Sunday

Newsflash: Harmony is no longer blogging

Harmony's Singing in the Shower blog is no longer. I was about to comment on her latest posting -- basically to tell her that she's hot -- when I was shocked to discover that the blog was no longer there. I emailed her immediately, and here is her email response:

From: Harmony
To: Aggie
Sent: October 18, midnight

Subject: Re: Where the hell is your blog?

Thanks for noticing!

I deleted it.

Various reasons, none important, but I was about done with it, as I was with my cell phone about 6 months ago...

I'm now Facebook free, cell-free, blog-free, and if i had my druthers, internet-free..

---------------------------------------------------
I mean, did she think about maybe taking a little break? Or, maybe doing a little non-blogging experiment? I don't know anyone who has deleted her blog....Ok, maybe just one...
Anyway, I have offered to blog about her non-blogging, and she seems ok with this idea. I'm happy for her. She's free now. I'm still shackled and chained.

Friday

When in doubt, rearrange the deck chairs

Thank Dog! One election's done with. We can get closer to what passes for normal around here. And what should we do first? Support His Nibs, I think. Ooh, but where to start? So much density, so little gravitas.

Our esteemed mayor this week - the week that the city fired a mittful of its top managers in the name of economy in hard times - announced he wanted to hire a private company to rationalize Ottawa's street furniture. With loadsa advertising plastered on it. Because the current stuff just looks so darn ugly. He was obviously stepping from strength to strength, building on the success of last week's Ottawa Life Magazine hagiography ummm, profile. The one that said that city administration under Ottawa's former mayor, Bob Chiarelli, was 'marred by scandal'.

Now that's spin...!

Naturally, bein' a sensitive aesthete myself, I heartily approve of the impulse behind this pronouncement. (I'm pretty sure it was impulsive.) I mean, we don't have anything else to deal with, do we? The economy's in great shape, our mayor hasn't been convicted of anything, and those nice new CFL franchise owners want to take that ugly, unpopular, useless Lansdowne Park off of the city's hands and turn it into something the city can really be proud of. For a small consideration from the city. Ka-chiinnngggg!

Obviously we need, very badly, to talk about street furniture. Right now. Yup. And since the Irregulars are well acquainted with one or two pieces of anthropomorphized furniture, we herewith offer our expertise in aid of this important issue. For a small consideration from the city. Ka-chiinnngggg!

Tank Top Tuesday on Friday



...because Woodsy's popular tank tops get major Google action, I thought I'd shamelessly exploit the situation ummm, post an homage. Yeah. That's it.

Thursday

Bong Thursday

"They'll stone you when you're at the breakfast table
They'll stone you when you are young and able
They'll stone you when you're trying to make a buck
They'll stone you and then they'll say good luck
But I would not feel so all alone
Everybody must get stoned" (Bob Dylan)

This song used to be my ring tone, but I got rid of it when I was given more responsibility at work. I wouldn't call myself a stoner, but I have to say getting stoned is not the worst thing you could do during these trying times.

I also recommend the following activities to make yourself feel better:

1) do at least one rocker jump a day.
2) do art.
3) get a pet.
4) make this dessert right now- Cut up a pillsbury doughboy tube into pieces and place them at the bottom of a small loaf pan. Cut up some apples and throw them on top. Sprinkle some cinnamon on there. Throw some brown sugar on top. Pour a cup of heavy cream on top of the whole thing. Put it in the oven for about 40 minutes.
5) There is no fifth thing.

Wednesday

First Feline of Florence


Wise and whiskered
In his element
Oblivious to mantras, miscues and meltdowns
Far from the hustings
Light orange gelato stripes listen
For the sounds of cork
Rubbing against glass
Footsteps on slow-travelled stone
And whispers in the piazza
So blissfully unaware
Of John Baird's hair
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