Ottawa from the 28th floor

...which is really only 27 stories from street level, because the Marriott at Queen and Kent Streets doesn't have a 13th floor. Who are they kidding?
Anyhoo, I took these shots while having lunch today at Merlot, the revolving restaurant which occupies said 28th floor.
This truly is a beautiful city.Parliament Hill (Duh! Yeah, really)
The Canadian War MuseumThe Supreme Court of Canada. If you look closely enough, you can see workers in fluorescent vests, cleaning snow off the front steps.

Ohmygawd, the sky is falling!

How will this country survive with less Ben Mulroney on TV? Oh, the pain... (sarcasm intended)
CTV cancels Canadian Idol for 2009

Rob Salem
Television Critic

Canadian Idol, once a competition-crushing ratings juggernaut for CTV, will not be produced in 2009, the network confirmed tonight.

Citing a less-than-idyllic "economic climate," CTV said Canadian Idol will be taking a "rest" for the broadcast year.

But CTV still retains its Idol licence, and says it has every expectation of bringing the crooner competition back again the following season.

Times must indeed be tough for the network to suspend production on the second most-watched Canadian-originated show in the entire country - right behind CTV's other adopted franchise, So You Think You Can Dance Canada.

But even with impressive ratings that ranged between 1 and 1.5 million in the final weeks of its sixth season in September, that is still roughly half the Canadian audience for its sister sing-a-thon, American Idol.

The American show, also cutting costs this year by cancelling its annual American Idol Gives Back fund-raiser, returns for its own eighth season January 13.

My datebook is full as far as lunch dates go

So we had our staff Christmas party on Saturday, and there were draws for several great prizes, including free parking for a year, a week of vacation time, Senators tickets and more. I won the $1,000 tab at Sami's Grill, the lunch counter in our building run by the sweetest Lebanese couple you could ever meet.

Now, all of a sudden, I have more people offering to have lunch with me. Fickle freaks.

But I'll tell you one thing: It sure felt good this morning, when I bought a coffee and a muffin, to say in my best announcer voice, "Put that on my tab, please."

So there's a transit strike in Ottawa

Don't let the exaggeraters fool you. The city has NOT ground to a halt.
Sure, it's a pain in the ass, especially if you have to drive on the Queensway during peak periods, but it still isn't the 401 on the best of days.

And one advantage of an OCTranspo strike: Fewer buses on the road. Just STO buses from Gatineau. AND Rideau Street outside the Rideau Centre isn't as creepy as usual, because there are fewer freaks hanging around the bus stops.

Finally, justice is done...

...and its name is OJ.
May you soon be some big guy's bitch.
Rot in jail, you murderous scum.
How dare you try to portray yourself as a victim, and stage that tearful act of contrition. Maybe you're not such a bad actor after all. But for that, too, you should be ashamed.
Rest well, Nicole and Ron. It took a while and on another case, but the end result is a small measure of justice for you.

Merci beaucoup, Mme Gouverneur-General

May sanity prevail.
I will preface my next remark with the caveat that I did NOT vote Conservative in the October election.
Stephane Dion is a bitter, pitiful little man who is running his own deficit of brain cells. He can't even run a party well enough to get a recorded address delivered to the TV networks on time, and in a format they can use.
I don't know what to think of Jack Layton right now.
Gilles Duceppe, I must say, is crafty as a fox. You don't have to support his party's raison-d'etre, but you have to agree that he's taken advantage of a big gift being handed to him.
As little as I want another election right now, I say bring it on. I will vote Conservative, just because I'm so disgusted with the rest of them, and their disregard for the way our political systems works. And I predict a massive Conservative majority, for the very same reasons.
Take electoral defeat with a bit of class. If you don't like the system, work from within it to change it. And don't put personal goals and ambitions ahead of the good of the country.

The Devil and Coffee Cat

Poor "Coffee The Prettiest Cat Ever" (it's really her title, registered with Buckingham Palace and everything) just lived through four days of HELL (lower case just doesn't convey the severity).
This is why:
Sandy, who you'll notice, has many of the same letters in her name as Satan does. Sandy's earthly body is that of a one-year-old terrypoo (half Jack Russell terrier and half poodle). She has chosen my aunt and uncle to feed and house her. The three of them were guests in my home from Friday afternoon until this morning, under the guise of my aunt and uncle attending the Neil Diamond concert on Sunday. It was all a ruse for Sandy/Satan to unleash HELL on poor, unsuspecting Coffee The Prettiest Cat Ever.

Sandy/Satan portrays a playful, lovable, affectionate, full-of-kisses puppy. But if Coffee The Prettiest Cat Ever was actually a boy named Johnny, there would have been a fiddle-off, with the stakes being Coffee's soul up against a golden fiddle.
Sandy/Satan took over the entire house, playing with Coffee's toys, running around like an orangutan and worst of all, dominating Coffee's Daddy's attention -- not to mention Coffee's favourite snoozing place, between her Daddy's knees when he's reclining in his Lazy Boy chair.
Now, Coffee The Prettiest Cat Ever is no wuss. She knows how to defend herself and her territory, even against tactics from HELL. When Sandy/Satan would get too close and/or try to get Coffee to play her devilish games, Coffee would let go with a devilish hiss that even made Sandy/Satan back off. I did not witness it myself, but I'm told that at one point Saturday afternoon, Coffee even tempted fate by belting Sandy/Satan in the head, knocking her for a loop. And all weekend, Coffee kept Sandy/Satan at bay (most of the time) with a stern leer from six or eight feet away. "Go ahead, Devil," the leer conveyed, "make my day. My food and water dishes might have been relegated to the basement to keep you from using them, but I will prevail!"
Coffee The Prettiest Cat Ever is now claiming victory. Sandy/Satan has gone back to Cochrane with her earthly hosts, and Coffee's soul is still intact. She is now once again the dominant creature within these walls. She can now brag that she has been through HELL and back.
Touché! Now, about that golden fiddle...

Does anyone interpret dreams?

I had a very vivid one last night or this morning.
It took me back to my hockey trainer days in Iroquois Falls. (To the uninitiated, a trainer does not train anyone -- hell, I can't even skate -- but is the first aid guy/den mother for the team). Queen Elizabeth was a special guest at the game. She was supposed to be performing a ceremonial face-off partway through the game, not at the beginning of it. The face-off was right in front of our bench. Although Her Majesty was supposed to be performing the face-off, the referee -- who just happened to be a guy I worked with at the TV station in Timmins -- dropped the puck, right onto Her Maj's head.
She swooned, I jumped over the boards and grabbed her arm to prevent her from hitting the ice. She took off her fancy hat (that chick has great taste in hats!) and I removed the toque she was wearing underneath it. There was nary a mark on her royal head, but I called out to someone on the bench to get me an ice pack. I was thinking to myself that even though she was the Queen, my old trick of using an ice pack as a placebo to calm down a player and make him think he was getting better when he was never really hurt in the first place, would also work on her.
Before I could get the ice pack, the Queen's protocol director appeared, announcing that the visit was over, and the Queen must leave. So I let her hold my arm while I walked her around the edge of the rink to the exit on the far side, rather than just leave the ice at our bench, some three feet away.
As we walked, she said she would rather stay. I told the protocol director that it was just an unfortunate accident, and Her Majesty was not injured, but he just clicked his tonight behind his teeth in that tsk-tsk sound, making it very clear that he did not believe that, and the visit was indeed over. The Queen pointed out that she had no say in anything, must obey the protocol director, and that every second of her life was dictated to her.
As we walked out to Her Majesty's rock star bus, I asked if she had ever played hockey. She said no, but that she did ice skate quite often.
As we got to the bus, a huge black bodyguard stepped off of the bottom step, offered the Queen his arm, and shook my hand. The bus then left, and I returned to the game. Several spectators sitting behind our bench cracked a lot of jokes about the entire affair, and roared with laughter when I told them I could walk them home, as I had done with Her Majesty.

Tell me, Dr. Freud, am I crazy? What does this dream mean? Should I lay off eating garlic like it's an apple before going to bed?

My first fireplace fire!

Last night! I took pictures! I used the timer on my camera so I could get in to some of the pictures! I'm such a loser!

How Natives get their names

(Before we get started, let me state that my Native name is Plays Baseball Like A Girl, which is a name I adopted in adulthood, and not my Native birth name.)


"Father," asked the young brave, "How do Native children get their names?"

"Well, my son," his father replied, "when a Native baby is born, he is named after the first sensation experienced by his father immediately following the birth. Hence, it could be Buffalo Hooves Stampeding, Eagle in Flight, Wind Rustling in Trees, or Cry of the Wolf, for example. Why do you ask, Two Dogs F**king?"

Misster Kitty will be proud of me

Man, for a straight guy, I sure can be a bee-ahtch at times.
I was just out to get a sandwich. A crabby looking old lady was waiting to come out the door that I was going in. Several people kept crowding past her. I held the door open so she could get out. As she swept past me, I loudly and clearly said "You're welcome". Then behind me, I heard a feeble "Oh, thank you."

Thank you. Thank you very much.
If I get brave enough, I might try my hand at a bitchslap. Get it? Try my HAND at a bitchslap?

Finally, pics of my house

As you probably know by now, I just moved into the first home I have ever owned. It is a three-bedroom townhouse. Here are some pics of the exterior and the ground floor. I'm not ready to share pics of the rest of the house. You'll also notice a few boxes still evident. They have mostly photographs with which I decorate, but my shui isn't fenging right now. I must be patient with that -- it'll come.

Silly melancholy feelings

I admit it: I'm a real moosh.
Today, I went back over to my old apartment to get the last few things out of it and clean it up a bit. I tell ya, I swept up enough cat hair to open a charity to make wigs for cats who have cancer.
Anyway, as much as I love my new place, I did really like that apartment, too. It was the nicest one I've ever had. So as I'm cleaning, I'm getting a bit melancholy -- not regretting the move, but just getting a little melcancholy.
Sweeping reminded me of Carol Burnett, and next thing you know, I'm singing "I'm so glad we've had this time together..." and picturing myself as her washer-woman character.
Yeah, I'm a moosh -- and a nutbar.

I'm just about at the point in the new place, where I am ready to take and post pics of the main floor, and maybe the master bedroom. Probably tomorrow night.

HELP, FELLOW BLOGLODYTES

I just bought new salt and pepper shakers, cuz the other ones got broken during my move. So far, that's the only casualty, so not bad.
The only problem is the new shakers aren't labelled (yet). One has three holes, the other has five. I'm guessing that it's three for salt, five for pepper. Am I right?

Lest we forget

"...If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields."

The Move is Complete

I have not yet begun to enjoy the extra space of my three-bedroom townhouse, because I am still surrounded by boxes. I got some unpacking done yesterday, but none today, because I do volunteer work on Wednesday mornings, and then had to come in to work.
I was counting on getting more unpacking done tomorrow morning before coming in to work, but now the boss wants me in at 9:30 am for a half-hour session with the company lawyer on libel and other legal matters related to news. Oh, well.

Coffee the Prettiest Cat Ever seems to be enjoying the new place, too. She was pretty freaked out by all the boxes during packing, and the unusual activity leading up to the move. She voiced her disapproval to being shut in to the bathroom yesterday morning while the movers got their truck loaded. But once I got her to the new place, she walked around as if to say "Nice place, Dad. Is that OUR furniture? Cool!" After a bit more exploring, she hopped up on the back of the recliner -- one of her favourite perches -- and took a cat nap. We also had a chance to take a snooze together in the same chair -- one of her favourite bonding activities -- while waiting for Cable Guy to show up.

If anyone knows a spell that will result in all the boxes being unpacked and everything put where it belongs, conjure away.

This is TORTURE!

Almost 3:30, and still no call to pick up my house keys! ARRRRGGGGHHHH!
Oh, the humanity!

This is just for Kitty

Not one for the squeamish! This is courtesy of my buddy Chris.


Woman swallowed whole by leopard

I thought it was one of those fake emails too, until I saw the photo below. Somehow the woman was lodged in the leopard's throat and they finally *cut the leopard's head off to let the woman escape.

She was unharmed.... Unbelievable!!

*CAUTION-
Photo follows...may be too frightening for some viewers

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Woman swallowed whole by leopard! You just had to look didn't you!

Is it ironic...?

...That the word pronunciation is frequently mispronounced?