Can Ye Guess Today's Cryptic Puzzle?

Every Saturday morning I acquire the Globe & Mail. I buy it solely for the Cryptic Crossword. Wendy, on the other hand, absorbs everything that is written from the front cover to the back page. She doesn't do the crossword or the Sukoku. I believe this is one of the reasons that we have a successful marriage. We know our own turf.

I love the Cryptic Crossword. It absolutely busts my brains, every week. This morning I've decided to create my own version of a cryptic clue. Unlike what appears in the Globe and Mail, my cryptic is visual. If you look at the three images above and then combine the words you'll end up with one larger word. The word is someone's last name, and it's a name that appears in the tabloids with great frequency.

Sure, this morning's blog is a dollop of fluff. It has the nutritional value of a marshmallow...without any hint of sweetness. Note to my Dad: don't feel badly if you can't figure this one out. In fact, I'd admire you even more if you can't!

A Sticky Situation - Part Deux

This is a heartless expression which is also untrue (except for the line about becoming Premier)....

Those who can't do, teach.
Those who can't teach, teach phys.ed.
Those who can't teach phys.ed. become Premier and ruin the province.
Those who can't do any of the above, blog.

Yesterday I wrote about Douglas Coupland, artist. Why should I write about an artist when I really want to be the artist? Today's video is step #1 in my metamorphosis. It's a small step.

A 'Sticky' Situation

In the year 2011 Wendy was awarded an honorary doctorate from Mount Allison University. She was in good company. Shelagh Rogers was also being given an honorary doctorate, as was some dude called Douglas Coupland. Wendy knew little or nothing about Coupland but mentioned that he gave a riveting speech to the graduates. As if this wasn't enough, Peter Mansbridge (who, it was once noted, looks a lot like my Dad) was the Chancellor at Mount A. It was a star studded cast (Mansbridge being the stud, Rogers/Coupland/Nielsen the stars).

Originally an unspecified honorary doctorate recipient was scheduled to address the graduates. Something happened at the last moment and Shelagh Rogers was asked to make the address, to which she agreed. As it turned out, Mr.Coupland hit the stage before Shelagh and ended up speaking at length. Wendy remembers his speech as being brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that when Coupland was done Shelagh Rogers leaned over to Wendy and said something to the effect of 'how can I go on and speak after such brilliance',

Douglas Coupland's name was loosely on our radar after Wendy's chance encounter in Sackville, New Brunswick, though it wasn't until May 30, 2014 that he re-emerged again in a big way. I read an article in the Globe & Mail about him and I came to the following conclusion.....cool!

I liked his work. It was original, big, bright, whimsical and interactive. Fast forward to January 2015. I happened to noticed that Mr.Coupland's art was being feted by the Royal Ontario Museum and the Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art as part of a collaborative effort. Bingo! This is my chance to see his work firsthand.

I just mentioned that Coupland's work is interactive. Take a look at today's images. Coupland has built a seven foot high likeness of himself. This sculpture currently sits in Holt Renfrew's new men's store on Bloor Street. I assume that it's there to build up excitement for the new exhibition, and to lure people into Holt's new store. I went there yesterday to photograph the sculpture, and not to augment my already impressive menswear collection. If I return to Holt's today, things will be different, but not in a fashion sense.

The public has been invited to chew bubblegum (provided) and stick it to the sculpture. Every day dozens, if not hundreds, of wads are added to the sculpture. Eventually the blackness of the piece will be replaced by gummy rainbow coloured badness. I'm well versed at this kind of art, having spent many enforced (gumless) hours sitting behind a school desk. Now, thanks to Coupland, my nefarious acts of youth are being celebrated in a place that sells $600 shirts.

Victory will be mine, albeit in a $30 shirt from Winner's.

I think I'll go back to Holt Renfrew today and chew up a wad myself. Why photograph and write about art when you can be the artist? On that note, I've decided to challenge myself to do/make a Couplandesque art installation. I'm going to see his exhibition on February 3. I'm hoping, after seeing the exhibit, that I'll be inspired to create my own work. If nothing else, I'll have absorbed a lot of information upon which to chew.

Want to learn more about Douglas Coupland?  http://coupland.com/ or perhaps https://www.artsy.net/artist/douglas-coupland

If you think he's just a visual artist, then I'm sorry to burst your bubble. He's also the author of fourteen novels, numerous essays and God knows what else. It wouldn't surprise me one bit to learn that he has a pet unicorn and can juggle five poached ostrich eggs simultaneously.

What else can I say, other than 'cool'!

RIP - The Little Lap Devil

Computer companies, at least Hewlett Packard, have the strange habit of asking you to name your computer when you first set it up. I never thought a traditional name sounded quite right, thus my computers were never called Ben, Caroline, Mark or Nicholas.

I remember naming my first desktop computer 'the devil box'. When I bought my first laptop computer I named it 'the lap devil'. When I bought a notebook computer, the one you see in today's image, I named it 'the little lap devil'.

It is with some sadness that I announce the passing of 'the little lap devil'. Everything seemed fine yesterday with the little lap devil. I was using it like I normally would. I put it down on the bed and it went to sleep. Later I tried to rouse it and it was gone. I guess it died in its sleep, you might say.


You see in today's image that the little lap devil is in a cemetery. This is just a fictional representation. My real plan is to take the little lap devil back to New Brunswick and slip it into one of my many rock walls. It'll fit like a charm...same shape as many of the rocks already in the wall, and almost as useful. In the future I'll challenge my guests to find the little lap devil in the wall. There will be prizes for those who find it.

What will the prize be?

A small bag of chips.

How small?

Tiny.

Ahh...micro chips. How fitting.

As an aside, I have a little tidbit of computer history regarding names. Did you ever wonder why the computer company Hewlett-Packard was called Hewlett-Packard and not Packard-Hewlett? Of course you didn't, you all own Apples and you're all rotten to the core. The fact is that the two founders of the company flipped a coin. Hewlett said heads, and that's today's tale.

Oil On Our Lips

I was walking down Bay Street yesterday when my progress was 'arrested' by this poster. It said:

I left the house without my husband's permission.

This poster is part of a campaign by a group called The Match International Women's Fund. You can find out more about what they're doing at www.matchinternational.org. I have yet to check out their web site but I feel that I have a pretty good sense for what they're lobbying against.

The poster's immediate effect on me was to make me think of Saudi Arabia. Did you know that it's illegal for women to drive a car in Saudi Arabia? Saudi Arabia is the only country in the world to enact and enforce this law. Yes, a woman can be arrested for this heinous act. If you'd like to know more about women's rights in Saudi Arabia, take a look at this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Women%27s_rights_in_Saudi_Arabia  I feel embarrassed to call them women's 'rights', because it feels like wrongs.

This creates a dilemma. Am I trying to foist my views on another country? I guess the answer is yes, sort of. What I really would like to see is gender parity. I'd like the women of Saudi Arabia to vote on what they want their country to be. I can't imagine they wouldn't want the ability to drive. Driving is just the tip of the iceberg. I'd like to think that Saudi Arabia women would like to have their citizenship upgraded from second class to first. Don't we all want that?

King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia died last week. World leaders flew to Saudi Arabia to pay their respects. This is troubling in some ways. Do we really 'respect' the man and what he stood for? Can we in good conscience pretend that everything is okay there, or look the other way?

The other side of the coin is that King Abdullah made positive changes for women. Not enough, mind you, but he was instrumental in allowing women the right to vote and also the right to run for political office. Maybe this was Abdullah's way of getting women 'behind the wheel' of their own destiny. Maybe it's just going to be a very slow process. I think Saudi Arabia is showing some signs of what I call progress.

I do wonder why we pay so much attention to Saudi Arabia....oh, wait, they have oil. Lots of it. Do you think we're collectively kissing their asses because they have oil? Let's ask this question: if they didn't have oil, would we care? I suspect that The March International Women's Fund would, but I'm not so sure that our political leaders would feel the same way.

It's all quite troubling. I suppose it's better that we stay on Saudi Arabia's good side and try to affect subtle change. Labeling the Saudis as sexual discriminators and cutting off all ties to them would probably make the situation worse for women in Saudi Arabia.

Is male subordination of women a women's problem? Yes, but ultimately it's a men's problem. What are men afraid of? The answer must be themselves.

The Price Of Oil, Essentially

So I was sitting on the sofa last evening, minding my own business. Wendy sat down next to me (married couples do this) and everything was just hunky-dory until I smelled something odd. It wasn't what you might think....no, it smelled like pizza. Our plan was to have pizza for supper so this shouldn't have been startling, except that we were planning on going out for pizza!

How the hell could the condo smell like pizza when no one was making pizza? Was I dreaming of the smell of pizza? I turned to Wendy and made a startling proclamation. I said "I smell pizza." Wendy then exhaled in my general direction. She had pizza breath! How could this be, I asked.

Wendy explained to me that she just ingested a sip of oil of oregano. "Oil of oregano", I gasped, then added "but we're going out for pizza! Why not wait and eat some pizza?" Wendy believes that oil of oregano will perform the following miracles:

- kill germs when you first feel that troubling tickling in your throat that indicates a cold may be brewing.
- that is all.

Wendy claims that it's a natural antiseptic, like Listerine. Hmm, why not use Listerine? Sorry, that was silly 'man thinking', or as Wendy might say 'silly man' thinking.

I asked Wendy how much a 30ml bottle of Oil Of Oregano cost? She said about $20 and she qualified that statement by saying it lasts her a year. When a woman tells you something costs about $20, you know of course that it doesn't cost $20. When a woman uses the word 'about', it means 'way more than'. So 'about $20' means 'way more than $20'. Being generous (today only). let's assume that the 'essential oil' (love that term!) is $22. But not just $22....when a woman tells you the price of something, she never ever includes tax. Don't think me sexist as I readily admit men do the same. My chainsaw was only $300. In fact it was $399....plus tax. And $150 for work boots. $45 for gloves. $85 for helmet with face guard. None of these other figure include tax, by the way.

The big difference is that I didn't buy a chainsaw and all the accouterments.

Here's another interesting way that I operate differently from Wendy. Wendy spends about $20 a year on the essential oil of oregano. That gets her 30 ml of the magic elixir. Let's crunch some numbers and turn that into a price per litre, keeping in mind that the second most precious liquid on Earth, gasoline, was selling for 74 cents per litre at Costco the other day. So a litre of oil of oregano is about $660.

$660 per litre! Plus taxes!! Oil be damned!!!

We went to an Italian restaurant last night and I had an $18 pizza. It was the cheapest thing on the menu! That tickle in my throat seems to have disappeared, amazingly. I can only assume that there was 5 cents worth of dry oregano on my pizza....or maybe, just maybe, the tickle was never in my throat, just in my fantastic mind.

Editor's Note: As of the writing of this blog, Wendy is still married to Ian. Stay tuned.

In other news....I saw in the grocery store the other day (tabloid section) that Bruce Jenner is now a woman.

Brewing Elliott in the Manitoba Wilderness

I wouldn't bother watching today's video because it's really boring. This is not some kind of ruse to get you to watch it as it is truly a lousy piece of footage (give it the boot, I say). Last night Wendy and I went to the Phoenix Club to watch a band called Elliott Brood. Elliott Brood is well know to us. Their opening act was not.

Who was their opening act?

A band called The Wilderness Of Manitoba? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbSLB0pkmAo

Are they Canadian?

Like, duh. We knew nothing about them so we went to Youtube to check them out. We liked their sound. At the Phoenix The Wilderness Of Manitoba were a bit disappointing. They were incredibly less folksy sounding live, and the sound quality was terrible. I couldn't make out a single word that they were singing, so their poetry was lost on me. It looks to me like they're very talented, but I feel like this was an opportunity lost for all of us.

Elliott Brood (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jgfy2SRSQZA) took to the stage around 10:30 p.m., already well past my bedtime. They showed their polish by giving a lively show featuring their distinct sound.  Their sound quality was noticeably better than those from Manitoba's outback, though my video clip (don't watch it!) does nothing to convince you of anything positive. 

It was interesting to compare the sound quality of The Wilderness Of Manitoba to Elliott Brood, in the same venue on the same night. I guess it just proves that mics and amps makes a difference. What's even more interesting for me is to compare last night's sound quality to that of Johnny Marr's show which I saw in November. The Johnny Marr sound quality blew last night's show out of the water. Hearing Johnny Marr play the guitar demands nothing short of superb sound. His poetry is written on six lines: E - A - D - G - B - E. The singing is almost an afterthought, though I like it too.

If you watch the link that I've provided for Elliott Brood (not my video...which you absolutely should not watch) then you'll see a clip of them performing on CBC's radio program Q. At the end of the clip you'll hear Jian G's voice. It's strange to hear his voice now.  

Today's blog.....

Sounds you know and like (Elliott Brood).

Sounds you don't know and want to like (The Wilderness Of Manitoba).

Sounds you used to like but now can't (Jian).

There...I've sounded off. Now I'm signing off.

Aluminyze

In 2009 (when I was just a boy) I spent a month in New Zealand. Never in my life have my eyes been treated to such an outdoor splendor. It was spectacular.

There was one thing that I saw that was notable, in particular, because it was something of incredible beauty and artistry....and it was indoors! I was staying in the home of a professional photographer by the name of Sally Mason (http://www.sallymason.co.nz/). On Sally's wall was a print of hers...a gorgeous slow shutter zoom of a Marlborough vineyard. What made it truly astounding was that the image was printed on metal instead of paper. That metal, I assume was aluminum. I've never seen anyone doing it since. I've never known where I could get this done with one of my images, until yesterday....

I was flipping through the real estate section of Fredericton's award winning newspaper The Daily Gleaner when I stumbled upon an article about a company that prints images on aluminum. The company is called aluminyze.com. Though I can't endorse them just yet, I do intend to engage their services. I know that I love the finished product. Let's see how their pricing and service stand up to my Scottish standards. I am somewhat concerned because they're located in the United States.

Our dollar is low. My expectations are high, and then there's the black hole of duty and shipping with which to contend. It's the perfect storm of shopping, and I'm about to go fishing. Stay tuned.

The Farfarers

Farley Mowat, writer and Canadian icon, died on May 6, 2014. At the time of his death I listened to an archival interview which the CBC rebroadcast. It occurred to me that I had grossly overlooked his work because I had never looked over anything he wrote. I decided to read one of his books as a tribute/education. I began with People Of The Deer. Since that time I have read the following Mowat books:

The Dog Who Wouldn't Be
Coppermine Journey
Ordeal By Ice
The Serpent's Coil
Never Cry Wolf
The Polar Passion
The Boat Who Wouldn't Float
A Whale For The Killing
Tundra
And No Birds Sang
Walking On The Land

I'm currently reading The Farfarers. I guess you might say that I'm enjoying his writing.

The Farfarers has taken me back to the land once known as Alba, now known as Scotland. With a great deal of horror, I read how the Norse (Vikings) came to Alba and destroyed everything and everyone. Raping and pillaging is just a polite way of describing what they did, not unlike the term 'ethnic cleansing'. I hate that term, by the way.

The Vikings remind me of some people in the Middle East (ISIS). Their 'my way or the highway' approach to life is appalling. One main difference between the Vikings and ISIS is 1300 years of experience. A lot has happened in the intervening years, and we're well aware of our many follies, yet they continue. I guess the perpetrators don't see it this way....

It's a strange world in which we live. Thank goodness we live in Canada. Thank goodness for Farley Mowat. Thank goodness for freedom of speech. Thank goodness for the CBC....

Think about it.

94.5 FM - The Fisher

I received an e-mail from one of my pseudo-loyal blog readers with some feedback regarding my recent blog posting about radio stations with stupid names (remember The Fox?). Though I know the identity of the blog reader, I shall use the pseudonym that he utilized, and that was "award winning former broadcast journalist D.J. Blathers."

So, thank you D.J.Blathers for your insightful commentary. Here, dear readers, is what D.J. wrote:

How about 94.5, The Fisher?   I like it because the fisher is an under appreciated animal (they kill porcupines, after all), and because it is a homonym of a painful anorectal condition, one which feels much like listening to most commercial radio stations.

Succinctly stated, and I can't argue with the facts as presented. Ironically, I wasn't sure whether he was kidding or not when he mentioned 94.5 The Fisher. Radio stations come up with some idiotic names, so The Fisher was not completely unbelievable. As it turned out, it was a ficticious station. <sigh>.

As I was researching 94.5, I did find stations that air (err) under the names: the Moose (it's a country station and they wouldn't know any better, so they're exempt from my scorn), the Lake, the Beat, the Buzz, the Beat, Jack (of which/whom they do not know), Boom, Mix, Star, Kiss, the Coast, Kool FM, el Patron, Kats, the Ranch and finally the Bull.

The Bull sums it up, at least halfways.

The Science Of Yhhuup

Today we're going to talk about the Maritime phenomena of 'yhhuupping' (see today's video for an over the top example). It's when you say a word while inhaling. The word is typically an affirmative like 'yes', 'yup' or 'aye' that is a reaction to something that has been said during a conversation. The question is 'why do we do it'? We don't typically disseminate our words by inhaling, so why do we do it at all? Where did this habit originate?

This might come as a surprise, especially when you consider that there are people starving in this world, but there's a researcher who has looked into the origin of yhhuupping as part of a Master's thesis. Of course they don't call it yhhuupping, they call it the Gaelic Gasp. Gaelic Gasp....isn't that awesome!?!

One of my readership of six (yes, we've gained a reader somehow) sent me a fascinating link to what appears to be a research paper on the topic of inhaling while speaking. It turns out that we Maritimers come by the trait honestly. Our 'people' have been doing it for centuries. We even brought it across the Atlantic with us. Yhhuup.

The article/thesis is called The Gaelic Gasp and Its North American Cousins - A Study Of Ingressive Pulmonic Speech In Scotland. When blog reader Peter T sent me the article yesterday I felt like I had won the lottery. How he stumbled upon this is mind-bending, though I know he found it on Twitter. Twitter? Yhhuup. How odd to think something like this (of such great depth) would appear on Twitter. Twitter...that social media platform that allows little more than 140 character quips and Ellen selfies.

The Gaelic Gasp is an 89 page Master's thesis and I'll confess that I didn't read all of it. I'm usually only good for about 3 pages of anything, though I will often extend my range for articles involving ingressive pulmonic speech (or nudity). Don't you just love that term....ingressive pulmonic speech? If you want to read the thesis, or part of it, then here's the link:

https://www.academia.edu/656901/The_Gaelic_Gasp_and_its_North_Atlantic_Cousins

I wouldn't expect you to read the entire article because you, dear reader, have better things to do. It is, however, an interesting read that takes you from Europe to the Maritimes and Newfoundland. Shockingly, the use of Ingressive Pulmonic Speech is rampant on the island of Vinalhaven (Maine) Who knew? Here's a list of other places where it is common: Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Scotland, Ireland, Iceland, Finland, Greenland, The Faroes, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, Cape Breton Island, Maine and Prince Edward Island.

Clearly the author of this thesis has never been to New Brunswick or met with any of my mother's friends. Nhhhope.

Beyond Ugly There's Fugly

Yesterday was an ugly day. It was raining, for one thing, as I drove The Dumbo into Fredericton. The radio was on, not tuned to 'The Bounce' I must point out. I was listening to CBC while Terry O'Reilly's program Under The Influence was being aired. I enjoy this show. Do you ken it?

Under The Influence examines the world of marketing and advertising with a decidedly pop culture spin. It's a program that's accessible to everyone, not just Madison Avenue ad execs. Hmmm, does Canada have a place that's equivalent to Madison Avenue? Not that I know.

Anyways....the name given to this week's show was 'Selling Ugly'. It was really interesting. It told the tale of the marketing of some of the world's ugliest products that went on to become success stories. If you're like me then you're probably tired with all the hoopla about selling beauty (remembering that Gwyneth Paltrow was likely wrong about everything). If you haven't got enough ugly in your life, then you can listen to this show (or read the transcript) at this link: http://www.cbc.ca/radio/undertheinfluence/selling-ugly-1.2912698

Yesterday I decided to embrace ugly because it was all around me, especially in my rearview mirror. I parked The Dumbo and went into Winner's to purchase a piece of carry-on luggage. I could have opted for a basic black suitcase that was $20 less expensive than the ugly duckling you see in today's image, but I didn't. I bought the uglier of the two.

So, let's celebrate ugly together. Put on your Crocs, your Birkenstocks or your Uggs and wear them with pride! Did you ever wonder how Ugg boots got their name? You'll find out....when you're Under The Influence.

Bounce The Foxers

I've made plenty of mistakes in my life and one of the most glaring is to listen to New Brunswick's radio stations (CBC excluded). There's nothing wrong with New Brunswick's radio stations, per say, they simply don't appeal to 'me lugs'.

I remember snapping the radio on a number of years ago and all I heard was someone talking about 'the Fox'. At first I got quite excited, thinking that there was a radio station that only talked about Megan Fox (an attractive young actress perennially overlooked at Oscar time). In fact it was the radio station that called itself 'the Fox'. At the time I thought to myself 'what a stupid name for a radio station'. Nothing much has changed.

I wondered how and why they named the radio station 'the Fox'. It turned out that they were acting more like a cat.

Yea, a copy cat. Or a Kopy Kat, since they're airing their carbon dioxide in Harvey Station.

Do you think that Fredericton's 'the Fox' has ever had an original thought?

Not sure. There are radio stations in Virginia, El Paso, Fairfield County, Brazos Valley, Charlotte, Kansas City, and Jonesboro....all called The Fox. And this is just to name a few!

Yesterday I foolishly pressed 'seek' on 'The Dumbo's' radio. The Dumbo is my car's name, by the way. The dial stopped at 101.3 which, apparently, is now a station called 'The Bounce'. "The Bounce!?!" I said aloud with tones of incredulity. I often speak to myself while in the car. I guess I like the sound of my own voice, or the fact that nothing has legs until you shout it, shout it, shout it out loud. Or write about it.

The Bounce? What a stupid name! 

"That'll never stick", I said with a pseudo-clever little nod to an similarly named fabric softener. It'll never cling in the minds of the listeners (though it probably will because there won't be much competition).

After I settled down a bit I started wondering 'where did they steal that name', quite convinced that it couldn't be original. I did some sly (like a fox) sleuthing on the internet. I did find one other station called The Bounce, in Edmonton. In fairness to Saint John's The Bounce, these two radio stations were sister stations (from the same litter, one might say) until the Edmonton station was sold to Rogers Communication. Saint John's The Bounce is part of the Bell Media oligopoly.

It's one thing to whine about stuff, it's another to try and make the world a better place, Ian. Got any better suggestions for radio station cutesy names?

As a matter of fact I do. How about 101.3 'The Hindenburg'? It'll stay in the air for a while but eventually will come crashing down. Or perhaps 91.7 'The Stupid Chameleon'. It'll keep changing it's colours (tune) until someone notices it. How about 102.1 'The Dyson'. It sucks, more than most.

How about 106.5 'The Blog'? Only five people make it to the end of the broadcast!

The Dwight Stuff

Last week I posted a blog under the title of 'An Oasis Of Memories'. In this blog I compared the look of young Julian to Oasis frontman Noel Gallagher. I provided 'dear reader' with graphic evidence to back up my claim. I did, however, make one tactical error. I made the off-handed comment that Julian believes that he looks like Elton John. One of my more astute readers, who shall remain nameless to protect his/her identity, provided evidence to substantiate Julian's claim.

The unnamed reader will be given a pseudonym for the purpose of telling the story, and that pseudonym is Dr.Thug. I spoke to Dr.Thug a day or two after my blog post appeared. He said to me that the picture of young Julian did in fact remind him of Elton John, more so than Noel Gallagher. A day later he sent me an image with the message "I rest my case". He's got a compelling argument. Let's take a look at the image that he provided (which I manipulated with Photoshop for comparative purposes)....

I'm afraid that Dr.Thug was right! There is a shocking resemblance!!

In a slightly bizarre twist, I'm now looking at Elton and he reminds me of someone other than Julian (someone I used to play volleyball with at the Cambridge-Narrows School). Now I'm starting to wonder if everyone in the world has a twin? What do you think, dear reader, do you have a twin out there? Should I write a blog about would be twins....with graphic evidence? Could be fun!

We Do Not Except Spelling Errors

I'm going to tearfully dedicate this blog to my father because he whipped perfect grammar and proper spelling into my life with the zeal of an Iditarod top three finisher.

You're getting all mushy, Ian.

He also instilled a sense of 'punnery' which knows no bounds. Dad was forever correcting my grammar and my friend's grammar, but me and Robbie Allaby didn't mind.

That's 'Robbie and I don't mind'.

That's okay by I. Me don't mind one bit if you feel the same way as Robbie.

My father had two jobs, as you can see. One was from 9-5, Monday to Friday. The other was full-time. One of the lasting side-effects of my father's pursuit for my own grammatical enlightenment was that I feel almost tortured when I hear bad grammar being spoken, or when I see spelling errors. I make them myself, but I strive not to condemn the language of Chaucer, Shakespeare and Bill Varty (ranked alphabetically, and not by literary greatness).

Yesterday I filled my car with cheap gas (89 cents per litre) at one our our local gas stations. Being a sizable metropolitan area, we have more than one petrol provisioning place. We have two. As I was gassing up I noticed the sign 'WE DO NOT EXCEPT FLEET CARDS'. I had seen it before but this time I had a camera in my pocket. That's when I'm at my most menacing. Click.

I except that no one is perfect and mistakes will be made, accept I do have a problem that no one has corrected this sign. It's been like this for over a year! Sometimes I'll write a blog and post it. Afterwards I read it on-line (dirty truth: I'm one of the five people who read the blog) and I'll find a mistake. I always correct it immediately, usually after punching myself in the nuts a few times. I never say 'oh, those dummies will never notice'. When you've got Bill Varty and Peter T. reading your blog, it damn well better be perfect.

Note: now I'm all paranoid that all future blogs will be put under the microscope.

Yea, me too. That's just how it's going to be, I guess. We might just as well except it.

The January of Nickels, The March Of Dimes

I don't much enjoy when someone tries to nickel or dime me, but I HATE when I'm being nickeled to death,

Two more charities asking for money, and both of them including a nickel for me. Aw, shucks, thanks guys. Not really.

I'm sickened by this tactic and I refuse to give money to any charity that sends me stickers, calendars or nickels (for which I do not ask). Charity, in its most pure form, should come from one's heart and not from a sense of guilt. Especially not from a sense of guilt that is courted b the charity itself. Though we all know that guilt works, and it works well.

So why do charities send me a nickel? A nickel does nothing for me.I would need 26 000 nickels to make one mortgage payment on my condo. I would need 1000 nickels to fill my car with gas. One nickel is of no value to me, so I don't even open the envelop before I throw it in the garbage. This says something because I'm not one to throw money away. It says that I'm pissed off by their tactics.

Charities send me a nickel for two reasons:

1) to get me to open the envelop. The charities can't make me write a cheque unless I at least start by opening the envelop. That's their short term goal.

2) To guilt me into sending money. Hey, they sent me something, shouldn't I send them something? I'm half tempted to write them a cheque for five cents, but even I'm not that evil.

I woke up at 4 a.m. this morning and came up with another reason why charities put a nickel in their envelops, and that's so I can't throw it in my paper shredder without first retrieving the nickel. Blood money, you might say, except the Red Cross doesn't use this tactic. The charities that used this subversive tactic against me are the Leukemia Society and the MS Society. Both worthy charities, both not getting a donation. I choose my charities (or, truth be told, Wendy does).

I think people are reticent to diss any charities because they, the charities, for the most part do good work. The goal of these charities, however, should not be to get donations using means that are demeaning. I feel like they're selling their souls for the almighty dollar. The cost of their soul....five cents. It's worth more than that.

Is Your GP Wrong About Everything?

Yesterday I decided to fix a longstanding issue that I've been having with one of my older laptops. I decided that I'd better get tough with RAM, and add some to my problematic little lap devil. I went to Future Shop, Staples and Radio Shack (I just can't bring myself to call it The Source).

Three strikes and your out. No one had what I needed. The Radio Shack guy very kindly suggested that I try Thrift King Computers on Prospect Street. He even called them for me, and they may have what I need. Three cheers for Radio Shack for being helpful when they didn't have to be...a pleasant surprise in a world of indifferent sales clerks.

The big 'shocker' for me was that there was a computer place on Fredericton's main commercial street of which I wasn't aware. I don't claim to be omniscient, but I've probably gone by this computer place a ninety-three and a half times unwittingly. Signage matters....and it's good for business. I hope the owners of this computer store are reading my blog. Of course they are not. For shame!

All of this reminded me of a radio interview I heard yesterday on CBC's The Current. A Canadian academic has written a book called 'Is Gwyneth Paltrow Wrong About Everything? It's all about the disconnect between celebrity culture and science (i.e. the products and concepts they promote versus the hard facts of science).

I don't care much for celebrity culture, but I do love marketing. The author of this book, Timothy Caulfield, and his publisher has hit a home run with the title and look of this book. Based on what I heard from the interview yesterday, the author has a compelling tale to tell.

Will you read the book, Ian?

Not a chance because I'm not a victim of the latest fad diets, de-toxes and (at the risk of offending someone close to me) the miracle of essential oils. The scientific facts show that eating a healthy, balanced diet is pretty much all you need. Plus exercise. No surprise there.

It's funny that I have no interest in Gwyneth Paltrow yet she creeps into my life constantly. I've even been to her web site before, at the request of a friend. I desperately need help with my computer yet I struggle to find someone who can help me (Gwyneth doesn't consult on computer issues, does she?).

In a perfect world, Gwyneth Paltrow would tell me where to get my computer serviced in Fredericton, or Thrift King would get a better roadside sign. I'm starting to get stressed with all of this...I think I'd better go detoxify myself. This brings me to the best quote from the CBC interview. The host asked about the best way to detoxify your body. The answer: peeing was number one. There was also a number two answer which I can't remember. We'll just call it number two. Based on the findings of this author's research, it would appear that Gwyneth is full of number two.

An Oasis Of Memories

I was tidying up around the house yesterday, trying to be productive amid another cold snap that had me pinned indoors. I stumbled upon a photo album of Julian's and decided to stroll through the pages. Needless to say, there were images of Julian and his grandmother having fun. Those moments were well documented on film, video, and print from year one of Julian's life through year twenty-two.

I decided to photograph one of the photographs and re-print it for today's blog. I think this image was taken on the top of Cadillac Mountain on Mount Desert Island (Maine).

I like this picture. Mom looks proud and happy. Julian looks pretty content too. And how about those sunglasses? As I was looking at this picture, I was struck by a feeling that Julian reminded me of someone. There was something about the hair, the sunglasses and the coat that gave him a bit of a rock star look, and not just any rock star.....a British rock star!

I ran through a mental list of all the British rock stars that I could remember. Julian certainly didn't look like Keith Richards, though we know he has that ability now! There's no Pete Townsend resemblance there. Julian often claims that he looks like Elton John. Not in this picture (well, maybe just a bit...the Eltonian gap), and then it hit me.,,,,

Oasis.

There was a band from England that went by the name of Oasis. They met with some success in the 1990s and less so afterwards. Their lead guitarist and co-singer was a guy by the name of Noel Gallagher. I had an image in my mind of Gallagher, and I had all but convinced that Julian resembled him. Not one to stay in 'dream state mode' for any length of time, I consulted Google Images for a snap of Noel's mug. Here's what I found....

So.....what do you think? Am I crazy, or am I having (yet another) moment of divine clarity?

Alzheimer's, Money and Mootha

I suppose Alzheimer's affects everyone differently, but in my Mom's case it brought out a few new character traits. At least, I assumed they were new. One of the key areas of interest and intrigue was money. Mom thought she was penniless, even though she was financially set for life.

This concern for money appeared early on, I would say, and it stayed with Mom, even intensifying, during years five through seven of her ten year battle with Alzheimer's. During Mom's last year, when she struggled to speak or find the right words, we heard the word 'money' now and again.

Money, for Mom, was a source of great concern and agitation during the Alzheimer's years. Thinking she had no money, she would become greatly agitated. How, for example, would she afford supper at the nursing home (which she may have seen as a restaurant??). She also became interested in those who might have had money, as you will see in today's 2012 video clip. I'm not sure if she was referring to Dad or to me when she asked Julian 'do you think he has any money?' It hardly matters to whom the comment was directed. It only mattered whether this person had  money or not.

In the pre-Alzheimer's days, I don't remember Mom having any particular fascination with money or the rich. She did refer to rich people as 'the mucky-mucks', always accompanied by a laugh, but I don't remember her reading Robb Report, People magazine, or the Forbes 100 Richest People issue.

To prove that money was an Alzheimer's related paranoia, we need to turn the clock back to the late 1940s or the early 1950s. The setting was Aberdeen, Scotland. My Dad was a penniless PhD student at the university in Aberdeen. My Mom worked in a bank as a teller.

A teller. That's telling. Maybe she was obsessed by money?

We could jump to that conclusion easily, except for the fact that she met my Dad at the bank because that's where he did his banking. Mom would have known that Dad was penniless, or 'penceless' as it would have been in Scotland, yet she went on a date with him anyway.

So much for not mixing business with pleasure! I suppose she probably wasn't going to meet him in church though, was she?

No, not likely. What I like best about this story is that I know my Mom didn't marry Dad for his money. It was simply love.

And What Of Hamish?

Only those who 'know' Hamish will understand the significance of today's blog question...what of Hamish?

Alzheimer's bends the mind of those afflicted, but it also bends the minds of those around the afflicted. We have had to re-shape our own thinking to deal with Mom and her Alzheimer's. We've done things we wouldn't normally do...for the better of mankind, and Moothakind.

I've addressed the existence of Hamish in my blog before but I'll restate them now for clarity. Mom loved children more that anything; her own children...her children's children....and everyone's children. We discovered at the nursing home that Mom was quite fond of a little baby doll that belonged to another resident (having a doll is not uncommon with Alzheimer's patients). We decided that Mom should have her own, so Dad and Julian went shopping for a doll with all the qualities deemed necessary. Not an easy task as Julian had identified some pretty exacting specifications. Imagine an 88 year old man and a 20 year old shopping for a dolly. Who needs reality television?

They finally settled on a doll that resembled a 6 month old. Of course the doll needed a name and the name had to be not just Scottish but the ultimate Scottish name. We settled on Hamish.

Hamish became a huge hit with Mom. Julian was a master at using Hamish to bring Mom out of Alzheimer's induced funks. To this day we never really knew whether Mom thought Hamish was a real baby or if she was just stringing us on by saying 'coo coo coo' and kissing Hamish on the cheek. It didn't matter because it made her happy and it made us happy.

Now that Mom is gone there is a question as to what should be done with Hamish. I'd like Julian to have Hamish because they're practically brothers. This could create 'issues' though. Imagine if Julian met a girl that he really liked and he brought her back to his place. Chances are his date wouldn't be too comfortable dating a twenty-something economist who lives a doll who came from Walmart. You must admit that the optics look bad.

I guess for now that Hamish will live with either Dad or me, unless he chooses to emigrate back to Scotland (in our minds he was not 'made' in China). In remembrance of the glory days of Hamish at Mom's nursing home, I'm going to offer you a little video clip. This clip is very telling as Mom doesn't even appear in the video! She was fast asleep so Julian and I played with Hamish (remember..."Alzheimer's also bends the minds of those around the afflicted"). Here's the link from May 23, 2013): http://narrowleaf.blogspot.ca/2013/05/whos-prince-of-scots-ian-vs-hamish.html

My Mom

At 1:25 a.m., this morning, my Mom died as I held her hand and stroked her forehead. It was a beautiful moment that concluded a life of giving, and for me a life of receiving.

My Dad wrote a memorial tribute which will appear in our local newspaper. I'm posting it as today's blog. Here's a brief history of my Mom's life....to know her was to love her.

VARTY,  DOROTHY

1927-2015

The family is deeply saddened to announce the death of Dorothy Mary Varty at Pine Grove Nursing Home on January 11, 2015.

      She is mourned by her husband, William, and her three sons Alex, Douglas and his wife Patricia, and Ian and his wife Wendy,  and her four grandchildren Julian, Franny , Kathleen and Anna.  She will be missed by her brother Alex and his two children Hilary and husband Rob, Roderick and wife Nerida, nephew Donald and great niece Lynn and their families, all resident in Scotland.  She cared deeply about other people, and found joy with her family and friends at home and abroad.

Dorothy was born in Edinburgh in Scotland to parents Alex and Gladys Gordon, lived through the war in bombed-out Glasgow, then post-war worked in a bank at Aberdeen.  She married her husband Bill in 1952, dwelling in Aberdeen, Newton Stewart and Selkirk, Scotland, where Alex and Doug were born. She loved above all being a mother with young children.  In 1958 the family immigrated to Fredericton, when Bill was offered a position as a research scientist with the Canadian Forestry Service.  She adapted quickly to life in Canada, enjoying the novelty of the friendly Canadian identity, the addition of third son Ian to the family, the amiable company of Fredericton friends, the opportunity to travel widely in Canada and overseas, and the day to day pleasures of family life and home-making in a neighbourhood of young families.  After her husband’s retirement, they moved to a waterfront retreat at Lakeville Corner for many years, before returning to Fredericton.

Her Aberdeen accent blended with the Canadian, but she loved her Scottish heritage; traditional country dancing of strathspeys and reels; the poetry of Robbie Burns, folk music with its reference to Scots history and places she knew.  She was attracted to the Canadian counterpart, the love songs of Anne Murray, the ballads of Gordon Lightfoot and all the others folk artistes; and not less to classical music performances at the Playhouse, and the family musicians at home with guitar, piano and voice.  Her interests included birdwatching and ceramics, knitting and gardening.

The family is deeply appreciative of the care and love provided by the staff of Pine Grove Nursing Home. In her residence there she was very content and sociable, loved the nurses, other staff and residents, enjoyed the daily entertainment by volunteer musicians, and the warmth and comfort of living space, not least the riverside trail through the old pine forest.  Although afflicted by Alzheimers for a decade, Dorothy retained her love and recognition of family to the end and was concerned about their welfare, kept her sense of fun with originality and one-liners, stayed strong and resilient, and relished family visitation.  Living the good life despite her disabilities.

The 15th Round

My Mom is dying. We're all dying, I suppose, but my Mom is closer to death than any of us. She has entered the final few days of her life. It's the 15th round for this beautiful prize fighter. I'd like to say that Alzheimer's wasn't the winner.

Last evening I took my guitar down to the nursing home and played some quiet songs for her. I don't know if the music was therapeutic for Mom as she was quite sleepy, but it certainly was for me. Finger-style guitar has a soothing quality, even when played at my level.

I was happy to play the guitar because it felt right for the moment. I'm not sure I'd know what to say to Mom at this point. Everything of importance has already been said. I spent my life showing her that I loved her, through my words and my actions (except that time I 'fired' her for selling my greenhouse tomatoes to her friends at the Boyce Market at a discount). I've never claimed to be the perfect son, but I tried. Mom's friends appreciated the inexpensive tomatoes, I'm sure. She was kind to everyone, except one notable television weather woman and Charles' Camilla (it was the Alzheimer's talking, though I'm not certain about that)

Are there lessons to be learned during these last few days? Probably. If you've got something to say to someone....say it. Don't wait. If there's something you want to do for someone...do it. Don't wait. Thankfully  I can sit quietly with my Mom now, just holding her hand. It's enough for both of us.

On Thursday, Mom was able to give me a small smile as words were no longer possible. It's quite possibly the last loving act that she'll ever do for me. I am a lucky man, even at times like these.

More Insania and Scrabble Babble

What's that jingling in your pocket? It sounds like coins. Hey...have you got some ouguiya in your pants? By the way, have you been to Mauritania lately? Just askin'.

Yesterday I went to war against my father's iPad Scrabble app. I had the letters p - a - n - h - d - l - e. I found a place on the board where an 'an' were located, then put down the word panhandle for an insane amount of points. Then I was blindsided...

REJECTED!

Apparently panhandle is not a word in the Scrabble dictionary even though it appears in everyone else's. "Funk'n Wagnall", I screamed at the iPad. Feeling dejected, I booked a flight to the Florida pan handle so I could pan handle for money.

While my panhandle rejection was still raw and not close to scabbing over, the computer used the word 'ouguiya' against me. It felt like salt in an open wound. I'll warn you Scrabble players out there not to panhandle for points because all you'll get is a handful of ouguiya, which happens to be the official currency of Mauritania, but you knew that, didn't you (Peter T. and Fraser S.)?

About Smelt

We all have stores we love and stores we dislike, right? I'm fond of Winners because I'm able to find clothes that fit my awkward length (monkey arms, giraffe legs). Winners has a habit of selling clothes that others don't want, or clothes that didn't sell on the first go-round for some other retailer/wholesaler. The best thing about Winners is the pricing. Very reasonable. Practically Scottish!

Now, since I've singled out a store I like, I should offer up a store that I dislike. That store is Bed, Bath & Beyond. It's hard for me to explain, but every time I go into a BB&B I feel deflated. This has happened to me in Toronto, and again yesterday in Fredericton. Yesterday I was looking for a household storage item. I tried three of four other stores without any luck. Out of sheer desperation I entered BB&B. I was immediately struck by the smell of the store. It smelled like manufactured plastic, mildly toxic. The shelves were piled to the rafters with merchandise. I'll give them credit for having a well stocked store, but my well felt empty.

BB&B is a successful business. They've been around since 1971 in one form or another. In 2011 they had sales of 9.4 billion from over a thousand retail locations. Their net income that year was almost a billion dollars. Clearly they're appealing to a large audience.

When I look around a BB&B store all I see is mass Chinese manufacturing. I don't see wretched quality, but I don't see great quality either. It feels like a store that caters to instantaneous gratification and/or whims of domestic fashion. Everything feels disposable, whether it is or isn't. I feel like an alien in this store, as though I've entered a cookie cutter world that doesn't smell of cookies. Rather, it smells of spatulas and plastic mixing bowls.

Growing up as a child I used to look at the steel cutlery in our house. I wondered why our knives said 'Sheffield' on them. Now I know why. Sheffield stood for something, and that something was British quality. My folks still have their Sheffield cutlery. In fifty years time, will your BB&B silverware still be feeding your face?  I have my doubts.

Anyone else feel this way, or do I stand alone in the Aisle of Wong?

Can I Writ A Blog Without Th Lttr Found Btwn D and F? With As!

I took this pictur back in Dcmbr knowing that on day I'd us it. I didn't know how I'd us it, but it was just too juicy to pass up. I found this strt sign in Toronto's Lslivill nighbourhood, and was intrigud.

What is a Blong? Or what is it to Blong? I drov down Wikipdia Avnu and found a dad nd. It suggstd that Blong might b a contractd vrsion of 'blong' but Wikipdia was vry non-committal.

On Googl I found an actrss calld Jnni Blong. You might rmmbr hr from such films as 200 Cigartts and Cry-Baby. No? I didn't s thos movis ithr.

I guss th fact of th mattr is that I hav no ida how Blong Avnu got its nam. Lik many things in Toronto, it just is, for no apparnt rason. How, for xampl, did Yong Strt gt its nam? This tim Wikipdia dlivrd....

Th strt was namd by Ontario's first colonial administrator, John Gravs Simco, for his frind Sir Gorg Yong, an xprt on ancint Roman roads.

Gorg Yong was a roads scholar, I suppos.

Ian, you'r rambling. You'd bttr nd this blog now or you'll los your radrship of fiv.

So, radership of fiv, how do you lik lif without th lttr btwn D and F? Annoyd or amusd?

Do You Know Tom T.Hall?

"Do you know Tom T.Hall?", the entertainer asked the audience.

"I don't even know where my room is", replied a frail old voice.

This was my day yesterday. I was at my Mom's nursing home for an afternoon visit. As is often often the case, an entertainer was scheduled for the 2:30 p.m. time slot. On this occasion it was an affable guitar player named Albert.

Albert played the guitar very well and had a rich voice. He offered up some golden oldie country songs, and a few new ones. Prior to asking the Tom T.Hall question, Albert was playing a song called People Are Crazy. It wasn't a song that was familiar to me, but the lyrics were memorable....

God is great,
Beer is good, 
And people are crazy.

This may be my new favourite new-country song! This song was not written or performed by Tom T.Hall. It's a song by Billy Currington (never heard of him either). The song combines all the key elements necessary to create a hit song. The list of lyrical attributes for a hit country song are as follows:

1) a catch phrase that people of low intellect can remember.

It's a short list, Ian, but you've made a good point (with example).

Country music has a basic formula. Every hit song must be dumbed down and simple. People Are Crazy will appeal to a great swath of the North American population, particularly Republicans and Western Red-necked Harperites. The video for the song is also new-country 'perfection'. It features beer, jean jackets, a reference to God, a good looking male singer and a few female hotties (who have probably never been on a farm or experienced the joy of sandy clay loam between the toes).

There is one other lyrical attribute that can help to push a song over-the-top, and that attribute is a make-up word (that rhymes with an impossible word). Where else but a country song would you find the word 'millionairy' (mill yawn air eee). Billy Currington needed something to rhyme with 'obituary'. I kid you not! Don't believe me, then watch the video yourself:

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKpQRjj_WbU

Umm, Ian, we're not learning much about Tom T.Hall.

Oh, yeah. He wrote a song called Harper Valley PTA and ten other Number One hit songs. I know Harper Valley PTA because it was huge hit in 1968, and I couldn't escape it on the radio (note: it's not because I was a 5 year old country music aficionado). I didn't know who wrote the song though. It's also worth mentioning that Tom T.Hall wrote the song but it was sung by a woman (whose name I don't know either, in my own defence)

So..........when Albert asked the question 'do you know Tom T.Hall', I was able to absolve myself of shame. The question fell upon deaf ears, except for the woman who didn't know where her room was.

The Dearly Departed

It's nothing short of a Christmas 'miracle' that Wendy and Julian were able to fly to Toronto yesterday. All day long flights originating from the Fredericton airport were cancelled. When I took them to the airport, we looked at the arrivals and departures board. The flights to Halifax, Ottawa and Montreal were all cancelled, yet their 8:20 p.m. flight to Toronto was still scheduled to go.

I left Wendy and Julian at the airport and drove back into Fredericton. At 8:25 p.m. the phone rang and my first thought was 'oh shit, they cancelled the flight after all'. It was Wendy on the phone, which left me even more convinced that the flight was toasted. Amazingly not. Wendy called to say that they boarded about half the people on the plane, including Wendy and Julian, and then announced that they'd be sitting on the plane (on the tarmac) for another hour and a half because the Toronto airport was backlogged with re-directed flights.

I received an e-mail from Wendy at 3:25 a.m. (AST) saying that they made it to the condo at 3 a.m. Sounded like one hell of a long day, but it was better than the alternative....

People whose flights were cancelled earlier in the day were being booked on flights for Tuesday because all Monday flights were already full. Ah, winter travel in Canada.....ain't it grand!

Mootha's Lasagne

Everyone has a favourite recipe from their childhood, and mine was lasagne. Of course I never made the lasagne myself....that was Mom's job and she excelled at it. It was delicious.

How delicious was it, Ian?

It was so delicious that if there was one piece left over, my brother Doug would lick it in order to keep me from getting it. The lasagne was spectacular, but not enough for me to eat a slice with my brother's slobber on it. I had my limits, and Doug knew them.

Did you ever lick a slice, Ian, in order to keep your brother from getting it?

No comment (tongue tied).

Today I'm going to make a lasagne using Mom's recipe. When I say Mom's recipe, I mean the one she used. She probably nicked it off a pasta box or from a recipe book. Who cares about its origin? It's Me Mootha's and that's that!

Here's the recipe in case you feel so inclined....

Lasagne

1 lb. extra lean hamburger
1 clove of minced garlic
1 TBS basil
1.5 TSP salt
1 lb. can (2 cups) tomatoes
2 6-oz. cans (1.33 cups) tomato paste
10 oz. lasagne noodles
3 cups creamy cottage cheese (I hate cottage cheese but it's works for this recipe)
0.5 cup of grated Parmesan
2 TBS parsley flakes
2 beaten eggs
1 TSP salt
0.5 TSP pepper
1 lb. mozzarella cheese (sliced thin or grated)

Brown meat slowly, spoon off excess fat. Add next five ingredients. Simmer uncovered for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Cook noodles in large amount of boiling salted water until tender. Drain and rinse.

Combine remaining ingredients except cheese. Place half noodles in 13 x 9 x 2 inch dish. Spread half cottage cheese filling, add half mozzarella cheese and half meat sauce. repeat layers.

Bake at 375 degrees for about 30 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes before cutting in squares. Makes 12 servings. Keep leftovers away from Doug.

Dual Noggins Are More Advantageous Than A Singular Unit

If you've ever slept on a boat with five strangers as I once did for a week, you'll know that two heads are better than one. A 'head', in nautical terms, is the area where one does one's business...it's the toilet. Sadly the C&C 41 on which I was sailing had only one head, but sailing around St.Barth's, St.Martin, Anguilla and the British Virgin Islands certainly diminished the suffering 'below'.

Today's blog is about two heads, if the image didn't give it away. Two heads brings to mind Wendy. Better to have two heads than two tongues or two faces, eh? As of January 2015, Wendy is now the acting Head Of Voice for the University of Toronto's Music Faculty. It 's a new appointment. She continues to be the Head Vocal Consultant for the Canadian Opera Company as well.

Heady stuff, wouldn't you say?

Congratulations, Wendy. I have no doubt that you'll do a marvelous job...and I am proud of all of your accomplishments. You will absolutely glow in this new position, and I will help. Jeez, I'm getting all choked up with emotion.

You look red in the face, Ian. Are you feeling okay?

I'm fine. I'm just a little flush (comparatively).

2015 - The Banning Of The Beige

We started 2015 on a great note....a family party at our place. I know, I know....that doesn't make sense. Let me extrapolate. We held a Nielsen family party and we served a salad as the main course.

A salad? No one eats salad as a main course over the holidays, Ian! That's culinary blasphemy!! Surely you had a turkey on the table?

The only turkey was the one diving into the Cheesie bowl, and I was like Cousteau on crack. Gawd I'm out of control when there's snack food around. It's pathetic.

So, I ate an amazing salad for the main course <insert the sound of cheers>, but what did I eat before I got to the main course? Let's list some of the culprits:

- chips
- the aforementioned Cheesies (the hard, gnarly, addictive like crack-cocaine types)
- pigs in a blanket
- meatballs
-tortilla twists
- shrimp
- sugary citrus shaped slices of candy
- crackers and hummus
- crackers and Emile Zola. Sorry, I meant to write Gorgonzola.
- celery sticks with something weirdly beige in them.

Note: I purposely neglected to include Aunt Carolyn's crab dip in my list because I fear that she might be developing a complex with regard to my dissing of beige food. She made Christmas Eve's spectacularly delicious seafood casserole that I thoughtlessly lumped in with all the other shite I ate over the holidays (in a previous, dastardly blog). Carolyn made a delicious crab dip for the New Year's Day party, which I enjoyed immensely. I tip my (Tilley) hat to Carolyn.

Hopefully the above paragraph will get me back in Carolyn's good books!

I should mention that I washed down my food with juice BUT it wasn't 100% juice. It's what the industry calls a 'cocktail'. A cocktail, by definition, is a drink made of at least two ingredients, one of which must be unpalatable on its own. In yesterday's case the label said cranberry but it's actually made of a blend of apple and grape juice (the mutts of the juice world). Even the dog juices took a back seat to the cocktail's first two ingredients: water, glucose/fructose. Cocktail drinks are evil and should not be consumed by human beings, lab rats or even the lowest of the lows...Leafs fans.

Oh, and we had brownies for dessert!

I've decided to start 2015 right and the only way I can do that is to begin 2015 on January 2. I'm having leftover salad for breakfast....happily!

Happy New Year! Now, let us purge.

(Almost) Darwinian Acts Of Lunacy...Good-bye 2014

I was lying in bed this morning wondering what I would use for a blog topic. I decided to do something that I've never done before...I'd go fishing for a topic.

I plotted, in advance, to scour the headlines for the most incredibly stupid act of New Year's Eve or New Year's Day (so far).

There was a lot of competition for the title of 'most incredibly stupid act'. I decided to settle on a group of four canoeists who thought it would be a good idea to go for an evening paddle on the Ottawa River. Here's what the headline said....

Canoeists Rescued From Ice-Clogged Ottawa River.

I won't bore you with the entire article, but I will share a few points of note:

- frigid temperatures
- caught on ice shelf 150 metres from shore
- canoe taking on water
- four people in their early 20s
- they were not intoxicated (hard to believe given their age and choice of activity)
- none had life-jackets
- rescued by firefighters
- assessed by paramedics, deemed fine and released.

For those of you who think Ottawa is a village full of idiots, please add these four to your list. One of the most shocking revelations from this article was that they were assessed by paramedics. If it was up to me I'd have 'rescued' them with a raft of psychiatrists. My gawd people can be steeee-you-pid!

Looking forward....

Let's bury this story in the 2014 archives and tip-toe into 2015 with a little more optimism for both Ottawa and for the human race.