http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/06/17/canada.feet/index.html
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080617/ap_on_re_ca/canada_mystery_feet;_ylt=AvkwQnvt4QD1KXV6SQ4Fbi4Qr7sF
I'm just kind of amazed at how lack-a-daisical the cops seem to be about this. 5 feet (four rights, 1 left) in 10 months. In the 2 accounts I've read, they don't even mention having gone back up the river to find out, maybe, where the feet are coming from. In fact, the AP account on Yahoo says that the foot might not even have been severed and thrown into the river. It may just have popped off. Of a body that was already in the river. Hello? The fact that there are multiple sources of the body parts bobbing along your river only seems to be a point of speculation. Evidently it's not strange enough to make somebody pick up a phone and call another police department upstream and say "Hey, anybody up there missing a foot?"
And the cop who says "Hey, hey, hey, what do you think we are CSI:Saskatoon?". Um. No, my little Canuck Barney Fife, I don't expect you to have some magic equipment that would tell you who the foot belongs to. But I do kind of expect that after nearly a year, you express some sort of curiosity about where the feet are coming from. One foot in the river? That's a little weird. Possibly a fluke. A really creepy fluke, but still. Five feet in the river? That's a trend, my friend. Possibly it was just a tragic freak wading accident involving a long pier and an out of control boat propeller. Or. Perhaps, just perhaps, it's time to call in the Mounties.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Eye Witness News
So, yesterday I'm leaving my office building when I'm nearly run over at the door by a fireman carrying a giant axe. I was so startled by the giant axe that I couldn't even tell you if it was a cute fireman or not. That's how scared I was.
So I automatically switch into fluffy bunny mode. I'm looking at everything going on in the street, sniffing for smoke and making sure I've got an escape route. I saw about 8 fire department vehicles circling the building. And a bunch of firemen. Looking at the front door of the building. Then looking at the top of the building. Looking at me. Looking at the front of the building. I spotted my escape route and hopped to it, quick like a bunny. As I heard more fire sirens arriving. Are they looking up to see smoke? Or is there somebody trying to jump? Seriously, I don't want to get hit by flaming debris, or a body falling off of a tall building (and thank you sooooo much M. Night Shyamalan for that little image that is being broadcast in the "every hour on the hour" commercial for The Happening. You little prick.)
My personal philosophy in that kind of situation is that "she who clucks and runs away, lives to cluck another day." If I see a situation developing, I feel like all parties are served by me skeedaddling as quickly as possible. It is highly unlikely that the fire department is going to want my help with a fire hose. And if I'm not standing around, I can't become an "innocent bystander". Discretion truly can be the better part of valor. This is of course completely different from a situation in which I could actually be of assistance. The cluck and run policy is null and void when people are in need. But otherwise, I believe in clearing the scene. Looky-loos are just a nuisance.
I did do the only thing I thought was helpful, in that I called the one person that I knew was still in the office and told him to pay attention if there was a fire alarm. But I did it from a safe distance. Okay, sure, I might miss all the excitement that way. But then, I also miss all the excitement that way. Hit by flaming debris is exciting, but not in a good way.
So I automatically switch into fluffy bunny mode. I'm looking at everything going on in the street, sniffing for smoke and making sure I've got an escape route. I saw about 8 fire department vehicles circling the building. And a bunch of firemen. Looking at the front door of the building. Then looking at the top of the building. Looking at me. Looking at the front of the building. I spotted my escape route and hopped to it, quick like a bunny. As I heard more fire sirens arriving. Are they looking up to see smoke? Or is there somebody trying to jump? Seriously, I don't want to get hit by flaming debris, or a body falling off of a tall building (and thank you sooooo much M. Night Shyamalan for that little image that is being broadcast in the "every hour on the hour" commercial for The Happening. You little prick.)
My personal philosophy in that kind of situation is that "she who clucks and runs away, lives to cluck another day." If I see a situation developing, I feel like all parties are served by me skeedaddling as quickly as possible. It is highly unlikely that the fire department is going to want my help with a fire hose. And if I'm not standing around, I can't become an "innocent bystander". Discretion truly can be the better part of valor. This is of course completely different from a situation in which I could actually be of assistance. The cluck and run policy is null and void when people are in need. But otherwise, I believe in clearing the scene. Looky-loos are just a nuisance.
I did do the only thing I thought was helpful, in that I called the one person that I knew was still in the office and told him to pay attention if there was a fire alarm. But I did it from a safe distance. Okay, sure, I might miss all the excitement that way. But then, I also miss all the excitement that way. Hit by flaming debris is exciting, but not in a good way.
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Low Down, No Good, Going Green Blues
This article in the NY Times really lays out what I've been feelinging myself lately (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/15/fashion/15green.html?_r=1&ref=style&oref=slogin). You don't need to be a superhero, or an environmentalist to save the environment. You need to be a freaking actuary. The level of calculations necessary to figure out whether what you're doing is right or not just makes my tiny brain hurt.
Look at my coffee cup. I use a plain ceramic coffee cup at work every day. Seems like the quick fix. No styrofoam cups adding chemicals to the local land-fill. Go, me. But what about the hot water that's used to clean my cup every day? And the chemicals from the dish soap? I don't even have the capacity to do that kind of mathematics. Oh, and there are the fuel costs to transport those styrofoam cups. And does it make a difference that my ceramic cup was made in China and had to be transported here? Ow. Ow. Ow.
And if I were to eat locally, to reduce carbon emissions from trucks transporting food, my diet would consist mainly of cantaloupe and beef. And evidently if I composte my cantaloupe rinds, that's pretty okay. But the cows are producing methane, that's doing something or other to the ozone and polluting the air so that it's killing the plants. Cow farts are killing the cantaloupes even worse than the truck farts.
And then, after all the hours that I've spent bundling paper products for recycling, and taking them to the recycle center, somebody tells me that recycling paper is a toxic process that is a large contributor to environmental pollution. It was all I coud do not to beat him to death with a rolled up newspaper.
I don't mind trying to do the right thing. I just hate finding out that I've been doing the wrong thing by trying to do the right thing.
Look at my coffee cup. I use a plain ceramic coffee cup at work every day. Seems like the quick fix. No styrofoam cups adding chemicals to the local land-fill. Go, me. But what about the hot water that's used to clean my cup every day? And the chemicals from the dish soap? I don't even have the capacity to do that kind of mathematics. Oh, and there are the fuel costs to transport those styrofoam cups. And does it make a difference that my ceramic cup was made in China and had to be transported here? Ow. Ow. Ow.
And if I were to eat locally, to reduce carbon emissions from trucks transporting food, my diet would consist mainly of cantaloupe and beef. And evidently if I composte my cantaloupe rinds, that's pretty okay. But the cows are producing methane, that's doing something or other to the ozone and polluting the air so that it's killing the plants. Cow farts are killing the cantaloupes even worse than the truck farts.
And then, after all the hours that I've spent bundling paper products for recycling, and taking them to the recycle center, somebody tells me that recycling paper is a toxic process that is a large contributor to environmental pollution. It was all I coud do not to beat him to death with a rolled up newspaper.
I don't mind trying to do the right thing. I just hate finding out that I've been doing the wrong thing by trying to do the right thing.
Bwwwaaaaaaaah!
Yesterday was a health day for me. All I had on the agenda to do was light housework and stay out of the freaking solar sweat bomb that was the great outdoors. EEE-YUCK. And personally, I find that it's easier to keep my thermo-stat at a higher temperature if I lie like a lump on the couch during the hottest part of the day. So really, it's not laziness. It's the E thing to do. I'm very green-minded that way. Energy conservation is everyone's responsibility.
Anyway, on the health front, I spent most of the day watching Lifetime Movie Network. There was the perfect convergence of my PMS and a Sob Sister Sunday marathon on LMN. I find that a good cry is very cleansing. And I think it's very healthy for my sinuses to bawl until snot runs out of my nose.
And boy, was LMN looking out for my health. The theme was "good Dad/bad Dad". And as a true-blue Daddie's girl, nothing will make me cry like watching Andrew McCarthy as a widower fighting to keep is Chinese, adopted, baby daughter. Or Charles Shaughnessy (or as true The Nanny fans call him - Shister Meffield) finding redemption as he cradles his multi-racial grandchild on his deathbed. By the time we got to the last show, which was a hot, 22-year old country singer trying to keep the baby he made during a one night stand with a cougar who didn't want to be his baby-mama but wanted to give their baby to a lesbian couple (okay, I'll admit by now I was having some trouble following the mildly psychotic, yet strantely cathartic Liftetime-formula plots), I was a sodden mess. I cried so much had to eat some salty snacks in order to restore my electrolite balance. Good times. Good times.
Anyway, on the health front, I spent most of the day watching Lifetime Movie Network. There was the perfect convergence of my PMS and a Sob Sister Sunday marathon on LMN. I find that a good cry is very cleansing. And I think it's very healthy for my sinuses to bawl until snot runs out of my nose.
And boy, was LMN looking out for my health. The theme was "good Dad/bad Dad". And as a true-blue Daddie's girl, nothing will make me cry like watching Andrew McCarthy as a widower fighting to keep is Chinese, adopted, baby daughter. Or Charles Shaughnessy (or as true The Nanny fans call him - Shister Meffield) finding redemption as he cradles his multi-racial grandchild on his deathbed. By the time we got to the last show, which was a hot, 22-year old country singer trying to keep the baby he made during a one night stand with a cougar who didn't want to be his baby-mama but wanted to give their baby to a lesbian couple (okay, I'll admit by now I was having some trouble following the mildly psychotic, yet strantely cathartic Liftetime-formula plots), I was a sodden mess. I cried so much had to eat some salty snacks in order to restore my electrolite balance. Good times. Good times.
I didn't find it in the basement of the Alamo
Love at first sight. When you see that one in a crowd. And all the others fall away. And all your hopes, your dreams, your desires are focused on that one. That perfect one.
I bought a bike at the big church garage sale. I couldn't even tell you what the other bikes were. The second I spotted this one, it was like we were alone in that parking lot. Just me and the sweetest little ride on this or any other planet. Girlie bike with gorgeous swoopy lines. Straight up cruiser. If I had to guess, I'd say it' probably an early 60s model. Pedal brakes. Big fat seat. Metalic gold paint - original. And kicky gold hand grips with - wait for it - sparkles!! It is THE perfect bike for anyone too uncoordinated to use hand brakes, and too lazy to figure out how to work gears correctly. Plus it has a bicycle license plate from Scottsdale - how cool is that?
I took it out for a practice ride with my niece on Saturday. And then road it over to a friend's house on Sunday (and hey, how green am I?). If there's a feeling any better cranking really fast on your bike, then sticking your feet out at the side and just flying down the street with the wind in your hair, I don't know what it could be.
There are relatively few repairs that I need to make. The tires probably have one more summer in them. And somebody replaced the kickstand with one that's too big, so that the pedal bangs it every it goes time past. That's a pretty easy fix. Otherwise there's nothing that a little WD40 and a few jazzy new reflectors won't fix.
The big question is, do I let my new bike (tentatively named Bella the Bike. I have some sort of weird obsession with B names for my possessions. Barney the Wonder Truck. Betty the Bat, my Louisville Slugger brand home security system. Bella would fit, but it's also my niece's middle name, so I'll see how she feels about it before I make anything official) stay in it's pristine original condition, though the paint has fadded and the chrome is stained, or do I go full on re-hab and trick this baby out? I could do a new paint job (green, pink, blue, red?), put in some fly detailing, a front basket, a bell, streamers, the works. Do I let this beautiful relic of a simpler time age gracefully, or go the full Pee Wee on it? It's a deep philosophical question that I shall have to contemplate very seriously before making a decision. Feel free to give me helpful guidance in this most critical issue. I'd appreciate all thoughts. I'll post pics tomorrow so that you can get the full "most wonderful bike in the world" experience.
I bought a bike at the big church garage sale. I couldn't even tell you what the other bikes were. The second I spotted this one, it was like we were alone in that parking lot. Just me and the sweetest little ride on this or any other planet. Girlie bike with gorgeous swoopy lines. Straight up cruiser. If I had to guess, I'd say it' probably an early 60s model. Pedal brakes. Big fat seat. Metalic gold paint - original. And kicky gold hand grips with - wait for it - sparkles!! It is THE perfect bike for anyone too uncoordinated to use hand brakes, and too lazy to figure out how to work gears correctly. Plus it has a bicycle license plate from Scottsdale - how cool is that?
I took it out for a practice ride with my niece on Saturday. And then road it over to a friend's house on Sunday (and hey, how green am I?). If there's a feeling any better cranking really fast on your bike, then sticking your feet out at the side and just flying down the street with the wind in your hair, I don't know what it could be.
There are relatively few repairs that I need to make. The tires probably have one more summer in them. And somebody replaced the kickstand with one that's too big, so that the pedal bangs it every it goes time past. That's a pretty easy fix. Otherwise there's nothing that a little WD40 and a few jazzy new reflectors won't fix.
The big question is, do I let my new bike (tentatively named Bella the Bike. I have some sort of weird obsession with B names for my possessions. Barney the Wonder Truck. Betty the Bat, my Louisville Slugger brand home security system. Bella would fit, but it's also my niece's middle name, so I'll see how she feels about it before I make anything official) stay in it's pristine original condition, though the paint has fadded and the chrome is stained, or do I go full on re-hab and trick this baby out? I could do a new paint job (green, pink, blue, red?), put in some fly detailing, a front basket, a bell, streamers, the works. Do I let this beautiful relic of a simpler time age gracefully, or go the full Pee Wee on it? It's a deep philosophical question that I shall have to contemplate very seriously before making a decision. Feel free to give me helpful guidance in this most critical issue. I'd appreciate all thoughts. I'll post pics tomorrow so that you can get the full "most wonderful bike in the world" experience.
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