City of Spires II

(Or: The Environment Is the Economy...)
(... Stupid.)

Each autumn, I become a cranky coyote. Something to do with being 'bout six thousand years old, and having the arthritis that goes with that, even if I am partly mythical. And really, I'm not very patient with patent stupidity at the best of times.

When ya combine these two coyote factoids in a guy that watches CPAC while he gnaws his coffeebreak bones (I know. Perverse. And likely to cause indigestion.) ya can imagine the extremity of the yapping aimed at the TV.

I'm especially fascinated (read: 'galled') lately by politipeople who claim to know what's going on in this country cautioning us that "we must balance environmental concerns against the needs of a healthy economy."

Fuck. The environment is the economy.

Let's make this simple, with a metaphor even I can understand: piss in your own bed (or, say, souse it with oil sand tailings) and it ain't worth nothin' anymore -- to you, your children, or anybody else. Everything, including the economy, will be damp, smelly and unhealthy. Why is this simple connection so hard for allegedly 'smart politicians' and 'smart businessmen' to grasp?

So, check out the wondrous sky over Parliament Hill. Because global climate change starts there...

Return of the Meta Contest

The time has come to launch the second part of the meta contest.

How to Win:

• Before 7pm, Thursday, 8 November 2007, write a comment on this post suggesting a prize.

The Winner Will Receive:

• The very prize that they suggested.

The Winner will be determined by consensus of the Elgin Street Irregulars. No consensus = No winner.

Words that won't get you laid

Audrey sent me a link today for a piece by Ariel Leve on the Times online. I suspect that Audrey agrees with Ms Leve.

Words Not To Live By

Sometimes someone will say something and immediately, I’ll lose interest in continuing the rest of the conversation.

A few years ago I went out with a man who ended a message on my answering machine with “rock on”
As in, “I’ll try you again tomorrow….rock on.”
What’s wrong with good-bye? Or nothing at all. Just hang up. We weren’t meant to be.
I’ve discussed this with a few of my friends and I’m not alone. Certain sayings can be an instant turn off.

Here is a partial, not comprehensive, list of things people should stop saying:

1. Pardon my French (after cursing)

2. Anyhoo

3. We’re not in Kansas anymore

4. Rock on

5. What’s the plan Stan?

6. Give me a shout

7. Fancy Shmancy

8. I’m just calling to say howdy

9. Hell-o?

10. Who’d of thunk it?

Now I understand why I so seldom had calls returned after I said "Give me a shout" on voicemails. I wish I had seen this list a long time ago. At least before I bought the t-shirt with "Rock on" spelled out on the front and "Anyhoo" on the back.

Are there other phrases I should be avoiding?

Google Poem: Preparing for the Oscars

I am eternally grateful for this feeling, for him.
I am eternally grateful for all that your father has done to help me while I'm (still) in school.
I am very grateful for the healing work that I do.
I am … most grateful for the generous support of donors and philanthropists.

I am truly grateful for life. And all the wonderful people I have in it.
I am truly grateful for your services.
I am truly grateful for this site, and for showing me a way to approach the study of antiques that I had not been exposed to before.

I am very grateful for the sympathetic and careful attention given to my book.
I am forever grateful for our four children.
I am forever grateful for Blackie, who was my best friend when I felt all alone.

To the men and women of the Onondaga County Republican Committee who worked so hard on my behalf - I am extremely grateful for all you have done.

I am forever grateful for the LIVESTRONG movement, and the passion and power of the community of cancer survivors.
I am extremely grateful for your professional advice and action in obtaining the outstanding £225.

Among many other things, I am profoundly grateful for never having heard the sound of machine gun fire or bombs exploding in my neighborhood.

[*]

Fairy tale town

Ottawa, though populated by many types that pride themselves on real-world pragmatism, is a fairy-tale town. If ya don't buy into this at first glance, go ahead, just scope out the gargoyles on that neo-Gothic pile up on the Hill. Or read one of local author Charles de Lint's books -- he's made a nice career of populating an alternate Ottawa with modern magic.

But there are plenty of other modern fairy tales here, and the fabulists to believe 'em .

The current prime minister, f'rinstance, thinks he's in control of everything... freak. He ain't a boss, so much as a strategy board-game player run amuck.

Certain of that crew of second-stringers sitting in that neo-Gothic pile up on the Hill also think they run the country. Huh. Tell the country that.

Or how 'bout this one? The assorted spin doctors that hang from the tonier walls across town think they actually fool the public. And I know from spin-doctoring. I chase my tail every morning. If I ever catch it, it's self-prescribed Band-Aids and Robaxacet all 'round... I digress.

These fairy tales are, of course, only the most obvious examples. At least to anyone possessed of half an Oreo's worth of creamy whipped filling in their bonces. StatsCan says there are 1,130,761 stories in the naked Census Metropolitan Area. I know a few. But if I told ya, I'd hafta feed you to the grotty trolls that have taken up under the Corktown Bridge. And they'd really appreciate a change from goat roti...