke-bottle glasses offstage, and shades on the street to stay incognito. I value my privacy. (I'll have you know, though, that my ears are just as big and pointy as they look on the blog, and all natural. No implants here. I digress.) Of course, too, every one of us has had a stunt double stand in for us during particularly dangerous blog sequences. Insurance.

So, all of you deluded bog-standard kittybloggers in Greely who were horrified by that last Bucky post - you know who you are - get a grip! Enough with the hate mail, already! There is no Bucky Katt. There never was. Bucky was played by a guest actor. But - listen up, because this is really cool - Legal has just told me that it's okay to reveal that the Bucky episodes were in fact Bloggie nomination-worthy performances by an uncredited Brad Pitt.

You didn't know? C'mon! The eyes and hair had to be a dead giveaway! I've gotta say, right here and now, that the guy's a total pro and a joy to work with. And I want his limo.

Buckyblog #2: too cute by half

Huh. Apparently, kittyblogging has strict rules. Who knew? Since the Short Guy, in addition to being a hairball expert - he's one himself - is also a tiresome pedant, I have no reason to doubt him. Speaking of hairballs, you should see the size of them! Huge, sploogey tan and brown things, covered in cat spit and splattered all over the antique cream broadloom! (We coyotes keep a very retro-stylish den...) Yucko!

I would've asked Aggie what to do about them, followed her advice, then reported the amusing results, but an urgent matter has arisen. Note the calculating expression on Bucky's puss: It comes to my attention that all cats are members of a fiendishly well-organized cabal dedicated to taking over the world. They infiltrate people's homes, weasel their nefarious tunaheaded ways into positions of trust, suck the air out of their alleged owners' lungs until they can't think straight (Various Zoom postings and comments passim) then run the world by proxy whilst their hosts are weakened and suggestable.

But they want more. And they have the means to do it. Read this carefully, and don't let your cat see you when you do it: Every cat in the world is in constant extrasensory communication with every other cat. It's a maleficent feline group brain, dedicated to total domination. When they're ready, they'll pounce, take over the world, and likely snack on your cold, dead fingers as an afterthought. They're determined, cunning, organized, and very, very good. Look at the evidence: innocent coyotes are being chased out of Greely and Richmond as we speak! Coincidence?

The good news, is that you can fight back. If you have an ounce of spine left, break out the tinfoil and start making hats. No, no, no, not for you, you oxygen-deprived fool, for your cat. Slap one of them suckers onto a furline and it'll cut off all group-mind brainwaves instantly. Oh, even then, it'll still try to play the cuteness card. Resist! Don't let your cat doff its tinfoil hat! Your future depends on it...

Audrey: No or yes?

This missive is just in from Audrey:

I was in Florence recently, and had lunch at one of my favorite places: the self-serve restaurant Ristorante Self-Service Leonardo on Via de' Pecori.

The cashier, who recognized me from my two previous visits that week, asked me a question. His question, in rapid Italian, was incomprehensible to me, so I replied, "No."

He looked amused and said, "No, or yes?"

I replied, "Yes."

He said, "You should usually say no, but sometimes you should say yes…"

******

Once, when I was sun-tanning on the steps of the Palazzo delle Esposizioni museum in Rome, an Italian man came up to me and admonished me, telling me that I could get skin cancer. Then he invited me to go on vacation with him in Spain for two weeks. I said, "no".

Another time, on a train from Rome to Paris, an Italian businessman, who was clearly admiring my legs, invited me to get off the train with him in Monte Carlo. He told me that, as a resident of that city, he could give me a wonderful tour. I said, "no".

I was at a conference with a married colleague a few years ago, and as we entered our adjoining hotel rooms, he looked back at me. And, although he didn't say anything, I understood the question. I said, "no".

And, maybe every woman has had this experience. You are just starting a relationship (exploratory dating) and he is sitting on your couch, looking up expectantly. And you lean in and kiss him and feel - nothing at all. No warmth, no passion for him, no chemistry. And you were longing for a relationship. And he is a good man. But, you say "no".

******

So, dear reader, as I go through this adventurous life, sometimes I do say "yes" and, quite frequently, I say "no". I've noticed that we all react differently to these situations that offer unforeseen pleasure. Do you look back, as I do, and wonder what would have happened if you had said "yes"? Do you have any stories to share?

Emergency Meeting Minutes: 2008-01-11 "The Megan Consultation"

Venue: The Usual Spot? Maybe. Maybe not.

Present: 4D, CS, Agatha, Coyote
Guests: Pandora, Woodsy
Featured Guest: Megan
Absent with lame-O excuse: I-O
Late: Chair

4D distributes vitamin D to all but Woodsy.
4D offers to take minutes so that they will be done right.

Pandora suggests that 4D also draw pictures of those present like court reporters do.

Our Consultant, Megan, arrives. Conch Shell is introduced and gets up to go.
"Any word on posting?" she is asked.

"Very, very soon. Like this weekend." And she leaves.

Megan settles in. 4D checks to see she is wearing the top that makes her breasts look shockingly large, but he cannot tell. And surprisingly, manages to refrain from public comment on the topic until typing these minutes.

We ask: Do you need a flip chart stand? 'No.' Laser pointers? 'No.'

Megan: You've fixed all your blogging problems.

Agatha: Oh, should we talk about the Bank Street people then?

Megan: The Bank Street Blog? ...Irony without earnestness.

Megan and the ESIs share thoughts on the Bank Street Blog. 4D announces that he will prepare a posting welcoming them to the blogosphere after he does the minutes.

Coyote: Or after Conch Shell posts. [to general laughter]

Megan: Maybe before...

What to do about Conch Shell?

Megan: Is there something she could do that doesn't involve posting?

Coyote: There's the tagline under the ESI title banner.

Agatha: But she wouldn't do that. We could post for her...

Megan: Or you could trick her. Email her a question?

Coyote: Does Conch Shell answer email?

4D: It's rare.

Agatha: Or a phone call.

Megan: And I guess it would only work once.

Pandora: Maybe it could be Conch Shell's job to never ever post.

Consensus: This would be workable and the worst that could happen is that the Oppositional Defiance Disorder prevalent among the ESIs would result in her actually posting.

Back to the ESIs
4D: Agatha, you were the one who first suggested we engage Megan as a consultant. What did you think she could bring to us?

Agatha: I've been feeling our group is too insular, it would be good to bring in people from outside. I would ask: What should we do more? What should we do less?

Megan: Just more of what you're already doing. One theme I've liked is the searching for a new muse. It's entertaining. Does it have to be only Ottawa?

[The Chair arrives. 4D asks if we should have any concerns about the in-a-delicate-condition T and her husband. "The one who pissed his pants?" asks the Chair. This brings up the issue of us creeping bloggers out. 4D shares a story of a blogger - a young woman who doesn't blog so much any more - who, at the coffee shop she always blogged about, had a fan appear and sit down with her. It creeped her out. "It wasn't me," 4D clarifies.]

Guest Bloggers
Megan agrees that the Andrew ZRX posting was a tremendous success. Pandora suggests that we could auction off the chance to post on our blog. The Andrew ZRX story is patiently explained to Pandora and no one says anything like "Where the hell have you been?" Perhaps because our guest consultant had everyone in such a lovely mood from her compliments and she is an ettiquettist after all.

Megan suggests we could have a contest with a skill-testing question to award the opportunity to be a guest blogger and the skill testing question could be the sort that makes them prove their worthiness for a guest posting.

Chair: Maybe we should turn into a Cat Blog.

Agatha: I love Duncan.

Megan: I would read anything Zoom wrote.

Consensus: Zoom has the best blog in Ottawa and we should do something to recognize that.

Chair: Or we could bring in Cousin Oliver [and then explains that Cousin Oliver was the kid brought in to revive ratings on the Brady Bunch, generally held to be that show's Shark Jump.]

4D: Maybe you could take on Cousin Oliver as a new persona. It might revive your interest in blogging.

Megan asks the Chair why he hasn't been blogging.

Chair: The City is getting boring.

Megan: The Mayor just got arrested!

4D: You have to understand, the Chair has been jaded for about 20 years.

Coyote: And before that he was just apathetic.

4D announces that he is ready to stop taking minutes.

Agatha: I'm just overwhelmed that Megan is here with us.

Chair and Coyote: We are not worthy! ... We are not worthy! [with the bowing and hand gestures]

Megan: Just do more of what you're already doing.

Official portion of meeting is adjourned. General conversation takes place in which further compliments are exchanged. The ESIs also interact with other patrons of the establishment, one of whom introduces himself as a reader. 4D's does a brilliant thespian portrayal of a person who is ignorant of the Elgin Street Irregulars, but the fellow persists, points out that we're sitting with AsteroideaPress and tells the 4th Dwarf that he is the 4th Dwarf.

And who are you? Asks the Dwarf, wondering why he is the only one who ever gets outed.

davewoods.ca says the young man. Who then insists he is not part of any group blog. Even though 4D narrows his eyes the second time he asks.

"Perhaps we should stop addressing each other by our aliases when we're in public," says the Dwarf after the young man rejoins his dining companion.

Man, I feel like (telling) a woman

An intimate reflection from Audrey

I have noticed that, recently, I have had some very deep conversations with men.

They have frequently taken place at the Usual Spot. They have also taken place at small dinner parties (including my own), hockey parties in private homes and bars (Go Sens Go!), and even at weddings (esp. while eating yummy Greek food).

As well, I have had these conversations during vacations in Europe with friends, in e-mail messages, and on the phone.

It seems that, these days, my male friends and I are always cautioning each other, don't blog this, before launching into a detailed story. We seem to be opening up more to each other. It seems that we suddenly all know about each others' salaries and mortgages and love lives and, unfortunately, angst.

In the past, only my boyfriends would have intimate discussions with me. They would tell me of the girlfriend who left them for their best friend, of the father who beat them, of the impact on them when their parents divorced or when one of their parents passed away suddenly, of their financial and career worries.

My other male friends would discuss romances, family, work, and money, but only on a very general level. (My women friends and I have always had these intimate conversations - especially when we have been trying to figure out men!)

However, now my eyes have been opened to the fact that men worry about the same things that my women friends and I worry about!

Men worry about:
1. Why a love interest only wants to be friends with them;
2. How they should treat a love interest if that love interest is already in a relationship, but if there is undeniable chemistry between them;
3. What are the appropriate levels of intimacy with a love interest;
4. How long they should stay in their present job.
5. How to dress well, without appearing to have made any effort;
6. How to take care of friends and family members who are going through a tough time;
7. If they should rent or buy. And, if they wish to buy, should they buy a family-sized house if they are single;
8. If they should have children, get married, settle down;
9. What is the best way to live a meaningful life; and
10. How to get over a broken heart.

Have I changed, or have men?