Parental Eagle is not so much angry as disappointed in you
Time to take a trip in the wayback machine, as well as the puddle jumper! These are some shots I took in June at Pat’s Bay on Vancouver Island, more formally known as Patricia Bay, which is doubtless how it was introduced to the Royals. It is, by the way, a $40 cab ride from downtown Victoria, although thanks to faithful charioteer WestcoastDave on Twitter, I didn’t have to pay.
Ah, social media, you spoil me.
I didn’t even have to pay for the plane ride home on Saltspring Air, thanks to the organizers of Social Media Camp! Since I grew up in planes, I was looking forward to this flight: a true puddle-jump from Pat Bay to one of the Gulf Islands, and then to Coal Harbour in Vancouver, from which I could and did walk home. Nothing like living right downtown! Not only that, but they promised me the handsome ex-Olympian who was also the most polite pilot in Canada. Our pilot was indeed handsome and polite, but as to Olympian histories, well, I thought it was too personal a question to ask. And possibly painful. I mean, what if the answer was, “No, actually my bobsled team was knocked out in the semi-finals and my whole life since then has been a slow, downward spiral, like some tragicomic Bruce Springsteen song.”
Incidentally, the plane we flew in was a 1956 DeHavilland Beaver, a plane of which Canuckistan can be justly proud. I’m thinking Hummingbird604‘s flight home must be the first and only time he spent that long in a beaver.
But there are some good reasons to get out of The Big Smoke occasionally. I think I caught most of them in these pictures.
Did you have a good Valentine’s Day? Was it filled with the company of one who adores you, flowers, choccies, and expensive baubles in tiny velvet boxes? Yes?
Well, fuck you.
Ah, Valentine’s Day: that time of the year when smug couples magically up their smugness by a factor of twenty but somehow, appallingly, you are still not allowed to garrote them with the tawdry pink ribbons from their bouquets. The world is not yet just, as Immanuel Kant could have told us. HE wouldn’t have lorded it over singletons; HE surely wouldn’t have ragged on Jesus for being dateless every damn February 14th.
Which brings me to my point: me. Well, I certainly can’t complain about the company I had for Valentine’s Day (me) and unlike most of those couples, I was never for a moment in any uncertainty whatsoever about whether or not I was getting laid that night.
Which reminds me of the time I was at the drugstore buying, get this, Virgin Springs mineral water, and I realized it was Valentine’s Day.
But that was so long ago now…three years goes by in a heartbeat.
In any case, because Valentine’s Day posts are mega hit bringers in this day and age where you may not care enough to send the very best, but you care just enough to send an e-card, here is a roundup of the very very bestest commemorative Valentine’s Day thingies I saw on the internet yesterday.
Read ‘em and weep.
A ten tentacle salute to love!
Because the thing about stock Valentine’s Day cards is: not enough tentacles. Hat tip to MistressCowfish
I DID get a Valentine of sorts in the comments on Gawker:
TWO headlines and one picture (headline chopped off) is all the new format allows me to see in the sidebar. TWO headlines. How the fuck is anyone supposed to read Gawker that way??? Don’t you know how many people you lose with every forced click??? You lose eighty percent.
Jesus Christ, when even raincoaster is driven to a) comment elsewhere b) refer to herself in the third person, you know you’ve alienated people.
I still like the look of it. I just cannot use it. BRING BACK THE ENDLESS SCROLL FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
Wow, nice to see a familiar face (since there are fewer and fewer here). Have you realized that Denton, based on his published remarks and leaks, is actually trying to reduce comments?
Five days in, and the absence of most of the critical social intranetworking tools (hearting, messaging, and comment notification) speaks volumes.
This post (“Welcome to the New Gawker”) has been removed from the front page of this new newspaper. And I hear the death rattle of the former, enjoyable brouhaha that we knew as commenting.
I can’t comment at all now. Doubt this will go through. Every time I try to go to Gawker.com I get redirected to ca.gawker.com and FUCK THAT WITH A CHAINSAW.
I love the clean look. I just cannot use this shit. Also, I appear to be banned again, as all my comments get “Post failed” notifications. Reducing comments? If he’d banned me last year, he would have cut back on them 50%~!
You don’t appear to have be banned. In fact, your screen name in your reply to which I am replying still bears your star. I think that the coding problems are still around and might account for your difficulty with posting a comment.
I know we weren’t especially close, but it seems like only yesterday we were connecting effortlessly every month or so. I recall a story about your meeting William Gibson, I think, but it would be so difficult now to go back through the comments and find it. It’s so odd to have lost so many connections so quickly.
I still come back here from time to time, I think because Gawker played a big part in my life for a while. I haven’t read any articles because it’s such a different approach visually and maybe editorially. If I want serious content, I am going to go to a major newspaper site like economist.com or unplug and read something pressed onto paper.
PS Gawker has really gotten you worked up–I’ve never seen you scream in caps before. You’re gorgeous when you’re angry.
If I had known this was a date, I would have washed off the trail dust and brushed my hair with a frying pan. Maybe you’re earthy, though, and okay with it all.
Here, love, I took my Bowie knife and carved a slice of Logan bread into the shape of a heart just for you.
Awwww. Are we sure this isn’t Gawker Dating?
Welcome to the Satellite of Love
Geek Valentine’s cards! A whole gallery of Time Lordian and Han-shot-firstian goodness.
A little love song from Tom Lehrer: I Hold Your Hand in Mine, Love:
Valentines for those who have stopped pretending, from MyConfinedSpace:
The confined space is between my ears
Valentines for Hopeless Realists (I’d actually send these)
I am ALL OVER the baseball one
The social media fallout of an iconic romantic moment: This chick is SO not getting a backstage pass.
I never would have gone out with that mope in the first place
Sissydude Valentines! I think this brand has a lot of potential.
Isn't that cute, he sent his valentine to a pony. I think???
A Valentine from Godzilla:
Does anything say Love In Post-Modern Japan like Haiku and Godzilla?
When you think of passionate romantic attachment, who do you think of? That’s right:
Noam Chomsky.
Alone Noam Moar!
Something for cat ladies:
and your Morrissey albums. There's that too.
The New York City department of Health just launched an iPhone app that shows you where you can get free condoms:
Now THAT is servicey!
This Valentine is…touching.
The Human Centipede Valentine: From your lips to ... never mind, don't think about that part
For the bookish, there are NPR Valentines:
This Valentine was brought to you by National Public Radio, and by listeners like you
The New Yorker brings you a selection of dirty pictures with intellectual pretensions, so it’s okay to look if it’s by Ellen Unwerth, etc. Here’s Nan Goldin’s image, perfect for the one who plays Nancy Spungen to your Sid Vicious.
Be My ... collateral damage
A roundup of the most uncomfortable screen kisses of all time (and yeah, they even got Howard the Duck in there):
Ben Kling does nifty series of dictator valentines, including the least flexible dictator ever, HAL:
The linear-thinking National Post presents a flow chart of how to buy flowers for Valentine’s Day:
If you need this, you shouldn't be having sex in the first place. You might reproduce
Salon brings us Valentine Candy Hearts of the Stars.
Or it would have been, if he had exact change
Here’s to Valentine’s Day!
Bottom's Up!
If all of this has you bummed out and feeling hopeless, HAVE I GOT AN OPPORTUNITY FOR YOU!!!
If you’ve read this far in a Valentine’s Day post posted the day AFTER Valentine’s Day, I know one thing: You, my friend, have a deep and abiding interest in romantic pursuits, or at least cheap sex. Wouldn’t you like to support a cause that combines them both, plus patriotism? Sure you would.
What’s this about? Take a heart and turn it upside down, and that’ll give you a clue:
I heard on Vancouver is Awesome‘s 100.5 The Peak segment this weekend that a campaign is underway to save Beaver Lake that would see an investment of $100,000 for dredging and restoration by the Vancouver Park Board. Without these efforts, the Stanley Park Ecology Society says the lake could dry up within the next decade or two.
It’s become fashionable, particularly among journalists, to lament the sorry state of contemporary journalism. Papers may be folding, reporters may be getting laid off, sure, but that doesn’t stop devoted professionals from bringing you the news that matters, day after day.
Since she was crowned Miss America 1990, Dr. Debbye Turner has spoken to 500,000 students at hundreds of schools, youth organizations, and college campuses. Her topics include personal excellence, unrelenting determination, goal setting, and the importance of a solid education. She strongly believes that any person has the potential for success no matter their race, socio-economic background, or gender. She uses her own life as an example of triumphing over the odds. It took seven years, eleven tries, in two states to get to the Miss America Pageant.
There she is, Miss America
There she is, your ideal
The dream of a million girls who are more than pretty can come true
in Atlantic City
For she may turn out to be the Queen of femininity
There she is, Miss America
There she is, your ideal
With so many beauties she took the town by storm
With her all-American face and form
And there she is
Walking on air, she is
Fairest of the fair, she is
There she is – Miss America
Yes, this is a post about how to eat beaver. Not just ANY beaver, you understand; we have us some STANDARDS around these parts (these ones right down…here) and will not show you how to gnaw on gristly old beaver, the kind like an old baseball mitt made out of bbq jerky.
The wife coyly tried to explain her purchase of a new pair of expensive imported panties. “After all, dear,” she said to her husband, “You wouldn’t expect to find fine perfume in a cheap bottle, would you?”
“No,” her husband replied. “Nor would I expect to find gift wrapping on a dead beaver.”
No indeed!
We’re all about the fresh, young beaver here. Although perhaps not as much as the lesbians down at Lick might like, now that we think of it.
Where were we? Oh yes, speaking of ourselves in the second-person plural, for no reason we can fathom other than it’s practice for when Randy Andy comes to his senses, loses some weight, and gets his butt off the golf course and marries me. Or Hot Ginge, I’m easy.
Anyway, it does look like some people could use instructions for the most basic things, like the great Canadian (yes, it’s Canadian, check out the website) art of beaver-eating. Why, we’ve even got 1/24th of each day devoted to beaver!
The Brits, on the other hand, have to go to great, bureaucracy-enveloping lengths to be reintroduced to beavers. What, they don’t have Lavalife there? Apparently, they killed every one they could find, thus bringing to life the old cliche about, If I see something I’ve never seen before, I’ll shoot it. Boarding school has a lot to answer for, I’m telling you.
Russia, of course, being somewhat desperate and all out of ponies and small children since Yeltsin sold every mammal larger than a husky, has developedits own way to prepare beaver for eating, and here it is, with photos. Warning! Very wet and lots of bare flesh!
The 17th century Catholic Church actually declared beavers to be a fish according to dietary restrictions, meaning they are ok to eat on both Fridays and throughout Lent.
Well, this should be more widely known, is all I have to say about the matter!
Did you know that the US Cub Scouts give a Silver Beaver award? I nearly got thrown out of the leader’s meeting for laughing so much when they gave it to a retired woman with grey hair.
Hmmm, it’s given for Outstanding Service to Youth. I know more than one or two beavers that would qualify under those criteria!
In the spirit of these fine organizations and countries comes a post from Bug Girl on her serendipitous discovery of a tome of wisdom devoted, at least in substantial part, to instructions on pleasing one’s wife with wild games and, of course, the preparation and consumption of beaver.
The author claims the meat is “dark, moist and tender”; Hmmmm, sounds like somebody’s got a touch of Jungle Fever.
I wonder if it has some tips on how to stuff a beaver? It’s been so long I’ve forgotten.
