Made me laugh

“You know it’s late July when the Montreal Gazette’s editorialists deem acceptable any “backyard chicken operation” that’s doesn’t contravene existing noise, smell and pest regulations. All we can say is: Someone moves chickens into the backyard next to ours, there’s going to be trouble. And fried chicken.”

GWDCS: Manifesto and Episode One

Post by nebcanuck, Stephen’s son.

GWDCS: Guys Who Do Cool Stuff. It’s the title of our summer men’s program at the Bridge Youth Centre. I’ve been volunteering for the Bridge since this past fall. It is a Christian organization geared around reaching out to “youth” from lower-income backgrounds within urban centres, with “youth” being a loose term that represents people ranging from 10 up to 25. Their tactics are unorthodox, their theology conservative. And often, it’s a stretch for people like myself (middle-class university kids) to get their heads around the world-within-a-world that exists even in innocuous places like downtown Peterborough.

Guys Who Do Cool Stuff is oriented towards young adult men that participate in other programs at the Bridge. It’s a males-only program, as the name implies, which might be politically incorrect in some of the better-off circles in our culture (Cubs is no longer boys only, for example), but hardly raises an eyebrow at the Bridge. And it’s refreshing, in a beat-the-pants-off-that-other-guy sort of way! 🙂

Because of the great time we had with our first get-together this past Wednesday (July 1st), and because I’m stoked for the rest of the summer, I figure I’ll post the videos to the blog, for your viewing pleasure. First, our man-ifesto (and the first taste of the male humour. Sorry ladies, for some of the lame jokes!):

And now the first week’s adventure:

And yes, that’s me, blowing it within three seconds by taking off a friend’s head.

Afterwards, we discussed how men should treat women, and what to look for in a woman. There were life stories, and Biblical examples. Even though we were short on guys, the conversation was solid and the event was great fun. And best of all, we’re reaching out to young people that Sunday morning services simply fail to connect with!

Indie’s tennis ball relocation service

Indie with tennis ball

As anyone can see by looking at this photograph, Indie* just loves tennis balls.

Except it’s a lie. Indie is not a retriever. She finds tennis balls thoroughly engrossing for perhaps 20 seconds. Then she casts them aside and goes looking for squirrels, or sniffing at interesting smells.

Indie is a hunter and a sniffer. But tennis balls are among the things she sniffs out.

The local park, where dogs are allowed to run off the leash, also has two tennis courts. Between tennis players who’ve lost their balls (hmmmm… there must be a better way to say that) and dogs who’ve lost their balls (nope — I can’t think of any) — well, let’s just say there are a lot of stray balls lying around.

Tennis balls, I mean.

So finding a tennis ball in the dog park isn’t such a remarkable trick. But one day, as we were walking through the neighbourhood, Indie started sniffing at someone’s lawn. She appeared to be tracking something — a small animal, presumably — with her nose scanning back and forth as she walked forward, tugging at the leash. Right over to a hosta plant —


— whence she pulled out a tennis ball. You already guessed as much, but it came as quite a surprise to me.

This morning, Indie pulled off an equally impressive trick:  she ducked her snout down into a snow bank and pulled out a buried tennis ball. Like Little Jack Horner doing that trick of his with the Christmas pie and the plum.

Smelling a tennis ball through a layer of snow is a pretty neat trick, I think.

Once Indie finds a tennis ball, she carries it proudly for the next twenty seconds or so. Just long enough to show it off a little. Maybe even as far as the next block where — ptooey! — she will spit it onto some stranger’s lawn.

“Indie’s tennis ball relocation service”, I call it. Kind of like a random act of kindness:  wake up one morning, step out onto the porch to collect your newspaper, and spy the tennis ball in your yard.

“But I don’t own a tennis ball,” you think to yourself.

You do now! Merry Christmas, ho-ho-ho!

It’s too bad there’s no money in tennis ball relocation. If only there were, I’d have a very valuable dog on my hands.


*I first introduced Indie a couple of months ago, with a different name:  Aero. That’s the name the Humane Society had given her.

“Indie” is my little joke:  it’s short for “indefatigable”, because it has proven impossible to tire this dog out.

Alternatively, the name evokes independent “indie” music; or the Indianapolis “Indy” 500 race; or Indiana “Indie” Jones. Take your pick:  I like pet names that have multiple referents.

I got to get me some of that “architecture”

Q. What has this got to do with architecture?

A. Beats me! But according to, the photo was taken at the 11th International Architecture Exhibition.

“Exhibition” is the only word in the sentence that makes sense to me.

What is in this woman’s water supply?!

I never would have thought anyone could get so upset over …
                                                                  a RAINBOW!

America’s hat?

Via Swampland:

America's hat

I suppose that makes Mexico America’s sexy underwear. We Canadians never get the glamorous roles!

Not-so-dearly departed

Quote of the day:

Far too late for it to do anybody any good, Jesse Helms has died.

— Hendrik Hertzberg, who also gets off another couple of zingers at the late Helms’s expense.

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