Feeding the Hand that Bites You

So once again, the nation’s capital is caught in a storm of controversy regarding animal welfare. I sometimes wonder whether this town is a world-class city what with the media obsession with anything furry (sorry, Coyote).

The latest brouhaha involves the local Humane Society’s procedures regarding the assessment of adoptability of pets. Both the Citizen and the CBC Radio covered the story extensively this morning.

The big controversy revolves around one particular test, that being the animal’s response to a fake hand on the end of a stick poking at it while it tries to eat its food. Failing this test apparently sends Fido to death row. While I don’t want to debate the merits of this test on dogs, I can relate to it when it comes to people. I can think of at least two girlfriends that I would not have put my hand anywhere in their vicinity while at the all-you-can-eat buffet. It was just plain stupid.

I just wish I knew about the fake hand test prior to some of those courtships. For one thing, I’d be much better at playing the piano today.

Fall

In the promising light
of a cloudless morning
rich in symbol
in early September
a city's hidden vertigo
dances out between
rippling waves of heat
shaken
by improbable fire
and much more basic
imponderables
until
mirrored towers shiver
sway
tremble
lurch against gravity
like drunks
on their morning way
home
groan
then fall
to the curbstones
raining shattered glass
steel
and life
down to the streets
boiling chalky choking dust
out from the centre.

Dazed night falls too
as people pick
frantically
uncertainly
through the
still smoking shifting
heap
of what once was
for survivors
where there are none
under emergency lights.

That first night
at the edge of their glare
one camera's
recording eye
gropes blindly
past a billboard
from a
jauntier time
lost only hours before
still standing
impossibly
on the rim
of ground zero:
"A hit from
way
off Broadway..."

Plutonic relations

Pity poor Pluto. For more than 75 years it held the enviable status of ninth planet from the sun. Then the International Astronomical Union comes along and demotes Pluto to dwarf planet (no offence, Dwarfie). And the space scientists compound the humiliation by assigning the once-proud sphere the nondescript identifier 134340.

It must be unsettling to go through life thinking you are one thing, then waking up to find you have been pigeonholed by others as something else entirely.

We may not be able to guide our personal fates, but we can sure try. So when the Muse picks herself up, dusts herself off and makes a new go of it, that is to be applauded. In crafting a life with R she has surrendered a measure of control over her destiny. But she has embarked on a journey in the hope of something better. And no one can take that away.

The meaning of life

With this title, I figure BlogAdmin will fire up that antique Monty Python Cam any sec...

But really. Humans' wanting meaning to exist, and being disposed to look for meaning, doesn't always mean that it's there. Maybe it just means they're being particularly over-ingenious at pattern recognition. I'll make a small nod here to Sartre as a quotable authority on life's meaninglessness. 'Small' because while I began Being and Nothingness, I didn't finish it. It was giving me nausea... but the guy did have an argument.

I've been reading the Muse's last few entries with a certain puzzlement. I'm not a very bright coyote, but it seems to me that some of this stuff about life's circles within circles, karmic payback, &cetera, may come from the vantage point -- that of having achieved the longed-for great love and marriage, after going through relationship hell. Oh, I'm big on karma and the circle(s) of life myself. Having figured somewhat in one or two local creation myths, a coyote of my ilk can barely do otherwise. But what about that PA guy, who has not found his own blessed state? And come to it, was she quite so certain of life's karmic gyres back she she was feeling desperate herself?

"I understand PA's desire to "settle" and find ground. For so long, I too was looking for that. I was desperate for it. Now, I can just focus on making this work, which is a much more rewarding process than trying to find someone to work with," she says.

Uh, exactly. I'm sceptical that her current high cycle may have been pre-ordained by the low that preceded it. Could just be dumb luck, appropos of no cosmic plan whatever. She's an undeniably bright one, but the gloppy and sticky goo of sentiment soaking through the reasoning here is musielage.

(Image: thecakelady.ca)

Labour Day Epiphany

Epiphany: 3 a (1) : a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3) : an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure b : a revealing scene or moment

First, I want to apologize for not attending the Emergency ESI meeting. As 4D mentioned below in the meeting minutes, my excuse was shoddy. The truth is, I continue to have trouble coming off of vacation: my health has gone into decline, and my spirits have been low. However,there was a gradual upturn on the weekend, punctuated by an epiphany. The epiphany came out of three unrelated things -- Musie's recent blog postings, a singer/songwriter I saw on the weekend, and a conversation I had with a young mystery writer last week. The epiphany was this: One of the great struggles of life is knowing when to work and when not to work. Overworking can be as bad as underworking. But, underworking can be bad, too! Pretty deep, eh?

Musie is doing well right now because she is not working so hard. She is learning to relax and enjoy the details of her life. Like many of us, her natural inclination is to overwork. She worked far too hard on the "M" relationship. That was not good. Relationships may be 'work' sometimes, but they should not be that much work. The relationship with "R" seems easy right now. I like that the man got them a dishwasher. Again... less work!! I also like that "R" is sleeping a lot and is still managing to fix things around the house.

Second event. I saw a really intelligent, great singer/songwriter on the weekend. Unfortunately, I felt that he ruined two potentially great songs by overworking them. They were too much. He didn't give his listeners enough credit, and they came across a bit wanky. Another example of how things can be ruined by overwork.

Third thing. A conversation with a young mystery writer. Here was the conversation:
Young mystery writer: What do you think I should do?
Agatha: Why are you asking me?
YMW: Because I want your opinion.
Agatha: OK. I think you need to work your ass off and stop asking people what you should do.

My goal for the next few months--figure out where I need to work more and where I need to work less.