I thought my readers might like this

I'm on the "conservative" side for a Canadian (libertarian really, but we don't have that option here, so "conservative" will do), but I've gotta say that the American government is nuts. How long is this silliness going to go on?

Rory & Hughie: Goodbye, Mrs. Berry

Steve as Hughie
Mr. Austin as Rory

Only in Name of Town Withheld

MICHAEL: Mom, guess what? I'm an aboriginal.

ME: You're a -- what?

MICHAEL: An aboriginal. A person who doesn't eat meat.

ME: A vegetarian?

MICHAEL: Yeah, a vegetarian.

ME: Are you sure? Vegetarians don't eat hot dogs or hamburgers. They eat salad and vegetables.

MICHAEL: I don't like salad, but I'll eat lettuce.

ME: So I guess you're going to start eating eggs, then.

MICHAEL: No, I don't like eggs. Wait, is there meat in an Egg McMuffin?

ME: Yeah, there's ham in it. But that's OK. You could give me your ham and you could eat the egg.

MICHAEL: *looks distraught* Maybe I could just eat bread.

Of course, I can't let this pass

Mika Brzezinski: My new hero.

Dear Glen,

Can I have the key to the camper? I looked in the window and it is really cool inside. I think it would be a fun place to go. And I would always be good, always. You should come over and play with me in the camper.

From Michael

For the Rebecca Eckler haters

I am guessing (hoping?) that the new visitors are here because they feel the same way I do about that vapid twit. This link will take you to all of my Ickler posts. I'll leave this at the top of the blog for the next few days.

Regular readers: please go on to the next post.

The woes of Paris Hilton, as told to Larry King

1. She has claustrophobia, so she should NOT have to be in jail. It would have been way better for her to be at home even though the judge said she had to go to jail. She was locked in a cell for three and a half weeks and it was a horrible experience.

2. She feels really bad for her neighbours, because there were photographers at her house when she was brought back to court. Also, people know where she lives now!

3. She got a bad deal, because she did not know that she wasn't allowed to drive when her license was suspended. Next time she's drunk, she will definitely call a limo instead of driving. But she does not feel like she's a criminal.

4. She didn't want to cause a media circus when she checked into jail. That's why she went to an awards show right before she turned herself in.

5. People are spreading lies that she lost weight in jail. They make up crazy stories and she is baffled. She doesn't correct the lies because if she did, people would talk about it even more.

6. There is one thing she'd like to change about herself: She wants her voice to be lower. (Is this woman for real???)

7. She has ADD and takes medication for that. She has never taken other drugs, and Mothers Against Drunk Driving is wrong, wrong, wrong. She is a good example for children now because she's been to jail.

8. She does not take any money from her family. She works really hard. She is like any other girl and a good person.

9. She's always been religious but she wasn't able to bring her Bible into jail. She reads the Bible all the time, but doesn't have a favourite passage and could not think of any Bible stories.

10. Being strip-searched is the most embarrassing thing ever, because you have to get naked in front of someone you don't even know. (HAHAHAHAHAHA. I swear I'm not making this up.)

Counter-Spin

I need to address a vicious rumour that is going around, namely that I hate David Hasselhoff.

I understand how this got started. I do make fun of him a lot. But I don't hate him. I actually love him.

David Hasselhoff is my Sanjaya. I can't wait to see what he's going to do next. I'm not so keen on his newer stuff, because he's now in on the joke, but I adore his older stuff, especially anything from overseas. I love that thrill of excitement that comes from discovering something really deliciously awful on YouTube.

If you come here through Technorati (and I know some of you weirdos do -- don't think I don't see your searches for "Rebecca Eckler" and "Clay Aiken"), you will see that Technorati has electronically determined what this blog is about. It looks like this:
This isn't exactly the order I would have used to list these topics, but I suppose computers are not perfect.

In any case, I do not hate David Hasselhoff. As a show of my respect, I offer my favourite video ever. We all owe him a debt of gratitude.

Sicko, Part 2

I’ve seen most of Michael Moore’s latest movie. It’s one of his better ones, complete with laugh-out-loud narration like “His anti-Americanism was too much for me”.

The thing to remember when watching his movies is that they are not documentaries. They are propaganda disguised as journalism. As long as you understand that, you’ll be fine.

Documentaries are supposed to have a coherent message, and they do need to tell a story. They can even blatantly lobby for a particular political action, and I won’t complain. But they don’t leave out important details that could make the viewer come to the opposite conclusion. They don’t stage scenes for the purpose of leaving a false impression. And they don’t string technically-true sentences together in a way that implies something incorrect.

It's too bad, because reforming health care is something I could really get behind. I don't think our system is great, but the American system isn't working either. I'd like to watch a film like this and be inspired to change the world. Unfortunately, I spent the time thinking that Mr. Moore could have put his energy into making a real documentary that would have had the same message and been more effective (but less shocking).

I really can’t speak for the European countries featured in the movie, although I’ve decided that if even half of it is true, I definitely want to move to France. I can tell you a few facts about Canada, though:

• Mr. Moore follows an American across the border, where she lies to the border guard and then lies to the admin staff at two medical clinics so she can see a doctor “for free”. Here’s the thing: It’s not really free to see a doctor here. Provinces and territories issue health cards to residents. Each card has a number used for billing. If you go to an Ontario clinic with an Alberta health card, the government of Ontario will send a bill to Alberta, thanks to something called “reciprocal billing”. If your home province doesn’t have a reciprocal billing arrangement with the province you’re visiting, you will pay the full cost of your care and send your receipts to your provincial government so they can reimburse you. We do not provide free health care to international tourists. The poor woman who crossed the border is going to get a bill.
  
• It wasn’t shown on film, but I can’t imagine that this woman would have been able to see a doctor that day unless it was a special drop-in clinic. I usually have to wait at least three weeks to get an appointment with a GP. I’ve seen a neurologist once in the past seven years. (I have epilepsy.)
  
• I would like Mr. Moore to tell me which ER sees patients within 20 minutes, because I plan to start going there.
  
• We do indeed think it’s a good idea to buy travel insurance when visiting the United States.
  
• Although he spends a lot of time talking about free medicine in Europe, there are no free medical supplies in Canada. If you have a chronic illness, you better hope you have insurance. Clinic visits are nothing compared to the cost of medicine.
  
• Our doctors work for the government, live very well and provide excellent care.

More ritual humiliation

I am NOT on a diet. I started the SELF Challenge with the Princess today.

The SELF Challenge, as I discovered, requires me to write down every calorie I consume and document all of my exercise, then post it on the Internet, presumably so that other people can mock me.

I'm not used to counting calories, but so far today I have eaten 1150 of them. About a third of this came from my daily chai, which I guess I need to make into a weekly treat. I asked the barista how many calories were in the chai, and she made a face and asked if I really wanted to know. This was a bad sign.

But I am NOT on a diet. I am, at least in theory, against diets. While I insist that I'm not on a diet, I have been trying to be a bit healthier. No more candy when I get upset. Walks or bike rides in the evening. This has been going on for three weeks, since I realised that unless I made a conscious effort, we would eat barbecued hamburgers for supper every night. But I am NOT on a diet. I am the Princess's online workout buddy.

Me = Loser

I am cackling with glee right now. And I hesitate to tell you why, because you will all laugh at me.

However, this blog is really just an opportunity to embarrass myself on a grand scale, so here goes. Click over to my 9-5 website. Look! Look! There next to What's New! It's an RSS feed! An honest-to-goodness RSS feed! And I did it myself!

What, you guys aren't impressed? I'll have you know that NOBODY ELSE in the NWT government has one of those. This is cutting-edge stuff, at least for us.

Can't...breathe...must...stop...laughing...

UPDATED JULY 11: This post is suddenly very popular. The full list of Ickler links is here. You may want to start with the post that explains why I hate her.

UPDATED AGAIN JULY 12: I started to feel bad for Eckler (yes, it's true), so I pulled down the text that used to be here. I have replaced it with a summary of the post.

My American readers are wondering who Rebecca Eckler is and why anyone would hate her so much.

I linked to Ickler's blog in the post below this one. She's the Canadian writer who is suing Judd Apatow for ripping off her totally original book about getting pregnant. She used to freelance for the Globe & Mail, but it appears that they've dumped her.

Ickler has an unusual talent for turning her readers into tightly-wound balls of seething fury. She started writing for the National Post about ten years ago, and I used to read her columns, thinking that she was a satirist. Nobody could be that shamelessly self-absorbed. It had to be a joke.

I was wrong. Ickler's real, and she's still around. It got worse after she had a baby. Narcissism is always distasteful, but it's hard to describe the feeling I get from seeing it in a person who is responsible for a small child. I want to call Child Protective Services. She calls her daughter The Dictator, apparently without irony.

The Canadian media, for reasons I cannot fathom, have decided that Ickler is the voice of young moms in Canada. This is even worse than when they thought she was the voice of young women in Canada. Back then, I could at least imagine that perhaps she spoke for really dumb women in Toronto.

Here is a sample of her writing. She has deleted this post from her blog, but the wonder of the Internet is that these things never really go away. You might want to have a bucket nearby as you read this.
______________________________________

UPDATED: I have removed the text of Ickler’s original post, complete with its lousy grammar and bad spelling. In its place, I offer the following summary:

Ickler’s feeling really good about herself, because she almost never spends a whole day and night alone with her child. Usually, one of her two nannies is around, or her in-laws take the child at night. But now everyone is leaving, and it’s just Ickler and her daughter. Everyone is worried that Ickler will not be OK alone for 24 hours – they keep suggesting that they could change their plans and stay to help her out.

Ickler’s offended at the thought, but acknowledges that the nanny makes life a lot easier, because she:

1. Puts suntan lotion on the baby
2. Changes her diapers
3. Gives her a bath every night
4. Feeds her all her meals.

Ickler suddenly realizes that there IS a lot of work involved in taking care of a baby. She wakes up one morning to discover a note on her door: Her child woke up hungry and needed a bottle. Ickler doesn’t sleep nearby, of course, so she didn’t know about it. Even after she figures this out, she still sleeps in the next day.

Ickler has watched the nanny feed the baby and knows it can take up to an hour. However, she doesn’t have that type of patience, so she makes pancakes, turns the TV on and “shove(s) the pancakes in her mouth without her even noticing”. It only takes ten minutes.

They head off to the country club, where Ickler is careful to note that membership costs more than $100,000. Fortunately, the baby pool is set up so that Ickler doesn’t actually have to go in the water.

Then they go shopping and out for supper. Ickler asks her readers if she should buy a Coach bag.

Ickler’s really proud of herself, because her child didn’t cry once the entire day. Then she backtracks and admits that there was indeed some crying, but, as she says, “I don’t why (sic) everyone is so worried that I can’t take care of my child all by myself”. In fact, she thinks she might kind of like being a mother, and “might even have to get more involved in it”.

I Finally Figure Out Why I Hate Rebecca Eckler

It is becase I am jealos!!! Totally jealos, because she is a yummier mummy then me!!! I am like not really even a writer, and she is like totally a freelancer who gets tons off book deals and lots of love from the guy at Maclean's!!! Gaa!

I am doing my best though. Today I am having a relly rough day, because my son is not here, which is good because he is SO ANNOYING and always asks me to help him with his homework, but I found a tank top in my pajayma darwer and I put it on and I already feel a bit better. Although not as good as Eckler, who I call Ickler just because I am totally jealos that she looks better in tank tops then me. So now al I have to do is sit here in my tank top and listen to my favortie CD from The Pretenders, that I listen to because none of you fuckers is as cool as me!!! I am on the cutting edge, assholes!

So lik I said today is a really rough day. I totally had to sweep and mop the floor, and I even unloaded the dishwasher even though I was thinking that if I relaly want to be more like Ickler I need to get a housekeeper and a few nannies so I can just hang out at expnsive stores all day long and drink nonfat soylattes. It was such a huge drain that I totaly had to lie down when I was done but that didnt stop me from thinking that i am rellay a huge loser and NOT a good writer at all and that is another reason I am jealous. I probably could not get a book deal even if I sletp with the head of a pulbishing company!!! Gaa!

And another thing, I totally LOVE my child even though I sometimes secretly think he is a huge embarasment, like when he always pretends he is a Jedi even though everyone knows that is SO 2005. I cringe in horor and hope that nobody can tell we're together and that's why when we're at the playgroudn I let him run and play wile I do yoga over on the side in my tank top. I am not as good as Ickler though and that is another reason I am jelous. I bet if we were in the same yoga class she would be way way hotter than me and i would always be watching her and hoping that she would notice me and maybe we could go get a nonfat soy latte and we could be friends and maybe she would help me with my patehtic writing career that is totally not as good as hers.

UPDATED: Welcome, Technorati users. The full list of my Eckler posts is here.

Sicko

A relative e-mailed me a newspaper story about Michael Moore's latest movie. I'm a bit out of the popular-culture loop up here and haven't seen it, but I do know that Mr. Moore has rose-coloured glasses where Canada is concerned. He's also a bit too quick to jump to conclusions about our society. I will offer a quick overview of our health system, in case he leaves out some details:

• Doctor's visits (including specialists): FREE, sort of. The government is now taking $1500 out of my paycheque every two weeks. I go to the doctor maybe three times a year.
• Hospital visits: FREE, sort of. See above. We do not pay the cost of any medical procedure that is done in a hospital.
  
• Medical supplies, including medicine: PATIENT PAYS FULL PRICE. Steve's diabetic pump cost $5000, and his blood-testing strips cost $1 each. A person I used to work with is taking pills that cost $100 a day. You can buy medical insurance to cover all or most of these costs.
• Ambulance trips: PATIENT PAYS FULL PRICE. About $300 per trip, at least here in Name of Town Withheld. This is a good deal, as it gets you four handsome and sympathetic ambulance attendants at your door in about five minutes.
• Wait times: ABYSMAL. A friend of mine (full disclosure: who has nothing but good things to say about our system) almost died from a weird pregnancy illness that caused severe vomiting. She spent a LOT of time in emergency wait rooms, often next to people with severe alcoholism and mental illnesses. You can imagine how great this was for her.
• Freedom to choose your doctor: NOT TRUE. When your doctor leaves town, you have to beg another GP to see you, and most will not even consider it. It has been over a year since I had a doctor. Steve convinced a GP to be his doctor about six months ago, and we are hoping that she will agree to treat Michael and me. However, it is true that we do not have HMOs that assign doctors to patients or demand that you cycle through cheaper treatments before trying treatments that are more expensive.
• Satisfaction with Canadian health-care system: MIXED. The first thing any Canadian will say about our system is that it is better than the American one. You will usually get this from people who have no experience with the American system, so you can judge for yourself how much their opinions are worth.
  

Our system is a source of national pride, which is so Canadian I could vomit. Only in Canada would a mandatory group-insurance plan be a source of national pride.

*pantpantpantpant*

Am I wrong, or are 60-year-olds incredibly sexy all of a sudden? How did this happen?

Dear Fit Yogurt: Go to hell.

Isn't this girl hot? I was thinking that it was great to see women with curves in advertising when I discovered that this ad is supposed to turn your stomach. Yes. You are supposed to look at this woman and immediately start retching up your dinner, then grab a little cup of Fit Yogurt. It is part of a campaign that re-shoots iconic images of women using larger models. You can see a few more of them at Shakesville.

This might be the vilest ad campaign I've ever seen. The tag line is Forget about it. Men’s preference will never change. Fit Light Yogurt. Because it's a great idea to reinforce the notion that women should try to look exactly the way men want them to look. We don't have enough trouble with that already.

I was going to be a bit more expressive in the title of this post, but decided that it wasn't worth upsetting my parents and the Forces of Evil any more than they already are.

A flash of memory

I hesitate to share this flash, as the Good Reverend will likely pop up with a correction that throws me into doubt. (Forces of Evil: no, not you guys. Don't you have legal papers to file? If you're looking for something to do, maybe you can help Uriel with her campaign against dermatologists.)

My dad was the lead guitarist in a cover band when I was much, much younger, and they played this song. They used to practise at the back of the drummer's store ("Jim-Bob's Flooring"), and I liked to go to their rehearsals. I'd sit on big rolls of carpet and listen to them play country-rock music or the songs my dad wrote.

My godfather sang lead, and my dad's best friend Steve played bass. I have a memory flash of Steve with a Band-Aid on his ear (goodness only knows why) goofing around and singing this as "Summer of '89", and I distinctly remember thinking that it was 1986 at the time. I was sitting near the bathroom, which I had a mortal fear of because the fellow who occasionally played keyboards told me there was a mouse in the toilet. I'm sure this was very funny to a guy without kids.

I have a few other related flashes of memory, but can't remember what happened before or after. I remember pinching my hand in a microphone stand by messing around with the little twisty thing that lengthened it -- I loosened it and the top part slipped down and pinched my hand. I also remember tightening the strings on my dad's guitar when he wasn't looking. Naturally, I was caught in the act (I never got away with anything, no matter how small) and the drummer chastised me: "Uh uh uh, you're not supposed to turn those, Megan!"

Letter from Jail

Today's episode of Little Miss Know-it-All: Correspondence.

I've read more letters from prisoners than the average person. This is not just because of my preferred attire when visiting the jail; it is also because as a true scholar and lover of the written word, I seek out original manuscripts whenever possible. There is a standard template for prisoners to follow:

1. Thanks for your letter.
2. You are keeping me strong.
3. Random craziness like "Technology sucks!" or "Paul made me do it".
   
4. Boo hoo, boo hoo.
5. God bless you.
   

(Please note that this template is only for use when responding to letters. If the prisoner sends the first letter, he can skip steps 1 and 2 and get right to the craziness and the boo-hooing.)

And so we come to today's prisoner correspondence, written by the lady seen in this glamour shot:


(Parenthetically, this might be my favourite photo ever. I want to nominate that judge as King of the Universe -- Cindy tells me he has to die before he can be considered for sainthood, and this is the type of judge you definitely want to keep alive for a while.)

Yes, Paris Hilton has been writing letters from jail in the desperate hope that one of them would be leaked to the media so she could be in the magazines again. Apparently it wasn't great press when she refused to drink water so she could never be photographed on the prison toilet.

This letter is a perfect example of the prisoner letter, although it's missing the part where the author would typically veer off into crazy-town. As usual, my analysis is in bold text. (Changing the font is way too much work, so I'm going back to the old-school method.)


I read your letter and just wanted to thank you for your kind words of love and support.

I didn't read your letter, because I don't know how to read. I'm paying my cellmate to read and respond to my mail. Actually, she just writes the same letter over and over again and signs my name. I've never given autographs before, so nobody will ever know the difference. I spend my day trying to figure out how to make protein shakes out of the eggs and toast they serve for breakfast here. Did you know there's no Louis Vuitton in jail? Thanks for your letter, even though you are not nearly as cute as me.

The fact that you took time out of your day to write me truly means the world.

It's great that people are still thinking about MEMEMEMEMEME!!!! You are keeping me strong!!!

Especially at such a difficult and scary time of my life.

It's such a joke that I have to go to jail. What is WRONG with the world? I should be allowed to drive drunk and violate my probation! It is SO HARD to face the consequences of my actions! I could totally DIE in here! Boo hoo! Boo hoo!

But I am being strong and trying to make the best of the situation. And the letters Im recieving really do put a smile on my face as I sit here in my cell, sad and alone.

Boo hoo! Boo hoo! Here I am, sad and alone! It is so hard to be MEMEMEMEMEME!!!! How do you spell "I'm", anyway? Good thing I remembered how to spell "receiving". That could have been embarasing.

Again, thank you so much and may God bless you and your family. Love always, Paris Hilton xoxo

Remember to buy my album! And watch my TV show! And pay me to go to your pathetic parties!

Get another volunteer

I found the Heritage Moment ad Sally mentioned a few days ago:



This was part of an ad series that ran during the 1990s. The videos in this series were, um, very Canadian:

• An out-of-touch American getting arrested by the Mounties.
  
• A bunch of politicians arguing about what the Canadian flag should look like.
  
• The Avro Arrow, featuring Dan Ackroyd and this lovely voice-over: "Although the government cancelled the project and destroyed the prototypes, the Avro Arrow remains for Canada a world benchmark in aerospace achievement."

Here's a spoof that's eerily good. If they'd removed the laugh track, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference:

I hab a code

Today sucks. I left work early to come home and lie down.

My friend Sally, on the other hand, is having a glorious day. Fellow Sally lovers, please wish her well.

Dear Fellow Cyclist,

I hate you. I really hate you. You are making life worse for all of us. Not only do you make the road more dangerous for vehicles and pedestrians, but you endanger my life and Michael's life with your ridiculous antics. Perhaps we should review some of the rules of the road together. Not that a jerk like you plans to follow rules, of course.

Rule #1: You are supposed to ride in the road, not on the sidewalk. Sidewalks are for people who are walking. The only way I will give you a free pass on this is if your bike is a tricycle or has training wheels. When you ride on the sidewalk, you can hurt pedestrians and encourage drivers to think that bikes don't belong in the road. Ride in a bike lane or bike trail if there is one; otherwise, get into the road. If you really need to be on the sidewalk or in the crosswalk, get off your bike and walk it.

Rule #2: Thanks for getting into the road. Now get over on the right side. That's where you belong. You stay on the right side of the right lane unless you need to make a left turn: in that case, you should be on the right side of the left lane. Basically, you should be on the right side of whichever lane you'd be in if you were driving a car. This means you'll have to look over your shoulder for traffic before you change lanes. You might have to wait in line to turn left, but this shouldn't be a big problem unless you're a jerk. Well, I guess that means you've got a problem, but I am not particularly sympathetic.

Rule #3: Since you're turning left, you ought to be signalling your turns. To signal a left turn, hold your left arm straight out. To signal a right turn, hold your left arm out with your fingers pointing at the sky, with your elbow bent 90 degrees. Signalling your turns shows respect for the other drivers who are sharing the road with you. If you can't turn left properly or signal your turns, get off your bike and walk it through the crosswalk.

Rule #4: Stop at stop signs and red lights. I don't think you understand how dangerous it is when you blaze right through the intersection without looking. You are not a pedestrian: you are a vehicle. When you come to a four-way stop, you should stop and wait your turn like everyone else. Then signal your turn and keep going. I can't tell you how jumpy I get at intersections, and all of the drivers around me are nervous, too. They're scared because you're such an idiot that you've trained drivers to think that cyclists can never be trusted to follow the law. I really don't understand why cyclists believe that all road rules are suspended just for them whenever they're on two wheels.

Rule #5: Wear a helmet, you moron. There is no reason not to wear a helmet. You are stupid. Actually, now that I think about it, please don't wear a helmet: our species would be better off if you didn't get a chance to reproduce. And when you crack your skull because a bus whacked you as you went through a red light, be sure to hit your head hard enough to die right away. I don't want my taxes to pay your medical bills while you're in a coma for ten years because you couldn't even die properly.

Thank you for your support in this difficult time.

I knew David would be vindicated eventually, but it is a relief to see that there is justice after all. Since Paris Hilton was sent to jail, I don't know what to expect.

Halfway Home

Sorry for the string of videos lately -- I try to mix things up here on the blog, but it's been a busy weekend.

I'm sitting in the Edmonton airport waiting out a three-hour layover. I originally thought I had a seven-hour layover, and was looking forward to renting a car and driving out to see the capitalist for a few hours before heading home again. But it turns out that seven hours is the total travel time, not the layover, and three hours is not enough time to go anywhere. So here I am in the airport watching the planes go by.

I've now been to every Canadian province and territory except Nunavut. I've dipped my hand in the Pacific Ocean, the Arctic Ocean, the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico. Canada is huge. Even this trip from Victoria back home is going to take the entire day.

I flew over the Rockies, and it was quite a sight. I'd love to be really blase about it -- oh yeah, the Rockies, we have them too, pass the salt -- but it was the first time I'd ever seen them in person. The western mountain range continues into the NWT and goes up near Inuvik, but the Mackenzie Mountains are not the same. The Rockies start abruptly. One minute, you're looking at prairie. The next minute, you're looking at giant mountains covered with snow. I couldn't help myself: I stared and stared. Every once in a while, we'd fly over a winding mountain road or a small group of buildings.

The Rockies have sharp, pointed peaks with green valleys between them. How the heck did they build the railroad through those mountains? Did I miss that part of my Canadian history classes, or do they just not teach it anymore?

Happy Father's Day, Dad

It took me forever to find the right one.

Happy Father's Day, Steve

For Mr. and Mrs. Jones

Stacey's Wedding

Apologies

Lately this blog has been long on seriousness and short on raw animal magnetism. This will be rectified. "Rectified" is a funny word.



Things David Hasselhoff rocks:
1. Eyeliner
2. Blue pleather jumpsuits
3. Harmony
4. Tiny guitars
5. Shirts with zip-off sleeves
6. YOUR FREAKING WORLD.

Am I wrong?

Happy birthday, Mom

Married

As you can see, Michael shaved all his hair off again as part of his ongoing efforts to look as much like Samuel L. Jackson as he possibly can. Considering that Michael is a skinny white boy, I think this is as close as he is going to get.

Things may be quieter than usual from now through the weekend (but maybe not). I'm going to Victoria early Friday morning for Stacey's wedding and won't be back home until Monday evening. I may not be able to post every day, but I'll do what I can.

A possible JPod candidate

I am such a sucker for a memory.

Does this sound like me?

I met someone today who described me as having "an evangelical fervour that's a little bit scary". I never thought of myself this way, but he was probably right. I do get passionate about many things. Grammar, for example.

Guess the Biblical Figure

1. "Oh no! It's the pervs and homos! Go away, queers! Here, take my daughters and rape them all night long instead."

2. "She's my sister! No, really, she's my sister! PSYCH! She's actually my wife! Isn't that hilarious?"

3. "I am fabulous and our dad loves me most. Also, my clothes are hot."

4. "What do you mean, this is the wrong incense?" *SIZZLE*

5. "I'm a prostitute with no personality of my own and no role in this story except to tempt men." (Multiple answers accepted.)

6. "You guys are all gonna die! You're all gonna die! Hear that? I SAID, YOU'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!! And there's nothing you can do about it! That's going to be awful. Sucks to be you, eh? Hey, how come nobody likes me?"

7. "Man, these plagues suck. What do you mean, it was God's idea for me to keep causing more plagues? What's the point? What? God's sending more plagues so people will tell their grandchildren about the plagues? That totally sucks!"

8. "Gee, everyone around me is horrible. They sacrifice their own children to their gods. They must die, and I am TOTALLY taking their land. What's that, God? You want me to sacrifice my daughter? No problem!" *Lights match*

9. "Man, you guys are SO AWFUL. I am definitely the most picked-on deity around. I've put up with a lot, but no more. Let me give you the lip-smacking details about how I will torture and kill you."

10. "Wow, look at all this quail! God sure is great, isn't he? GAAAAAACK!" *THUD*

Because Michael is too cool to vlog

Family

I ripped this off the Princess's site. It is just too cute.

These are the boys in my family: Nate (Capitalist), Matt (Philosopher King) and Ben (are we really calling him Mandal Man?). And Michael, of course.

The $300 lawn mower

EW EW EW EW EW

Because I like to hurt myself, I read a few pages of Rebecca Eckler's book on Amazon today. Sally suggested that I get it out of the library, but that would mean that someone might see me with it. I'd rather be seen pushing my car to get to the porn shop, to be honest. I figured that if it was good enough for Judd Apatow to copy it, it must be much, much better than the tripe she sells to Canada's Newspaper Of Record.

In fact, if the first four pages are anything like the rest of the book, it is much, much worse than the aforementioned tripe. I am pleased to report that, unlike Name of Paper Withheld, Ickler does know how to use parallel construction. Unfortunately, her idea of parallel construction is to repeat the following phrase over and over again (you probably will not want to be eating when you read this):

Did I...did we...did he...in me?

The first time I read that, my nose crinkled. Yes, I am Prudence McPrude, but there are some things a lady leaves to the imagination, and details about ejaculation are definitely on that list. The second time, my eye started to twitch. The third time, I started to feel ill. Then she wrote it AGAIN. I only read four pages, so I have no idea how long this might go on. I imagine that it is repeated throughout the book in a way that would be appropriate for each situation:

When taking the pregnancy test: Could I...did I...just pee...on me?
During doctors' visits: Does this...mean I...can't do...tai chi?
At the first sonogram: Who wants...to see...this picture...of me?
As her belly swells: I won't...give up...my cran...tinis.
After the baby is born: I I...I I...I I...me me.

Sally, you'll have to let me know how much worse it gets. I also need to know what Ickler's party guests thought of the seared ostrich and individual cups of green-tea ice cream.

The true seven wonders of Canada

• The word "sorry".
• The shovel, for use on both snow and bullshit.
• A bone, to toss to aboriginal leaders when they threaten to set up a blockade.
• Canadian flags, to hang all over Quebec in hopes that they won't leave.
• The phrase "At least we're not as bad as the States".
• Waiting rooms in the emergency department at the hospital.
• The SUV, for navigating the drive-through at Starbucks.

UPDATED: I love Blatch.

UPDATED AGAIN: One of the judges speaks out.

Oh, Canada!

(The title of this post should be read in a frustrated voice, like this: "Oh, Canada! Stop farting during dinner.")

You've probably been on the edge of your seat, waiting for CBC to unveil the Seven Wonders Of Canada. I know you can't wait, because CBC says it's the talk of the town. I'm not entirely sure which town they're talking about, but it's definitely not Name of Town Withheld.

Anyway, the contest is over. People have voted, and in the end none of it mattered -- the "wonder" that got the most votes did not make the list. In fact, only two of the voters' picks made the list.

And this list...well, let's just say that it is very Canadian. The judges first wanted us to know that it was a very difficult choice. This is the sort of nice thing you say whenever you're a judge, but these guys went on to say that cutting the list was agonizing and that each person who lives here is a wonder of Canada. Yeah, you'd think it was kindergarten or something. You can't celebrate one thing without crushing the self-esteem of another. (This is a joke for Cute with Chris, but a rallying cry for Canadians.)

The top audience selections were all wonders of nature, like Niagara Falls and the Sleeping Giant. The final list is:

• The Canoe: The judges explained that they liked this one because of its ties to aboriginal culture. Then they interviewed a white guy about it.
  
• Niagara Falls: I agree with them on this one.
  
• Pier 21: This is the Ellis Island of Canada. It was the entry point for untold numbers of immigrants during the last century.
• The Rocky Mountains: I know Americans have them too, but I think ours are nicer.
• Prairie Skies: I really don't get this one. They went on and on about the Saskatchewan license plate and how all parts of the province have the sky. I am not sure if I should break it to the CBC that we have a sky here in Name of Town Withheld, too. It is not just a Saskatchewan thing.
  
• Old Quebec City: Because you can't forget Quebec or they'll threaten to leave. Being a Canadian is like being in a dysfunctional marriage: "I hate you! I'm leaving!" "But --" *SLAM*
  
• And finally: The igloo.
  

The judges provided an insightful explanation for the last item. They picked out seven wonders and marked them on a map. Then they realised that they did not have any wonders in the north. So they suddenly changed their minds and decided that the igloo should be a wonder, too. Because here in the north, we love being an afterthought, and we love it when you tell us that you're only including us because you think you have to.

You might be wondering which wonder got the axe (or ulu, in this case) to make room for the igloo. It was Haida Gwaii, of course. If CBC is going to celebrate one aboriginal culture, another aboriginal culture is just going to have to move out of the way. Don't worry.

That was a tasteless joke. Sorry about that.

What I meant to say was that you can't get much more Canadian than this pathetic list. Around here, we pick our wonders by looking at the map to make sure we don't offend anyone. We don't want to include too many wonders that one group of people would disproportionately identify with, and the Haida and Inuit are exactly the same, so it's only fair to kick the BC hippies off the list to make room for houses made of snow. Pass me a latte. Does this miniskirt make my butt look big?

And another little piece of me dies

MICHAEL: Mom, I want to e-mail Santa Claus. Remember when we e-mailed Santa Claus?

ME: Yep, but Santa only has an e-mail address at Christmas time. You have to wait until there's snow on the ground.

MICHAEL: Oh. Mom, do you believe in Santa Claus?

ME: Do you?

MICHAEL: I don't think so. It can't be real.

ME: Why not?

MICHAEL: Because reindeer can't fly. It can't be real. Someone else must put the presents under the tree.

ME: Who would do that?

MICHAEL: I don't know.

ME: Did you talk to someone about Santa? Why are you asking this?

MICHAEL: Nope. I just thought about it.

Loathing x3

UPDATED: Hmmm. Welcome, Technorati users. I'm not sure why you're searching for Rebecca Eckler, but I hope it's not because you're a fan. If you're here to mock her, you might want to join me in a class-action lawsuit against her for plagiarism.

Rebecca Eckler, Jian Ghomeshi and a Toronto media lawyer. Can you stand it? You can?

Then click here.

The other white milk

You probably won't believe this after seeing close-up pictures of Britney Spears' vagina, but apparently actress Maggie Gyllenhaal has created quite a stir by breastfeeding in public. No, I'm not putting a little CENSORED mark on this photo. Get a grip, you guys. What do you think breasts are for?

I can't believe it is 2007 and we are still having ridiculous discussions about whether it's OK for women to feed their babies in public. Apparently, some people think this warps the minds of children and is on the same level as men peeing in public. Nice.

I went through this six years ago. No, I won't go into the bathroom; however, you are free to eat your own lunch in there since you seem to think it's OK to suggest it to others. No, it's not a sexual thing; trust me when I say that if it were, I probably wouldn't be doing it. No, I won't cover his head with a blanket; if you and I are having a conversation you'll probably be looking at my mouth and eyes anyway. No, it's not about girl power; it's about feeding a baby.

I don't have a lot of patience for people who act like breastfeeding in public is just like shooting a Girls Gone Wild video. After Michael was born, I barely went out. This was partly because it was -40 with 24-hour darkness, but it was also because I'd never seen anyone breastfeeding in public before. After a few months, I realised that I was contributing to the problem. I wasn't doing it in public, either, so I really had no right to complain that I didn't see anyone else doing it. That was when I decided that I should be taking Michael wherever I went and feeding him when he was hungry.

This particular photo of Ms. Gyllenhaal is much more revealing than most public breastfeeding is, and I suspect that this is why it has created such a hullaballoo. Most women who are breastfeeding in public are showing much less than you would see at the local swimming pool. And the thing these morons never get is that if you don't feed a hungry baby, the baby starts to scream. People who hate breastfeeding usually can't stand screaming. Heck, the sound of a crying baby sets my own teeth on edge. Just once, I'd like to see a mother offer one of these crankies a choice between ignoring the sight of her breast and ignoring the sound of her screaming baby.

Notice of Motion: Served and Filed June 5, 2007

NAME OF TOWN WITHHELD SUPREME COURT

MEGAN,
Plaintiff,

- against -

REBECCA ECKLER,
Defendant

Plaintiff moves for preliminary injunction in suit alleging that defendant would directly infringe and contribute to the infringement of her copyright in violation of the Copyright Act.

I, MEGAN, will apply to this court at NAME OF TOWN WITHHELD on June 5, 2007 for an order that would restrain you, REBECCA ECKLER, from further profiting from your book, Knocked Up, which is clearly plagiarized from my own life story. In addition, I seek general damages of SIX MILLION DOLLARS plus punitive damages to be determined by the court, plus legal fees. My affidavit is attached.

AFFIDAVIT

I, MEGAN, swear and affirm that, having read Defendant's latest column in Maclean's, my life bears unmistakable similarities to Defendant's book Knocked Up. These similarities are too numerous to have occurred by accident and thereby constitute a clear violation of the Copyright Act on Defendant's part.

Particulars:

1. Defendant's book was released after my baby was born. I was pregnant first.
2. Defendant claims she got "drunk and knocked up" at a party. I went drinking with a friend the night before I found out I was pregnant.
3. Defendant's book features "one night of passion and the nine months that follow." It took me one night to get pregnant, and my son was born nine months later.
4. Defendant claims she was an "up-and-coming newspaper reporter." I was an up-and-coming radio reporter. We both worked for major Canadian news organizations.
5. Defendant has a best friend with screaming children. I knew lots of screaming children.
6. Defendant took multiple pregnancy tests. I took multiple pregnancy tests.
7. Defendant's fiance is Canadian. My husband is Canadian.
8. Defendant has heard a joke about sex during pregnancy. My husband was concerned about sex during pregnancy in a way that was uncannily close to the joke Defendant heard.
9. Defendant worried about telling her boss that she was pregnant. So did I.
10. Defendant headed directly to the bookstore after finding out she was pregnant. There was no bookstore in the small Arctic town I lived in, but I headed directly to the library after finding out I was pregnant.
11. Defendant claims that men are bored in obstetricians' waiting rooms. I noticed the same thing.
12. Defendant joked about jumping on trampolines while pregnant. I joked about driving extra hard over the bumps in the permafrost while pregnant.
13. Defendant's book cover illustration shows a martini glass and a soother. I own martini glasses and I used a soother with my son.
14. Defendant's book is called Knocked Up. I once joked that my husband had "knocked me up".
    

Plaintiff reserves the right to modify this affidavit if anyone who has read Defendant's book reports additional similarities with her own life. Plaintiff has no intention of reading Defendant's book unless she finds it in the bargain bin at the Church of Satan, which would at least give her some comfort that her money would be contributing to a better cause than Defendant's lipstick collection.

Sworn and affirmed by

MEGAN

at

NAME OF TOWN WITHHELD

UPDATED: Welcome, Technorati users. The full list of my Eckler posts is here.

With their nine-inch nails and little fascist panties tucked inside the heart of every nice girl

This is a response to my dad's comment, in which he mocks me mercilessly for being myself. I was all like OH NO YOU DI-ENT and then I punched him in the mouth and ripped out his natty old weave.

OK, so I didn't do that, and you didn't think I did that. However, he has a good point.

Too prudish: Yes, this is true, and everything else flows from it. If I were to catalogue my darkest secrets, you guys would yawn. For example, I once went to a club when I was underage, using a friend's ID. I felt so guilty about this that I didn't go out again until I turned 19. For some reason, I did not feel guilty about drinking alcohol in the dorm or at a friend's house (or, heck, at my house -- my parents went away every summer). No, this doesn't make sense. I assume that at some point in my formative years, I read a religious pamphlet about people going straight from clubs to the jaws of hell. And no, that's not a joke. I didn't just make Uriel up, you know.

Burst appendix: I didn't intend for this to titillate, but it is indeed true. This happened when I was in third grade. I'm told that although many people have appendectomies, it is much less common for the infection to go on so long that the appendix actually bursts. My mom may still be slightly touchy on this point, so I will stress that none of this was her fault and that she wanted to take me to the doctor much earlier, but all of the medical professionals she consulted told her she was over-reacting.

Legs off an insect: I may have done this, but I doubt it. My brothers, however, once ripped the stomach out of a frog and let it go. This happened on Lake Wassookeag, in the mucky part over to the left of the property my grandfather owned. As best I can recall, I have never harmed any animal. (Squirting the pigs with the hose doesn't count. They have tougher skin than any of us.) If I could help it, I wouldn't kill mosquitoes.

Stealing from the poor box: Good heavens, no. I was once chastised for cutting up one of the collection boxes, though. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't realise that the slit at the top was for putting coins in the box. I figured it would be the perfect play house for a worm. A pretend worm, of course -- I would never have taken a worm out of the ground and played with it because I might have hurt it. My mom was not happy with me, and I got in lots of trouble that day.

Made fun of an immigrant: Definitely not. For starters, there are no immigrants in Dexter. When we moved away from my childhood home, I was an immigrant myself. Plus, making fun of people is mean.

If Ray Comfort ambushed me on the street, I would tell him that I don't steal, although I did once take a broken chair from work that was destined for the garbage. I don't know if that counts. I fixed it and used it at home. Does it count as stealing if it's not actually in the dump yet? I don't lie, either, although I am likely guilty of lying by omission because of my passive-aggressive nature. Is it a lie if you let people believe that they have successfully indoctrinated your child? Or if you stay quiet when a person's obviously angling for a fight? Yeah, I guess that makes me a thief and a liar.

Attention, fellow Rebecca Eckler haters

Please go over to my friend Sally's blog. I dare not unleash my loathing here on the blog next to pictures of my son.

Americans: you probably have no idea who Ickler is, but if you can stand it, her blog is here. Now I feel dirty. If you go over there, make sure you put a condom on your computer first.

Ickler presents herself as the voice of my generation, and when she got -- the saints preserve us! -- pregnant, everyone in Canada had to hear about it. I have no idea how she got her own column in Canada's Newspaper of Record. Now she writes about how all children need $800 baby buggies. If I could punch her in the face, I would. She makes all young mothers look bad. And I say "young", but Ickler is probably 35. She just acts like she's 22. Wait, make that 12. 22-year-olds have usually figured out that they are not the centre of the universe.

And now I'm going to stop, before I unleash my loathing.

UPDATED: Ugh, and she somehow convinced a publisher to let her write a second book. Please follow this link to read a typical review.

UPDATED AGAIN: Welcome, Technorati users. The full list of my Eckler posts is here.

White rapper

As a defense mechanism, I gave someone a secret nickname about two years ago.

This fellow is amazingly self-important, despite the fact that his job includes (I kid you not) moving paper directly from one pile to another and worrying about whether documents are photocopied on both sides. A true poser. The type of job that makes us all look bad.

The nickname caught on. I am not sure if this is a good thing or not, but as usual Glen is ultimately to blame. Anyway, someone asked how the heck I came up with it. I responded that it is my way of imagining this fellow as a white rapper. This was met with a blank stare.

I think this video sums it up. This is Jim Carrey, from a little show you might have heard of called In Living Colour.

Maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen well

Twelve things you probably didn't know about me:

1. I am an old-fashioned prude. This both horrifies me and gives me some comfort. It horrifies me because it's clearly uncontrollable and I don't want to pass it on to my son. It gives me comfort because it's been with me forever and I'm a sucker for anything that's been around for a while.
2. I like to hurt myself. I push needles under my fingernails until they bleed. The more it hurts, the more I poke. I'll rip my own skin out.
   
3. On a related note, I pull my own hair out one strand at a time. You know how you use scissors to curl the ends of ribbons? I use my fingernails to curl the plucked hairs this way.
   
4. I almost died after my appendix burst when I was eight.
   
5. Of all the people I hung out with in high school, only two (maybe three) of them were straight. I have no idea how this happened and don't know what to make of it, but it's far beyond the realm of statistical probability. No, don't point out that I was in the drama club, the vocal ensemble and le club francais. That doesn't explain it.
   
6. I live in terror that Michael will eat a peanut.
7. Steve thinks I have freaky baby toes because they are very short. I think his are too long.
8. Although a relative has suggested it, I have no intention of checking into a nunnery any time soon.
9. I write silly metered rhyming poetry (think Dr. Seuss).
10. The Goo Goo Dolls are my guilty pleasure. I am embarrassed just typing these words. No, I don't own any of their music or know any of the titles of their songs: this would require work, and I cannot allow myself to put any energy into this when I somehow feel that the whole thing ought to be done from deep inside a closet.
11. I cannot reconcile the last item with my shameless Michael W. Smith and REO Speedwagon collections.
12. I am passive-aggressive. It is easier for me to pretend to like someone than to address the problems I have with him or her. Every once in a while, I snap and become vicious. I pretend this doesn't actually happen.

What's in my MP3 Player?

Trying again

Kidnapping. Brainwashing. Just a typical day at the church.

UPDATED: This is part of an alternate-reality game/online video series I've been following for about a year. From time to time I've been posting their videos on the blog -- the most recent was the video of three people kidnapping a little girl and tying her up because they suspected that she had been targeted by a shadowy organization called the Order. It turned out that the Order did indeed have plans for the girl, but only to convince the main character (seen in this video) to turn herself over to them. As you can see, she's been drugged and brainwashed and is now appearing in their infomercials.

The Hymn of One is the Order's fake religion, used as a recruiting tool. They pretend it's a religion so they can convince people to join up and do whatever the higher-ups want. It is sort of like Scientology in that way, except that they don't ask for money, they kill people.

UPDATED AGAIN: The teen angst adventure gang has kidnapped her back from the Order by using their sexually-liberated female companion to distract the guard. It appears that she is still brainwashed.