Mere coincidence?

OK, Aggie's got a case here for you folks. I've discussed this extensively with the Chair, and he has some strong opinions about this which I'm sure he will share. Here's the case: I know two wonderful Ottawa women of a certain age who are 'out there' trying to date. One met a dude through a dancing event. They arranged a date, he didn't show up or call, she called him and told him that not showing up without calling is rude, he left a message 2 days later saying that her message had been "unkind" because he had been in the hospital with kidney stones.

Second woman: They went out on a date. It was hot. 2nd date. He didn't show. Resurfaced a week later, with the excuse that he lost his blackberry, and hence her phone #.

The interesting thing about this is that - are you ready? -, both men have the same name. For privacy reasons, I will not post the name, but I will say it is not a common anglo name like one of the following names: John, Mike, Jeff, Dave, etc... It is more like one of these more uncommon names: Bart, Wyatt, Lyle, etc...

Mere coincidence? Or, are there two pathological liars with the same name preying on innocent Ottawa women? I say we get to the bottom of this and bring justice back to the Ottawa dating scene.

Speaking of sweaty potential ...

The IO is happily preparing for some intensive overseas stargazing. And what better tome to pack than Chambers Harrap's handy new phrase book of pickup lines.

The British publisher has zeroed in on some of the cheesiest (and hence probably most effective) PLs and translated them into the world's most pheromone-laden languages: Czech, French, Italian, Spanish and German.

As you can see, they veritably sizzle even in plain old boring English:

• Was your father a thief? Because he stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes.
• Didn't it hurt when you fell from heaven?
• You must be tired, because you've been running through my mind all day.
• Excuse me, I seem to have lost my phone number. Could I borrow yours?
• Do you believe in love at first sight, or shall I walk by again?
• Excuse me, do you kiss strangers? No? Well let me introduce myself.
• Do your legs hurt from running through my dreams all night?
• I'm new in town. Could you give me directions to your apartment?
• Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.
• The only thing your eyes haven't told me is your name.

As a seasoned astronomer, I'll be making heavy use of the one about stealing stars from the sky. If my cheeks seem a little red upon my return, I'm afraid it may not be sunburn but morbid embarrassment or, worse yet, lingering evidence of slap marks.

Hello Kitty, Bluesfest, Heat

I searched desperately for my ESI friends and Bob at Wilco. I did manage to round up the Independent Observer and Coyote. The reason they were able to find me was that I was carrying a Hello Kitty balloon. So, for all of you people and your Bluesfest strategies or "schemas" (David Scrimshaw and Matilda Zine), this is a good one. Go to the little card shop on Elgin Street - forget the name, but somewhere near Bluesfest. Get a helium balloon. You can get the ones for $1 that last 8-9 hours, or you can get the more expensive Hello Kitty or Barbie balloons for $4.99. The cheaper ones are actually better because the helium holds them up higher. The Hello Kitty balloon ended up in one Wilco fan's face, and he wasn't too pleased about that. Tell your friends to look for the balloon, and then you can find one another.

How are you all doing with the heat? Remember when the 5M wrote this (June 26, 2005): "It's summer, it's hot, I wish I could make the most of all the sweaty potential of this season." I've been in her archives getting all nostalgic.

Even cowdogs get da blooz

Quite a week at Bluesfest. Except for Rihanna's extended Ashley-Simpson-does-Milli-Vanilli-on-Saturday-Night-Live moment (if ya were there, ya know what I'm sayin'...) it was usually amazing. But that mainstage grand finale? KC and the Sunshine Band? Sister Sledge? Tavares? Gloria Gaynor?

I'm an old enough semimythical coyote to remember the first Prairie Chicken Dance. (inside joke, there...) I also recall in gruesome detail the first incarnation of disco. And (declaring a personal bias here) managed to completely avoid the sweaty taint of suspect synthetic fabrics draped across my oh-so-natural fur while being blinded by flashy lights in the floor and deafened by giant JBL monitors with a, um, slight bias toward the bass end of things.

So I can say without any qualification whatsoever that disco sucked.

And having attended on Sunday night, I can also safely say that -- even with the eyebrow-arching layer of self-aware hipster irony attempted by way too many people who are not as skinny, cool or jiggle-less as they thought they were, back when they first greased themselves into them slimy white polyester bellbottoms -- recycled disco sucks on turbo!

Gimme a big, loose sloppy ol' Chicago blooz band any day. Fortunately, there were one or two about. Okay, I'm done now. I need to suck back a whole buncha slough water and take a weeklong nap in a shady chokecherry patch. G'night.

(image: panama red music)

Equality in Love

That fellow Matt and his girlfriend who doesn't love him as much as he loves her reminds me of a movie I produced a few years ago.