Rechargeable Pigeons, Political Buffoonery And Other Subjects

I swear this blog is about snow shoveling, but we really haven’t had anything to write about. The aftermath of the last storm weren’t nuthin’.

By the way, if a child fails miserably in a geometry or algebra exam, would the consequences they suffer be aftermath?

Before history  —  recorded history that is  — people would settle disputes with rocks and the odd stick. Today, we have debates to decide things like "who will be the leaders of democracy and freedom?"

Being apolitical, I usually don’t touch the subject of politics, but the ongoing buffoonery with the Republican primaries has inspired the following poem:


The Republican’s Lament, 2012

I sing the blues, I can't rejoice.
How do I choose? Is there a choice?

If that’s the choice I’d rather pick
my dry old nose than the guy named Rick.

If that’s the choice I’d rather root
for Satan himself than the guy named Newt.

If that’s the choice, I must admit
I don’t give a... well, it rhymes with Mitt.


That's enough politics for now. Let’s move on to Science and Technology.

Technology is going nuts! I’ve already warned my readers about the possibilities of test-tube meat and nazi-producing printers. Now the Antler River Free Press has another article about advanced technology and the pitfalls that come with it; specifically, the loss of privacy.

Someone quoted in the report said that data can be obtained from kitchen appliances, among other things. So if you've recently bought a state-of-the-art toaster or coffee maker, personal and possibly damning information about you could have already been sent to Mr. Coffee or Toastmaster. 

But never fear. We at Snow Shoveling In Canada (appropriate fanfare here) vow to fight for your right to privacy. For further details on how we plan to do this, just send your name, address, phone number, email address, credit card information, family history, social insurance number, sexual preferences, a few photos, and anything else you might deem relevant to the SSIC Privacy Bureau.

Here are some quotes from the Free Press article. We've followed the excerpts with our caveats which you should heed.

"Some computer viruses can switch on the cameras and speakers without the owner knowing about it, allowing hackers to watch people in their homes...

Along with the fisheye webcams built into most computer monitors, new "smart" televisions have them embedded into the sets, allowing for interactive TV shows and video telephone calls, much like the wall screens described by Ray Bradbury in his dystopic novel, Farenheit 451."

If you’re worried about your computer watching you, then do as I do; take off your reading glasses and move right up to the screen and squint. Even if you're not near-sighted, you can use this technique to obscure the view from your nasty nosy computer.

If you feel the need to escape from dystopia,

Just look at the world with a touch of myopia.

Likewise, you can just close the lid on your leering laptop whenever you’re not using it to prevent it from spying on you in your most unguarded moments.

This should be a common practice, like putting down the lid on the toilet. And while we’re speaking of porcelain thrones, be advised that smart toilets are probably coming to a washroom near you; tracking your movements. Pun intended, but, (wouldn't you just know it) — introducing the sense-a-load commode:

http://media.smh.com.au/technology/tech-talk/numi-the-smart-toilet-2321412.html

That is one clever crapper.

Back to the news article:

"Communication tech-makers Cisco Systems estimates smartphones will outnumber human beings on the planet by 2016."
I don't understand this statistic. Perhaps those with multiple personalities may want a phone for each of their identities. Or maybe the smartphones are becoming smart enough to call and talk to each other. And if that’s the case, who will be charging them? What I mean is who would bill them, not who would charge the batteries. Come to think of it, who would charge the batteries?

"The Nano Hummingbird looks like a feathered friend, but it's really a flapping robot, remote-controlled and armed with a live streaming camera and microphone."
Hummingbirds that seem more interested in your face than your hummingbird feeder should be treated with suspicion.

"Funded by the Defence Advance Research Projects Agency (DARPA) for the U.S. military, it is one of many new biomimetic robots: machines that look like spiders, insects, birds and snakes, with cameras for eyes and microphones for ears."
Be wary of spiders with webs made from copper wire. As well, snakes with a rattle that looks like a microphone should be treated with suspicion.

This is NOT a rattlesnake

"The U.S. military hopes to make a "pigeon" that recharges itself using its metal talons when landing on power lines."
Pigeons perched on power lines who have LCD displays on their heads saying “Charging” should be treated with suspicion.

"Researchers at Cornell University and the University of Michigan are also turning real insects into cyborgs, using electrodes to control the flight of moths and beetles."
Always keep cans of Raid on hand. Although a spray bottle of water should be sufficient to short circuit the electronics on these pests. Insects with antennas on their antennae should be treated with suspicion.

"Scientists at the University of Pennsylvania have created small robots that fly in formation. Like a disciplined swarm of dragon flies, they can navigate through windows and doors."
This one kind of worries me. The article states that they navigate through windows and doors - not open windows and doorways. It's curious that they would use the term "navigate" though. It's likely these bionic bugs would just crash their way into your home. And although they say that the robots fly in formation like dragon flies. they do not say that they look like them. So if you see a broken window, a hole in your door, and what looks like a swarm of tiny flying Terminators in your living room, they should be treated with suspicion.

Futuristic cars will likely have the technology to ensure that you are an obedient driver. If you’re caught texting, or eating a Whopper while looking at a road map, the car’s GPS will locate the nearest police station and your spying sedan will send a fax there. The car will then drive itself to the station where you will be arrested by a law-enforcement agent (probably a cyborg).

So put down that phone, and stop somewhere to eat that Whopper. Drive with your hands at 10 and 2. And if you happen to smash any insects with your windshield  —  good!


On another subject, I should mention that this is the 51st post on this blog. Yes, I missed doing a celebration about our 50th blog post. Congratulations to the entire crew at Snow Shoveling In Canada!.

Yippee!!!

Nude, Stewed, and Pursued

NUDE

It's been such a mild winter, that I've decided to spend the rest of it in the nude. This might make for some uncomfortable situations when shopping, visiting friends, and shoveling snow. But all I will need to do is put on a few layers of clothing. I can still be nude underneath! In fact, this is how I plan to live the rest of my life  —  nude underneath my clothes. However, this shovels the postulation, "In what state was I under my clothes previously?" The same actually. The only difference between then and now is a small mental adjustment. Ah, nudity. The feeling! The freedom! And here's an idea for those who really enjoy being nak

We interrupt this blog to bring you this urgent message from the author's conscience. The writer of this blog has purposely used the subject of nudity in a blatant attempt to gain readership. This  post in no way reflects the staid, sober, and decent journalism normally exhibited here. This blog has never before mentioned  NUDITY, or SEX. We condemn any mention of NUDITY or SEX now. We will stay vigilant to prevent any mention of NUDITY or SEX in the future. Thank you.


STEWED

A recent news item stated that the cost of  spirits, beer, wine, etc. are on the rise again.

“As of March 1, the cheapest spirits will rise by 50 cents on a 750 ml bottle to $23.90. The provincial government says about 10% of spirits are priced at the lowest possible amount”, says the article.

But what does this business of 10% at the lowest possible amount mean? For cryin’ out loud, I can’t imagine how prices could possibly be any HIGHER!!!

The article goes on to say, “The cheapest wine will increase by 5 cents to $5.90 a 750 ml bottle, but the LCBO doesn't sell any at that price anyway.”

What the heck do they mean by that??? Could you imagine a car dealer telling you that “the cheapest new car you can buy in Ontario is $7,000. But we don’t sell any at that price. You’ll have to fork over $30,000 for the cheapest that we or anyone else in the province can sell”.  WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???!!!

In addition, the article states, “The Ontario government first introduced its annual inflationary increase in 2009, killing the then-popular buck-a-bottle beer.” That’s not the only thing the government is going to kill at this rate. It will be only a matter of time before only the rich can afford to drink even the basest rotgut.

Thank you Ontario government and the LCBO (which really stands for Liquor Costs Big in Ontario).

I think I’ll investigate the possibility of drinking some exotic mind-altering teas, if there are any out there (and before the government gets their grubby greedy hands on them).


PURSUED

A recent headline in the Antler River Free Press read: "Cops use Facebook to end standoff"

The dateline was Winnipeg and it said in part, "Mounties ended a standoff in northern Manitoba using Facebook earlier this week."

The article didn’t elaborate much further. I can only assume that the head of some tactical unit with the RCMP said, “Quick. Get a picture of a S.W.A.T. team with guns pointed straight at the camera. We'll post it on our Facebook page with the caption “Surrender, scumbag" or something like that. Then we’ll send a friend request to the perp and wait until he accepts. Once he goes to our page to have a look at the photos, we'll have him.”

Perhaps the miscreant was guilty of being nude and drunk and that's why the Mounties were pursuing him. I can't speak for the average Manitobanite, I mean Manitober, uh Manitobian, that is to say resident of Manitoba, but fortunately for me, Ontario has not only cold weather, but high booze prices as well. That's why I'm not likely to become a fugitive from justice; nude, stewed, and pursued.

However, I would like to offer my blog to any law enforcement agencies who might want to use it to capture criminals.

  "Surrender you scumbag (but otherwise fine person for reading this blog)." 

Although, my readers are usually gentle law-abiding types. In order to attract the criminal element, I may have to post pictures of stolen items  —  booty, swag, hot goods.

Booty, Swag, and Hot Goods

Again we must apologize for the blatant use of SEX and partial NUDITY in the above image. This must stop. In fact, this whole article with it's mentioning of NUDITY, ALCOHOL, CRIME and MIND-ALTERING TEAS must be censured completely. 

We urge you to stop reading this particular blog post now.  

Vacation Recap: Dry Counties, Sea Turtles, and Cruise Ship Toilet Paper

The vacation is over. Back to the land of snow and ice. Brrrr! I love it.

We drove all the way down to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida where our ship departed. Our intention was to spend a few days traveling around Florida after the cruise to see if there were any nice places we would like to visit on an annual basis. We didn’t come up with much (now don't get me wrong Floridians. We love your state. We just didn't find anything on this trip. Whew!).

On our drive down, our first hotel was in a dry county in Kentucky. I didn’t think there were anymore of those. The residents that I met were surprisingly friendly and happy. I know if I lived there, after a few days I’d be so ornery I’d bite the head off of a Kentucky rattlesnake.

In two more nights we were in Florida. A real highlight here was the Florida Turnpike. We missed a toll gate and ended up in the Sunpass lane. This is reserved for those who have paid for a transponder that allows you to zoom by the toll booths. Inexplicably, this particular toll area had a barricade between the Sunpass lanes and the ones where you could use cash. So here we were, stopped on the shoulder, trying to figure out how to get back to the cash lanes and avoid the posted $100 fine.

We had an inspired idea. We tried going backward on the shoulder for several hundred feet while traffic whizzed by us at 70 miles per hour. A Florida State Trooper was on the opposite shoulder of the road, busy giving a ticket to someone else. She saw us.

WEEEEOOOOOOO BEEEEEP BEEEEEP, came the noise from the cruiser.
"MOVE IT!" yelled the trooper.
"I'm trying to get back to the pay lanes," I explained.
"MOVE IT!!!" she reiterated.
"You don't understand. I'm the chief contributing writer and editor for Snow Shoveling In Canada. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

I didn't really say this, because I don't like to unduly use my considerable influence and notoriety to my advantage. Instead, we hightailed it out of there, and ended up mailing our toll fare to the fine people at Sunpass.

I couldn’t imagine this trip being more fun than what we had experienced so far, but we were so excited now because our very first cruise was only a couple of days away.

Our ship was the Emerald Princess. This is a BIG boat. While standing on one of the upper decks, I saw a large freighter steaming passed us. From my vantage point, it looked like a dinghy.

Our stateroom had the latest in security — you know, a peephole to see who is on the other side of the door. The peephole even had one of those fancy slide-away covers. But the image provided by this privacy protecting peek portal was so blurry, that you couldn’t possibly make out who was on the other side. It could be a thief, a murderer, or some super villain  —  the evil Dr. Blur (this could be a job for the amazing Gar-Gar).

Our itinerary took us to Bahamas, St. Thomas, Antigua, St. Lucia, Barbados, and St. Kitts. We enjoyed an excursion at each stop.

The best of the excursions was a stair climbing adventure in St. Lucia. This activity was very strenuous and exciting. The rainforest views were as breathtaking as the steep stairs themselves. To get from one stairway to the next, we were hooked onto a steel cable with some rope and pulley contraption, and then we would use these ”zip-lines” to continue on to the next climb.

Another of the better shore excursion was a wild sea turtle encounter in Barbados. We were told that we could lightly touch the shells of the turtles as they swam by. These were large turtles; about the size of a bean bag chair, but less comfortable to sit on, I imagine.

A particularly sizable specimen came swimming straight for my nether regions. I was wearing my swimming trunks so I don’t think that he was mistaking my Johnson for some of the chum that the tour guides were tossing into the water to attract the beasts. Nevertheless, here he was, coming full speed ahead. I swam up a couple of feet and spread my legs apart as far as I could, thus avoiding having the face of a sea turtle permanently branded on my groin area.

There was one Einstein on our excursion who decided he would grab onto the sides of the turtle’s shell and ride it à la some Orca trainer at Sea World. This was after we were specifically told NOT to grab onto the turtles. I was hoping that his hands would somehow get caught in the shell while the turtle dragged him to Galapagos Island.

Another fun trip took us to Bird Island in Antigua where we never saw as much as a common sparrow. But we did get to enjoy a nice catamaran ride on some choppy water. Now imagine if you will a 58-year-old Canadian on a tottering catamaran after downing a few rum punches and deciding it would be a good idea to enter a limbo contest. Not only did yours truly do just that, but I actually won! My prize was a bottle of coconut rum and a herniated lumbar disc.

The food on the cruise was good for the most part, but the orange juice was unexpectedly bad. It tasted like it was made from fresh squeezed Canadian oranges. Let’s put it this way, even Tang-hardened astronauts would likely refuse to take a swig of this breakfast drink.

The swimming pools and hot tubs were nice. The hot tub had a warning stating that those with heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, or low blood pressure should avoid using them. As well, you should stay out if you were under the influence of alcohol, antihistamines, anticoagulants, immunosuppressants, vasoconstrictors, vasodilators, hypnotics, stimulants, narcotics, or tranquilizers. This list should prohibit anyone over the age of 35 from using the tub (which would easily include everyone on the ship).

I saw some of the most out-of-shape human beings I’ve ever seen in these whirlpools. As they lay there for half an hour, looking like giant slugs, I was thinking that they must be violating at least a full two-thirds of these rules.


You know, you would think that after 58 years on this planet that I would be worldly enough to know just about everything. But there were these metal covers over the toilet paper rolls in the washrooms and I’m still not sure what they are for.

Splash Guard? Paper Ripper? Patented Roll-Stay-Fresh® Technology?

I initially thought they were used to help tear off some sheets of toilet paper. But that would be overkill. We’re not tearing off sheets of titanium foil here. Then I thought I had it figured out. These are guards to protect the paper from splashing (from men who can’t aim or have an erratic stream). However, my wife informed me that the same covers are on the rolls in the women’s washrooms as well. Perhaps they’re just used to keep the paper fresh. In order to wipe this question from our minds, we’ll have to get our crack investigating team here at SSIC to get to the bottom of it. I’m sure the Internet is flush with information regarding this.

Finally, one night late into our cruise, I entered a Motown music trivia contest that I technically won. The prize was a bottle of wine which went to another contestant who missed one question. I also had missed one. However, she was given credit for identifying a Four Tops song as “Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch”. Although that’s not wrong, it isn’t completely right either. The assistant cruise director said in no uncertain terms that my answer was wrong. I said the song is titled “I Can’t Help Myself”. I insisted that I was right. She insisted otherwise and said that I should “Google" it. I did.

If you’re reading this, little miss assistant cruise director, you owe me a bottle of wine.

Sounding Statues, Retired Speedos, and, Oh No!, Reruns

My wife and I have started packing for our 10-day Caribbean cruise. I have two medium size suitcases ready for all my needs. My wife will use the largest suitcase in the house as her carry-on. Beyond that she has decided that she may need to rent a 26-foot U-Haul truck.

Among my paltry requirements are three swimming trunks. Two of these are the baggy jams-style variety that I swore I would never wear. Even so, I will be packing my “007“ shorts, as I like to call them (after the one Sean Connery wore in Goldfinger). Unfortunately, I’ve had to retire my Speedo.

Back in Antler River, we had a house with a swimming pool and a hot tub. There isn’t room for any such extravagance in Minikin. Anyway, I used to always wear a Speedo in the pool or tub (if I wore anything at all). I have worn those baggy swim trunks in a hot tub. When the jets are on you get a bubble in your shorts that is so big it lifts your ass off the seat! Then you must push down on this gigantic mound of air and out it comes, “BALOOOP” as it breaks to the surface. Others who might be in the tub give you an annoyed look.

You explain, “It was just some air in my shorts.”
“Yeah, "air".That’s what we thought it was”, they complain.

Beans beans are good, say reports
Beans beans put "air" in your shorts
The more you "air", the better you feel
So eat beans at every meal.

As I was saying, I always wore a Speedo in our swimming pool. The first summer that we were able to enjoy our new home, we decided to see how deep the pool was. I volunteered to be the measuring stick, and so I submerged, clad in only a speedo and swim goggles, to the bottom of the pool. While standing in the deepest part, with my hand raised as high as I could get it, I couldn’t touch the surface of the water. I needed something else to extend my reach. We decided to try it again with the leaf skimmer (minus the pole). That did the trick as the skimmer broke the surface by a couple of inches. So now we just needed to measure this length.

As I stood on the surface, dripping wet, in my speedo, and with my goggles still on, I held the leaf skimmer up high and struck a Statue of Liberty-like pose. My wife now had the task of measuring me from toe to skimmer. She got to her knees with a tape measure. Just at that precise moment, the hydro meter-reader walked through the back yard gate. Unfazed, he just said hello, read the meter, and left.

It’s likely that he sees all kinds of things on his job. For all I know I may have been the third or fourth speedo-wearing, begoggled, Statue-of-Liberty-posing, leaf-skimmer-bearing, wife-on-her-knees-measuring man he had seen so far that day.

Incidentally, I believe that France initially used the Statue of Liberty as a sounding instrument to determine water depth in the Mediterranean. Once it became outdated for use in such measurements, it was given to the United States as a gift. The Americans decided to use it as a statue.

              A sounding device for very deep swimming pools

My days of donning a Speedo are done. So are my days of wondering how deep a swimming pool is. The other travelers on our cruise ship can thus relax.

I really am looking forward to this cruise. We’ve never been on one before and by all accounts we should enjoy it — especially the food.

Not that I am any kind of connoisseur. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been gobbling down dinner or lunch when I suddenly look over at my wife who’s picking away at her food.

“What’s the matter?” I’ll ask.
“Don’t you think it tastes and smells kind of funny?” she says.

At this point I’m usually halfway through the meal and am stuck with the dilemma of finishing it and risking a stomach ailment, or just cutting my losses and throwing the rest of it in the garbage (I usually just finish it).

Our dog ate very much like me. She would woof down her food so fast that she couldn't have tasted it. Quite often she’d choke on it.

I remember one instance when an insurance agent called our house around dinner time. I’d already started eating and so had our dog Jessie. Jessie was really going at it as my wife answered the phone (which was in the kitchen directly over the dog’s dinner bowl).

As the insurance agent was asking my wife if I was available, Jessie was making a god-awful racket with her meal; “CHOMP CHOMP... SMACK CHOKE CHOMP... HACK HOCK... CHOMP SNARF.... COUGH... SMACK SNORF... CHOKE HORK HOCK.... CAAWWWW... CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP... HACK...”

“I’m sorry”, says my wife to the insurance agent, “He can’t come to the phone right now. He’s eating his dinner.”

I think the fellow hung up in horror. I had to set up an appointment with him sometime, but I didn’t think I was going to get him to agree to a dinner meeting.

And speaking of insurance, I think it would be a prudential choice for me to check my wife’s reactions to the food on the cruise before I dig in.

                                       -----

The writing, editing, and research team here at Snow Shoveling In Canada will be away for the next 4 to 5 weeks for some much needed time off to recreate. And since we won't have an opportunity to compose any new legendary blog posts until after the vacation, we urge you to peruse once again these SSIC tours de force (or is it tour de forces? tour des force? whatever):

If you're interested in healthy food choices (and who isn't?), you might enjoy this post about the benefits of fruit in your diet.

Perhaps you're hoping to be a reporter for National Geographic. Then you might want to have a look at this post about a land mass peculiarity.

Oh, so you're a sports enthusiast! Read this post to learn about the latest college football bowl games.

Are you into travel? This post will help you get the most out of your next vacation to a warmer climate.

Here is a post for those who love the world of advertising and self-promotion.

Finally, for the science fiction fans there is this post about the potential dangers of a far too technologically advanced society.

Hopefully we'll have something new and fresh for you on our return (not that we've ever had anything new and fresh before. But we can always hope).

Supreme Leaders and Sagacious Sonneteers

”I have bad news about the supreme leader”
“Kim Jong-il?”
“Worse. Kim Jong dead.”

- Overheard on a train near Pyongyang December 17, 2011


Here are some excerpts from a news item I recently read about the late dictator of North Korea. I’ve interjected a few comments that should help clarify things.

“At around 17:30 on December 19, 2011, hundreds of magpies appeared from nowhere and hovered over a statue of President Kim Il Sung on Changdok School campus in Mangyongdae District, clattering as if they were telling him the sad news,” state news agency KCNA reported on Monday.

Personally I’ve never been able to hear a discernable difference between good-news magpie clattering and sad-news magpie clattering. I think in this case it could have been called either way. One thing is sure, those birds better not had done what birds usually do when they hover over a statue.

KCNA reported last week that a family of bears who usually hibernate through the fierce Korean winter had been seen lamenting Kim Jong-il’s death.

“The bears, believed to be a mother and cubs, were staying on the road, crying woefully,” it said.

It’s likely these bears were roused out of their hibernation to put on a show for the North Korean propagandists and that’s why they were in such a state of woe. The crying was real, the reason was an altogether different matter.

Mythmaking for Kim Jong-un, believed to be in his late 20s, has already started. He is portrayed as the spitting image of his grandfather and has been dubbed the “genius of geniuses” in military affairs despite having no known military experience.   

There’s no denying that this is the look of a genius.

By the way, is the expression spitting image or spit and image. I personally favor the latter, especially when describing these supreme leaders. But then again, I wouldn’t say they live up to any sort of image, so we’ll just leave it at spit.

Kim, who died in December aged 69 years after 17 years running the world’s most reclusive state, was reputed to be able to control the weather, as well as to have scored a miraculous 38 under par round of golf.

Controlling the weather I might believe, but shooting a 38 under par??? The magpies and bears may have been crying, but I’m sure there’s at least one Tiger who is laughing at that claim.

OK. Let’s get back down to earth. I mentioned in my last post that I joined Twitter, partially due to the fact that I have so much time on my hands. Well, I have more time than I thought. I also joined LiveJournal.

One feature I enjoy about LiveJournal is their “Writer’s Block” question of the day. Why they chose this name is anyone’s guess. It’s likely 99.9999 percent of the members of LiveJournal have no business calling themselves writers  — including yours truly.

Case in point, the members were recently asked to “write a poem or share one that you like”.

Obviously you don’t have to be much of a writer to just reproduce someone else’s poetry. Most of the members chose to do just that.

This was my submission:

Here is a poem for my journal
Of things winter-like and hibernal.
I’ll start off with snow,
Then of flowers that grow.
Hmmm. The end is more spring-like and vernal.  

Uh, yeah. Not my best work. But it was original and — since my ID on the site is snow_shoveler — snow suitable (ha ha. get it? snow suitable... suit... you know... snowsuit... forget it).

However, not all submissions to the daily question are total wastes of time. One clever fellow proffered this:

Hell? Really? It wouldn't be a "writer's block" if we could just pull some poetry out of our *****, would it?

It is extraordinary that we should find a work of such magnitude in this day and age, and on a site like LiveJournal no less!

Another wizardly wordsmith gave us the following:

Die in a fire you ******* ******

The asterisks are mine since this is a family blog.  Regardless, how this astute fellow ever came up with this poem is beyond belief.

So let me conclude by saying that although world politics may be in disarray, the world of arts and literature is apparently in good hands. You can easily see that the aforementioned poems are works of real geniuses.

Sorry Kim Jong-un.

Introducing @snow_shoveler

What wild, wacky, warm, winter weather we've witnessed!

This must be the January thaw. But aside from the storm that I wrote about in my last post, we haven't had much to thaw out from.

The welcomest sight that I ever saw
Is a December snow, with a January thaw.
The most welcome thing that I've ever seen
Is a Christmas that's white, and a New Year that's green.

Therefore, I'm still unable to chronicle any of my shoveling exploits thus far. However, I will carry on with my blog, writing about whatever comes to mind.

You know, many people have asked me, "What does it take to be a contributing writer for Snow Shoveling In Canada?"

The answer is simple: You must have the "ability" to write epic "poetry". As well, you must have an unusual sense of the usual. In addition, you must be able to spell words like rhinocerous, rhinoseros, rinho, rhinho, hippopatomus, hippo. Finally, you must be a male fifty-something resident of Minikin Ontario with too much time on his hands.

Because of the dearth of snow on the earth, I've had time to set up a Twitter account. Of course, tweeting is easier than blogging as I've related before.  That's not to say that tweeting isn't tricky. You  have such a short space in which to express yourself that you often run out of room and end up with posts like these:

Yesterday I heard the funniest joke of all time. A guy walks into a bar with a meerkat on a leash and a bandicoot on his shoulder. He says "

Perhaps I haven't got the hang of this tweeting just yet. Let's try this again. A guy walks into a bar with a meerkat on a leash and a bandi

For those who are looking for prosperity and wealth beyond your wildest imagination, here is a secret that you need to know. First, you must

I've discovered the meaning of life!!! Incredible!!!! It's so obvious, so easy. Listen up world, and be enlightened. The meaning of life is

You get the picture. 

Heed this advice:

If you have a craving to tweet,
Remember — keep words short and sweet.
Just write about stuff
That is trivial fluff
And you’ll join the Twitter elite.

So I'll leave you with this final tweet: When you find yourself down in the dumps and are in desperate need of a smile to brighten your day, remember these wise and wonderful words,

Holy Flying Boobies!

The daybreak air was clinquant with ice crystals. On this most brumal of mornings, I could hear the frozen surface crepitate underfoot as I traversed the hiemal landscape.

I’ve been to Dictionary.com a lot these days.

Well, we have snow now! Lots of it. Streamers have been raging off Lake Huron threatening to pound poor little Minikin into white oblivion. The most recent storm was not unlike the blizzard that Good King Wenceslas and his sidekick Paige faced. You know, the one in the song that was so fierce it blew the feathers off birds:

Paige and Monarch forth they went, 
forth they went together,
Through the rude wind’s wild lament,
And the bittern feathers.

I received a book for Christmas which is all about birds and bird feeders. It’s quite fascinating. For instance, did you know that the scientific name for a downy woodpecker is picoides pubescens? The picoides part means woodpecker-like while the pubescens means downy.  Another bird of this genus, the grumpy old gray-haired woodpecker is known scientifically as picoides adultus.

Our bird feeders however have made for a miniature avian battleground. I haven’t seen this much fighting and pecking since Canadian Parliament was in session. And I’ve been busy filling up the damn feeder every second day to feed our famished feathered friends. Not only that, I've had to trudge through mounds of snow to please the little peckers.

Meanwhile fearless Minikinites like myself have been shoveling their little tushies off to keep driveways, walkways, and bird feeding arenas cleared. And if I don’t take it easy, I’ll have a hiemal hernia to deal with.

But like the droplets of icy lace that incessantly flutter down from the lowering skies, crazy news continues to descend upon us.

A recent item from nearby Woodstock tells the story about a wholesome 13-year-old boy who was sent home from his Catholic school for wearing a bracelet that says he adores gazongas. Actually, the bracelet says, “ I ♥ boobies”.

The bracelets are a promo for breast cancer awareness from the Keep A Breast organization.

I know when I was 13 years old, I was very much like this young shaver. I never gave a thought about female anatomy. All I was concerned with were social issues.

I remember I once wanted to wear a t-shirt to school in support of The Heart and Stroke Foundation. The shirt was emblazoned with an image of a large heart and the slogan "I have a big heart on!" But that was back in the '60s, so my idea was a little ahead of its time. The time is apparently ripe for it now. Are you listening out there you downy pubescent purveyors of charity and benevolence?

And now it is time for me to sign off; to fly away like the tufted titmice, or the red-breasted mergansers, or even — yes dear readers — the boobies.

You Can't Fool A Minikinite

Gracious me! It looks like we’re going to have a green Christmas.

A lot of people in this part of the country are praying for snow so that we’ll have the traditional White Christmas. I say, if you want a White Christmas, then see the movie. I, for one, welcome the relatively novel sight of bare lawns on Christmas day. We’ll get plenty of the white stuff before winter is over, believe you me. And all those people who are whining for snow now will be griping in mid-January, “whatever happened to global warming?”

Oh little town of Minikin, 
Your roads are bare and dry. 
The snow’s not deep. 
“Son-of-a-(bleep)”, 
Snow-blower salesmen cry.

Yet in thy dark clouds cometh 
The ever-blasting snow. 
So never fear, 
When winter’s here 
We’ll see those blowers go. 

Since there is nothing new to relate on the snow-shoveling front, I thought I might send out a little caveat to my readers if they should ever try to sell anything on-line.

I recently attempted to sell my car through a couple of advertising sources on the internet. Unfortunately, the only responses I’ve had thus far are from people looking for me to virtually give it to them (as a Christmas present, I suppose). Otherwise, I’ve just received emails and phone calls from scam artists. One guy sent me the following email. The bracketed interjections are mine:

...my dad will like something like this, so for his birthday i am surprising him by buying this. (If I went through with this transaction, your dad wouldn’t be the only one getting a surprise)

I would have loved to come for the inspection myself but i am mostly away, am an engineer and i work offshore most of the time, needless to say, i wont be able to come myself. (I’m guessing that you are not a grammatical engineer. Since you work offshore, I'll assume that you're an oil-rig-double-dealing-flimflam-bunko-sham engineer)

However I have a private courier agent that will represent me and come for the pick up after the payment has been made, they will handle issue of my details, transferring the name of ownership and signing of all paperwork will be done by the courier agent. (Yeah, that sounds legit. Most used car deals for vehicles under $5,000 are usually handled this way. Alternatively, an Envoy Extraordinary or Minister Plenipotentiary can be hired to complete this type of sale).

As for the payment, i can only pay via the safest and secure way to pay online i.e PayPal here, as i do not have access to my bank account online, but i have it attached to my paypal account hence my insistence on using pay pal to pay. If you don't have a paypal account, you can easily set up one at www.paypal.com and sign up its very easy. (Actually, my good man, can you set it up for me? I’d be more than happy to give you my credit card information.)

I would have loved to talk to you on phone but i work mainly offshore and our satellite server has been down due to the bad weather which restrict our calls, please get back to me!! i appreciate your time. Thanks (Why do those damn offshore satellite servers never work in bad weather during an email scam?)


We may be just small town folk here, but we're not rubes. We're perspicacious, wary, intelligent, and well-spoken. There's an old saying in Minikin — I know it's in Antler River, probably in Minikin — that says, "Fool me once....  shame on...  shame on you....   " you can't fool a Minikinite, I mean Minikiner, uh Minikinian, that is to say a resident of Minikin.

Oh little on-line scam artist
How dumb do you think we are?
Get a real job,
You crooked slob
And buy my (bleepin') car.

Happy Holidays to everyone!

From Bach To Bieber To Bieberbach — More From The SSIC Answer Man

An inquiring reader wrote to us and asked this inquisitive inquiry:

Is it true that Justin Bieber is the acme of thousands of years of musical evolution?

We consulted with Wikipedia for an answer to this excellent question. Their article on music begins by telling us that  “music is an art form whose medium is sound and silence.”

In Justin’s case, the emphasis would be more happily applied to the silence part of the formula.

So, to answer your question, no he is not the acme of musical evolution. That momentous moment of moments should happen around the year 2473 when music will be an “art” form whose medium will be organic sound and electronically enhanced silence. However, there is no denying we’ve come a long way since the days of Johann Sebastian Bach, or even Ludwig Bieberbach.

There once was a pop star named Bieber
who some critics have called “Justin Dweeber".
But the fans, how they rave.
Bach must roll in his grave
and in disbelief cry, “Ach du lieber!”

By the way, Mr. Beiber was born in Antler River. That’s right! — the former headquarters of Snow Shoveling In Canada. I get all a-tingle with excitement whenever I consider that. Sort of the same excitement I derive from putting on cheap aftershave.


Which brings us to our next question from a very questioning questioner:

Who coined the phrase, "the pen is mightier than the sword"?

Those words were uttered by Edward Bullwer-Lytton, former CEO of the Bic corporation (which was simply known as the Pen among ball-point insiders). Bic of course was long known as the leader in quality writing implements, so it was logical that they would decide to produce items for scraping off facial hair.

Soon, Bic was outselling a former giant on the market, Wilkinson Sword (which was simply known as the Sword among shaving insiders). One day, on learning that his brand was outselling Wilkinson, Mr. Bullwer-Lytton expressed his now famous remark.


Another seeker of wisdom and truth asked us:

Where can I find a throat lozenge with attitude?

The makers of Fisherman’s Friend lozenges claim that their product provides "relief with attitude". That’s just the ingredient you should look for when you have a bad cold. Who cares if it has a cought suppresent, or something for nasal relief or chest congestion? You need attitude. In fact, I think every product on the market and every being on this planet should have lots and lots of attitude. This blog is sorely lacking in that quality. So look for us to be more IN YOUR FACE in future posts.

By the way, why do they call their product Fisherman’s Friend? If anything, you would think that any product that allows fishermen to have their olfactory senses enhanced would be condsidered decidedly unfriendly.

In fact, someone should market a clothespin for fishermen to put on their noses while they work and call it Fisherman’s Buddy.

And while we're at it, someone could promote a set of ear plugs to wear whenever you’re in the vicinity of a Justin Bieber performance and call it Music Lover’s Friend.

Football, Cruises, and Painting Europe

The Holiday Season has officially started. Sure we’ve seen stores decked out with Christmas displays since Labor Day, but the season really kicked off with the U.S. Thanksgiving  (ha ha. get it? kicked off... Thanksgiving... you know... football... forget it).

I like to think of that holiday as Canada’s second Thanksgiving. We don’t get the day off from work, but we do get to call in sick and sit around the house watching the Macy’s parade and a couple of football games.

I’ve enjoyed the Macy's parade in the past, but now it seems to showcase a lot of pop stars that I've never heard of, and, as it turns out, I'm glad that I hadn’t. One "artist" this year did seem somewhat familiar. I think her name was Mary J. Bilge. We heard Ms. Bilge pump out a "song" and then move on her merry way past Herald Square. From there, we had to endure a few more “musicians” before we could get on to the real Thanksgiving treat, football.

I’ve been watching NFL football since I was a kid (and, by the way, here in Canada and the U.S. the game where they kick around a ball for half a day and somehow manage to not score a single point even though they’re aiming at a goal the size of New Brunswick, is called soccer). When I was a youngster my dad and I used to be impressed by the size of the players back then. “Those defensive linemen combined weigh over half a ton”, he’d say, duly impressed. No one would be impressed by that these days. Today’s average women’s tennis player must tip the scales about as much as yesterday’s defensive tackle.

The modern day defensive line makes the ones in my day look like four guys from our high school chess team. And the typical NFL offensive line weighs about the same as your average apartment building.

Soon enough (but not soon enough for my wife) the football season will be over. Then it will be time for the missus and I to depart on our very first cruise!

We might have to re-mortgage the house to pay for this voyage. Part of the cost is the many day trips we have planned at all the various stops along the way. I’m wondering though whether or not we should just stay on the ship and explore it from top to bottom. This ship makes the Titanic look like Scuffy The Tugboat.

But just exploring the ship could get kind of boring, Here’s an idea: instead of having excursions at the ports of call, you could have adventures right on the ship. For example, you could zipline from the bridge right into the upper deck swimming pool. The crew could lower a few lifeboats full of snorkeling and scuba enthusiasts into the shark-infested waters, miles from any port. Or you could bungee jump from the aft funnel. For the real adventurous, you could try your hand at Acapulco-cliff-style diving off the top deck into the turquoise waters of the Caribbean.

Maybe we’ll see these things someday, but for now we’ve already booked our excursions. By the way, do we have to keep our passports with us at all times? What the heck am I supposed to do with it while I’m zipping along a steel cable 100 feet above an Antiguan forest canopy? Or where do I put it when I’m snorkelling in Barbados with those sea turtles? Am I supposed to secure it in some water-tight part of my anatomy?

Passports are a necessity these days. In Canada, you need to have your passport renewed every five years at a cost of $85 (I think). In addition, you need to have your application endorsed by a guarantor. At one time the guarantor needed to be a lawyer, doctor, veterinarian, school principle, CPA, pharmacist, or some other reliable professional. I’m not sure how they decided which professions were worthy of such responsibility. My CPA is a dirty rotten thieving sneak, while my bookie is a real upstanding guy.

Remember, when applying for a passport you will need:

- Completed forms
- Personal information
- Proof of citizenship
- Proof of identity
- Fees
- Photos
- Guarantor
- A note from your mommy

Personally, I’d like to see passports that are valid for only six months and cost $1000. In addition, you would need a reference from all of the previously mentioned professionals. This would discourage people from traveling outside of Canada during the winter months. Then they would stay here and do some damn snow shoveling. I can’t do it all myself!!!!

If we enjoy our Caribbean trip, maybe we’ll book our next cruise to the Mediterranean and see Europe.

I think I’d like to see Europe. I’ve never been there. But it seems to me that Europe needs a paint job. I can see from many movies and television shows that several countries on that continent have never bothered to maintain or upgrade any of their buildings — peeling paint, plaster falling off here and there, bricks crumbling or missing. Maybe that’s supposed to be part of the charm and ambience of the place, but to us here in Canada where we need our shelters to be in tip-top shape, one can’t help but get the urge to call in Mike Holmes.

I most recently observed scenes of this state of disrepair while watching the movie The Reader. If you haven’t seen it, the film is about a young man who has a relationship with a woman about 20 years his senior. She’s illiterate, so he reads books to her. In exchange for the readings, he gets a nice bath — a real nice bath.

If the characters in this movie are representative of Europeans in general, then I would guess they’re a pretty clean people. It’s just their buildings that need some sprucing up.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to watch some football. There must be a football game on somewhere, right?

Printed Nazis Occupy Minikin!

Attack of the Killer Printers

It seems that the problem of world hunger will soon be a thing of the past. The rising technologies of in-vitro meat and 3D printers are blazing the trail to ensure that every person on earth will have the need for a drawer full of Tums.

The test tube meat should make for an interesting culinary experience. Just imagine going to a fine five-star restaurant and catching a glimpse of the kitchen as the waiter bangs through the swinging door. Instead of pots, pans, and cooking utensils, you see a myriad of beakers, Bunsen burners, petri dishes, and pipettes. Of course the lab techs would still be wearing the traditional chef hats.

Then there's the gastronomical promise from 3D printers. As long as the raw materials are available, these printers can actually reproduce an edible cake! I’m assuming you just throw some flour, cocoa, sugar, a couple of raw eggs and a few chopped walnuts into some sort of print cartridge. Don’t throw out your color ink cartridge yet; you may want to use it to add a little color to the icing. Then you copy and paste a picture of a delicious looking cake morsel to your desktop, select print, and voila! an output worthy of what’s sure to become your default print device.

Copy and paste this photo and then use it to print out a tasty slice of devil's food cake. 

Note: You must use a cake-producing printer. Regular printers will just print out tasteless paper crap.

These 3D printers can also print working tools. One shudders to think the future might be should these printers become coupled to super computers. They may someday be able to reproduce themselves. Given the proper raw materials, they may even be able to print out a race of hostile beings. They might try to take over the world! This would make for a great horror film: Attack of the Killer Printers. Too bad Ed Wood isn't sill alive to realize this.

The military will undoubtedly want to take advantage of this new technology. In fact, Canon could probably land a lucrative military contract to produce printers which make actual cannons.


Occupy Minikin

There have been a great deal of news items these days regarding protesters occupying parks in various cities. Recently, someone captured a video of a police officer pepper-spraying a group of peaceful protesters square in the face. What was remarkable about the incident was the matter-of-fact blasé manner in which the cop assaulted this group  — as if he were the Orkin man using a can of pesticide to rid the garden of a few pesky aphids. Considering the fact that this was all caught on video and that it has garnered so much negative attention, this nonchalant nincompoop should consider himself lucky if he's not submitting a job resume to Orkin in the near future.

I personally haven’t eye-witnessed any instances of the occupy movement. It’s likely that our hamlet of Minikin is just too small. Besides we’ve no park to hold the protest in. But a couple of our residents could occupy the nearby Mini mini-putt and send a message to the fat cats that run that goofy golf course that we won’t stand for their economic policies. That mini-putt must rake in hundreds of dollars each season by gouging the wallets of the vacationing youngsters that descend upon our area during spring and summer.

And we're not worried about setting up tents for inclement weather. We can just throw a tarp over the windmill, or castle, or the frame that supports the swingy thing that always hits my ball.

A little civil disobedience in Minikin is sure to have enormous impact on Wall Street.

Jawohl Mine Heir

...one born in my house is mine heir.
- Genesis 15:3

Here is a news item from QMI about a delightful little family:

"A New Jersey white supremacist couple, who have already had three kids seized from them by authorities, lost custody of their newborn son 17 hours after he was born. 

Heath and Deborah Campbell gained notoriety for giving their children Nazi-inspired names - Adolf Hitler Campbell, JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell and Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell."

Aren't those lovely names? The report goes on to say:

"Authorities said that move was done because of past violence in the family, who lived in a home decorated with swastikas."

Doesn't that sound like a charming home? And finally:

"Both parents, according to court documents, have unspecified psychological and physical problems, have denied being neo-Nazis."

I’m not sure about that last line. If you give your kids names like Adolf Hitler and JoyceLynn Aryan Nation, then I think your psychological problems are pretty specific. And they deny being neo-Nazis???!!! I guess they want to be thought of as classic old-time Nazis.

Can't you just picture Heath, Deboarah, Adolf Hitler, JoyceLynn Aryan Nation, and Honszlynn Hinler all sitting around the piano in the parlor after Sunday dinner singing

♪ ...gimme that ol' time fascism
it's good enough for me...

... it was good enough for Hitler
 it’s good enough for me...♫

The news article also stated that the Campbells had  previously gained notoriety when a store refused to decorate a birthday cake with the name Adolf Hitler on it.

Let’s just hope that if these people ever get their hands on those high-tech-produce-anything printers, they’ll just be content with creating a Hitler birthday cake and not a Hitler birthday.

And let's pray that we don't see a future where printer-produced Nazis occupy Minikin.

Shoveling The Postulation

Forgive me, but it seems that I’ve incorrectly used the phrase “begging the question” in the past. For example, if I listened to what passes for music these days, I would have said that it begs the question, “why do we have ears?”

However, a little investigation reveals that I’ve been using the wrong phraseology. I should have been saying “raises the question".

From a Wikipedia article on begging the question:

Begging or assuming the point at issue consists (to take the expression in its widest sense) [of] failing to demonstrate the required proposition. But there are several other ways in which this may happen; for example, if the argument has not taken syllogistic form at all, he may argue from premises which are less known or equally unknown, or he may establish the antecedent by means of its consequents; for demonstration proceeds from what is more certain and is prior. Now begging the question is none of these. [...] If, however, the relation of B to C is such that they are identical, or that they are clearly convertible, or that one applies to the other, then he is begging the point at issue.... [B]egging the question is proving what is not self-evident by means of itself...either because predicates which are identical belong to the same subject, or because the same predicate belongs to subjects which are identical.

Which raises the question, “HUH?”

Dictionary.com defines the idiom as to assume the truth of the very point raised in a question.

That may be true, but, the examples used by many to to illustrate what begging the question is are statements, such as; “He is ugly because he’s unattractive” or  “Lying is wrong, because we ought always to tell the truth”.  Those in the supposed know will claim that those statements beg the question. Period.

Someone from another web site had this to say on the subject:

The phrase BEG THE QUESTION dates back to Aristotle and means to make the logical mistake of assuming the very thing that is to be proved (or in Latin ‘petitio principii,’ to beg the main point, assume without proof). Since 1990, however, it has sometimes been used to mean avoiding a straight answer. And an even more recent usage is ‘to raise the question.’ Since its meaning is now ambiguous it’s probably best to avoid it altogether and if one means ‘raise the question,’ just say so.

I think we should heed the advice in the quote above and just avoid the phrase altogether. Apparently, no one can figure out what it really means. It sounds as if Aristotle or whoever, just chose an arbitrary verb to describe a grammatical action. We could easily say that a sentence like, “Snow is cold because it is frozen precipitation” shovels the postulation.

So the next time you find yourself in a conversation and someone expresses some gobbledygook like,“Circular reasoning is different from the informal logical fallacy “begging the question", as it is fallacious due to a flawed logical structure and not the individual falsity of an unstated hidden co-premise as begging the question is” just look at them with pity and exclaim in the most patronizing tone you can muster, “That shovels the postulation. In fact, it shovels more than just postulation". You’ll undoubtedly make quite an impression.

On another grammatical note, one morning earlier this month, I was on the web site Dictionary.com where I saw the word of the day was keif — meaning drowsiness or dreamlike intoxication.

However, the pronunciation guide on the site had spelled it phonetically as keyf. Now I had correctly assumed it was pronounced to rhyme with leaf, or beef, or Donovan's Reef. But ey could sound like a long a, as in whey, or hey, or Susan Dey.

For some reason, I needed to know right away at 7AM how this word was pronounced. So I powered on my computer speakers and turned the thumbwheel down to adjust the volume to its lowest setting. At least I thought I had turned it that way. Apparently I had cranked the volume to the max. I leaned in close to place my delicate ear next to the speaker. I clicked on the sound symbol to hear the pronunciation from the demure female voice of Dictionary.com. An ear-splitting stentor blasted at me,

  “KEEF”

I was expecting my wife to storm into the room and whack me over the head with the keyboard. Actually, she’s very sweet. She just calmly walked over to where I was sitting and disconnected the speakers from the computer. She then grabbed the car keys, proceeded outside to the driveway, and ran over the speakers with our SUV. Not that it mattered much. I think they were pretty well blown at that point. My ears, that is.

Now I can "listen" to today's "music" in ignorant bliss. Which shovels the postulation...  well, never mind.

Goodbye Antler River – Hello Minikin Ontario

Greetings dear reader. I hope you weren’t literally holding your breath in anticipation of my next blog entry. But perhaps with bated breath you now see that a new post has finally arrived.

Note that I didn’t write “baited breath”. I’m sure that everyone who reads my blog has breath that smells mighty alluring, but the correct phrase is bated breath. I think.

Sally, having swallowed cheese,

Directs down holes the scented breeze,

Enticing thus with baited breath

Nice mice to an untimely death.

-  Cruel Clever Cat by Geoffrey Taylor

By the way, this is the first post from our new headquarters in Minikin Ontario.

“Never heard of the damn place”, you say. Well, you’re not alone. This place is small —  it’s tiny, miniscule, microscopic, Lilliputian; I dare say it’s almost non-existent.

It's too small to be called a town or even a village. Hamlet sounds right. That word evokes an image of a small place just big enough to house a few hamsters.

Minikin is so small that the sign welcoming you here says “Thank you. Come again!” on its other side.

Minikin is so small that the largest industry is Johnny and Suzie’s lemonade stand. The main source for news and information here is… well, you’re reading it.

And it’s not easy to find. To paraphrase my brother’s directions for getting here: You head north off the main highway onto Concession 3B until you reach East Horse Manure Road. Head west on East Horse Manure Road until you reach the second cornfield. Turn right midway down the cornfield and go about nine rows down. Turn left and ramble through a couple of acres until you get to a farmhouse. Walk up to the farmhouse, knock on the door, and ask the occupant, “Where the hell is Minikin?”

My brother likes to exaggerate. You only have to go down about six corn rows.

Speaking of horse manure, there was an article in today's Antler River Free Press about the theft of a manure hose. This is a special hose that is used to spread liquid manure. It is reported that the stolen hose was "valued" at between $15,000 and $20,000!!! Now that's one expensive fluid crap conduit!

The best part of the Free Press article is this last line, "The was coupled together in 200-metre sections. The first was black and the rest were orange." 

Do not you just love when you see writing like that that's real good? The proofreaders and editors is doing good job. 

I'm not sure what difference it makes what color the hose was. Perhaps for identification? My guess is that the police would be better off using their noses rather than their eyes when trying to locate the pilfered putrid poop pumper.

But let's get back to Minikin. One nice thing about this hamlet is that it is located on the shores of Lake Huron. Although my wife and I don’t have a lake view, we do often have a nice panorama of our neighbor swilling beer while sitting in a lawn chair next to a pickup truck in his driveway. However if you press the right side of your face hard against our side window and look to the far left, you can get a small glimpse of some water.

And we have a beach! Personally, I'm a cold weather kind of guy. However, not every month can be a snow shoveling one, so I do have to spend some time each year sweating it out in the midday sun. Lured with the bate bait  enticement of the cool water, I do take frequent swims in the world's largest freshwater lake. 

I actually went for a dip in the lake this November. And that water was COLD — colder than a snow-shoveler's implement. Due to that feat of lunacy, I've quickly gained a reputation as the wild man of Minikin. Even a hamlet has to have at least one wild man.

Even so, I'm not crazy enough to steal a manure hose.  

Peddling My Wears

The Boat, Fishing, and Leisure show recently wrapped up in our fair city of Antler River. I just love these shows filled with various exhibitors who are trying to get you to buy their products. Of course, they charge admission. I mean, it's only right that we should pay to watch someone peddle their own wares. It's like how people pay good money to wear an article of clothing that is boldly emblazoned with a corporate logo.

Business people aren't stupid. They know that the public will do the advertising for them. The boat show charges $10 a head. Even those who have little or no income are expected to hand over some jack. Seniors and children can fork out $8 and $5 respectively. Children under 6 are not charged admission since they cannot grasp the concept of free enterprise. They think the world and everyone in it should cater to them. They're all in for a rude awakening once they've lived a year past their fifth birthday.

An interesting item that was pitched at this year's show was the Firebuoy. This is a floating lightweight aluminum fire pit! You can have a barbecue or campfire right on the water! I don't know about you, but every single time I'm boating, or canoeing, or swimming, or even sitting in a hot tub, I think. "Gee-whiz. Why can't I have a barbecue or a campfire right here, right now?"

Everybody sing: "Smoke on the water... "

Incidentally, do they pronounce it Fire-boo-ee or Fire-boy? Personally, I like the pronunciation that rhymes with gooey. When someone pronounces it "boo-ee", then I'm certain as to what they're referring to. But if someone says there's a buoy out in the water (and pronounces it "boy"), then I'm likely to start running around looking for a life-boo-ee to throw to the boy who might not be very boo-ee-ant.

But back to the subject of advertising. I can see that publicity, promotion, and plugging is what my blog needs. I must get out there and beat the drum for my interests.

The Oscars were televised last night. If I'd had the foresight, business acumen, moxie, and moolah, then I might have flown out there and tried to convince one of the attendees to stroll down the red carpet with an official item of Snow Shoveling In Canada Evening Wear ®.

As well — being the author of such a noteworthy blog — I could probably have obtained a press pass and interviewed a few of the celebrities. I've heard some of those interviews. The hard-hitting attack style of questioning demonstrated by Mike Wallace is not required.You just need a microphone and the right amount of smarm.

Maybe next year. Oh buoy, I can hardly wait!

Ah-Choo! Gemütlichkeit!

Winter is a great season to get together for a dinner, a party, a soirée, or some other social diversion. There are Super Bowl parties, Valentine’s parties, Oscar parties, and St. Patrick’s Day parties. But there’s no need for an excuse. A nice warm fete with friends, food, drink and perhaps some agreeable music seems to always be in order during this frosty interlude.

There is a German word for those fuzzy snuggly moments that one experiences in these distinct winter social gatherings: Gemütlichkeit.

A Wikipedia article describes the word as meaning more than just comfy and cozy. It states, in part, “... rather than merely describing a place that is compact, well-heated and nicely furnished (a cozy room, a cozy flat), Gemütlichkeit connotes the notion of belonging, social acceptance, cheerfulness, the absence of anything hectic and the opportunity to spend quality time”.

One drawback however, to this social warmth is the danger of contracting the dread acute viral rhinopharyngitis. This affliction seems more frequent this time of year, but it is not because of any exposure to the frigid elements. Rather, it’s due to contact with infected people who think nothing of sneezing or coughing in your face during one of the aforementioned shindigs. 

But we can be pro-active and take steps to reduce susceptibility to this illness:

• Drink fluids (especially orange juice)
• Get plenty of exercise (squeezing oranges to get some juice is highly recommended)
• Wash hands frequently (with orange juice, if possible)
• Use saline sprays (or orange juice) to irrigate nasal passages

Remember these tips the next time you have a get-together, like your upcoming annual World Figure Skating Championship party.

This year’s event will take place in Tokyo at Yogi’s Gym, and the competition will be fierce. These competitors are incredible athletes; displaying agility, strength, poise, skill, and impressive butt muscles. Just try to imagine the pressures that these skaters face.

Picture this: here you are, after years of dedication and practice, ready to compete in the most important event in your life. Not only do you have to perform at a top-notch level, but you have to look your absolute best as well. Hairstylists, make-up artists, and fashion designers are consulted in order to make you look as if you stepped off of the front page of Glamour.

You gracefully glide onto the ice to appreciative applause. Some schmaltzy version of "Lara's theme" blares through the loudspeakers as your routine begins. You look magnificent. Then you get ready to perform your first spinning leap (perhaps a triple sow cow, a quadruple axle, or a quintuple klutz). The crowd is hushed in breathless anticipation. You leap ten feet into the air, looking like Baryshnikov or Bessmertnova on blades; spinning like a dervish. You land — and fall; ignominiously sliding on your ass for the entire length of the ice in front of the thousands present and millions of viewers worldwide.

I can think of no other sporting event where there is such incongruity between what you want to portray and what you end up looking like. The only scenario that could possibly come close would be in an equestrian dressage event attended by royalty and the upper crust. If one of the participants were to land face first into a sloppy mixture of mud and manure, then that might equal the mortification of the skater’s gluteal glissade.

It would be nice if no one fell this year, but I believe the average number of keester-to-ice landings during these championships is about 197; so it is likely there will be many sore cabooses during that week.

Ah-Choo! And sore noses. Ah-Choo! Gesundheit. Ah-Choo! Goodnight and gemütlichkeit.

Second Annual SSIC Poetry Contest

It's back by popular demand! We at Snow Shoveling in Canada are proud to announce the winners of the Second Annual SSIC Poetry Contest.

Entries this year were judged on creativity, rhythm, intonation, and the amount of palm grease supplied to the judges.

First we'd like to reprint a couple of limericks that were entered. These are usually not considered pure "poetry" by most balladry buffs, but we thought these were the best submissions of that ilk.

 
SHOVELING ADVICE

When shoveling in snow cold and brisk
Beware of the dangers and risk.
Remember this please:
"Keep back straight, bend the knees"
Or you'll find that you've slipped a disc.

A LOTHARIO IN ONTARIO

There once was a man from Ontario

Who wanted to be a Lothario,

But his problems were such

That he couldn't rise much

With regards to his ol' ding-dong-derry-o.

That's enough of those.

We don't want you champing at the bit any longer for the good stuff, so here are this year's winners:

FIRST PRIZE:

MAN OR LEMUR?

Late last night while fast asleep,

a strange dream dreamt this dreamer —

A tiny basal primate was I,

from toe to head to femur.

Living 'neath a canopy

with vines that hang like streamers,

then slumber broke and I awoke —

a man, and not a lemur.

SECOND PRIZE (we've decided not to make a joke about a poet lariat here):

THE DUSTY COWBOY

 

After hitting the trail
where I rode hill and dale,
I retire to the tub
to get a good scrub.

What method’s a must
to wash off this dust?
The cleansing solution
is in this ablution.

THIRD PRIZE:

THE DOCTOR IS IN(SANE)

Frankenstein, Frankenstein

Created a monster six-foot-nine,
Of tremendous strength and abnormal brain;
Doctor and creature — both insane.

HONORABLE(?) MENTION (from the same "poet" who submitted the above entry):

THAT LAGOON CREATURE

If you should go swimming in the Black Lagoon,

Make sure you are armed with a good harpoon.

Or you may find that you'll need a surgeon

If you bump into this half-man, half-sturgeon.

There you have it. The best of the submissions. Ugh. If we don't receive anything better next year, then this may very well be the last annual SSIC poetry contest.

Whatever happened to great poetry? You know, the kind written by all those Lords; like Lord Byron, Lord Tennyson, and Lord Athol Layton.

The Wrestling Interviewer by Lord Athol Layton

In the wrestling ring I can be quite a brute.
When I interview I'm genteel and astute.

Between those ropes I can maim and I can bruise
But when I talk I can charm and I can schmooze.

So best keep in mind if I should chat with you;
Do not misbehave or that choice you may rue.

Act orderly or l will have to make you stop
With my signature patented judo chop.

Well alright; maybe Lord Layton wasn't the best of your lordly poets. But I'll bet no one ever addressed him by any of his names other than "Lord" or "Mr. Layton"!

I remember one of my favorite poems was by Lord Tennyson. I think it was an ode to a bank robber. I believe it was called The Illegal. Let's see if I can recall how it goes:

He grasps the bag with crooked hands;
Close to the cash that he demands,
Wronged by the lawful world he stands.

The silent bank alarm now calls;
A SWAT team waits outside the walls,
And like all criminals he falls.

Or something like that. 

In closing, I'd like to quote the poet Percy Shelley (who was not a Lord but a Bysshe) who said, "Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds."

Keep in mind that happiest and best are used in the very loosest sense with regards to the poetry presented here.