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Posted by Zoom! on March 27, 2008, at 2:32 pm |
The Centeretown News reports that a miscommunication has prevented any of the money from the Kindness Meters from reaching any of the charities that help homeless people.
It seems Larry wanted to turn the giving of the money into a ceremonial photo op, but one of his staff people was sick for six weeks so everybody kinda forgot to give the money to the shelters and food kitchens.
I have to confess, that when I composed my list of reasons the Kindness Meters were a bad idea, this possibility never occurred to me. So let me add it belatedly to the list: We should cut out the middle man, because the middle man is inept.
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Posted by zoom! on March 26, 2008, at 6:29 pm |
I heard on the news that City Council just voted down the proposed new Snow Tax, but they’re now looking at a property tax hike of as much as 7.7%.
I would never rub the noses of those who voted for Mayor Larry in the mess he’s made, but it sure is tempting, eh? How many times do people need to have it proven to them that when politicians campaign on the promise of a tax freeze, they’re lying? They lie because it works: plenty of people will vote for any politician who promises them a tax freeze. Once in office they can raise taxes, and those same voters will eventually forget about the broken promise and the tax hike, because they are idiots. (Okay, maybe I would rub voters’ noses in it.)
I’m probably the most cheerful taxpayer you’ll ever meet. As a single parent raising a child on social assistance for six years, I used to think about how nice it would be to have enough income to pay income taxes. Then I got a job and started paying income taxes, and I would look at that box on my pay stub and feel good about it. I would think about all the things I was contributing to: health care, education, social programs, social services, housing, all kinds of good stuff.
One time I went to an investment seminar with a couple of friends from work, and the seminar leader stood at the front of the room and asked “How many of you feel like you’re not paying enough taxes?” and I raised my hand. He was flustered speechless. Finally he said “You know, I’ve given this seminar a lot of times, and nobody’s ever raised their hand to that question. It’s just a rhetorical question.”
My friends cracked up. But for me, it was the truth. I liked paying taxes and I wouldn’t have minded paying a little more. (I do realize I’m in the minority on this, and I have to admit I’m not quite as enchanted by taxes now as I was back then.)
I think this is one of the reasons I find it frustrating that some of my fellow voters are reeled in by the phony tax freeze promise. They don’t get that it’s through our tax dollars that we deal with things as a collective to make this a better place to live. And because some voters are motivated only by self interest, they’re depriving all of us of a chance to have a better class of politician in office – politicians who, for starters, are above the cheap tax-freeze lie.
Sometimes I think democracy sucks. It might work if the majority of voters were smart and thoughtful and took the time to understand the issues, or if the majority of politicians were honest. But the way it works, it can’t work. Politicians are rewarded for being sneaky and deceitful.
Plus, they know they only have the job for a few years, and they don’t want their successors to get credit for their successes, so it’s counterproductive for them to think long term. That’s why so few of our problems ever get solved.
We don’t just need a better mayor than Larry O’Brien; we need a better system than democracy.
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Posted by zoom! on March 25, 2008, at 4:22 pm |
Accordian Elvis
Lady Liberty
Secret Swap Box
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Posted by zoom! on March 24, 2008, at 8:19 am |
Duncan was acting strange yesterday. He spent almost all day in the basement, lying on the mat in front of the washing machine. He didn’t seem sick; he just wanted to be alone. I get like that sometimes too, but I don’t usually lie on the mat in front of the washing machine.
I left him alone. Occasionally I visited to do laundry. Once I carried him upstairs for dinner. But other than that, he spent all day alone in the basement.
At the end of the day I went to bed alone, and woke up alone at 7:00 in the morning, convinced Duncan had expired from some mysterious ailment during the night. I didn’t go check. It was exactly like the first time my son slept through the night. I couldn’t go check, because I needed to keep some hope that he was alive.
Of course Duncan hadn’t died. He came meowing up the stairs shortly after I woke up. Meow Meow THUMP THUMP THUMP Meow all the way up the stairs and onto the bed. PURR PURR PURR MEOW. A brief snuggle. Then he hopped down. MEOW MEOW MEOW THUMP THUMP THUMP down the stairs.
I got up and fed him. But you know, he wasn’t really himself. Nothing was wrong, exactly, he was just different. He was acting like neither he nor I was the centre of the universe. And he was lying in front of the stove, which isn’t where he usually lies. Finally I lay down in front of the stove with him and looked under the stove with him and that’s when I saw the mouse.
This is my first mouse as a homeowner. Last time I had a mouse, my landlords – CCOC – indulged my humanitarian leanings and brought me a humane trap. This time I’m on my own. Me and Duncan. And Duncan, for all his interest in the mouse, does not strike me as the least tiny bit inclined towards hunting. I think he just finds the mouse entertaining, like Cat TV.
If I do nothing, what will happen? Will the mouse move out when the weather gets nice?
UPDATE: So I went downstairs to take a picture of Duncan looking under the stove so I could illustrate this post, and he wasn’t there. I found him at the bottom of the basement stairs with his mouse. And maybe I underestimated his hunting instincts. He seems to be pretty gentle with the mouse though; I think he just wants to play with it. He’s happy just to watch it, unless it stops moving for too long, and then he reaches out and touches it again so it will move some more.
 I don’t know whether to intervene or not. On the one hand, poor little mouse. On the other hand, lucky Duncan. On the other hand, even if I were to rescue the mouse, what would I do with it? On the other hand, if I don’t rescue it and it dies, where will its carcass end up? On the other hand, who am I to play God? On the other hand, Mother Nature can work this stuff out without any help from me. On the other hand, I always like to help out the underdog.
Etcetera.
FINAL UPDATE (there are less final updates in the comments):
Duncan Donut, the Glorious Dogcat, after the hunt:
I won’t post a photo of the mouse after the hunt. 
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Posted by zoom! on March 23, 2008, at 7:07 am |
Posted by zoom! on March 22, 2008, at 8:02 am |
For some time now, I have enjoyed a friendly parallel blogging relationship with the Elgin Street Irregulars. They’re a local group blog with a stable of clever writers and interesting characters. At first they puzzled me with all their in-jokes and self-referential wanking, but I persevered and after awhile I began to “get” them, and then I found them cleverly amusing, and eventually I couldn’t get enough of them.
I entered their contests and even won one of them. Unfortunately I won the one whose prize I didn’t want, and lost the one whose prize I wanted. (This was actually so clever I’d love to tell you about it, but so complex I can’t even begin to explain it.)
Several days ago, the ESI’s Fourth Dwarf invited me to join the ESIs at their usual spot following their next emergency meeting on Good Friday.
I of course was delighted to get an opportunity to meet them in person, having known them virtually for so long. At the same time I was a little shy about it, because lots of people like my blog persona, but what if they like that persona more than they like the real me? That would be kind of sad all round. You know what I mean?
But I went anyway and they were lovely people, all of them, charming and witty and friendly and clever. I liked them every bit as much in person as I do on their blog. I had already met the Fourth Dwarf and Aggie and Woodsy, and yesterday I got to meet Coyote, Conch Shell, Harmony, Audrey and The Chair. Now I’ve met them all except the elusive Independent Observer.
The local bloggers were out in full force yesterday. We went to two different drinking establishments over the course of the afternoon, and ran into Jo Stockton, another local blogger, in BOTH of them. And someone mentioned a possible sighting of Andrea as well.
My favourite line of the afternoon belonged to Audrey, the ESI’s Italian correspondent. I’m afraid I can’t provide any context because I am bound by Audrey’s Rule, but I think this line can stand on its own: “I would have slept with me if I were him.” Indeed.
 The ESIs gave me an unexpected gift which they said was in recognition of my success in the Canadian Blogging Awards. It took me a couple of minutes to “get” it. Those ESIs are so subtle and clever. I opened it up and it looked like a video. Hmmm. I read the title “Zoom Gets Her Mojo.” “How clever,” I thought, “where on earth did they find this obscure video with my name in the title?” (I’m reasonably intelligent, but I’m not especially swift.)
Then I felt a little jolt of recognition as I looked at the cover. It was me! And Duncan! “Whoa,” I thought, “I don’t remember making a movie with Duncan!”
It took a few more seconds to realize it was NOT a video. It was a mojo kit! And you know what? When the ESIs had that contest months ago – the contest where whoever suggested the best prize would win the contest and win the prize they suggested – I had entered and said I wanted to win a mojo kit, and I wanted each of the ESIs to contribute an item to the mojo kit. And yesterday, months later, even though I lost the contest because they weren’t feeling the mojo that day (Tiana won, by the way – she got a handmade Christmas ornament), they unexpectedly presented me with my mojo kit, cleverly disguised as a video!
 Inside were all kinds of sweet little gifts from those clever ESIs. There were two buttons from Conch Shell (I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this, but I have a collection of thousands of buttons), a handmade portable heart from Aggie, a safety Q-Tip from the Fourth Dwarf, a compass to help me find my way from The Chair, half a pair-a-dice to cast when I’m struggling with Options Paralysis Disorder from the Independent Observer, a piece of Bon Echo Park agate from Coyote, and a Haida Gwai shell from Woodsy.
Every now and then someone gives you a gift that resonates – it’s just the perfect gift at the perfect time. This Mojo Kit is one of those gifts and I’m going to cherish it forever. Thank you very much, ESIs! It was a pleasure meeting you.
Posted by zoom! on March 21, 2008, at 7:57 pm |
Today was a most excellent day. So excellent, in fact, I can’t possibly fit all that excellence into one blog post, so Part II will be published tomorrow.
PART I
I went downtown and discovered a new street art installation by Maks on Slater Street just a few steps east of Bank Street. And if that wasn’t enough to put the Good in my Good Friday, I was thrilled to discover Maks had put Duncan in the art! I think this means Duncan’s officially famous now.
(As always, you can click the pictures for larger versions. Duncan’s in the second picture.)
Up near the top it says “No offense meant to Alfie or the Catman.” I think that means Maks included Daniel Alfredson and Duncan as a tribute to them.
Hmmm…there’s an art challenge to identify all those shady characters around the table. Recognize anybody?
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Posted by zoom! on March 21, 2008, at 11:58 am |
A new website – Ottawa Neighbourhoods – was recently launched, and it provides all kinds of interesting information about neighbourhoods in Ottawa.
My own neighbourhood – Carlington – didn’t fare very well, which probably wouldn’t come as a surprise to most of its residents, or to those of you who saw The Citizen’s interesting piece about Carlington earlier this week.
A year and a half ago I bought my first house, and chose this neighbourhood because it was the only neighbourhood I could afford that was within walking distance of downtown. I wanted to buy in Chinatown, Little Italy, Mechanicsville or Centretown, but the only houses I could afford in any of those neighbourhoods were woefully run down and would have required more money and work than I was prepared to invest.
I found a well-maintained, modest little three-bedroom townhouse, 1100 square feet, in excellent move-in condition in Carlington. It didn’t have any extras like a dishwasher or a fireplace, but it had all the basics plus hardwood floors, and it didn’t require any major work other than a new roof. Most importantly, it was only $171,000, so I could afford it.
The neighbourhood, on the other hand, seemed a bit sketchy. Parts of it, like the war house district, were bursting with neighbourhood charm. There were streets upon streets of well-kept, tidy little houses with lots of character and enormous back yards. My street, which borders the war house district, was considerably less charming and more utilitarian. The projects, further west and south of me, were less charming still. The neighbourhood wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t awful, and I felt I could make it my home.
A year and a half later, I still don’t feel like my neighbourhood is home. This is partly my fault, since I haven’t gone out of my way to get involved in the community. As a matter of fact, I’m still on the Board of the recreation association in my OLD neighbourhood. In my defence, I will say that there doesn’t seem to be much of a community to get involved with here. There’s something kind of cold about this neighbourhood – I’ve had virtually no conversations with anybody here in a year and a half. People around here don’t spend much time outside, and I think it’s because there’s nothing out there.
The neighbourhood has potential, but there’s something alienating about it. It lacks cohesion and vibrancy. It also lacks some basic services that make a neighbourhood convenient and livable, such as a coffee shop and a grocery store. If I want to do something that isn’t in my house, I have to leave my neighbourhood because there is nothing to do here. Whether it’s to buy groceries, go to the gym, meet someone for a coffee, go to the library, buy a book, go for a drink, etc, I have to leave my neighbourhood. On the plus side, we have the Experimental Farm, which is lovely, and it includes lots of recreational pathways for walking, running, biking, etc. And we have a pawn shop. (Yes, I know, I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here…)
In my old neighbourhood, Little Italy/Chinatown/Lebreton Flats, there was a community garden, a dog park, a recreation centre, and a river. I knew lots of people and dogs by name, and children talked to me.
The closest I’ve come to a conversation with a child in Carlington was one day I was out running and a girl of about twelve accused me of checking out her ass when I ran by her. (I wasn’t.) (I probably didn’t need to add that, but I just wanted to be absolutely clear about that.)
It’s interesting that the two neighbourhoods have such a different feel, because they share many characteristics: they’re both ethnically diverse with a low average income, a high rate of poverty, and no grocery stores. But Little Italy is vibrant and cohesive and Carlington is kind of cold and alienating. Even though only a third of Little Italy residents own their own homes, 59% of residents feel a sense of belonging to their neighbourhood. In Carlington, on the other hand, two-thirds of residents own their own homes but only 38% feel a sense of belonging. There’s something wrong here.
Do you like your neighbourhood? How much does neighbourhood matter to you when choosing a place to live? Would you rather live in a so-so house or apartment in a terrific neighbourhood, or a terrific apartment or house in a so-so neighbourhood?
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Posted by zoom! on March 18, 2008, at 5:47 pm |
A snow tax! Can you believe it? As if we haven’t suffered enough this winter. Talk about adding insult to injury.
I only heard about it a few minutes ago, but right off the top of my head, I have three problems with Mayor Larry’s proposed $50 per household snow tax.
1) If I’m not mistaken, we would have a snow removal SURPLUS leftover from previous years if Mayor Larry hadn’t decided to spend it to finance his campaign promise of a tax freeze. How ironic that now he has to slap an extra tax on us to make up for a snow removal budget shortfall.
2) This tax sets a precedent that should make us all very uneasy. The City should be able to manage the budget well enough to handle normal fluctuations in weather or other conditions.They shouldn’t be permitted to slap us with extra taxes because it’s snowier than usual or hotter than usual or because they had to pay more than usual for police services or anything else. It’s called budgeting.
3) Assuming such an extraordinary tax is necessary, why assess it on the basis of households? Why not assess it on the basis of car ownership? Why should I – as a single person without a car – pay the same tax as two married people with two cars?
Another thing – completely unrelated to the muncipal government – but I’ve already absorbed additional costs due to the extra snow. I pay $180 a year for snow plowing of the common lane and parking area. This year, each household has been asked to pay $330-$380 instead of $180. Considering I don’t have a car, I feel I’m already paying more than my share. (And while I understand and sympathize with the small contractors who do the snow removal, I can’t help but wonder why we weren’t offered a partial refund last winter, when they only had to plow four times.)
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Posted by zoom! on March 16, 2008, at 9:17 am |
When I was ten, my mother remarried and quit her job so she could stay home and have more children and be a homemaker. She and her husband bought a one-roomed schoolhouse in the country, and he set about to renovate it into a three-story, five-bedroom house. She became a full-fledged, pregnant, pickle-making, jam-cooking, clothes-sewing, stay-at-home mother.
During this phase of her life, she learned how to sew and she set up a little sewing room in a loft above the kitchen. It had a picket fence instead of a wall. I think of this period of her life as the Ubiquitous Crimpolene Years, because practically everything she sewed – and therefore practically everything I wore – was made of crimpolene. I had crimpolene dresses, crimpolene pants, crimpolene housecoats, crimpolene shorts, crimpolene shirts, crimpolene everything. I even had a pink crimpolene hot pants outfit.
I believe the appeal of crimpolene was that it was cheap, easy to sew, and didn’t require ironing. Not to date myself or anything, but this no-ironing thing? It was revolutionary at the time.
When I was twelve and my sister was thirteen, my mother deviated from the crimplolene craze by making each of us a terry cloth bikini. We were thrilled to have something to wear that wasn’t crimpolene. She then took us swimming at the pier in Arnprior, where hundreds of other kids were diving and splashing and swimming jubilantly on that hot July day.
Debbie and I jumped together off the pier into the water. Within seconds it became obvious that something was going horrifyingly wrong with my new bikini! It was becoming huge and heavy and it was escaping from my body! The bottoms were sinking down my legs and the top was expanding in all directions away from me. I looked around frantically for Debbie and saw her struggling with her own bikini; I saw my own horror mirrored in her face.
I was trying to tread water and grab both parts of the bikini before they could escape. But they were like anchors! I was being dragged down to the river bottom by my bikini bottom! And remember, I was twelve years old – I would rather drown than emerge naked from the river in front of hundreds of people.
Somehow I did not drown, nor did I emerge naked from the river in front of hundreds of people. I emerged trying to hold my bikini parts around my body in the most non-revealing way I could. The top sagged way down low, so one arm was trying to hold some of it across my chest. The bottoms hung down almost to my ankles, and the other hand clutched a big saggy soggy handful of it around my hips. It probably weighed more than I did.
Debbie and I – both mortified and traumatized and fighting back tears of terror and humiliation – hurried as best we could across the beach to where our mother lay on her nice dry terry cloth towel.
My mom took one look at us and burst out laughing. She laughed helplessly and uncontrollably for a very long time. (Debbie and I did not join in.)
While it certainly has many fine uses, ultra-absorbent terry cloth might not be the best fabric with which to make bikinis.
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