Gentlepeople, I give you the Mars Curoisity Rover:

http://twitter.com/marscuroisity

Become a fan. "Like" it today. Follow it like a twit. I don't give a tweet.

The interweb is just so confusing. There are double-agents posing as mock-double agents everywhere. Duplicity abounds. I don't know what to think about the people who put this page up, for example:

http://www.knowthelies.com/node/8072

Any thoughts? Is this sarcasm? Are human beings really this dumb or are there some clever people who think they are being funny by manipulating people this dumb? So much confusion. My first reaction is to guffaw and loose my honey-nut oaty-o's on the interweb, but afterward I sit baffled and in awe. Narrative threads; narrative threads everywhere!

the news at 5, 5:30, and 6

There are still a few good programmes on the old Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. "Ideas" is just such a one. When growing up, Lister Sinclair's golden voice used to seep through our tiny bungalow from the parents' bedroom where Dada lay on the bed listening to his ancient clock-radio. Lister is gone now, but Paul Kennedy does a fine job.  Quirks and Quarks is still on the air with Bob MacDonald hosting with Jay Ingram's voice (they certainly sound similar). You just need to get over every scientist interviewed responding to questions with "So, ...".

Yes, there's life yet in the CBC. The Current is a good show. It aims at hard-hitting journalism and sometimes delivers the punch but also has a humorous side. "Q" has its moments, and Gian is a genuine, empathetic and mild-mannered host. "Morningside" it is not, but what could be?

Just a little ramble on the state of the union through the lens of broadcasting. This is certainly not an exhaustive list, just something from the top of the head, you know. If anyone reading knows of a good show we're missing here (maybe something along the lines of Two New Hours or Gilmore's Albums) Please respond. Oh, and Day Six and The House are also very good. It's astounding that this quality is possible with the Harper Conservatives running the show in Ottawa.

And that's it for the Canadian perspective for this week.

Join us next time, won't you, for a look at the origins of Greenpeace in Canada and what involvement with that organization means to someone today.

witness to an accident

Of an evening, the progeny, the lady, and the tramp all went to a free, out-of-doors concert featuring the burgh's symphony orchestra. It was quite pleasant (with the exception of the swarms of mosquitos down by the river): McDermott sang a few chestnuts; the strange man who wears the colourful blouses, daisy-dukes and pork-pie hat played second baton; the little ones had fun. The place was packed, and finding parking near at hand was impossible, but aside from that and the blood-suckers, it was not a bad outing.

Once the family had all bundled into the car and were safely on the road, the real danger began. They came to a stop at a red light behind a car with British Columbian plates. They remained there for a good part of the succeeding green light as well while the driver ahead sat, immobile. The friendly, one-short-honk was duly applied, and when the driver still didn't move, the tramp, who was chauffeur, pulled out to pass. That, of course, is when the man in front finally moved, changing lanes so he was still ahead, then moving back into the original lane, all without a single signal. At the red light, he stopped about one-and-a-half car lengths from the stop line, so the family passed and pulled up well ahead in the other lane.

"Let some other driver sit waiting behind this weirdo,"  thinks chauffeur-tramp. Then, suddenly, most unadvisedly, the man from British Columbia throws his car into reverse and drives with full acceleration smack into the car behind him.

Yells of angry disbelief rang out, and the family shot out of there, not wishing to become victims of stab wounds that night. Upon arriving home, the tramp phoned non-emergency police to report this strange event. No one else had phoned it in. The erratic behaviour of the man from British Columbia was described. A statement would have to be taken in person since no record of this incident had been reported. The call was ended. Puzzlement tugged at features creating a confused grimace on the face of the reporter. A piggy-wiggy squealed dementedly in the distance.

"But," thought the tramp, "that accident was meant for us...!"

Eateemores

"Daddy," said the little man, "are you 'fraid of Eateemores?"
"Of what, dear?"
"Of Eateemores."
The little man had a serious, probing look in his amber eyes.
"Well now, ah, it's sort of hard to say," replied that big man, confuddled.
"When there was a Eateemore and it was going to PRASH! into the monkey but the duck flied by and stopt it."
"Eateemores?"
"Yes, I'm 'fraid of Eateemores because they fly in the sky and are very big Daddy, and the Eateemores can hit your eye and then it would be put out and hard to see!"
"Ah-ha!" said the big man. "Yes, I am afraid of Eateemores too, but since I can do nothing about them, I try not to worry too much about them."
"You should be scared too, but if you stop the Eateemores it would be very amazing!"
"Look out! Here comes one now!"
"Silly," said the little man, inclining his chin to the fading rays of the sun and waving his arm above his head "there is no Eateemores up here now!"
And with that, they returned to eating their yoghurt.

on crying

First, the details begin to pile up. Sensory information wrinkling the brain, thoughts and impressions yielding still more thoughts and impressions, some got at by means of reason, some intuition. Maybe this is all relevant: trust the mind and believe in yourself; however, at some point a decision has to be made. What action can be taken in response to all this thought? The mind is a juggler performing on a unicycle crossing a high-wire. Practice and a will to achieve have made these giddy heights possible, but who can still the wind? Balance! Trust yourself, trust what you know, but acknowledge that adjustments will be necessary.

Suddenly, all this thinking has confused the action, and unforeseen circumstance has blown in through a hole in the big-top. The mind has become entangled in a web of memory, fear, and broken thought. Things are indistinct: a motley tumbler now struggles to free herself. Where once there was confidence and joy, now vexation and despair.  But the time for her to pick herself up is forever now. When the decision to take action was postponed, it may have been out of fear, laziness, or a simple desire to hold on to a moment, to have time to weigh thought and feeling just a little longer.

In his skewbald doublet and hose, and cock-a-doodle cod-piece, Hamlet's own ghost relays something of this conundrum. Wait and weigh too long at your peril. "Reason will not cling to solution, I will end up lost in confusion". Crying is okay. It's natural. It relieves the tension, and is cathartic. Crying also cleanses the palette of too much thought in too little space and time. Try it some time! The sooner you do, the sooner you can act with reason and relative confidence. I wish that I could cry right now. Come cry with me!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wa0c8CD1Jw

walleye

You have a deadline that's moving like a cosine function on the tangent you are off on. There could be minutes left or seconds, right? So you have to move quickly, dress slickly, carry a blade and be sharp. Just grab your hat and travel light.

"Daddy! Alfie needs you to save his fishing rod! It's stuck in a pine tree!"

Immediately the bow snapped, its two splintered ends twirling uselessly in the air, trailing twine, and falling inert on the heath. The arrow hung there from his hand, the point lost from sight in the gorse.
Time's up!

To catch a fish, perchance to eat.