Balls!

Dwarfie dropped by tonight and found me knitting...


"Wow, Woodsy, you sure have big wool balls!"

How many Arubans are feeling about this winter

How many of us are feeling about this winter in Ottawa

More Art and Joy!

The amazing Mae Callen singlehandedly transformed Ottawa last week with her red balloons. Her goal: to bring a little joy into the hearts of weather-beaten, oppressed, depressed, despondent Ottawans.
There is a lot of suffering out there. January lasted forever. Mercury is in retrograde. People are breaking up everywhere you look. And then there's the economy. People are dying. People are sick. People are sad.
So, Irregulars, I'm calling an Emergency Meeting to discuss initiatives to promote joy -- in the spirit of Mae Callen's groundbreaking balloon project.

Sic (Ottawa) Transit (in)Gloria Mundi...

Huh. On Day 51, call the Ottawa transit strike "officially done". Stick a fork in it. And one apiece into Mayor Larry O'Brien, and union leader Andre Cornellier, for utter disgrace under pressure. Oh, hell! Bring out all the place settings and start forkin' everybody over! There's plenty of responsibility to go 'round.

The city and the union last evening agreed to binding arbitration - as much as any two parties with a big honkin' federal gun to their heads can be said to "agree". Seems it was pretty much the solution proposed within the first two days, before the Mayor and the leader of the union local turned the whole city into an arena for an epic personal pissin' match, the like of which even coyotes rarely witness. And we know from pissin' matches.

Now, we semimythical coyotes are never bitter, cynical and obsessive, or anything. Even as we lick chafed and frozen appendages. However, we suspect it will be highly instructive to observe (and carefully note) the order and speed with which this sorry affair's numerous flawed leads and over-confident second bananas trot out their individual attempts to publicly grab credit and apply their over-torqued spins, pre-fab self-justifications, and weaselly personal self aggrandizations. Oh, wait... it's already begun!

Less than 30 minutes after the announcement, unless the cheesy dollar-store digital clock I picked out of the trash one long-ago recycling night was even more bafflingly inaccurate than usual...

Now, excuse me. I'm going to go suck my frostbitten paws. But I'm not bitter. Or anything...