My First Love

Here's an aside for those of you who have been following "The Sword and the Snowflake". What you see at left is a picture I created from Microsoft Flight Simulator 2004 of a Vickers Vanguard turboprop airliner in the livery of Trans-Canada Air Lines. The aircraft and its paint scheme are the work of the inimitable Rick Piper. Click on the picture for a better view.

Formed by Canadian National Railways in 1937, Trans-Canada Air Lines (TCA) was Canada's first national air carrier, becoming Air Canada in 1964 from an act of Parliament proposed by Jean Chrétien.

One of the fastest turboprop aircraft ever to fly, the British designed and built Vanguard was ordered by TCA and British European Airways (BEA) with a total of 43 being built.

So why the Vanguard is of significance to me is threefold.

To start, it was the first aircraft I ever flew in while outside my mother's womb.

Secondly, the flight in question occurred in the summer of 1961 when, at the age of four, I traveled with my mother to Montreal to meet my maternal grandmother for the first time.

Thirdly, the cabin of a Vickers Vanguard was the first place I fell in love. Oh, I was young, t'is true, and she was much older, but the yearnings were no less powerful. I remember I was wearing a tie in the colours of the Royal Stewart Tartan, a gift from my maternal grandmother who was both British and a staunch monarchist. I also remember that my tie attracted the attention of an incredibly beautiful flight attendant with raven hair and a Scottish accent that was to die for.

As it turned out she was a Stewart who, even after it was established that I wasn't one myself, nevertheless lavished me with her attentions throughout the flight, and gifted me with a small toy model of the Vanguard as we parted.

I was thoroughly smitten dear readers, truly I was.

The Zut Alors Piracy Club Sails Again

Let it be known that with the blessings of one of the founding fathers of the organization, he now known by the nom de guerre of "Fluffatron", I in my capacity as Large Fierce Mammal, and further empowered by the fact that I have recently wedded a notorious pirate, have taken it upon myself to resurrect, replenish, resuscitate, and in every other manner breath life back into the august society known and feared throughout the land as the Zut Alors Piracy Society. More will be revealed as my dark agenda unfolds.

A Note of Non-Apology

Followers of this blog will be pleased to learn that the Large Fierce Mammal and his Beautiful Mate were married this past Hallowe'en resulting in much merry making and little energy for posting here. An article of monumental interest is in the offing concerning issues relating to our union that will undoubtedly soothe the impatience and desperation you have all been experiencing during this temporary blog famine.

Photo by Tammy Zinck. Photo manipulation by Jessica Scott.

Promiscuity Can Lead to Demonic Possession

I feel her pain. I really do.

In an article written by Hilary White posted to LifeSiteNews.com on 15 August 2008 titled "Westminster Exorcist Says Promiscuity can Lead to Demonic Possession", 73 year-old Father Jeremy Davies is quoted as saying that, "Promiscuity, as well as homosexuality and pornography ... is a form of sexual perversion and can lead to demonic possession ... Among the causes of homosexuality is a contagious demonic factor." It should be noted that Father Davies is a priest of Westminster, the leading diocese of the Catholic Church of England and Wales, a qualified exorcist, and co-founder of the International Association of Exorcists. If you're inclined to check that out as a career path, you may also want to read "So You Want to Perform an Exorcism: Here Is What it Takes" for more on the subject.

Father Davies goes on to say, "The thin end of the wedge (soft drugs, yoga for relaxation, horoscopes just for fun and so on) is more dangerous than the thick end because it is more deceptive - an evil spirit tries to make his entry as unobtrusively as possible."

The article states that, "In 2000, Father Davies told the Independent newspaper that incidents of demonic possession are rising dramatically along with the increase of New Age beliefs and practices, ignorance of the Bible and a growth in spiritual confusion."

Reading the article, and speaking as one who is not now nor ever will be Catholic, is not ignorant of the Bible, and is as far from spiritually confused as you can get, I couldn't help but notice that Father Davies made no reference to the well documented evils that all too commonly can result from the protracted practice of sexual abstinence by sanctimonious authority figures. I'm guessing that was just an oversight and he'll be addressing that issue presently.

Gott in Himmel

In my first year of university I shared what was supposed to be a double room with two other guys, the inimitable Michael Gilbert Baker, presently of Nova Scotia Government fame, and a Monctonian named Bruce Andrew Hudson. Bruce's major was computer science but, in the thoughtless exuberance that so often characterizes the decisions of freshmen everywhere, he thought it would be a good idea to take an elective course in "Scientific German". Fortunately for Bruce it was only a half course.

As part of his final exam, Bruce was required to write a brief composition to demonstrate his newfound competence. The subject: What I do when I get up in the morning.

I was sitting in our mutual room when Bruce triumphantly returned bearing his exam paper with its exemplary mark of 50% and an enigmatic red scrawl from his professor that read, "It's been very entertaining Bruce. Good luck." He immediately sat down at his desk and set to work with his trusty German-English dictionary saying, "I can't wait to see what I wrote!"

As the minutes passed, the scratching of his pen was joined by soft snickers. Snickers became guffaws that soon escalated to hysterics. Finally, collapsed on his desk unable to speak, Bruce extended one arm in my direction bearing the translated document that described, in English, what he did when he got up in the morning:

"I get up and wake up the teeth and hair.
I jump for the face.
I brush the comb with the brush, then I comb and bend for school.
I breath the knee and the upper part of the body touches."

Now that's entertainment.

Try Not to be Too Self Important

What's all this about not talking on the phone while driving? Why is it necessary to even tell people that? When I first got into business in 1983 I used to welcome the relaxation of actually getting OUT of the office and away from the phones. People left messages. Shit still got done.

I carry around a look, even when I'm not in uniform. I pull up to a stop sign and at least one person in the vicinity will be nearly dislocating a shoulder trying to fasten their seat belt while faking that they're really just stretching. I drive down the highway and regularly see people pretending that the cel phone sandwiched between their hand and their ear is actually just them leaning against the door while they talk to themselves and there's really no phone involved.

Let's all band together to discover and practice a new technique: let the bastard ring. Use designated ring tones so you can instantly ID family members (the ones who may actually have a right to instant access) and the doctor who may be calling if your STD tests come back positive. Let everything else go to voice mail.

Too important to stay off the phone? Try being too important to be bothered by it just now. You might like it.

Recipes Guaranteed to Get You Laid - Baked Ham With Mustard Glaze

My ham gets attacked so soon after leaving the oven that it never gets a chance to be photographed. This is stock footage from the internet.

Thanksgiving approaches, we're having guests in, and Diana has ordered my famous ham as the main event. I am pleased to comply.

Real men know how to cook, especially meat dishes. No offense to the TRUE vegetarians and vegans out there. Those people have chosen their path based on sincerely held personal belief. As an unrepentant carnivore I can certainly respect that motivation. But how about those who profess to be veggie but come back from the market with "tofurkey", veggie weiners, or soy-burger? These people cloak themselves in the faux morality wherein the lion lays down with the lamb, and yet crave the taste and feel of REAL flesh between their teeth. Pretty fucked up don't you think? I've always seen this as more than a little unfaithful. A lot like making love to your wife while imagining that she's somebody else.

Back in my university days, a friend who should have known better decided to don the mantle of anti-carnivory and began to criticize my choices whenever we dined out together. During this time, I began ordering my food in more descriptive terms, for example, ordering a steak became, "I would dearly love a segment of muscle tissue from the corpse of an immature castrated bull please ... medium if it's not too much trouble. Thank you. " This approach, combined with its associated witty repartee, actually succeeded in getting me laid twice, though I should hasten to add that neither time was with the friend I was lampooning.

Now I know some of you will say that there are poor souls out there who can't eat real meat for medical reasons and compensate by faking it and to you I'll say that I am fully sympathetic with those people. My criticisms here aren't aimed at them. As I always say, they won't be offended because they know who they are. I will even go so far as to admit that there are valid reasons to include fake meats as ingredients in recipes as a means of reducing the fat content. Diana makes a kick-ass breakfast pizza to feed our overnight guests that includes fake breakfast sausages. The faux sausage tastes great in this presentation, and the whole thing has only a fraction of the fat real sausage would add. We also include pan fried tofu in our Asian menus, but we never pretend it's anything other than what it is.

This is the first in my series of "Recipes Guaranteed to Get You Laid". Each one has been personally tried and tested REPEATEDLY to prove its efficacy in all areas of performance claimed. Not surprisingly, most include some sort of meat as a primary ingredient, and each is written from a MAN's perspective. I believe that there is nothing more primal and sensual than acquiring, preparing, and sharing good food and drink with your mate. If you aren't prepared to tackle this without cutting corners, or lean toward slacking on the times I tell you to do things, then you aren't worthy and the woman or man you're after is wasting their time.

This recipe contains an ingredient that, in some countries at some points in history, was restricted for consumption only by those of royal blood. I'm speaking of pork, and more specifically, of ham.

Dessert, that sweet jolt after the main event, is a relatively modern invention. Glazed meat dishes are a legacy of medieval cooking that routinely included sweet coatings, marinades, sauces, and glazes in their preparation. No sweet dessert need apply. So, without further preamble, here is ...

Baked Ham With Marmalade Mustard Glaze.
This recipe uses the concept of cooking ham in combination of wine and fruit juice or meat stock. I recommend that unless your ham is incredibly small (you with the small hams ALSO know who you are so you should leave now because NOTHING will get you laid), you maintain the recommended amount of liquid and glaze. Trust me, like closet space, it never goes to waste.

Ingedients
Uncooked or fully cooked ham sized to feed your gang UP TO a maximum of 8 pounds (3.6 kg), although if your pig is that big the pig isn't ON the table, if you know what I mean.
1 cup Taylor Fladgate "Late Bottle Vintage" Port (cheap and flavourful)
2 cups orange juice

GLAZE:
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup Shirriff "Good Morning" orange, lemon, and grapefruit marmalade (the original recipe calls for orange marmalade but remember, I'm trying to get you laid here)
2 Tbsp grainy Dijon mustard (the original says grainy OR Dijon, but listen to me here)
1 tsp low sodium soy sauce

PREPARATION:
The Glaze-
In a small bowl, combine sugar, marmalade, mustard, and soy sauce. Set aside.

The Ham-
For a "cook before eating" ham, score the fat with a sharp knife to form squares or diamonds no larger than 1 inch square. Leave the cloves in the cupboard or I will take one of your fingers as a trophy. Place ham in the roasting pan fat side up.

For a "fully cooked" ham, slice vertically into the ham to a depth of 50% its total diameter to form the 1 inch squares. In this case, place the ham in the roaster with the cuts facing up.

In a saucepan, bring the wine and orange juice to a simmer then pour OVER the ham.

Bake in a 325ºF (160ºC) oven, basting liberally at 30 minute intervals. Do this for 1.5 hours for a fully cooked ham OR 2 to 2.25 hours for a "cook before eating" ham (depending on size).

After the last basting, wait 10-15 minutes and then brush on the first third of the glaze, being sure to coat the surface and get right down in the cuts that should be wide open and longing for attention right now. Reapply the glaze every 15 minutes until gone (the glaze, not you). Continue to cook until internal temperature is 130ºF (55ºC) for a ready to eat ham, or 160ºF (70ºC) for a cook before eating ham. Keep an eye though in case things are getting done too soon as can happen when your ham is ... um ... small. Remove the ham from the oven to rest at least 10 minutes before slicing. By now, the smell alone should get you laid so the time required won't be an issue.

Now remember gang, these are guidelines. Actual measures required to work on your significant other are open to tweaking as required. We do maintain 24 hour tech support to help you through the rough spots but the phone may not be answered if we're ... cooking.

Enjoy, and I'd like some feedback so don't forget where your Guru lives.

Contemplations on Storm Driving

When the weather sucks, and you can avoid driving in it, it's always better to just stay home and have fun.

Winter approaches. This week we jumped the gun and had our primary ride serviced for the big freeze. Yes, even the snow tires are on. The Large Fierce Mammal and his mate gotta stay mobile!

I've been driving automobiles since 1974 and in all those years I've spent more than a few hours behind the wheel in conditions that, given a choice, would have prompted me to say, "Um, if it's all the same to you I'd rather not old boy." I pay close attention to vehicle maintenance, I'm highly trained, skilled, careful, and have reasons to live so I take no unnecessary chances. Yet over the years I've slid off the road in slow motion once, 360'd in the roadway twice - once in a heavy summer rain and the other in slow motion coming out of a stop sign at an intersection - neither time was there any oncoming traffic, I had preparatory control of the direction my center of gravity was travelling prior to the skid permitting calm action while the controls were ineffective so as not to make the situation worse, and I ended up parked perfectly by the side of the road without damage, bestiality, or unsportsmanlike conduct.

Wait! There's more! I once had the right front wheel of my car come off at 80 km/h ten minutes after leaving a garage that had just replaced my front brake pads, and had the engine of my car torn off its mounts and thrown into the road by an asshole driving in excess of 80 kilometers per hour in a 50 km/h zone in a quiet residential area inside the town of Bridgewater because he was late (again) picking up his girlfriend (he was driving her car) from vocational school. That last one was a close call but The Gods were clearly saving me for greater things. Two feet to the right and I wouldn't be writing this.

The asshole previously referred to also walked away unscathed, which he probably wouldn't have if he'd been in sight when the full scope of what he'd almost done filled my mind about six hours later. Over the years I've come to forgive him and contented myself with putting a spell on his penis that, as they say, "may have certain sexual side effects". You know when they say those words that the effects aren't anything you would want. You get the picture.

But I digress. Back in the last century I was driving my Ford Explorer the 100 kilometers home to Lunenburg from Halifax on Highway 103 in weather that had deteriorated throughout the day. Conditions were heavy fog, HEAVY rain that the windshield wipers couldn't keep clear more than a few inches behind each swipe, and winds gusting to at least 80 Km/h. What is generally called a "shitstorm". On top of all that, it was dark and standing water on the road was obliterating the center line for long distances making it necessary to navigate using the white shoulder line.

As I tooled along at between 40 and 60 Km/h depending on visibility, on a road that was mainly populated by big rigs headed east, I caught up to a small car driven by a tiny hunched figure that became visible every time he/she was silhouetted in the lights of approaching trucks.

The conditions made it impossible to pass with any expectation of safety so I was constrained to stay where I was. As time and kilometers passed, I became aware of an unfortunate tendency of the "auto-gnome" I'd now become entangled with; specifically, whenever a vehicle approached head on, she/he would wander into its path like a moth to a flame, only yanking back again at the last moment. Obviously this person was out of his or her depth.

I stayed behind the mystery car all the way to exit 11 where I was overjoyed to see the other car was exiting too. He turned left and proceeded all the way to Lunenburg so I was stuck with him the entire time. By now though, I was morbidly interested in keeping an eye on whoever this was because they were clearly more than a little outclassed by the weather.

At the time, my office housed the dispatch centre for the Lunenburg-Mahone Bay Police Service. When I got back, I immediately ran the plate and quickly found that it came back as registered to a very elderly Lunenburg resident. Filling out an occurence sheet with the vehicle information and all the hair raising details, I faxed it to the local RCMP detachment. It wasn't long before the duty member called back to tell me the interesting news.

The driver involved was on his way back from a mandatory retest at the Halifax motor vehicle branch in the wake of numerous complaints about his driving habits. He had passed the test.

What's Worse Than Finding a Blue Jay in Your Car?

This is a whole blue jay.

Everybody's heard this riddle:

Q: What's worse than finding a worm in your apple?
A: Finding half a worm.

Many years ago I was driving through the Annapolis Valley on a beautiful late summer day. In the car with me were my ex- wife (front passenger seat), her mother (rear right seat), and her mother's boyfriend (rear left seat). Everybody had expressed an interest in stopping for lunch so I declared that we would stop at the next eatery we found.

I forget where we were exactly, but the road was straight with flat fields on both sides, and I was tooling along at about 90 km/h with all the windows down.

In the field to my right was a solitary tree. As we drew nearer I saw something detach itself from the tree and propel itself with amazing speed in the direction of the highway. As my vehicle converged with the object, it first resolved itself into a medium sized bird before becoming identifiable as a blue jay. I judged that we were not on a collision course if the jay maintained its path, pulled up, or did anything but what it actually did.

I forget the name of the German general who spoke the words, but it was once said, "You will usually find that the enemy has two courses of action open to him, and of these he will choose the third." The jay maintained altitude level with the cab of my car until the last moment and then broke into a tight left turn that terminated on the door post separating the front and rear windows on the right side of the car.

There was an amazingly solid THUD as the jay struck and then there was blood everywhere I could see in my rear view mirrow. I stopped as quickly as I could and turned around to inspect the carnage. Both back seat passengers looked liked extras from "Carrie", seemingly spray painted with blood. The jay had broken in two on impact, the right half catapulting straight through, missing everybody, and going straight out the left rear window. The left half had passed between the heads of the two back seaters and landed on the deck in front of the rear window. To make the experience exceptionally cool, both pieces sprayed blood and organs all the way through leaving my ex-mother in law's boyfriend with what appeared to be a segment of intestine dangling from the end of his nose.

Besides the blue jay, nobody else was hurt, and I stopped at a gas station so the victims could clean up. No one in the front seat was even touched by a drop of gore, and even though I was still hungry I couldn't get anyone to express interest in the food they were so desperate for only minutes before.

If there's one memory my ex-wife still carries about her time with me, I hope this is it.

Nevermore! What WAS in your wallet?

You never know who's watching. Readers please note that, while certainly not innocent, the raven in this picture was in no way implicated in the sordid tale that follows.

One day in the summer of 2000, while I was on duty working police/fire dispatch in Lunenburg, I received a call from a tourist who was at one of the waterfront restaurants wanting to report that his credit card had been snatched from his hand while he was seated by the rail on the restaurant's outside deck. He also reported that he still had the thief in sight. The tone of his voice sounded like a combination of concern and embarrassment, and as the conversation progressed, here's the story that came out.

For background, the caller and his wife were visiting from the US and had been eating lunch at the Dockside Restaurant. You enter the restaurant from the street and walk to the back that faces onto the harbour where the deck is located. The building sits on a hill so the deck is on the second floor at that side, overlooking the street that parallels the harbour. On the other side of the street is the parking lot for the Fisheries Museum of the Atlantic.

A view of the crime scene. The culprit landed on the peak of the rightmost of the red buildings visible in this photo. The victims were seated on the deck of the white building to the right of that.

The couple had eaten their lunch, received the bill, and were waiting for the waitress to return so they could pay. The caller had pulled out his credit card (platinum) and was holding it between his index and middle fingers as he talked to his wife, apparently turning it back and forth. The sun was reflecting off the card and, unknown to our hero, it was attracting some unwanted attention from the perpetrator.

The couple were seated at a table near the railing closest to the street. Without warning, what he described as, "... the biggest fucking raven I've ever seen in my life", landed on the railing, fixed him with one eye in that way that only ravens can, plucked the credit card from between his fingers, gave him one more look, and flew off. It landed on the peak of one of the museum buildings where he could see the flash from the card as the raven enjoyed playing with its shiny new prize. As I was speaking to the complainant, the bird flew off out of sight, and I assisted him in cancelling the card.

Several pigeons were questioned as well as some crows, but the conclusion was reached that the raven was some hooligan from out of town. As of this date the credit card has not been recovered.

Don't Ever Change

The "memento mori" (reminder of mortality) was a curious photographic phenomenon popular in 19th century North America. You never looked better.

About 15 years ago, one of my medical alarm clients dropped her panic button in her toilet. She fished it out right away, but in trying to wash it off, water penetrated the casing and caused an alarm. After the dust settled, and she told me what had happened, I went to her residence to take whatever corrective action was necessary.

After dismantling the device (these were the old days, electronically speaking) and thoroughly blowing out the small amount of visible water with compressed air, I asked the client if she had a hair dryer I could use to be certain that all traces of water had been removed. She said she didn't have one herself, but that she was sure her neighbour had one we could borrow.

My client lived on the second floor of a senior citizens' apartment building in Lunenburg, and her neighbour lived directly across the hall. Just before I went to speak with her, my client whispered, "She's as dippy as the day is long, but she'll do anything for you."

Taking that for what it was worth, I was soon standing in the neighbour's foyer while she rummaged in closets trying to find the hair dryer she obviously hadn't used in years. Her search technique was amazing to watch. She would throw open a cupboard, a closet, or a drawer and root through the objects therein, sometimes pulling something out that wasn't a hair dryer, and then tear past me on her way to the next target. As she passed, she would thrust the object into my hands with a breathless, "Look at this!" If she didn't have a new curiosity on her next pass, she would make a comment on the one I was currently holding.

As her search neared its climax, she came by and passed me a black and white photograph of a man. Although it was in a modern frame, the photo was obviously very old. The gaunt man was seated in a wooden chair. His face was sunken at the cheeks. One eye was open, the other half shut; both eyes looked in different directions. He was wearing a dark suit that was more than a little rumpled. One side of his shirt collar was up, the other down, and his tie was askew. He didn't look in the least comfortable.

As I studied the picture, there came a crow of success from the end of the hall followed by the neighbour's triumphant approach with hair dryer held on high. As I relieved her of her cargo and handed her the picture, she said with obvious pride, "Isn't that a wonderful picture?"

I had to admit I'd never seen anything like it.

"That's my grandfather," she said, "He was dead when we took this."

Forget Me Not

"Hello Doctor? It's been three weeks and I still haven't heard back about my x-rays. I still get the headaches, and they seem to get worse when I walk through low doorways."

The family doctor I had known since my junior high school days retired in 2001, and even though I am no longer a patient of his he is still a client of mine. He recently phoned me with a question about his security system that I handled in my usual highly efficient and professional manner.

The sad thing about it all was that, hearing his voice, and mindful of how far down the road to ruin we've gone in this country, the first thing I thought was, "Great! He finally got the results back on those tests!"

We all know the scenario. You go to your doctor for some reason and they schedule blood work, x- ray, you name it. Some sort of diagnostic test. As they pass you the requisition, they speak some version of, "If the tests come back negative, we won't call you."

Speaking as one with a not insignificant amount of training and experience in the field of emergency communications, I have a hard time accepting a situation in which it becomes impossible to tell the difference between "all clear" and "oh shit, I forgot". At what point did the simple concept of closure leave the profession of medicine?

My late father was of the mind that, if the doctor didn't tell you you had a problem, then you were good to go. Don't feel you're being rude by following up on your own health. We all respect the fact that a doctor's office is a busy place staffed by overworked and harried people, but all that pales in comparison with the possibly life changing consequences of an illness being left to advance untreated or, worse yet, the unmitigated inconvenience of being dead, all due to an administrative oversight.

Self reliance is a virtue. Don't play "Mother may I?" with your health or that of those you love. Curiosity may have allegedly killed the cat, but we're still waiting on the results of the study that identifies the health risks of excessive politeness and blind deference to authority.

Interpreting Sexual Body Language

How a woman accessorizes for her date with you will often give subtle hints as to your chance of getting lucky.

I recently came across an advice article entitled "Everyone wants to know how to read the sexual body language." You can read the entire article at http://funreports.com/fun/03-05-2006/1366-body-language-0

After reading it twice and letting the laughter subside, I felt compelled, as your security and survival professional, to comment on its contents. For clarity, I am quoting items from the article in bold type below. My comments are in normal blue type. Here we go:

"It is well known that men and women use a wide variety of gestures while paying court to somebody. Most gestures are used unknowingly. The success of the relationship depends on your ability to give certain signals and perceive the ones that are being sent to you."

From this it is clear that "success of the relationship" really means "chance of getting laid".

"Raised eyebrows. When we see a person that we consider attractive, we begin raising and lowering our eyebrows. If the person also feels drawn to you, his eyebrows will also start going up and down. This gesture lasts only 1/5 of a second but it takes place all the time, with people of both sexes and all ages. This "eye making" can be easily left unnoticed, but if you do notice it, you will certainly be given 100% of the person's attention."

Really? Just take a moment to picture this. Two people across the table from each other, desperately trying to signal attraction by doing their very best Groucho Marx impression. Dat's da funniest t'ing I evah hoid. According to the last sentence there, you win some kind of attention prize for noticing what the other person's eyebrows are doing, but I think you have to mention it to them to get all that attention.

"Slightly opened lips. If a person likes you, his or her lips automatically open the moment your eyes meet."

I must be incredibly popular. I'm constantly running into people whose lips open the minute they see me and who won't shut their mouths long enough to take a frigging breath.

"Standing at attention. If a man is standing straight, with his shoulders squared and with his belt tightened, he’s trying to show himself in all his beauty. If he is leaning forward to hear what the woman is saying, it is even better."

Good posture is always attractive, and you should practice it every day, even when alone. If a man really wants to show himself in all his beauty he should make it obvious that his spine isn't the only part of him that's "standing straight". On the matter of leaning forward to hear what the woman is saying, that might be correctly interpreted here but I think it's more likely that she should speak the fuck up.

"Adjusting the clothes. If a man is adjusting his tie, he really hopes that you will notice it. He may also sleek his hair, pull down his jacket, see if his lapels are in the right place. When a man is playing with the buttons of his jacket he’s probably nervous. Using this gesture he’s also trying to demonstrate his subconscious wish to get undressed for you. The next stage is when he takes his jacket off and places his arms on his hips. If he has used all these gestures, it means he’s already imagining your shoes under his bed."

A guy who worked for me used to say, "You have to keep your nose to the grindstone, your shoulder to the wheel, your eye on the ball, and still be able to work in that position." That's kind of what sprung to mind when I read about all this tie adjusting, hair sleeking, jacket yanking, lapel checking, and button pulling. Now, I can honestly tell you that for me, wanting to get undressed for my woman is NOT a subconscious wish. Nope nope nope, it's right out there in the realms of constant and obvious, and was from the beginning. And the "next stage" confuses me. First of all, after you've exerted all that effort pulling and tugging and sleeking that jacket into perfect alignment it seems a waste to take it off. Also, how do you put your arms on your hips without looking like a dolt? Lastly, we are told that only after a man "... has used all these gestures ..." does it mean he's "... imagining your shoes under his bed." Honestly, there is no convulsive seizure relay race on the road to getting laid, and if this guy ends up with the woman's shoes under his bed it's because he stole them.

"Playing with the hair. In order to show her sympathy towards a man, a woman makes a movement with her head to get her hair off her face. She may also move it aside with her hand. She tries to send the same signal by licking her lips. By the way, men also like sprucing up while talking to a woman. At the same time a woman will never miss a chance to count the number of times a man sleeks or bristles up his hair during the conversation."

Sympathy? Is that what we're going for? The underlying philosophy here is that a mercy fuck is still sex. It can't be denied that "... a woman will never miss a chance to count the number of times a man sleeks or bristles up his hair during the conversation ...." but the count will be against you. No woman wants a man who behaves as though he thinks he's prettier than she is.

"Voyeurism. A man is openly trying to show that he’s examining the woman’s body, by casting some looks at its most beautiful parts. Ladies, you shouldn’t be flattered, he automatically scanned your figure the first second he saw you. All he wants to do now is to let you know that he considers you as his sexual partner."

This one is a little too subtle. What's the point of sex? To make babies and lots of 'em! To accomplish this, Nature has equipped us to check out a prospective mate for all the best attributes. Is she built to keep me warm in the cave at night? Check! Child bearin' hips? Check! Good strong teeth that are actually hers so she can chew the skins for my moccasins? Check! Don't ya just want to breast feed right now? Check check check!!!! You get my point.

"Crossing the legs. If the toes of a person's shoes are pointed at you, he or she is certainly interested in you. If you point your knee towards the person you’re interested in, you’ll demonstrate that you’re ready for a closer relationship. One of the most captivating poses is when a woman is sitting with her legs crossed under herself and her knees are exposed to the person she’s talking to. It means she's (sic) wants a man to take more decisive steps."

When someone shows "interest" in you, it isn't always good. How about having the police show interest in you? Having someone's toes or knee pointed at me has never been on the top of my list of good things, but I do keep an eye out for this behaviour, and especially for what part of my body they're pointing their toes or knee at. About this "captivating" pose the woman is supposed to get into, maybe she's trying to tell the man that he should take the decisive step of buying some fucking furniture so she doesn't have to sit on the floor.

"Playing around with cylindrical objects. A man, as well as a woman, when excited, will definitely find a glass or even a fork to stroke it or to touch it with his fingers. Cylindrical objects remind men of the woman’s breasts, and the women of the man’s genitals. Woman’s wrist has always been considered one of the erogenous zones. When a woman is interested in a man she’ll try to keep her palms and her wrists in the man’s sight."

Where in hell do they get this shit? Cylindrical forks? And unless you've been knocking back shooters all night, the glasses on the table won't be cylindrical either. Ladies, if a guy tells you that he's playing with cylindrical objects because they remind him of your breasts, believe me, you'd better own a strap-on because I can see where this is going. Also, should a man be happy because a woman is thinking about his penis while fondling an item of cutlery? On that last bit, it has always been my advice to tell your date to keep their hands where you can see them, at least until you know each other better.

"Touching the face. If a person is interested in you, he’ll keep touching his chin, his ears and his cheeks. It means that he or she is subconsciously fixing the lies. This is a combination of nervous and autoerotic actions. When we’re interested in somebody, our lips and the lower part of the face become very sensitive to stimulation. If you're smoking, you'll begin inhaling more often. If you're drinking something, you'll begin taking more sips. You enjoy touching your lips, and what is more, you let the other person know that a kiss is not far off."

Fixing the lies? I expend a lot of time and creative energy in crafting my lies thank you, so they don't need to be fixed. All this head touching makes my eye twitch. If the touching goes lower, or they start touching YOUR chin, ears, cheeks (either set), then you'll get the message loud and clear. And apparently, in my case, I have a very long face because that increased sensitivity they talk about goes all the way down to my ... chin. If you're smoking, bugger off chump. It's a deal breaker. If the other person is taking more sips, consider that you're close to getting lucky, but they need a little more thickness on those beer goggles before they take the plunge. Lastly, for most losers, a kiss is never far off. It's getting the other person to reciprocate that creates the problem.

"The leading hand. It is a good sign if a man is holding you by the elbow or by the shoulder. In the first place, it is a good way to lead you through the crowd. Secondly, this way he can be sure that you don’t get lost. Thirdly, this will frighten away the other men: after all, you already have one by your side. Fourthly , this lets him accidentally touch you … All in all, it’s a good gesture."

I really enjoyed this one. Last week Diana and I were in Canadian Tire and saw the loss prevention guy leading a customer out by both the elbow AND the shoulder. We did not see this as a good sign by any definition. Also, would you really want to date someone so disoriented that you need to manhandle them to prevent them from getting lost? Is this guy dating drunks or toddlers? If I want to frighten away other men, and the occasional aggressive lesbian, I bare my teeth and growl menacingly, signaling my intention to bite. I'm not sure how you would go about holding a woman by the elbow or shoulder and make it look like an accident, but if you succeed she'll think it was accidental and keep hoping you'll grow some balls and take hold of her for real. Too bad you're a useless tit.

"He's offering you his sweater or his coat. Few men would be very glad that a woman came back from a date wearing somebody else’s jacket, even if otherwise she would have died from cold. Men offer their jackets or sweaters to women because it’s a defensive, sexual and proprietorial gesture. He’s saying “What is mine, is also yours ” (and otherwise ). At first the jacket smells of him, and then it smells of you. Eventually, by giving it to you, he’ll have one more cause to appear on the scene again, at least to get back what belongs to him."

He's not saying, "What is mine, is also yours ...", he's saying to everybody else, "If my jacket is on it, it's mine!" Everybody understands this. It's why nobody takes your seat in the bar when you've gone to the bathroom. A similar rule applies to dogs peeing on trees.

There's my take on it kiddies. Now go forth and multiply.

Something Good Actually Happened on September 11th

Today Diana and I celebrate our anniversary so I'm directing all my creative efforts in her direction. Tomorrow we'll return to normal programming. Enjoy what's left of the day.

It Turns Out There's NOTHING You Can't Come Back From

Yes, that's Sean Connery. There has been no Photo-shopping of any kind on my end, and if Diana had done it he'd be naked so I'd say no. No Photo-shopping of any kind.

In 1974, Sir Sean Connery was in an incredibly shitty movie ("starred in" would be a bit extreme) called "Zardoz". This post bears a picture from that film of Sir Sean in his man diaper (later refined and brought to perfection by Borat) brandishing his .455 Webley revolver. It's a big gun and I don't see a holster. I saw the movie, but can't remember where he put it when it wasn't in his hand. Sorry. I won't even comment on the boots although I would pay to hear what he said when first approached with this costume.

Forget about James Bond, take a good look at the photo, then consider that Sir Sean has starred in a number of incredible movies since "Zardoz". In fact I recently read that Catherine Zeta-Jones has "... a derriere as tight as Sean Connery's smirk ....". That puts Sir Sean's smirk in some good company indeed let me tell you.

In 1989 Sir Sean was voted People Magazine's "sexiest man alive". Even more, in 2000 he was knighted by The Queen, which is why I keep calling him "Sir Sean".

So the next time you think you've been embarrassed to death and can never show your face in public again, revisit this picture and soldier on.

Strange Lyrics From Rural Nova Scotia

Rural Nova Scotia has spawned some strange ditties.

One of the summer jobs I had while attending university was as night watchman at what was then called the "Adult Residential Centre" at Dayspring, Lunenburg County. A vast and rambling structure known locally as "the poor farm", the ARC dated from darker times when the mentally ill and the destitute, unwed mothers cast off by their families as irretrievably soiled and disgraced, the malformed and the mutated, as well as those who were then referred to as "mentally retarded", were thrown together under the care of the state. Before the pharmaceutical industry gave us drugs to lock up the mind, physical restraint was the norm, and the building contained a basement and several attics full of thick walled spartan cells complete with heavy rings set at convenient locations on walls and floor. Most of the building was demolished when what is now LaHave Manor was built, absorbing staff and "residents". What's left of the old structure is the two sections at its furthest extremities, now employed as offices and meeting spaces by the Municipality of the District of Lunenburg as the Municipal Activity and Recreation Centre or MARC, and an almost forgotten cemetery on the summit of the hill behind.

On one ward that housed most of the lighter needs cases lived an old guy named Albert who was as spry as anything but crazy as a coot. Lovable though, and he'd sing for you, with very little encouragement, a strange ditty I've never heard anywhere else. It went like this:

I went to the store to buy a jum,
Knocked on the door but nobody come!
Oh he smashed through the window
And he broke through the glass,
Down came old Jesus slidin' on his ass!

Never mind what the hell a "jum" is. Albert was from somewhere way out in the woods and singing this never failed to break him up.

Now rewind slightly to the early seventies while I was still in high school and my mother worked at Lunenburg's Harbour View Haven home for special care. Every Sunday, one of the local clergymen, a different reverend each week, would rotate through conducting services fror the residents. At this time, a tiny birdlike toothless crone the staff referred to as "Nanny" kind of fitted the same mold as Albert, only less spry. She needed help to get around. She also had an entertaining way of eating the hard candies she liked that kind of looked like she was trying to swallow her own head as she sucked them into oblivion.

Now Nanny had a ditty of her own, and an interesting sense of timing. One Sunday, while seated with her thin white hair fluffily quoifed amid the flock attending the weekly service, she found herself still bursting with song as the hymn that was being sung ended. So into the silence that briefly existed between the end of the hymn and the start of the sermon she dropped this gem:

Asshole asshole,
Daddy shot a bear!
Shot him up the asshole,
Never touched a hair!

With all due respect to the clergyman of the day, I don't know how you follow an act like that.

Favourite Quotations

For your edification dear readers, this is a selection of words of wisdom, presented in no particular order, that have stuck to me along the way.

No snowflake ever falls in the wrong place. ~ Zen saying

If your anger goes forth, withhold your sword; If your sword goes forth, withhold your anger. ~ swordsman's axiom

Better to do a little well, than a great deal badly. ~ Socrates

Either do or do not. There is no "try". ~ Yoda

Like picking fly shit out of pepper with boxing gloves on. ~ My father, Lawrence Whynacht, on the subject of things that are very difficult to do.

There's facts about dogs, and then there's opinions about them. The dogs have the facts, and the humans have the opinions. If you want the facts about the dog, always get them straight from the dog. If you want opinions, get them from humans. ~ J. Allen Boone

If you think it's expensive to hire a professional to do the job, wait until you hire an amateur. ~ Red Adair

None are innocent. There are only those weak enough to believe they are, and those strong enough to revel in the knowledge that they are not. ~ Jacob Strauss, Magus of the Shining Hill

Don't start vast projects with half-vast ideas. ~ Unknown

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. ~ Kurt Vonnegut

When I want you monkey, I'll rattle your chain. ~ My mother, Evelyn Whynacht

If you are going through hell, keep going. ~ Winston Churchill

You are permitted in times of great danger to walk with the devil until you have crossed the bridge. ~ Bulgarian proverb

He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

God grant me a good sword and no use for it. ~ Polish proverb

May those that love us love us, and those who don't love us may God turn their hearts, and if He won't turn their hearts may He at least turn their ankles so we'll know them by their limping. ~ Irish toast

A man can never have too much red wine, too many books, or too much ammunition. ~ Rudyard Kipling

An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered. ~ G. K. Chesterton

Black as the Devil,
Strong as Death,
Sweet as Love,
And hot as Hell.
~ how the Tuareg tribesmen like their coffee

You can make a shit house look like the Taj Mahal if you shoot it from the right angle. ~ My Father, Lawrence Whynacht, on the subject of why some people and places look great in pictures, but like ass when you see them in person.

Practice doesn't make perfect. Practice makes BETTER, but it doesn't make perfect. ~ the incomparable Diana Kleszczynski

When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not. ~ Mark Twain

Those who won't listen have to feel. ~ My mother, Evelyn Whynacht

When the Fool Killer comes lookin', you better be hidin' in the tall grass. ~ African warning

No man meets a friend in the desert. ~ Arab proverb

The thorn defends the rose, yet it is peaceful and does not seek conflict. ~ Unknown

Are those pants too tight Toulouse? ~ Toulouse Lautrec's tailor

Never give a sword to a man who can't dance. ~ Celtic Proverb

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went. ~ Will Rogers

Musings as Hallowe'en Approaches - Part the Second

"Evelyn: The Cutest Evil Dead Girl". My spectral girl didn't look like this, but the video is worth a peek on YouTube.

In 1984 I moved into a large house on Lincoln Street in Lunenburg. The layout of the stairway to the second floor prevented me from taking my bedframe up to the master bedroom, so I had to sleep on the mattress on the floor as a stopgap measure.

On the first night I slept in the house, fagged out with the toils inherent in moving, I crawled under the sheets, my faithful beagle/spaniel mutt Jasper curled up at the foot of my makeshift bed.

Jasper had a very low growl. Almost inaudible, and he was sparing in its use. Nevertheless it was the sound of his growl that woke me. Opening my eyes and raising my head to look down at him, I could see his silhouette against the wall. He was looking straight at the bedroom door which was to my left, and a ball of fur was raised on his shoulders. When I looked at the doorway I saw why he was growling.

What I saw in the dimness was a little girl, I would guess about five or six years old, standing in the doorway smiling at me. She had long hair and was wearing a plaid jumper with an old timey cut. When our eyes met and I registered what I was seeing I yelled, "Hey!" and quickly began to get off the mattress. At this point I really felt I was looking at a child.

I heard her giggle and saw her run off. In the five or so seconds it took me to get to my feet, pull on my robe (she was a kid after all) and reach my bedroom door, the little girl had gone to stand grinning mischievously at me from the doorway of another bedroom across the landing.

"Wait!" I called as I moved toward her. She stepped inside the room and I saw the door begin to close, but it wasn't quite shut when I reached it.

Tired and getting irritated at incompetent parents who let their kids run riot through strange houses in the middle of the night I grabbed the door and pushed it ahead of me as I started to enter the room. Suddenly I felt the door stop as though it had hit a solid obstruction, and then it flew back at me. The edge of the door hit me in the forehead and the impact threw me backwards onto the landing.

Now really pissed off, I went back and kicked the door fully open. There was no resistance this time, and my strike threw the door open hard enough for the door knob to break through the lathe and plaster wall as it impacted against it. Stepping into the room I saw ... no one. The room was empty except for a couple of boxes I had placed there earlier in the day.

The next day I had a beautiful bruise on my forehead, and I checked with everyone I knew who had ever lived in that house to see if any of them had ever seen or heard of the mysterious little girl. Nobody had.

I never saw the little girl again, but to the end of his days, Jasper wouldn't enter that room, giving it a wide berth, and a suspicious look whenever he passed it.