Why Bob Rocks

Ok, just let me go on a bit about Bob. Isn't he fabulous? We met him because he was the Muse's best commentator. Then, he started his own blog, and it is delightful. Here are just a few reasons I love Bob:
1) He is not a pretentious asshole.(Sorry, that is kind of a negative reason, isn't it?). He is obviously a skilled cook, and yet he is so casual about it. He'll talk about soaking red onions "to sweeten", which is something completely out of my cooking vocabulary. And yet, then he'll comment "that's good shit". This is the same reason why I love the Naked Chef, Jamie Oliver. I think Bob may be the Naked Chef of Ottawa.
2) He understands the yin/yang thing. He has a smoke after a jog. He understands that 'good living' isn't about this joyless puritanical existence that we see on some of the serious,earnest faces of some Ottawa people. You know the ones that go to bed at 9, eat only organic, get up at 6 and jog along the canal with a $1000 stroller. (Actually, I just know one person who does that!)
3) He knows how to fix things. I'm not just talking about hanging a Monet print; this guy can lay tiles and other complex tasks.
4) He is modest about his gifts. Modesty is underrated these days.
5) He is adorable. Remember when the 5M posted that photo of him. Sigh...

I promise, ESIs, I will not go on and on and on about Bob any more. I just had to get this out of my system.

Famous Chokers

Once again, the Senators are on the verge of being the top playoff veterans with the lowest golf handicap. The only solace I have is that those miserable Toronto Maple Leafs have been on the fairways for the last three weeks.

Loonie Fever

The Canadian dollar hit 91 cents U.S. today. The last time it was at that level was back in the middle of January, 1978. Coincidentally, the movie Saturday Night Fever was released around that same time. The thing is, the dollar was in the dumps for a long time before this sudden upsurge in value, and I wondered what is the true cause of the gain? Avoiding all that macro-economic mumbo-jumbo talk, I attribute it to the popularity of retro-nights around Canadian dance clubs and music halls. The dollar is high in value, because we THINK it's a different era. If this is true we may be able to get Bank of Canada Governor, David Dodge, to use monetary intervention measures to completely ban any potential late 90's revival nights. I could do without hearing another Ricky Martin, Jewel, or Britney Spears song.

Uncivil liberties

There I was on the bus, standing in the aisle near the back as passengers tried to navigate their way to the rear door to clamber off. It was more jam-packed than the Liberal leadership race and, despite my best efforts to let people by, there was little if any wiggle room. Unless I were to crowd-surf above the seats, I simply had nowhere to go.

"You're going to have to move," an amply proportioned lady said to me as she barrelled from the back of the vehicle toward the exit.

Not, "Excuse me, please." Or even, "I'll just squeeze by."

If civility lives, it is primed for Last Rites.

Consider this, from the Financial Post of April 15: "Businesses know that bad manners carry big costs. Recent studies have found that nearly half of all workers have experienced yelling or verbal abuse related to 'desk rage,' that more than half have been seriously distracted from work by rudeness, and that most believe that workplace incivility is out of control."

So, seeing as some of us have yet to file our taxes (OK, I have yet to file my taxes), here are suggested deductions that would both encourage civility and bolster the pocketbook:

Non-refundable tax credits

Multiply total annual income by 0.01 per cent and enter on line 251 if in 2005 you:

(*) Refrained from whistling Sinatra tunes (see Schedule 18) in elevators.

(*) Routinely put the little dividing bar in place after unloading your groceries onto the conveyor belt, so others could begin unloading theirs.

(*) Did not scream, without good reason (see "Dire Emergencies" in the Tax Guide), while standing beside the desk of a co-worker who was on the phone.

(*) Sent at least one thank-you note by regular postal mail.

(*) Did not deposit trash on the IO's lawn.

Straight from the hearth

Lately I have been casually looking for a chateau, a new place with a good perch to view the stars. And it strikes me how similar house-hunting is to dating. You keep your eyes open, show a little interest and the interaction begins.

In each case, let's face it, looks are usually the first thing that catches the attention. And soon after, traits like personality (warm and inviting), interests (recreation and shopping nearby), job and social status (location, location, location, preferably in a good neighbourhood), and salary (a solid investment) become the focus.

And as with the buzz of excitement over a new flame, often hopes are dashed with the first real get-to-know-you session. (Hmmm, this is nothing like the photo ... the roof is missing some shingles, the street is really noisy and the backyard is kind of funny-shaped.) In these little dramas the real estate agent plays the role of matchmaker, like the best friend of the prospective paramour who trumpets all the virtues and plays down any shortcomings. (Well, yes, the master bathroom may be a little small, but don't you love the walk-in closets?) Maybe we're intrigued enough to arrange a second viewing or, if truly curious, a third one. After a while, the inevitable question arises: is this where I belong? Or should I keep looking?

To stretch the analogy a little, renting is sort of like living together, while buying a place is akin to getting hitched. And we all know about the seven-year itch. Like that attractive new co-worker who appears out of nowhere, sometimes an enticing development with granite countertops and a spacious deck springs up just down the street.

If, like me, you're thinking of moving on to a new abode, you must decide whether the grass is truly greener in the verdant garden of that beckoning property. Or is it worth the trouble and expense of starting over?

My place is kind of small, has too many stairs and no backyard. But I now realize I would miss my house. I enjoy seeing the big maple tree blossom, like the way the sun hits my bay window mid-morning, and have become fond of the quirky, lighthouse-like layout. Maybe, as with any relationship of nine years, mine just needs some renewed love and attention.