Meep

Meep.

Quick! I Think I Smell Phosgene

This picture from the Time Magazine website shows a bra that doubles as a gas mask. And I use the word "doubles" advisedly.

Not being overly creative, my mind is pondering just how the inventor of this hazmat protective device made the leap from the concept "mammary support garment" to the thought "poison gas attack". Perhaps his lady friend had too much beer and pickled eggs one night.

I guess I will never understand inventors.

Eleven-Eleven-Eleven-Eighteen

Canadian Parliamentarians Repeal Gun Registry

Time for me to enter the skirmish on the long gun registry issue.

I register for a lot of things. My car is registered, my retirement savings plan is registered, I registered this year at university, my dogs are registered, I register every time I go into a health care institution, I am on my municipal, provincial and federal electoral lists, I am a registered user on countless Internet sites, and my bank has more private information about me than CSIS.

Land possession is registered, and my children and wife are registered as beneficiaries of an aboriginal land claims agreement. In some places you have to register your bicycle. Certainly boats above a certain length are registered, private and commercial aircraft are registered, and you even have to register before taking books out of your local public library. My birth has been registered, and doubtless my death will be as well.

So what is the big freakin' deal about registering rifles and shotguns?

The most common complaint is "I'm a law-abiding citizen - why are you coming after me?" This misses the point. I don't stuff ballot boxes, fail to return library books, or have a secret puppy mill in my backyard. I don't jack cars, nor do I steal identities. So why should these gunowners feel "accused" or "singled-out" by joining in an effort to assert some sort of order on possessions which are potentially dangerous? We have a social contract by virtue of sharing the same space - we have to assure each other's well-being, and sometimes this means being transparent about our interests and assets.

Doubtless - the rifle and shotgun registry has been a shambles, with egregious cost overruns in its implementation. But that should not detract from the intentions - to inform police having to enter a house about any potential agent of harm they mught encounter, and to provide a way of tracing back stolen weapons.

My sneaking suspicion is that for the cretins who oppose gun registration, coming clean about their firearms is hitting too close to home. We all know the sexual association that guns have - maybe these assholes are too afraid of their short comings becoming public.

Stephen Harper, he has a very short wick
Hoeppner's got nothing, but then she is a chick
Layton, for his implant's awaitin'
And poor Ignatieff's is as thin as a Bic.

The Effect Of Northern Living Upon Circadian Rhythm

My post of yesterday led me to research the term circadian rhythm, and I chanced to come upon the graphic above. I thought "Cool. Let's see how I stack up against the average man when comparing the timings and sequences of my physical inner goings-on". So, here goes.

00:00 - Blood pressure skyrockets as I realize I will get no sleep once again this night because of the snowmobiles and ATVs racing around the town. Since I live on a "straightaway", the mufflers exude their most high pitched roar right by my bedroom window - imagine a mosquito buzzing around your bedroom raised to the 25th power.

00:05 - Parasympathetic nervous system activity accelerates. Trigger finger begins to twitch uncontrollably.

00:10 - Liver kicks into high gear as I try to drink myself to sleep.

03:00 - Olfactory nerves stimulated by the smell of an overflowing sewage tank. Gag reflex initiates.

06:30 - Entering Sleep Stage 2 (light sleep) - the noise has finally died down and the alcohol as finally kicked in.

08:45 - Entering Sleep Stage 4 (deep sleep).

08:50 - Sharp rise in blood pressure as alarm rings and I race to the office. Physical coordination most acute as I concentrate to do battle with the front door key for the office

09:10 - Entering Sleep Stage 1 (REM "dream" sleep). The floors are kind of bouncy, and my coffee mug seems to teleport all around my desktop.

10:00 - Bowel movement likely.

10:45 - Bowel movement likely.

11:30 - Bowel movement likely.

11:55 - Intellectual activity reaches its pinnacle. I finally finish that Sudoku that I've been working whilst on the throne all morning.

12:00 - Appetite peaks. Prostate leaks.

12:10 - Entering Sleep Stage 4 (deep hibernation).

13:45 - Adrenal glands begin to stir. Could that phone call which woke me up be the boss wondering why I was not in the office? Deviousness gene expressed, as I ponder excuses. Honesty gene suppressed, as I come up with a corker.

15:00 - Spatial relationship capacity developing, as I shift papers at my desk from one pile to another.

16:30 - Visual acuity diminishes - the clock on my office wall seems to indicate it is 17:00h. Already? My, how time flies when you work hard! Who needs glasses anyways?

16:40 - Lacrimal glands shift into overdrive. Upon visiting the post office and the airport I realize once again my liquor order would not be coming into town. Hyperventilation ensues.

17:10 - Physical strength maximized as I hoist my bloated carcass onto the couch. Breathing rhythm regularizes and endorphins released - Aaaahhhhh (drool), SpongeBob and Patrick!

18:30 - Peptic acids secreted. Whale meat again . . . . ♪ ♫ don't know where, don't know when ♪ ♫ . . . .

19:00 - Bowel movements suppressed. Anal sphincter surprised.

19:45 - Slowest reaction time: severe sleep deprivation results in dull dentrites, apathetic axons and gloopy ganglia. It takes a full ten seconds to retch after the fumes seep in from the sewage truck finally emptying my tank. No, wait, he's skipped over my house and is doing the neighbour's.

22:00 - Blood pressure rises precipitously - my heart grows three sizes smaller as I mull over, chew my cud, and reflect upon my continued prospects in this burg. Bile forms in mouth. No, wait, that's just regurgitated whale meat.

22:30 - Total collapse of all corporeal systems. I look down and picture my body lying inert in bed and there's some bright light burning off in the distance, getting larger and brighter with every passing moment. And I now hear a sound beginning to swell, emanating from that sweet light. Could it be the heavenly choir come to welcome me to the promised land? No, wait, that's just the first skidoo of night set out on its first nocturnal circuit of auditory assault in the perpetual Armageddon of my existing.

Hell.

Back in Synch

Welcome back to standard time.

As I grow older it is quickly dawning on me that I am getting increasingly obsessive-compulsive, and it has always irked me that during daylight savings time high noon in Salluit was somewhat closer to 1:00 PM. This has screwed with my circadian rhythms and sense of diurnal symmetry and made me a decidedly grumpy bear. During daylight savings I seem to spend all my time sitting on the porch screaming "Hey kids! Get off my snowdrift!!!" at the top of my lungs.

But as of today, you will notice a much kinder, gentler Nanuk. That is, until the municipal election results are known this Wednesday evening. Then I fear I will have to set my watch back to 1940. Dang!