The Spirit of Romance is alive and well…well, it’s alive…sort of…

Hello, lovers of love everywhere, Uncle Fun here:

   If we have been tardy and remiss in updating this cybernetic bulletin board, it is on account of the fact that Sparky and I have only recently arrived again within hailing distance of the computer affectionately known as the Cousins Family Tower of Power. More on that some other time. For now, let me explain that part of our laxity in regaling a waiting world with our exploits was due to the pressing necessity for Sparky to become reacquainted with the sugar-and-spice-and-all-things-nice half of the firm of Sparky and Moose. In the interest of facilitating reunion and rapprochement, I drew up an itemized list for a series of dates designed to reintegrate Master Sparky and Miss Moose into each other’s social circle.

Sparky:

She’s got ‘bandunmint isshues.

Moose:

You traipse halfway to Central America without telling me, and you wonder why I felt abandoned. Go, on, Uncle Fun—tell everyone what you had planned for us, and how it worked out.

Uncle Fun:

Well, for starters, I envisioned a classy romantic dinner with a sidewalk bistro atmosphere.

Moose:

Half a tube of Squeez-a-Snak and the tail end of a box of Ritz crackers in a bus shelter.

Sparky:

What part’a “Ritz” don’t say “classy”? Some people iz neer satussfyed.

Uncle Fun:

Then, a pleasantly non-competitive game-like activity…

Moose:

Duckpin bowling. The ball can go right between the pins without hitting anything, and it leaves this black guck on your hands.

Sparky:

Any idjit kin knock big bowlin’ pins over with one’a them big balls. It takes skill an’ consuntrayshun ta not knock li’l pins over with a li’l ball.

Uncle Fun:

It has its merits as a spectator sport, if nothing else. We followed that up with a cultural afternoon of live entertainment al fresco.

Moose:

Sitting on a park bench while Sparky reads the Lifestyle section of a Sunday paper someone’s left behind in a variety of silly voices qualifies as ‘live’ and ‘outdoors’, but the jury’s out on whether it’s entertaining to anyone but him.

Uncle Fun:

Mel Blanc he’s not, I’ll give you that.

Moose:

Tonight, it’s Ladies’ Choice. A night on the town capped off by dancing should just about put things right again.

Sparky:

Yeh—an’ th’best thing ‘bout dancin’ when you’n me duz it is it’s like wrestlin’, only I git disslokated shoulders a whole lot less offener outtuvit.

Uncle Fun:

Don’t worry, folks. I’ll be there to keep an eye on them. I’ve got my own date to do some catching up with.

   While we all see to that, why don’t you all have a listen to some handy hints and tips for those looking to break the ice with that special someone.

Uncle Fun

I wish he were The Nowhere Man instead…

   Canada’s political commentators and cartoonists are slow on the uptake. How else do you explain why no-one in the mainstream media has picked up on the uncanny resemblance between Stephen Harper and the head of the Blue Meanies from Yellow Submarine?

   I do admit, I’m going to have to sign up for the slow learners’ class for not spotting it earlier myself. But honestly—it’s a natural: the Tory colour, the supercilious leer, the complete abhorrence of all things fun, or mildly enjoyable, or even remotely human. Like the Blue Meanie pictured above, Harper probably even had six fingers (certain foreseeable accidents of genetics will do that do you), before lopping one of them off as part of a hastily-conceived program of self-destructive austerity. If this were the 1970’s, Harper’s kisser would be all over t-shirts, posters, buttons, and airbrushed vans, threatening Ringo and his pals in Pepperland within an inch of their mumbly Scouser lives.

   Oh, you can find the odd reference of this sort, if you Google hard enough. You just won’t find it where anybody makes their living paying attention to the Canadian political scene. I won’t blame it on self-censorship, or on lack of grey matter. These are just depressing times to live in, and they have a way of dulling your faculties. But, maybe this’ll be the fateful occasion when the moniker “Blue Meanie” goes viral on Canada’s answer to the Supreme Dalek, and it enters into common parlance. Mulroney had been in power half a decade before “Lyin’ Brian” finally stuck to him, and he’d told enough whoppers to fill every waking hour of that time twice over…possibly even more than that, if he talked in his sleep. Those of you young enough and fortunate enough not to have been around back then may well ask how anyone could be sure that he wasn’t telling the truth. Well, his lips were moving, weren’t they?



My weak end seems to be the one above my shoulders...

Three weeks?

Three weeks...?

That's how long I've been away from this space? Wow. I'd toss in a few choice words about procrastination, but I can't think of any, so I'll add them later.

But seriously, folks...activity in the new school year is ramping up quickly--this coming semester is 'the big push' to wrestle a working draft of my master's thesis into submission. So (and this applies to both of you who read this blog regularly, so pay attention), the plan is to update once a week, on weekends. 

To get things rolling once again, I thought you'd all (that still means both of you, and you know who you are) like to have a preview of what I'll have to explain away to every local bus driver until next May, now that I have my brand-new for-university-students-only transit pass.

Hey look, kids--it's Stan Laurel's drunken uncle.

Still, it could be worse. Last year's pass photo made me look like I was related to Cooter from The Dukes of Hazzard.

Thanks to the internet, I now also know that Cooter had his own action figure:









'Tis a signal honour indeed to be immortalized thus. This surely must rank as one of Memorabilialand's most sought-after collectibles, right up there with the Corporal Klinger action figure from M*A*S*H.

I hope nobody's reading this just before bedtime. I don't want to be responsible for any nightmares.