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The Manolo sez: help The Hoff

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From, obviously, The Manolo, with whose suggestion we beg to differ. Photobucket - Video and Image HostingSeems The Hoff is looking for a lovely lady to swank with him through the sad remains of his life as a popcult oddity.

Former Baywatch star David Hasselhoff is refusing to allow his recent divorce get him down – he already has plans to find a new “chick”…

He says, “I’m coming to England in September and I want to find myself a beautiful girlfriend. But I don’t want some dumb blonde. I’d like a woman who’s really intelligent.

“I saw this girl recently who must have stepped out of the office during her lunch break and was wearing work clothes and glasses, and I thought to myself, ‘That’s what I want, a chick who’s career-orientated.’”

Think of the lifestyle available to the consort of an icon such as The Hoff: rivers of champanski on the house, the valet lets you jump the line when picking up your Acura, unlimited partying with other superannuated action figures such as Jan-Michael Vincent and their wizened, bleached concubines of the moment, and fighting off hordes of deluded German blondes…ah, that’s the C-list life!

We at the raincoaster blog have a suggestion for the trophy doxy.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Think about it. She comes with her own load of Internet infamy. She’s already both famous and notorious worldwide, so it’s inconceiveable she’s not already popular in Germany. She’s apparently going to star in the Spanish Big Brother, despite perhaps not even speaking the language. She’s legal. And, most importantly, she’s an engineer, so when it comes time for The Hoff to capitalize on the new Knight Rider movie, she’ll undoubtably be able to whip up a new KITT for the occasion.

A match made in Internet Infamy heaven.

ghost story part two

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From the Archive.

So there I am again, staying with James, only this time I brought my friend Katy. Because she is “new” she gets the upstairs room, which I forget to mention to her is haunted. But it is. But she doesn’t notice. Odd.

But maybe not, because there I am, staying in the basement, right near the Indiana Jones tomb which I see has a nice new wooden frame around it now, all polished in an unhealthily obsessed way. I mean, if you had an unexplained little half-tunnel in your basement that looked like a home for a coffin, would you fix it up nice? Anyway, I have to pass through the room with the tomb every time I go upstairs, which is a trial in the dark, let me tell you.

But if the ghost does not bother Katy it sure bothers me. It doesn’t poke, it bangs. Kathunk, kathunk, ping, ping, ping, BANG. **BANG**. Ping, ping, ping. Kathunk…you get the idea. It was a long night, especially when I went upstairs to get a drink and it banged and pinged its way up the stairs ahead of me. I told it it was dead and it should be quiet and go back to sleep or whatever it is that dead people who are not haunting do.

James’s partner Tony says it’s just the heater, but that fails to explain how the heater can preceed me invisibly up stairs, or how it can stand in the hall, all invisible and everything, waving and doing for all I know jumping jacks to get us to notice it. I notice it. I glare at it. It does an invisible Tasmanian Devil routine every time I pass it to go to the bathroom, but all I ever say is “You’re dead. Get over it.”

You know, I think it’s very much like a little dog that wants to play. Give it a little attention and it’s a happy puppy. I bet it lives for my visits…on second thought there’s got to be a better way to put that.

Ghost Story Part One

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From the Archive

So this is the story:

There I am up in Vernon, staying with my friend James. His house is haunted. I told him that last time I stayed up there, told him that not only did his new house have ghosts, but they were very pushy ghosts, poking at me every time I got up to go to the bathroom.

And he just looked at me like I had just crawled out of the gin bottle, which I had but that was not related!

If I’d been sober I’d never have told him at all.

James goes to sleep early, but I stay up till all hours and thusly encountered the poky ghosts. They poked me all the way from the living room (which I think aught to be reserved for the living; I mean, just look at the word but you can’t get these dead people to listen to reason, you can’t even get them to stop poking you and pay attention. You sure can’t get them to agree to split up the house, even though it’s just so obvious that the basement room with the unexplained Indiana Jones tunnel just big enough for a coffin has to be ghost territory and the living room, I mean **hello?** the living room, should be for the animate to lie on the couch and watch Space Channel in peace with no spiritual visitors, no, not even if the Omen is on again) through the French doors, all the way down the hall and into the guest room, where they continued to poke at me from time to time as I lay in the bed, until finally, finally I was forced to address the issue directly.

Now normally there is nothing I avoid so much as addressing an issue directly. Now normally there is nothing I avoid even more so much as confrontation with a disincorporated intelligence; it’s faintly embarassing, as my own fleshiness points up the issue of their ectoplasmicism. We are both made uncomfortable. So this is something I generally avoid. I am not, however, normally poked at so agressively. Sure, one or two quick tentacle-feels, maybe even a tentative arrow prick, but nothing like what I was undergoing now. I **had** to take action.

“You’re dead. Leave me alone.”

And did it do me any good at all? Hell no! Got not a moment’s peace from that time on; poke-a-rama it was, with me all the time going, “hey, stop that, you’re dead! Leave me alone! Oh, fine, ignore me, but you’re still Dead! And I’m Not! Ow!” You know, it wasn’t my finest hour.

OGMD: sometimes a meme can easily be seen

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the rainforest is out of water

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 Temperate Rainforest at its best

It’s true. The temperate rainforest of BC is out of water, or at least Not-Ucluelet is.

What’s Not-Ucluelet, you ask? Well, it’s a wee hippie town that we’ve blogged before on here the ol’ raincoaster blog, and it’s a town that I love dearly.

But verily, it is a town overrun with tourists and incompetent or ineffectual management.

Looks damp enough, don't it?For lo, although they recieve on average three metres (over nine feet) of rainfall, and they are slung around a harbour right smack-dab, yes RIGHT smack-dab on the Pacific Ocean, they are plumb out of H20.

How’d that happen? Glad you asked.

Hotels, resorts and other commercial businesses in this Vancouver Island tourist town are being told to shut down because of an extreme water shortage, a situation the mayor is describing as one of panic.

Mayor John Fraser said water is so scarce there are concerns about whether there would be enough if there were a fire in the town.

“That’s why the panic’s on,” he said Tuesday afternoon.

The District of Not-Ucluelet issued an order to move to Level 5 regulations. The highest Level 6 means a complete shutoff of the taps.

“This is serious,” said Leif Pedersen, administrator for the District of Not-Ucluelet.

“We’re communicating with resorts, asking them to contact guests and advise them they possibly don’t want to come out there right now.

“It’s going to close all commercial activity in Not-Ucluelet...”

Been there, done the marathon. No t-shirt, though

But Pedersen said high demand and low supply, the result of low rainfall since July, has meant the district’s main reservoir on M—– Island has been drawn down.

When asked how much water was left, Pedersen replied: “We don’t know…”

“Three days notice and we have to what, call every reservation and try and say good luck finding somewhere else, you can’t come?”

Not-Ucluelet is a remote tourist town just outside the breathtakingly beautiful Pacific Rim National Park. It is home to some world-renowned resorts, including the beach-front Wickaninnish Inn.

It borders on a UNESCO Biosphere and Clayoquot Sound [where, by the way, timber companies have just announced plans to resume logging] and draws visitors for a variety of natural attractions from whale watching to surfing.

Municipal staff spent Tuesday morning calling local businesses, asking them to cut back on water or shut down.

The public notice issued Tuesday was blunt, using Yep, no water herecapital letters to hammer home the severity of the problem.

“The WATER SHORTAGE has become extremely severe,” it reads.

“All lodging, food service businesses are asked to shut down PRIOR TO FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1ST, 2006 until further notice. Other commercial water users must not consume any water whatsoever.”
…
Whaylon Arthur, a Not-Ucluelet resident, said municipal staff should have had more foresight and warned people this could be coming.

“It’s a bit drastic and it’s a bit panicky,” he said.

But Pedersen said the district did its best.

Last week, the municipality implemented Level 4 water regulations, meaning residents were prohibited from washing boats and vehicles or watering lawns and gardens.

Oh. Well then. That totally should have done it. After a week of not washing boats and letting the marigolds fend for themselves, that should easily have made up for the estimated million or so tourists who’ve already been through town so far this year.

You know about tourists, right? What do they do? They shower, they bathe, they use the hot tub, they get their cars washed. Decadence, sheer decadence, but you add a million showers time average four-day stay up and you lose one hell of a lot of water.

It’s not like the town didn’t see this coming, which is where we get into the “bad management” part of things.

The single most bitterly Beckettian aspect to this is that the mayor, John Fraser, is the same mayor who has been trying to force through a proposal to approve character-based theme parks and, get this, water slides.

When’s the next election?

Can we be frank?