Things are as bad as they seem.

This was my view last weekend in London's bus station, for about an hour. It was as boring as it seems.

Eventually these two young Asian girls, about fifteen or sixteen, sat down across from me. They were giggling incessantly, gossiping about Jack Johnson and calling each other "bitch" in that way teenagers do. Then the one on the left started comparing Jack Johnson to Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix. Her friend just sat there. Next time I looked up she was reading what I think was a fairly intellectual design magazine. Her friend was reading Cosmo.

I couldn't help thinking that unless they're sisters, they won't be friends five years from now.

Beaverback Mountain.

Loathe as I am to commend Bell Canada for anything (I occasionally have this fantasy where their entire workforce is devoured by sharks), I must give them props for their recent series of Winter Olympics ads. They feature Frank and Gordon, a pair of wise-cracking animated beavers who serve as company spokesanimals - an apt choice, as much like the company they represent, beavers have brains the size of walnuts and you can't reach them six months out of the year.

Anyhow, I now find myself in the position of praising Bell Canada for their ad campaign - not because it's funny (since it isn't) or well-animated (Frank and Gordon remind me of the dancing baby from Ally McBeal, only hairier) but because it's socially progressive. Frank and Gordon may be the first characters to appear in a major marketing campaign who are clearly in a same-sex marriage. Even if they are beavers - which in a way, is even more notable and praiseworthy.

Sure, on their website Frank may claim to be the "Most Eligible Buck-Toothed Bachelor in Canada." But in the "About Frank" section he tenderly rhapsodizes about helping Gordon "make his way in life." And one of his dislikes is "Women in heels." These deftly rendered moments, which hint at Frank's tumultuous struggle with his own sexuality, gives Bell's marketing campaign a moral poignancy not often noted in contemporary advertising.

And, to paraphrase my friend Carrie, what could be more Canadian than same-sex marriage and beavers? Any ad that can be patriotic and socially conscious, and also not make me want to rip out Norm MacDonald's larynx with a pair of salad tongs, gets my recommendation.

How to skin eels.

From Out of Old Nova Scotia Kitchens:

Nail the eel up by the tail. Cut through the skin around the body just forward of the tail. Peel the skin off over the head. This removes all the fin bones.

Easy, huh? Out of Old Nova Scotia Kitchens suggests using your impaled and flayed eel in traditional Eel Soup. I suggest bringing it out at family get-togethers and wearing it as a sock puppet, to amuse the youngsters.

You shouldn't judge a man...

...until you've walked a mile in his shoes. And even then, not until you've tossed them onto a Kensington power line after getting him to buy you one too many shots of Jagermeister at Supermarket.

Then you can judge him for being a gullible, shoeless man.

Show yourself!

According to my current blog statistics, one per cent of my site views have come from France, and another one per cent from Finland.

Who are you people, with your impeccable taste? Reveal yourselves! I promise a neat Edward Gorey postcard in return.

In a sense, this may come in handy - when someone says they haven't read my blog, I can assume a hipster pose and remark, with a detached air, "Oh, you wouldn't have. My writings are really meant for a more...Scandinavian sensibility."

I can't let this go.

From the Vancouver Province, in an interview with newly-minted Conservative David Emerson:

He said Liberal attacks on him since his defection are "a sign of sickness - a deep sickness," and that he is "very happy" to be sending out letters of resignation.

"For them to somehow suggest I am shortchanging them - it's breathtaking in its audacity."

Dear God, if I were Stephen Harper I would remove the man from cabinet solely on the basis that he is apparently living in a fucking fantasy world. To say your former riding association's call to have the campaign funds used to elect you as a Liberal returned is "breathtaking in its audacity," mere hours after you've crossed the floor to join the opposition, is an accusation that reaches soaring new heights in both lunacy and hypocrisy.

And apparently Mr. Emerson doesn't read the blogs either, or he would realize this is one massive pan-Canadian clusterfuck, not just some Machiavellian Liberal ploy.

But, Mr. Emerson obviously believes he cruised into public office based on his charismatic persona, not on the fact that he, y'know, might represent the party he's running for. Thus, winning a by-election should be no problem, right? Right. Viva la Emersonmania.

Today's photo...

... is actually from October 2005. But I'm posting it for two reasons. One, I haven't seen a decent sunset in something like three months. Two, that crane is still there, four months later. I bet the city of Toronto has fooled us into thinking they're building highrise apartments, when in fact they're building crane sculptures.

Oh, quick cabinet observation - what kind of potential PM goes on about "cleaning up government" and the "elected senate" for an entire election campaign, and within ten mintues of becoming PM appoints a Montrealer to the senate so he can be in Cabinet, and lures a Liberal minister into crossing the floor? One with the memory span of a gnat, apparently.

And on the topic of memory loss, as the inimitable Paul Wells writes, David Emerson must have just absent-mindedly forgot to tell his electors that, surprise, he was actually a Conservative all along. Nice slap in the face to Vancouver voters there, Dave.

A new career.

I've taken up playground lurking in the hopes that it's a more lucrative field than freelance journalism. So if anyone knows any Roald-Dahlian barristers or vicars looking to procure the services of an incorrigible youth for the purposes of indentured servitude, I charge by the ounce.

Despite the creepy overtones of that photo, I'm not really shooting through a fence. It's actually another piece of playground equipment.

Also, in another staggering blow to my well-established e-ignorance, I discovered how to post my six-minute radio demo tape online. Rejoice, O unwashed masses!