The great escape

So yesterday around tiffin we're sitting in what the addiction rehab counsellors call 'the sharing circle', though 'the staring circle' is more like it, because we've been eyeing each other all afternoon, mum, glum and wary.

"I think we're very close to a breakthrough here," the counsellor says, in an ineffectually hopeful kind of way.

Suddenly the hot cardboardy smell of takeout pizza blows into the room from one of the offices down the hall. Bad move by somebody, because the gang of pizza-addicted crows from Sarnia predictably goes apeshit, cackling bloody murder and rumbling en masse toward the aroma. Our counsellor rushes off to aid a couple of staff who, from the sounds of things, are getting mugged by crows. The rest of the group charges after to watch and hoot. The din is terrific.

There's just me and the horse left. He sidles out of the corner he's occupied silently for the past dozen days, stands in front of the padlocked emergency door, and looks at me hard. He finally speaks: "I'm busting out. You in?"

His drawl is oddly familiar. I can't place it, but answer, "Oh, yeah!"

A huge hindward kick shatters the door and an alarm pours new clamour over the chaos. Everybody's too busy to notice. The horse turns to head out, pauses, looks over his shoulder and cocks an eyebrow. "Which way you going?"

"Elgin Street. Ottawa," I say.

"I can give you a ride as far as North Bay," he says. "Got business there. Jump on."

Best offer I've had in days. I hop up, circle twice on his broad back, lie down, and cover my nose with my tail. He heads out into the cold twilight. The cacophony fades behind us. "Didn't catch your name," he says, after a mile or so.

"No real name. Just coyote," I say. "What's yours?"

"No name either," he says. "Just horse."

A mile or two more of clip-clopping in the dark, and another question occurs: "What were you in for?"

"Spaghetti," he says, tersely. The tone brooks no further questions. I shut the hell up. Who am I to judge? After awhile, as I start to drowse, his swaying pauses. There's a scrape, a sulphurous flare, quickly damped, then the smell of foul little black cheroot wafts over his shoulder. "Ah," I think as I drift to sleep. "Got it..."

The Horse With No Name's voice reminds me of Clint Eastwood's...

Sign Language and Prime Ministers

A little news story about sign language and the prime minister of Thailand sent me on an internet search quest this week. It seems the Thai PM is not happy with his name sign. Apparently his nose resembles an apple and in Thailand, name signs are often based on a person's physical characteristics. So instead of finger spelling Samak Sundaravej, signers hold their noses between two fingers. [CBC story]

What is the name sign for Stephen Harper? I wondered. He must care given the news last week that the government lobby to the House of Commons has been transformed into a Harper portrait gallery. [1, 2, 3] Alas, after a lengthy search using both Google and Yahoo, I did not find a name sign for our Prime Minister.

However, along the way I learned some interesting things about name signs. In North America, most name signs are finger-spelled initials of the first and last name with the right hand held by the head. Elsewhere in the world, and sometimes here, the name sign is a gesture based on some other characteristic of the person. [Good detail with images here, including Wayne Gretzky's name sign.]

Another important thing about name signs is that you are not supposed to pick your own. Sort of like getting your aboriginal name. You don't get to call yourself "Soaring Eagle" unless a native person gives you that name. And if "Spawning Cod" is what they call you, that is what you get.

Illustrated above is what I think Stephen Harper would like his name sign to be. This is based on the widely reported but so far unproven claim that in his youth he attended Star Trek conventions in costume.

However, unless someone can tell us differently, I believe we should assume that Stephen Harper's name sign is a right-handed finger-spelled "S" followed by a finger-spelled "H" near the top of your head.

Bonus Links for your edification:

Practice reading finger-spelling here

Some signers don't believe in name signs

ASL Browser

Signs for Babies

Word Cop

Or did you mean exacerbated?

* As an adult I believe that the chemical properties of Impramine, while suppressing my ADD, exasperated my propensity towards full-blown TS

* The coarse and vulgar descriptions Mr. Hiaasen utilized exasperated my mild motion sickness to the point where I felt the urge to vomit.

* Her parents exasperated her hunger for the high-life by giving Chantal whatever she wanted; even if it meant they could not afford their basic necessities

* They financed her Military spending sprees and exasperated her severe addiction to oil.

* We have encountered 'problems' as we were both 'newbies'which only exasperated her resistance and reluctance to accept the bit.

* Also since pride was a fundamental part of the Krogen's make up, his race not being able to make decisions autonomously exasperated his offense.

* Teaching fourth grade was already a tiring occupation, and moving to my current home exasperated my situation due to a six-hour round trip commute.

* The direct intervention of Western governments would have further exasperated his humiliation

* My aunt entered noisily, for the cold of the church had exasperated her catarrh, now chronic.

* The scandal of the marriage exasperated his opposition.

* I am CONVINCED that the majority of my extreme health issues have been caused by candida overgrowth which have exagerated and exasperated my ailments

* The death of the Marchioness de Toral, under circumstances so similar, tore open a wound imperfectly skinned over, and so exasperated my affliction,

* I might have personally exasperated my situation by watching a soccer game during the early moments of my sickness

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?