Summer's end

Some weird summer, huh? I fell asleep on my boat in July drinking a beer, and when I woke up I was the mayor of Ottawa!

Oh, wait. Coyotes don't got boats. Or beers. So either I'm still snoozing and dreaming, or regretfully and regrettably channeling some other rather unreliable narrator...

Dear me. I seem to digress earlier and earlier in these little screeds. This time I derailed before I even nailed down a theme, which should have been something along the lines of, "We semi-mythical trickster types are mostly optimistic souls, happily anticipating our next LOLs." I mean, we always keep an eye open for rainbows. (Especially ones made of bacon. If you see one, lemme know care of this blog...) But some of the doings in this country in the past few months have left us feeling decidedly waterbowl-half-empty. -Ish.

However ya slice it, I've been left to ponder the murkier, bacon-challenged, recesses of the canine soul.

Now that we've steamed through the Labour Day Weekend, a municipal election looms, and that other unreliable narrator is busily re-spinning his sorry-ass mayoral record to make it resemble something a touch less disastrous.

And rumours of a federal election, as always, flit about like, well, rumours in Ottawa. To decide whether one will actually happen, you'd have to look into the mind of the PM. Just try not to look too long or deeply. It's icky. But he can pull the imperial prorogue gag only once or twice before the electorate gags, so we may be safe for a bit, yet.

The problem as I see it is that no politician at the moment seems capable of lighting the kind of fire that gets people enthusiastic and behind the cause. Any cause. There seem to be no causes except narrow minded, partisan jockeying for position. Meanwhile, political offices at all levels are begging for candidates with, oh, actual charisma, intelligence and ideas that embody an authentic zeitgeist, ethos or what-have-you.

Oh, us coyotes will probably watch - and yowl - anyway. We always do. But more and more, all we're really hoping for is to hang on for the appearance of the actual bacon - some kinda inspiration that we can buy into. Meantime, we're resigned to a long, nasty, ill-defined lumpy-cream-of-wheat kinda autumn...

Successful-looking guys on spiffy bicycles...

...even if they are impeccably turned out in natty, freshly-pressed office clothes, and even if they are riding one of those tall English limousine numbers, should probably consider not talking on their cell phones whilst they're riding up Elgin Street. During rush hour. With no hands. Through a red light.

While they do get minimal points for at least having the sense to wear a helmet during all of the above, I had to cover my eyes with my paws for a minute there. Us coyotes only enjoy anticipating violence of our own makin'.

I'm just saying...

Image: Courtesy Ski-Epic's Amsterdam Bicycles

Rabbit Ears

I am curious about these dainties that I saw in a window display today.



Do you tuck the bow into your pants/skirt, or let it stick out over the waist band?

Is this the fashion that will replace the whale tail?

I suspect that Coyote will like that I am claiming dibs on naming the look, "rabbit ears".

My biggest fear...

...upon hearing rumours last night that some poor, misbegotten, and likely well-muddled schmuck was apprehended sparkin' a, ummm, small puddle of undefined burning liquid on the sidewalk outside the Prime Minister's official residence at 24 Sussex, was that this obviously dastardly crime of national import would go unreported.

Whew! Glad that's been taken care of! (1) (2) (3) (...)

Now they can jug up said schmuck in a real prison instead of an unreported one. Or worse yet, instead of the mental hospital he most likely needs. Because now is obviously the time to get tough on crime...

Unless of course, it was Maclean's Magazine columnist Paul Wells... I'm just sayin'.

Alrighty, then! Let the judiciary commence with the important book-throwing formalities. Everybody else, back to your Sunday morning hangovers, crappy take-out coffees, and matching breakfast sandwiches!

Oh, hey, StatsFans!

The statistic I'm most urgently concerned about right now is a disturbing spike in the unreported proportion of Canadians that think Stockwell Day is an unreported bonehead.

Not that we coyotes would ever resort to ad hominem slurs ourselves, y'understand...