Eel City, a wriggle on the wild side

So Judy was here visiting. It was easy to tell it was Judy when she walked into the train station, because there is, in my wide experience (and surely, few experiencers can have had a wider one, what with me having met in meatspace something over 100 people whom I first met online) a certain expression that people have when they’re away from home and meeting up for the first time with some other cybernaut who, come to think of it and they do and BOY do they look worried when they realize this, they haven’t the faintest idea what they look like. And likewise.

MoosehatSo, I was looking for a tall American brunette, and she was looking for a short Canadian blonde with a Moosehat sticker from the Northern Voice blogging conference, and although we are not exactly a dime a dozen, even in the train station, nevertheless the situation is enough to give one pause.

She paused.

With that certain look on her face. That alright now I can figure this out. I can handle this. If she turns out to be a freak there are plenty of people around who can call the cops, and I can always get another train back home look.

And I tried not to have my oh, I’ve seen that look before, newbie look on my face although it must be said that of all the emotions, smugness comes perhaps most easily to me, even when it’s not appropriate, but then when has the fear of looking like a idjut ever stopped me, eh? I ask yez.

And we had a lovely time. I made sure to take her by the library and Canada Place and the Marine building and other suchlike architectural wonders, of which it must be said that Vancouver has very few but as long as nobody tells her different and who’s to do that, she’ll never know the place isn’t larded with gems, eh?

And we went patio-ing. Yes, it’s a verb here. We do a lot of patioing in BC, although we also do a lot of other social things, too, which you can tell from the fact that Whistler has its own strain of genital warts, but we didn’t do any of that.

Especially not on the patio. Hell, it wasn’t the Cambie!

But as we were on the patio, enjoying our refreshing beverages and making amusing comments about some kind of corporate teambuilding exercise which apparently involved vast herds of nerdy-looking men in matching t-shirts running at speed back and forth through the restaurant, it became apparent that Judy was working up her courage. Finally, after an internal struggle and a moment of distracted yet anticipatory silence, it came out.

“So…what is it with you and squid?”

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what are they putting in the water over there?

Seriously, this is ridiculous.

Catfishwife

That’s a catfish the way a sabertoothed tiger is a cat. You’re looking at a record-breaking 66 pounds of fish sticks (a gazillionty-seven kilograms, howthefuckshouldiknoweh) landed by Bev Street, a deceptively mild-mannered housewife with, obviously, a lethal antipathy to free-range freshwater fish.

In unrelated news, I have recently deleted our dear friend StevenL from the blogroll, as his former idiosyncratic football/politics/pikefishing/future lung cancer victims rights blog has turned into a gay, pink, ad-bedecked page of financial advisor for profit links. Bleagh. Buh-bye.

…and release.

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if only I could get money out of mine…

I hear some women know the trick.

Pussy Purse This little item, from Lola’s Dashboard (via Hazel) reminds me, for no reason I can put my finger on (in polite company) of the time I was at the Bacara resort near Santa Barbara, eating the most expensive breakfast of my life ($42 plus tip) and discussing, as one does at the breakfast table, the Black Dahlia murder case. I managed to avoid the more gruesome bits (a tricky business, to say the least) and concentrate on the psycho-social aspects of the case.

“Everyone said she was dumb, but by the time she died,” I said of the then-22-year-old victim, “she’d been living off men for five years. And she was still a virgin.”

“I want to know how.”

And quick as a flash, the waitress said, “When you find out, let me know, too.”

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Daniel Radcliffe and the Tongue of Many Talents

Daniel Radcliffe’s tongueHonestly, it’s no wonder the boy’s so popular!

From Agent Bedhead:

Daniel proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that his talents go well beyond acting.

The Harry Potter star can also do what he calls “disgusting things with my tongue.”

Just incidentally, I think it’s safe to say that between his fame, his money, and that tongue, Daniel will never, ever lack for a date.

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Chop-Chop

The following is, apparently, and example of something I am NOT supposed to post on my new blog. Who saw that coming?

Canadian

Decapitated kid much better now!

Hey, it takes a lot to stop a Canuck! In this case, having had his head chopped off back in July hasn’t stopped 11-year-old Ryan Ooms of Saskatoon from starting school right on time.

Ryan Ooms EMTsOoms spent just 2 1/2 weeks in a hospital where doctors fused the vertebrae and inserted titanium pins and rods. On Aug. 23, five weeks after the July 17 accident, Ooms and his family paid an unexpected visit to the firehall to thank his rescuers.”When he walked in I recognized him but there was this disbelief,” said McNair. “His recovery rate has been phenomenal.”

McNair was one of the first EMTs on the scene of the accident. He helped paramedics remove Ooms from the crushed minivan then stayed at the boy’s side in the ambulance.

Once Ooms was in the care of trauma specialists, McNair thought of the boy’s parents being told about their son.

But there was Ooms, on Aug. 23, smiling and cracking jokes and climbing on the fire trucks. The only indication of his injury was a brace hugging his wounded and tender neck, keeping it steady.

You’d better believe this kid has a patron saint (is it Nearly Headless Nick?). Yes, us Canadians are a fearsome breed, seemingly descended from the unhallowed love match of Odin and Laura Secord, with a bit of Sasquatch thrown in there for good measure. Given that decapitation has hardly slowed this Canuck down, what do you imagine it would take to stop Celine Dion?

Really, tell me. The sooner the better; I hear Mariah Carey’s offering cash.

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