PSA: How to Survive a Cougar Attack

How to survive a cougar attack

I have no idea where that image came from, but it’s an invaluable warning. Click here for a more detailed version. Not all cultures are familiar with the terminology “cougar” but I assure you that you know the type. Think Joan Collins as fortysomething divorcee, only without the fame, career, or money. Think leopard-print halter top over pressed jeans. Think expensive bag and shoes, fruity, mild-tasting cocktails with a nonetheless lethal kick, eg Cosmos. Really old cougars drink rum & diet coke, and would drink it straight from the bottle if it came like that.

The natural habitat of the cougar is the bar rail, just before closing time, and they can often be found at Dicks on Dicks, the Roxy, and anywhere with an Eighties night, where they will try not to show they know the words to every song.

While Vancouver is a known cougar-friendly habitat, South Oregonians are taking the situation into their own hands.

Sally Mackler, wildlife chairwoman for the Oregon Chapter of the Sierra Club, said she’s sympathetic to residents who’ve had run-ins with cougars, but rural residents have to learn to deal with the risks.

“It’s a UFO, Elvis-sighting kind of thing,” she said. “Cougars haven’t killed or attacked anyone locally.”

Yet.

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The C Factor: China begs its citizens abroad to stop being so, you know, Chinese

Chinese VisaSpitting on a Vancouver sidewalk is a crime punishable by a fine of up to $110, as several people of both sexes have lately found out, greatly to their surprise. Our Chinatown is large and busy and very, very Chinese, so to discover that something so iconically Chinese is actually banned is a bit of a culture shock to many. It looks like a Chinatown. It smells like a Chinatown. But, according to the new policy of enforcement, the goal is that it won't feel quite so much like a Chinatown anymore when you walk around in sandals.

Thank god.

"Paved with open oysters" was Dickens' verdict on the sidewalks of New York, for much the same reason. Just today I saw two men and one woman blowing their noses onto the sidewalk (quite a trick and, while I appreciate the dexterity and practice it must take to master, punishable by an equally stiff fine praise be to god). And not a cop in sight! That's $330 lost to our public coffers. I'm thinking of working up a Huggy Bear Hug it out bitchbusiness model based on ratting out the snotlings, but am not sure if it should be commission-based per incident or if we could work out some sort of pay-by-volume-of-bust deal, like with drug informers.

I could be the Huggy Bear of mucus!

In the meantime, the Chinese goverment at least is trying to teach its people that carrying certain Beijingoist qualities overseas, particularly to snotty old Singapore, is not the greatest make friends tactic the world has ever seen. Much likeChinese Tourists in London the website set up to teach Americans how to behave abroad, there's a new initiative to teach the previously-isolationist Chinese how not to be loathed when travelling. I mean, when travel abroad was punishable by death, it stands to reason not many people were able to avail themselves of the opportunity, so we've got a billion newbies hawking away on planes and smoking up a storm in oxygen tents worldwide, to say nothing of trying to scam the other tourists.

The daily reported that Wong and Sum cautioned Fan, who possessed an identification showing he was ordained as a monk, that Malaysia was not a place for bogus monks to deceive the public for donations and his act had tarnished the image of Buddhist monks.

Naturally, the government realizes that there will be lots of tourists coming to Beijing for the Olympics, and they're prefer if the Chinese weren't as Chinese for that either, so the government is training the actual residents of the city to behave as if they were travelling abroad. Easier than explaining your culture to a mob of foreigners, I guess, at least in countries where they're already conditioned to obey stupid, culture-eviscerating orders on a daily basis.

There will be a black market in spittoons, mark my words!

Beijing has launched a campaign to make its citizens more "civil" in the run-up to hosting the 2008 Olympics. Games organizers have repeatedly said the city needs to teach its people to stand in line, stop spitting and littering and generally be better mannered.

I just hope there's a section in there about bears and cellphone cameras…

The Shebeen Club Presents: Edgar Allan Poe’s 170th Wedding Anniversary!

Shebeen For immediate release: post/forward at will!

Who: The Shebeen Club, Vancouver's monthly literary gathering

What: Edgar Allan Poe's 170th Wedding Anniversary!

When: 7-9pm Tuesday, May 16th, 2006 (3rd Tuesday ea month)

Where: The Shebeen, behind the Irish Heather, 217 Carrall

Why:  To honour the master of horrors, on this, the day of his ultimate horror. Although I'm sure the bride could say the same.

How (much)? $20 before May 12th, $25 thereafter; reservations and media inquiries: lorraine DOT murphy AT gmail DOT com.

Admission includes a Poe-tastic dinner/drink combo specially selected for appropriate thrills, plus door prizes embodying the grandeur of fallen gentility, a Poe-themed presentation, and a horribly good time!

Dress: Anything antique, anything Goth, anything shabby-genteel.
Bonus prize for anyone who turns up with an actual raven, dead or alive. That is to say that one or more of "the raven and the guest" must be alive.

Background: The Shebeen Club, a History in Press Releases

Come with us, our clothes all tatty, we're Vancouver's literati,
Writing many a quaint and curious volume of best-selling(?) lore,

As we celebrate Poe's wedding, you can join us; they're both deading,
As they both croaked long ago, long ago, in days of yore.

"Bride and Groom, long dead," Sean mutters, "long ago, in days of yore;
Missed the party, ever more."

And two ravens, never flitting, still are sitting, still are sitting
On the old Blood Alley railings just beyond the Shebeen's door;

And their eyes have all the seeming of some ghostlings that are dreaming.
And the streetlamp o'er them streaming shows their shadows on the floor;

And the Shebeen Club, under their gaze that steals in from outdoors
Shall be uplifted—evermore!

Meet & Mingle 7-7:30
Listen & Learn 7:30-8
Whispered tales of undying madness and horror, like the mortifying time you confused August Derleth with Lord Dunsany 8-whenever Berenice comes for us.

O O O o oO OOOoo o O Oo O

Click me! Click me! Bubble Guy, Flashmob Vancouver April 29/06

Operation Global Media Domination: Hit me again, I can take it, I’m Irish

TIABehold, the chart which means more to me than an ECG, more than a roundel of feed stats, more than a breakdown of paycheque deductions (I think that's what it's called…paycheque… so hard to remember).

The Blog Hits Chart:

Blog Stats May 4 2006

Should I worry that the original size of this chart was 1040x666? Naaaaaaaaaaah.

In unrelated news, a friend of mine set me an intriguing test a couple of years ago. Can you name the seven deadly sins, WITHOUT consulting so much as your cat, much less Google or an actual Bible? Bet you can't, and I bet I know the one you leave off…everyone does. But not as completely or as well as I do.

Where was I? Ah yes, blog stats.

I have to say, when I went to bed last night things were looking good. I had already hit my "feel smug" baseline, which is 200. Now, you readers and I know quite well that if it weren't for a certain pair of nesting bald eagles and another pair of nesting bald eagles and my tendency to post the URL of relevant blog passages on the Guardian newsblogs (which are otherwise starved both of relevance and passagity, or is that passagassity?) I'd never see 200 hits in a day even if I caught Stephen Harper eating a baby on YouTube and you and I both know he's too smart for that: he has them brought to him pureed, in smoothies. Well, he must; he's never been photographed eating a baby, but who can tell what's in those cups eh? EH? Answer me that, me lad!

Where was I? Oh yeah, smug.

And when I got to the compy in the late PM, just before the statcounter clicked over from Today to Tomorrow, I was dumbfounded, for lo, I had done almost double the hits of my previous best day ever.

All because of bald eagles, ball-chasing Boris, and Beautiful Agonies.

And I, consumed in the glow of the ascendant short-tailer or is that bodian as opposed to long-tailer, clicked away for a moment, beaming with the irreproducable joy of having seen that graph approach the very top of the box.

FOOL THAT I WAS! FOOL, I SAY!

For lo, when I clicked back WordPress had analyzed the hit trend and decided to bump me back to the bottom of the graph; they have put the top bar at Eight Fucking Hundred and Ten Goddam Hits!

You know, in Fisherman's Wharf there are barrels and barrels of crabs and the fishmongers don't put any lids on them; they don't need to. When a crab makes a break for it and tries to crawl out, the others reach out and pull him back to the bottom.

Not that I'm bitter. Continue reading