Friday

Strollers on buses: ummm, little common sense, here...?

On the big issues, City Council often tweaks. And tweaks. Lansdowne Park redevelopment must not be a big issue, because the Mayor tossed that one to a few business guys he happens to like, opening neither his eyes nor a public tender process.

Strollers on buses? Woohoo! All over that one! The issue looms as large as some of the strollers.

There are plenty of views on this. Fourth Dwarf took a shot in this very blog.* Some stroller partisans seem to suspect an all-out attack on the sanctity of motherhood. Some bus passengers seem to desire no less than a clear cannonshot down the bus' centre aisle without hitting anything. Except maybe that sketchy-looking kid with the iPod, sitting dead center, back row. And city council is lovin' this one, because it's just the kind micromanagement issue from which they can suck all common sense. Nature abhors a vacuum. Ottawa City Council routinely creates 'em to operate in. Draw your own conclusion. I'm just sayin'...

One issue is that while city buses have, like most things North American, gained girth over the years, they have not kept anything resembling parity with the bigger baby buggy builders. (Say that three times, fast...) Humungostrollers are fashionable, ubiquitous, and hard to find alternatives for.

I see sound reasons for their big-ass bicycle tires. In Ottawa in winter, horsing the abysmally tiny wheels of old-style foldable strollers through ice ruts and snowdrifts can quickly bust up the stroller, the person pushing it, and/or the baby on board. (We shall not discuss those damn triangular yellow signs in SUV windows just now. I digress.) And I am totally down with the fact that lotsa moms who can afford one stroller only will buy the one that pushes most easily.

However, there can be a sense of entitlement around motherhood. (Kaffee-klatsching yummy mommies who circle their children's SUV-proxies like covered wagons around their tables at the Glebe Bridgehead, such that even a shifty li'l coffee-jonesing coyote can't slip past without fatal entanglement: I'm lookin' at you...!) There can also be a sense of entitlement among civilian bus commuters who want to get down the aisle without the clothed equivalent of pole-dancing, and who look askance at rows of front jump seats folded up for one or two lower-mobility passengers when they'd like to be sitting in 'em.

Bottom line, though, is that it's public transit. Ya share it. Bus users who buy strollers need to take that, and a tape measure, into account, and two-legged commuters need to understand that it's a bus. Sometimes it gets crowded, but it's good for your wallet and the environment, and sharing it with everybody who needs it makes it that much better for both. And how important is it to always get your own way, really?

What I'm advocating is a little common sense. And a modicum of the courtesy that used to be called "common", before it became uncommon.

And it would be really good if you didn't kick that shifty li'l coffee-jonesing coyote hiding under the seat in front of you. In exchange, he won't bite you. And may not eat your cat. See how easy courtesy can be?
* UPDATE: see Zoom's simultaneous post on the issue, here

Monday

The canal skating experience

Whillikers.

If ya didn't know the secrets of finding a good time in this town, ya might think that in Ottawa, on a kinda lamely labelled provincial civic holiday in the middle of winter, there'd be nothing else to do but skate on the kinda worse-for-wear Rideau Canal. And that ya might be one of maybe a million-odd Ottawattamies to think the same thing.

Actually, upon reflection, ya might be perilously close to right about that...

Friday

Let the real games begin...

If you just immigrated from a cannibal galaxy to pose as an earthling, I'll give you a big hand and tell you that today marks the beginning of The Games That Must Not Be Named.©®™*

Only yesterday I was telling the Independent Observer how torn I felt. I can, and do, admire the single-minded focus and dedication of athletes that train for years to compete. And their overarching efforts in the sporting events themselves.

But the arguably corrupt organization of entitled minor ex-aristocrats behind them, and the overburden of corporate sponsors jostling to noodge as much reflected glory as possible away from these athletes? Not so much.

And the blank-eyed Prime Minister with the Fiberglas©®™ hair who plans a big post-prorogue poll bounce in the happily-ever-after of Canadian athletes (completely unconnected with himself) winning a buncha bent gold gongs, not at all.

So it is with a song on my lips and a smile in my heart that I open the ESI Olympic Non-Specific Scandal watch. Things are interesting already. We have the usual 30-odd garden-variety doping bans (not us, so far, eh?) meted out before that big flame even fired up. Performance-enhancing drugs are so 90s. Everybody does 'em. Can we just ignore that aspect and move on? Please? They're an inconvenient distraction. Not at all what we meant by Citius, Altius, Fortius. At least not originally...

But just out of the starting gate, we also have a wild Canadian accusation that the German luge team is using magnets in its sleds. Somehow.

Rapidly followed by official denials all 'round, from the Germans and the sport's international sanctioning body.

As a semimythical coyote of wily but small brain, I'm totally unclear on any, ummm, actual science-y thingies involved. So, apparently, were the accusers. But, hey, that didn't stop the story from bucketing out of the starting gate faster than sledders themselves.

There has been speculation in some parts that this is part of a psychological campaign to strike fear into the hearts of our sledding opposition and unbalance their sang-froid. Unfortunately, they ain't the ones lookin' unbalanced at the moment. Obviously, the PM excepted, Canadians are so amateur at this mind-game stuff. Must do better! Or as we coyotes always say, citius, altius, fortius...!
* Unless You're A Shill An Official Sponsor Whose International Corporation Has Paid A Whack Of Blackmail Money To The Private Club of Crepuscular Old Men Who Run The Franchise As A Personal Fiefdom

Thursday

This Google Poem is killing me

* Life is killing me.

* The suspense is killing me

* shermans house is killing me.

* New York Is Killing Me.

* Rasheeda's Hair is KILLING ME!

* Facebook Is Killing Me.

* That doll is killing me.

* Princy is killing me again, she says if i dont pin up my bangs from now on she'll just butcher them her self. God, i hate that woman.

* I must confess, that my loneliness is killing me now;

* My bra is killing me.

* P90X is KILLING ME! (And I Like It).

* ouch, my back is killing me!!!

* Jealousy Is Killing Me.

* The suspense is killing ME TOO

* So...as you can imagine, this wait is killing me!

* your icon is killing me.

* I am having major spring fever, this rain is killing me!

* The anticipation is killing me!

* Ah man, he is killing me.

* MY HEAD IS KILLING ME!

* your traits is killing me!

* THE MUSIC IN THIS MOVIE IS KILLING ME

* this snow is killing me.

* this genetics class is KILLING me right now

* And Owen is killing me, I could just eat him up!!

* My guilt is killing me slowly.

* My current computer is killing me.

* this blizzard is killing me though,

* My headache is killing me, but in Japan this is the reality of the health care system.



[Source]

Monday

Other Mayors in the News: Preesall, Lancashire

From the Lancashire Telegraph in merry old England:

The mayor of a Lancashire village who got his “sexual kicks” by sneaking into bedrooms to steal and violate women’s underwear has been jailed for two years after he was caught out by a secret camera.

Church-going Ian Stafford, 59, was a highly respected member of the community and Mayor of Preesall, near Fleetwood, before his “bluntly revolting” behaviour was uncovered, Preston Crown Court heard.

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