What really matters

Postcards From the Edge *

(* Or Beyond. Hey. Sudbury, for chrissakes...)
Day Five:: Sneak into a rehab counsellor's office this morning and log on, real quick and stealthy, to webcast yet another urgent plea for chocolate. (Where the hell is it? Startin' to get desperate around here. There's a murder of pizza-addicted crows, busted for brawling behind a dumpster in Sarnia and sent here for court-ordered treatment. They're getting really ugly in group. And that damn horse in the corner. Nobody seems to know why he's here. He just keeps staring at me.... won't say anything. Just stares. Creepy. I digress.)

Anyway, imagine my shock when I find out out that damage to a single submarine carrier cable under the Mediterranean has crapped out two thirds of the Interwebby goodness normally available in the Middle East and India. Apparently vital commerce on at least two continents has ground to a crawl. Imagine the chaos for them: no LOLCats! No Onion! No Facebook! For us? No access to highly outsourced call centres! The humanity!

More important than any of this, though, is the still-unknown fate of the New Delhi, Ahmedabad, and Dubai chapters of the Coyote Fan Club. My every thought is with you in this time of tribulation and sorrow, even if the net ain't... and, like, send chocolate if you get this...

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?

This Google Poem

this poem is about cognitive-behavioral therapy
this poem is about a brief period of unrequited emotions
this poem is about abortion and I find it amazing that you can absolutely disagree with everyone
this poem is about a medical condition I have.
this poem is about alot of things and really hits an emotion string
i'll tell you what this poem is about. It's about living in the moment.
this poem is about the war in Iraq
i think this poem is about flying elephants soaring on the horizon of feministic values. But the elephants are depressed like Anne Heche
i think this poem is about getting people to stop and consider, 'what makes you think you're the one running the show?
this poem is about not just hearing your friend, but actually taking the time to listen and understand them.

this poem is not about insomnia at all
this poem is not about the horror of wars or anything like that
this poem is not about man's relationship to nature.
(This poem is not about) Transubstantiation.
this poem is not about the physical
this poem is not about temptation.
this poem is not about some sleaze ball trying to "seize the day" and get laid

[*] [*]

Overheard in Ottawa

On the #14: Two acquaintances discussing call centre work

Earnest young woman: I just tell them I'm Canadian and they come around.

Lord of the Rings Fan: Is it legal to tell them we're Canadian?

Earnest young woman: It's not. I say I'm originally Canadian, and working in New Jersey and it's cold...

In a Transitway Shelter:

Algonquin Student (to her cell phone): No, no, 56 mm is fine. Alex had the super-sensing ones and he said... [lowering voice] It's weird 'cause I'm talking in Baseline Station... but Alex said... anyway he said 56 is fine.

Doggy detox

I've been a bad, bad dog. First Coun. Dog (sic. hah.) Thompson hires trappers to run me outta Dodge - um, okay, Greely. They catch a couple of my slower eastern brethren and bring down all manner of vigilante doofuses (doofi?) on moi's frisky tail.

Okay, I know it's gettin' hot. I scoot the Top Sekrit Furtress of Solitude over to Richmond. Where, suddenly, like, Coun. Jan Harder jumps onto the anti-coyote bandwagon and gets all, like, "you are so not allowed here, either!" What's wrong with these people? Don't they know that a semi-mythical coyote on a heavy chocolate jag is uncatchable?

It's not all bad. A small, vocal pro-coyote lobby is spamming the Petfinder, explaining that ya don't leave small pets and food outside, unsupervised, for long periods in semi-rural areas. (Letters with pix of highly photogenic Alberta coyotes... Yoohoo! Over here, mister shutterguy!) Others kindly and correctly note there's way more than one kind of rural predator checking out the daily specials on the menu. And wonder exactly who's unbalancing the ecology more here, anyway, coyotes or people? I have my opinions.

Still, despite the joy of a good chase, certain of the Irregulars worry. When they finally catch up to me Saturday night, snarfing Hershey's on the curb outside the Mac's on Gladstone, the IO suggests I've been really pissy lately. The Short Guy says I should lay off the chocolate and let my kidneys recover. Aggie fixes me with a gimlet eye -- maybe two, hard to tell because she's a teensy bit unfocused -- and urges me to get the hell out of town and lay low for my own good. A spa retreat, I ask? A nunnery? Hopefully...

Nope. This is intervention, big-time. Those rat bast... ummmmm, friends, concerned for my safety and well-being... jump me and slam me into a travel crate. And ship me to detox. In Sudbury. Here, I languish, jonesing in a lockdown facility. Coyotes have no pockets in which to smuggle in their chocolate stashes. Grim.

It's not all whacks on the nose with newspapers, though. I'm apparently recovering in record time. Heh. The counsellors (No nuns in sight. None.) are very impressed with my progress. If I'm a good dog, they'll let me go on the field trip to the nickel mine. If I'm a really good dog, they might persuade the tour guides to let me spell out my name in glowing slag... and how cool is that?