Cul de Sac Blues

To the Bitter End

2011-10-30T20:33:00.000-03:00

You're in the back seat of a taxi as it motors into the Sack.

It's early in the morning so the cul-de-sac is quiet. Small trees line the sides of the street, one for each of the modest dwellings. You observe that most homes are decently kept and seem in good repair. Discarded bicycles and a smattering of errant toys make it easy to deduce where Sack kids reside.

On the left side of the street, before the taxi enters the Sack's centre circle, your attention is abruptly taken by Burning Manor's front yard. It's dotted with a haphazard collection of lawn ornaments and other doohickeys. You wonder, and rightly so, about the madness that lies beneath this bold display of creative landscaping.

Burning Manor, however, fades from view as the taxi moves in a counter-clockwise direction through the circle. The homes are a bit larger now and most have garages. You notice the immaculate lawn and gardens at Big Doug's house. You wonder now about the madness beneath such a bold display of landscaping precision.

As the taxi maneuvers further into the circle, your attention is drawn sharply to a house with a parched yellowish lawn. The attached driveway is covered by a sand-like substance that continues onto the pavement in front of the house. The porch stairs are littered with toys and discarded tools.

Before you have time to wonder about the madness that must lie beyond the facade of this suburban home, the taxi comes to a stop. You have arrived, it seems, at your destination.

Welcome to the Sack home of the illustrious Bitterman clan.

***

Today's entry reflects your agent's understanding of how the exterior of the Bitterman home became a shambles.

Over the last seven years, chaos has descended on the Bitterman home in a slow, progressive fashion. Sack residents are in unanimous agreement that it began when Maxwell, Britney Bitterman's beau, crossed its threshold for the first time.

Maxwell, of course, should be no stranger to past readers of your agent's scribblings. He has been oft-described here as a dentally challenged rounder and a wheeler and dealer in items of questionable value. On a more positive note, he has also been acknowledged as the best candle pin bowler on the Atlantic seaboard and the most outstanding interior painter east of Montreal.

Of course, the latter observations are based entirely on Maxwell's self-proclamations.

***

Mr. Bitterman's patience.

Sack intelligence reports that Mr. Bitterman had recently blown a gasket about his de facto son-in-law's paltry contributions to the family home. Maxwell and Mr. Bitterman's fragrant daughter, Britney now have three mouths to feed after the birth of a daughter last year. Unfortunately, Maxwell has remained only vicariously employed throughout his entire tenure on the Bitterman scene. Britney has been too busy with their young offspring to work outside the home.

It doesn't take an economist to figure out that Mr. Bitterman, still smarting from the departure of Mrs. Bitterman from the family home (another story indeed), has become a permanent benefactor to Britney and her man, Maxwell.

My pal, Oscar continues to enjoy a driveway relationship with Mr. Bitterman. This means that the two men only interact with each other when both are entering or exiting their vehicles at the same time. Mr. Bitterman uses these conversations as a personal confessional about the trials and tribulations behind his front door. Mostly, this involves lengthy tirades about Maxwell.

According to Oscar, Mr. Bitterman commanded that Maxwell would be solely responsible for yard work, garbage removal and the elimination of the debris field of strewn toys often stretching well beyond the boundaries of the Bitterman property. The toys belong to Hekyl and Jekyl, the two eldest lads born from Maxwell's union with Britney.

Hanging out at the Bitterman home

Hekyl and Jekyl were unleashed recently from the chains of infancy. At the crack of dawn, they're instructed to "go outside and play," something the feral young lads do with gusto. They also do it with armfuls of toys, balls and various motorized devices. Rarely do these items found their way back into the Bitterman home.

Mr. Bitterman's demand was based on the idea that if Maxwell wasn't going to be gainfully employed elsewhere, he should at least have his arse in gear around the house.

***

Maxwell's new responsibilities also included the quick removal of his battered 1983 Cutlass Supreme from the Bitterman driveway. Inoperable, it had been parked there for several years, waiting for a replacement thingamajig that never quite materialized.

The Cutlass Supreme, of course, has been a fixture in the Sack for some time. Big Doug says its presence has been responsible, more so than the economy, for a recent decline in Sack property values. I remain doubtful about this.

Not the real car, but close.

The decrepit vehicle is the namesake of Maxwell’s ill-fated business, Cutlass Supreme Painting. Despite assets consisting of the vehicle, an extension ladder of dubious ownership and a box of snazzy business cards, Maxwell found it difficult to find his entrepreneurial footing in the competitive world of commercial and residential painting. The chances for prosperity were further weakened when the car ceased to operate. Undeterred, Maxwell retained the vehicle as a beacon to the possibility of his company's resurgence.

***

While Maxwell can be fairly assessed as a ne'er-do-well, one couldn't say that he is not a man of his word. With Mr. Bitterman’s frustrated demands ringing in his ears, he leaped into action. He began by addressing the conundrum of the 1983 Cutlass Supreme.

Maxwell, of course, could not bear to simply tow the vehicle away. According to my other pal, Weed (the Sack's main correspondent on what's going on between Maxwell's ears), he intended to fix the vehicle. From there, he would either keep it for his own use, or peddle it for one of multiple, high-priced offers he claimed to have for its services.

Repairing the vehicle necessitated the acquisition of the illusive thingamajig, as well as some assistance from Maxwell's notorious cousin, Doug "Dougie" Duggan. Through Dougie's contacts in the underground world of bartered car parts, a somewhat new thingamajig was obtained. All that remained was the installation of it.

This is where things went downhill quickly.

***

Despite the combined, self-lauded mechanical skills of both Maxwell and his cousin, Dougie, the new thingamajig failed to enliven the 1983 Cutlass Supreme. Sack residents enjoyed an entire Saturday with the tantalizing sound of an engine that coughed and sputtered before returning to its slumber. Since Dougie's services were required elsewhere, Maxwell continued the task on his own as dusk descended on the Sack.

The guy Maxwell should've hired.

At some point in Maxwell's tinkering, a fatal error occurred. As Oscar describes it, the 1983 Cutlass Supreme "bled out" onto the sloped driveway of the Bitterman home. The result was a massive leak of engine oil and transmission fluid onto the driveway and the street in front of the house. Unfortunately, it was also dark when this occurred. Sack residents were then entertained by the sight of Maxwell and an irate Mr. Bitterman, as they frantically spread an industrial supply of kitty litter on the driveway and road, in an attempt to absorb the spilled fluids.

This accounts for the sand-like substance you observed when your taxi meandered into the Sack.

***

The tortured grass at the Bitterman home was the consequence of an attempt to fertilize the lawn. In short, on the weekend following the aborted vehicle repair, Maxwell burned the living crap out of it.

For some Sack residents, fertilizing one's lawn involves the use of a material approved under the old town’s strict, yet loosely-enforced environmental bylaw. Others, confused by the law, elect to let nature simply take its course. A few people couldn’t be bothered either way.

Maxwell, however, came up with his own unique approach to this complex issue of lawn maintenance.

Through his network of nefarious "cousins", Maxwell obtained a fertilizer that some believe originated in Chernobyl. Following the policy that "more is always better", he spread copious amounts of the stuff across the otherwise healthy front lawn of the Bitterman home.

By the following day, the front lawn of the Bitterman home resembled a drought-stricken prairie scene.

***

Persistence is a good quality in the measure of any man. No one can say that Maxwell is lacking in this area. He continued in his role as the caretaker of the Bitterman property.

Since Mr. Bitterman had decried the mess of Hekyl and Jekyl's toys, Maxwell took it upon himself to address the issue on a daily basis. Unfortunately, this did not involve instructing his boys to pick up after themselves. Instead, Sack residents have been amused by a new evening ritual. Around dusk, Maxwell roams the Bitterman yard and surrounding lawns, as well as the Sack's centre circle. He collects his son's playthings and, drawing upon his ample skill as a champion candle pin bowler, tosses them onto the porch stairs. When his nightly task is complete, the porch stairs appear ready for a hastily arranged rummage sale, rather than an entry into the Bitterman homestead.

In the morning, Hekyl and Jekyl simply play their way out of the house.

Of course, the children's toys are not the only items on the porch stairs of the Bitterman home. As a result of Maxwell's unique, "use and drop" approach when using tools and other hardware, Hekyl and Jekyl quickly claimed the implements as toys. Oscar reports that 6 year-old Jekyl was found in the Sack's centre circle, trying to use a cordless drill on a defenseless tree. Weed tells me that he was forced to disarm the younger Hekyl from a ball peen hammer. Apparently, the boy was in the midst of sculpting one of the ornamental rocks in the circle.

***

Sack trees before the winds arrived.

It is now autumn in the Sack. The leaves changed colour late this year. One could barely admire them before a series of blustery storms cast them from the trees.

Maxwell has since made a small dent in the collection of toys and tools on the front steps. Hekyl and Jekyl refuse to venture outside when there's a chill in the air. This likely accounts for more toys going in, rather than out of the house.

Many of the tools have disappeared. Apparently, Big Doug told Maxwell he'd kick his arse if he saw any power tools lying around, especially if Hekyl and Jekyl decided to use them next door on his property.

Mr. Bitterman blew another gasket after Maxwell's lawn fertilizing escapade. Sack observers privately wonder about how many gaskets the man has left. He ordered Maxwell to repair the mess. This involved the complete removal of the damaged sod, a truckload of top soil and a load of replacement sod. To avert the chance that Maxwell might arrange for the needed materials from a wayward cousin, Mr. Bitterman was forced to purchase these items himself.

Maxwell got off to a slow start in providing the labour for this task. It took him several weeks to remove the burnt lawn. A further week passed with a small mountain of top soil in the yard. Hekyl and Jekyl delighted in this. They spent the entire week digging and spreading the soil everywhere except where it was required. After a rainstorm turned the soil into a mud pile, Maxwell was finally forced to remove the pickle from his posterior.

By the first of October, the new lawn was finally installed. Apparently, Mr. Bitterman forcefully reminded Maxwell that it doesn't need to be fertilized this year.

***

The massive oil slick on the Bitterman driveway was another matter.

The kitty litter used to absorb the goop was shoveled into garbage bags and then taken away by the old town's waste management brigade. The remaining mess was sprayed with a garden hose. Presumably, it eventually found its way into the sewer. Maxwell completed these tasks under the watchful eye of Mr. Bitterman.

Sack environmentalists remain appalled.

A large, circular dark stain remains on the Bitterman driveway. It's easy to see now that Maxwell's 1983 Cutlass Supreme is gone. He arranged for it to be towed away after the repair fiasco. Apparently, on the day after the oil spill, Mr. Bitterman had implied that either Maxwell or the vehicle would need to leave his property before darkness fell.

Maxwell tells Weed that the wrecking yard (where, naturally, one of his cousins is employed) is simply holding the vehicle for him until better times descend upon him. He has no doubt that his treasured car will grace the old town's streets once again.

***

Hope springs eternal.

Oscar says the remaining oil stain on the driveway is a symbol of Maxwell's influence on the Bitterman household. He could be right about this.

Nevertheless, when the sun shines in just the right direction, it's possible to observe a rainbow sheen on the surface the Bitterman driveway. Perhaps this is also a symbol of hope and a reminder about the inevitability of positive change.

***

Good God, Gordon

2011-05-23T21:04:00.000-03:00

The news spread through the Sack last January at the speed of a light switch. At least, that's how my neighbour, Weed described it. In truth, it probably took a full day to travel around the cul-de-sac.

That's still pretty fast, though.

The news concerned Gordon, veteran Sack dweller and grand poohbah of the now-dormant Sack Residents Society. Apparently, he had decided to sell his house. A prominent 'For Sale' sign would soon be posted on his beloved front yard. Even more surprising was the news that Gordon and his lovely partner, Gordette had already purchased a new home.

Gordon was leaving the Sack.

***

Most Sack residents eventually arrive at a common word to describe Gordon. They’ll start off by saying he's mostly a decent sort who means well. Then they’ll say he’s also a bit of a tit.


A Great Tit

This will be said with varying degrees of affection.

Gordon, of course, has his own particular ideas about how people should care for their homes and manage their lives. His position on these points could be described as follows: Everything should be manicured and in its place. Clutter and unnecessary noise should be avoided. Children shouldn't be seen or heard.

Any violation of these standards inevitably caused Gordon to sputter and whinge. This is why most Sack residents regard him as a bit of a tit.

***

Tit, by the way, is the Sack's word of the month for May. The word of the month for April was douche bag.

It should also be known that your agent has very little influence over word of the month decisions.

***

Gordon discussed the decision to leave the Sack with your agent a few weeks later. By then, the 'For Sale' sign was in place. He said a lot of things went into the decision. A good part of it, he admitted, came from his frustration with shenanigans that occur in the Sack. He said he was tired of the antics of Britney Bitterman and her beau, Maxwell. The storied affairs at Burning Manor, home of the delightful Dirk and Dora, didn’t help either. And Sack kids, as far as he was concerned, could easily be described as feral these days. As such, he could only imagine worse things to come.

Gordon also said that his lovely partner, Gordette, had a strong voice in the decision. Apparently, she isn’t fond of certain residents, either. She could do without noisy Sack kids, too. She agreed that it was time to find a better quality cul-de-sac among the old town’s suburbs.

None of this, of course, is surprising.

***

About four years ago, Gordon’s marriage came to a sudden and unexpected end. His wife had a career opportunity out west. Gordon didn’t want to leave the old town. The ending of the relationship broke the impasse. Sack observers, of course, felt there was more to the breakdown than this. Many thought his wife may have left for another reason: She got tired of living with someone who was a bit of a tit.

When his marriage ended, Gordon assumed sole ownership of his home. After a period of mourning and singlehood, he met the current love of his life, Gordette. While Sack residents were happy for Gordon, it was clear that the couple shared many similar qualities. This, of course, was how she earned the moniker, Gordette.

Almost two years ago, Gordette moved in with Gordon. She sold her own home to do so. It didn’t take long before she was sputtering and whinging about Sack matters, in the same shrill manner as Gordon.

It took even less time for Sack residents to realize that Gordon and Gordette had become a pair of tits.

***

Residents met the news of Gordon’s exit from the Sack with mixture of regret and good humour. In truth, there was probably more of the latter.

Big Doug was quick to say that Gordon was a good, responsible homeowner. He said the Sack would be very fortunate to get a new resident to match the man’s attention to home maintenance and repair.   At the same time, he said we’d also be lucky if we got someone who wouldn’t be a pain the arse, like Gordon could be sometimes.

Little Doug, still recovering from his recent dalliance with the Rock Church, called Gordon’s departure a mixed blessing.   He said Gordon was a nice enough fellow when he gave himself a chance to relax. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to happen very often. He thinks it’s probably best for Gordon and Gordette to have a new start together somewhere else. He says they’ll probably be happier. He could be right about this.

Weed says Little Doug’s use of the phrase “mixed blessing,” is evidence that Little Doug still has "a little bit of the Jesus" in him.

Little Doug says Weed is more than a bit of a tit.

***

Elizabeth, to no one's surprise, was taken by the impending loss of Gordon and Gordette. Along with her husband, Prince Philip, she’s one of the few residents who saw Gordon as a noble arbiter of decent and moral behaviour in the Sack. She said she has also given thought to leaving the Sack on a number of occasions. If the summer brings any more shenanigans to the street, she says she just might do it, too.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s husband, Prince Philip is unemployed right now. It’s unlikely that they’ll sell until that matter is resolved.

Getting ready for the move to the Sack.

After only a few minutes of lamenting Gordon’s departure, Elizabeth speculated about the horrors ahead for the Sack. She has full expectations that a group of hillbillies will decide to purchase Gordon's home.

Apparently, this is the kind of luck she has come to expect.

***

One can only imagine that Sack kids breathed a sigh of relief when they heard about Gordon’s departure. They were very aware of his tendency toward sputtering and whinging. More than a few of them had been subjected to it.

It’s quite possible that they also viewed him as a bit of a tit.

***

It is May now. Gordon and Gordette moved out at the beginning of the month. So far, the Sack seems to be surviving their absence.

The new owners of Gordon’s place have yet to move in. Big Doug says they take possession of it at the end of this month. No one has any idea about their identity. This, however, hasn’t stopped speculation about them.

Oscar says it’s unlikely we’ll get a pair of tits quite like Gordon and Gordette again. He says this is the law of probability at work. Instead, he said we should be worried about knobs. Apparently, there are a lot more of those out there than tits.

I suppose we’ll soon find out.

***

Holy Smokes

2011-02-06T12:32:00.010-04:00

BLOGGUS INTERRUPTUS: Your agent has been busy moving mountains and then carefully putting them back where they belong. I haven't been able to get anywhere near the blogging machine.

Meanwhile, Sack news has piled up at an alarming rate. Great bales of the stuff fill the cul de sac blues head office. Today's yarn was spun from a half-standing position more likely to be seen in a yoga class.

I think I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

***

Little Doug found God last July. Sadly, he lost him again before November passed.

His brief bout with piety began when he met a woman named Charleen. They found each other through an online dating site. Charleen was a buxom, fifty-something blonde with a face Oscar likes to describe as experienced.

Buxom?

Charlene made it clear from the start that she was a born-again Christian. This characteristic did not deter Little Doug in the least. When asked about it, he pointed to her pleasant demeanor and shared interest in camping and fishing as the source of his attraction. Her spiritual rebirth, as far as he was concerned, was just a secondary characteristic, like a fondness for shopping or collecting spoons from abroad.

Weed, Little Doug's de facto son-in-law, thought otherwise when it came to this matter of attraction. He found it hard to imagine that the buxom blonde thing did not fall into the equation somewhere, likely at the beginning of it.

Buxom, by the way, was the Sack's word of the month last August.

***

Rockin' the Rock Church

It did not take long, however, for Little Doug to embrace Charleen's evangelical zeal. Within weeks of their first date, he was in regular attendance at the local Rock Church. This is where Charleen found and maintained her redemption.

Sack observers were only mildly amused by Little Doug's sudden plunge into evangelical waters. Big Doug said he didn't give a monkey's arse about peoples spiritual activities as long as they kept it to themselves and maintained a decent front lawn.

Computer Doug was even more nonchalant about the matter.

"Whatever floats his boat," he said, "is fine with me."

***

Weed and Daisy, Little Doug's daughter, had a very different view of the situation. After a month at the Rock Church, Little Doug quickly became a frequent source of frustration on the home front.

It began with his insistence at saying grace before every meal. At first, Daisy and Weed were happy to accommodate the ritual, out of respect for Little Doug's exuberance for his burgeoning relationship with Charleen.

"Don't get me wrong," said Weed, during a chinwag with Oscar and your agent at the local coffee cathedral, "I'm okay with a quick 'Thanks for the grub, Bub,' but it's starting to get ridiculous."

To demonstrate, Weed bowed his head in front of his maple sugar donut and launched into a lengthy monologue of appreciation directed at God, the Holy Spirit and St. Timmy, the patron saint of dead hockey players and sweet pastries.

According to Weed, Little Doug was also adopting a preacher-like position on most topics of discussion. By this time, he was seeing Charleen four or five times a week, attending bible study classes, group discussions and, of course, the twice-weekly sermons lead by Pastor Rick, the public face of the Rock Church.

The gist of Little Doug's message was that Jesus Christ had taken it on the chin for all of us. The least we could do is straighten up and fly right. He said a lot more than this, of course, but Weed said this was the best he could make of it.

***

For her part, Daisy was equally baffled by her father's transformation.

"Before, the only God-talk in our house was when someone sneezed or when Dad fell off a ladder," she said. "Now, it's all he talks about."

Until Charleen came along, Daisy said her father only stuck his head inside a church for weddings and funerals.

"Now," she added, "you can't get him out of one."

***

You would be correct if you're thinking that Daisy and Weed held a dim view of Charleen and her influence on Little Doug's life. In fact, the feeling appeared to be a mutual one.

One day, Little Doug suddenly raised the matter of Daisy's marital status with Weed. The couple is unmarried and their boy, Baby Doug is now an active toddler. Daisy, of course, reacted with something more than mild indignation. Backpedaling, Little Doug admitted that Charleen had noted her disapproval about their status and her reluctance to be in their presence as a result. Apparently, there was a risk of "guilt by association" in the eyes of the Lord.

Also, after listening to Pastor Rick, Little Doug added that he was simply getting worried that an unmarried couple with a child would not be looked upon fondly when final accounts are due to be settled.

Daisy, according to Weed, told her father that both Charleen and Pastor Rick should mind their own beeswax.

***

Pastor Rick (or Pastor Dick, as Weed refers to him) is quite a prolific figure around the old town. His frantic calls for redemption appear regularly in paid advertisements on the pages of the Chronically Horrid's Sunday edition.

Pastor Rick's writings often rage about the apocalyptic events already happening in front of our eyes. Weed says this includes, among other things, the existence of Lady Gaga and the Double Down sandwich. In Pastor Rick's view, the world is going to hell in a hand basket and we need to wake up and smell the coffee.

I have no idea about any of this.

***

The bloom fell off the rose, however, in mid-October. Little Doug suddenly stopped seeing Charleen with the same frequency. His attendance at the Rock Church also declined.

Near the end of November, Little Doug announced that his relationship with Charleen had ended. He said it was a mutual decision, but admitted that the "born-again" thing was starting to wear him down. Apparently, he was having trouble making heads or tails from what the Bible was talking about. Pastor Rick's "fire and brimstone" approach wasn't helping matters either.

Nevertheless, it was also clear that Little Doug was bummed out by the loss of the relationship with Charleen. Weed said he seemed to be spending a lot more time in front of the TV and barely broke a smile when he watched his favourite old television show, Hogan's Heroes.

"On the positive side," Weed added, "he's back to being what he was before, a bored-again Christian."

Bored-again Christian, by the way, was the Sack's word of the month in December.

***

A few weeks ago, your agent encountered Little Doug at the local coffee cathedral. We enjoyed a brief sit-down at a corner table.

Little Doug told me that he had now been smoke free for six months. He said he quit smoking at Charleen's encouragement, shortly after they met. Besides the obvious health benefits, she said quitting smoking was one of several things that would boost his profile when the time of reckoning arrived.

Little Doug said he had been thinking a lot about his dalliance with the Rock Church and his short-lived relationship with Charleen. He was at the point now where he could look for the positives in the experience.

"I've been trying to quit smoking for years," he said, "so meeting her and going to church must have been part of the plan for me."

Your agent nodded in agreement. "So, no matter what," I replied, "your chances of going to heaven have gone up."

"That's right," said Little Doug, "and if I end up in Hell, at least I won't have to bum smokes off the Devil."

***

Gnome Sweet Gnome

2010-06-20T22:14:00.002-03:00

It's our flag, eh?

More verbal shenanigans between Oscar and Weed. . . . .

It's rather common in these parts to hear someone adding "eh?" to the end of their sentences. Apparently this has something to do with being Canuckleheads. Oscar says It's a national trait to turn everything into a question. By feigning uncertainty, people will think we're dumber than we really are. This, according to Oscar, gives us an evolutionary advantage. The rest of the world pays very little attention to us, so we can go about our business with a minimum of conflict and rivalry with other countries.

I remain very doubtful about all of this.

Oscar, however, also had something to say about Weed's use of "eh?" during a recent stop at the local coffee cathedral. He said he detected a distinct "h" at the beginning of the utterance. This made it sound like "hey?"

Weed said this was ridiculous. The two actually argued about the subject for several minutes.

To get a bigger rise out of Oscar, Weed started to say "hey?" intentionally. Oscar, however, said it was no joking matter. He said there was a possibility that Weed had suffered a minor stroke. Small changes in speech patterns, he claimed, could be evidence of this. Apparently, he had watched a TV program on this very subject.

Weed replied that it was actually Oscar's health that could be in peril. He said he had watched a different program about aging and hearing loss. This could be the "beginning of the end" as far as Oscar was concerned.

This is how we spend our time in the suburbs as civilization erodes around us.

***

Things have been quiet at Burning Manor lately. Norma, Ben's wife, says it's because Dirk has got himself a new job. She garnered this news at Tuesday Night Bingo. This is where some of Dirk and Dora's people hang out.

Dirk at work

According to Norma, Dirk has found employment with another oil rig in the North Atlantic. He was laid off from his previous rig earlier this year. Now, he's back to working three weeks at a time, followed by three week furloughs back in the Sack.

While it may be quiet at Burning Manor, this doesn't mean the place has kept a low profile around the Sack. Dora, it seems, may be going a little bit crazy. This piece of information didn't come from Tuesday Night Bingo, either. Instead, it comes directly from your agent's eyeballs.

I pass by Burning Manor several times a day. During the last two weeks, I observed a bizarre transformation on its front lawn. The process started slowly, then picked up pace rather quickly.

Dora appears to have some kind of new and uncontrollable affection for lawn ornaments.

***

Waiting for a lawn near you.

I knew something was up when a full-sized lobster trap returned to the circular garden area in the middle of the lawn. Dirk introduced the cultural item as lawn ornament a few years ago. It didn't make an appearance last summer and there had been no sign of it this year. Sack observers thought they had seen the end of it.

Oscar says Dirk put the trap away because, aside from once snaring young Doo, it failed to catch a single land lobster. I remain doubtful about this, too.

Dora, unfortunately, didn't stop with the lobster trap. A day later, a small stone statue stood beside the lobster trap. It was a cherubic angel posed seductively against a small water basin. Oscar, of course, was the one who described it as seductive. It didn't do a thing for me.

The next day, the entire lawn was bordered by solar lights. Oscar said this was so Dora's father, Teddy McGnarly, could avoid parking on the lawn after a night at the tavern. For a change, he could be right about this.

***

As time passed, more lawn ornaments appeared on the front lawn at Burning Manor. This included a fibreglass imitation of an Inukshuk. It seemed rather incongruous beside the lobster trap and the cherubic angel. Oscar, however, said the inukshuk was likely for the benefit of Burning Manor's boisterous visitors.


The right path.

"It means, You're on the right path toward beer," said Oscar.

Before the two weeks ended, a mish-mash of ornaments were added to the mix. Some have colourful propellers and other wind powered whirlygigs. The final piece of the puzzle was the biggest. It was a small wishing well. It appears to be made of hard plastic and weighted to stay stable on the lawn. A planter sits inside the well, although, Dora hasn't filled it yet.

To say the least, Burning Manor's front lawn is looking a little busy these days.

***

Sack residents, of course, have been mostly appalled by Dora's creative endeavours.

Gordon and Gordette won't stop talking about it. Elizabeth is brimming with sarcasm, claiming that she's already contacted Canadian House & Home magazine. Weed keeps taking pictures of the lawn and sending them to his friends. Oscar wants to kidnap the seductive cherub and place it somewhere in Gordon's backyard. Big Doug says he feels like "doing a few donuts" on Burning Manor's front lawn with his pickup truck every time he drives past the place.

Young Doo and some of the other Sack kids are mesmerized by the ornaments. Doo has taken a few tentative steps onto the lawn to the get a closer look, while the rest, despite curious gazing at the variety of gizmos, have kept a respectful distance.

***

From my point of view, however, Dora's lawn ornaments can't be an entirely bad thing. Burning Manor might be an eyesore to some, but it's better than being an earsore. Things have been very quiet there for the past month. This is a welcome respite from late night arguments and drunken shenanigans. If a lobster trap, a stone cherub and a fake wishing well keeps Dora in a state of bliss, then I'm all for it.

I just hope Dirk doesn't cause any oil spills in the North Atlantic.

***

Watching Television

2010-05-16T19:29:00.023-03:00

See ya later, alligator.

A recent news story in the old town was the subject of conversation at the local coffee cathedral. Oscar, Little Doug and your agent were in attendance.

The story concerned the slow, but steady removal of outgoing mail delivery boxes on the old town's streets. Apparently, it won't be long before they disappear entirely. If you want to mail something, you'll have to go to a postal outlet. These are typically located in grocery and drug stores.

Little Doug said he hadn't realized his attachment to the iconic red mailbox until he heard about its eventual demise. He thinks it will be a shame to see it go.

"I like putting my own mail in a mailbox." said Little Doug. "I don't know why, but there's something satisfying about it."

"When was the last time you mailed something?" asked Oscar.

Little Doug thought for a moment and said, "Probably a few years ago."

***

Maxwell rolls into the Sack.

Last month, Oscar and your agent were drinking tea while reclining on his front steps. It was slightly after the dinner hour on a Thursday evening.

A white pickup truck motored into the Sack. It carried a large object in the back. This was covered by a blue tarpaulin and tied securely to the vehicle with rope. We watched as the truck backed slowly into the Bitterman's driveway next door to Oscar's place. The passenger door opened and Maxwell, Britney Bitterman's beau, appeared. His illustrious cousin, Doug "Dougie" Duggan, emerged from the driver's side.

Entertainment circa 1999

Maxwell and Dougie immediately began to untie their cargo. Eventually, the tarp was removed and Maxwell's latest acquisition was revealed. The object was a monstrous rear projection television. It was clearly a used, older model.

Oscar guessed that it was at least fifteen years old.

***

Maxwell and Dougie had to unload the humongous television from the back of the pickup. First, they circled it a few times, wisely considering the most effective manner for getting it off the truck and into the house. After a brief conference, they moved to opposite ends of the television. Maxwell positioned himself at the rear of the truck.

There were a few false starts as they started lifting the unit. When they finally got it up, the television wobbled dangerously for a few seconds, before Maxwell and Dougie regained control of it. The same thing happened when they tried to lift it again.

In Britney's opinion. . . . .

Britney Bitterman must have been observing these efforts from her front window. She appeared at the front door and bellowed at them. This was followed by a stern summary of what they were doing wrong and a shrill reminder of what they should be doing instead. When she finally ran out of steam, Maxwell barked angrily back at her.

When the ensuing five-minute argument finally petered out, Oscar said, "I'll say it again. This is why this place is still better than watching digital cable."

***

Eventually, Maxwell and Dougie maneuvered the TV off the truck. They carried it through the garage and presumably into the basement space that Britney, Maxwell and the kids use as their main living area in the Bitterman house. Given the size of the space, Oscar said the TV would certainly dominate the entire room.

"Of course," he added, "maybe that's the idea."

About a half-hour later, Maxwell and Dougie returned to the driveway. After a quick fist pump, Dougie got into his truck and left the Sack.

It's that time again. . . . .

By this time, Oscar had retrieved several bottles of drink to replace our empty teacups. He said it was as good a time as any to enjoy the first cold, outdoor beverage of the season. Your agent could find no reason to disagree.

When his cousin drove away, Maxwell noticed us for the first time as we sat on Oscar's steps. We had been partially concealed by the stair railings while the driveway shenanigans were going on.

Maxwell quickly sauntered towards us. There was a broad smile on his face. As he drew near, Oscar said, "Got yourself a new boob tube, eh?"

"Yeah," Maxwell laughed, "Boobs are gonna look pretty big on that thing."

According to Maxwell, he bought the television from his cousin, Darren. He's one of a legion of extended family members Maxwell has scattered throughout the old town. Apparently, Darren is some kind of wheeler and dealer in used goods of questionable value.

Maxwell said he bought the TV for one hundred dollars. "A C-note," he said, "that's it."

"That's a bargain," I replied.

"Damn straight," said Maxwell.

***

Oscar was curious about Maxwell's reason for making such a purchase. After all, it was an older model that had probably seen better days.

Maxwell grinned. "Not this one. It used to belong to a Legion. They only used it to show Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights. Besides, I saw it running before I got it. We've got it set up great right now. It's kick-ass.

"Anyway," he continued, "I got it mostly for the kids. When the new baby comes, Britney's gonna need something to keep the other two busy, at least 'til the older one starts school."

Britney, of course, is due to give birth this summer. Mr. Bitterman had already provided Oscar with this update. Apparently, he is less than thrilled about this latest addition to his household. Maxwell and Britney already have two rug rats, Hekyl and Jekyl. Mr. Bitterman said he loves his grandchildren, but he's not crazy about having to pay for them.

This is because Maxwell, according to Mr. Bitterman, never seems to have a pot to piss in.

***

Things are looking up.

Maxwell went on to inform us that things have been coming up roses for him lately. He's working full-time now in the world of traffic management. One might imagine that this involves standing at road construction sites with a two-sided traffic sign. Maxwell, however, gave us an insider's view of the occupation. Apparently, it's much more complex than the average citizen would expect.

The rear-projection television, according to Maxwell, was his first big purchase since getting a full-time pay cheque. This had occurred about five hours ago.

As he prepared to leave, Britney reappeared at the front door of the Bitterman house. Apparently, there was something wrong with the newly acquired television.

"What's the matter with it?" Maxwell called out.

Britney reply was short and sharp. The sound wasn't working. She told Maxwell to get his ass in the house and fix it.

Maxwell asked her if she was "farting around" with the remote control. This response sent Britney into a tizzy. She said her "show" was coming on in fifteen minutes. She added a vague warning about what would happen to Maxwell's carcass if he didn't do something about it pronto. The front door slammed behind her as she disappeared back into the house.

Maxwell gave Oscar and your agent a quick salute. "Well," he said, "I guess I should get going. As he turned away, he quickly added, "If you guys are interested in getting one of those TVs, let me know, eh? Darren's got a few of them. I can probably get you a good deal."

Oscar said he was satisfied with his current TV situation, but if he changed his mind, Maxwell would be the first to know about it.

"Same here," said your agent, "but thanks anyway."

"No sweat," replied Maxwell.

***

Last Wednesday, your agent was reclining in the Wonders' front room with his nose in a book. I was interrupted by a phone call from Oscar.

"Look out your window." he said.

It's common for Oscar to call with instructions that I should look out my front window. Sometimes, there's something amusing going on. On other occasions, it's something appalling.

When I looked out the front window this time, I saw Maxwell's giant rear-projection television at the curb outside the Bitterman home. It was surrounded by their substantial weekly trash.

"That's too bad," said your agent, as Oscar chuckled on the other end of the phone.

"I'll say," he replied, "I was thinking about getting one, too."

***

Traditional Fare

2010-04-17T07:19:00.006-03:00

Flowers growing somewhere else.

For folks in these parts, Easter brings the first long weekend of the year. The provincial government has been nattering on for years about creating a February holiday, but nothing ever comes to pass.

Oscar says the absence of a statutory holiday during the dark days of winter is disgraceful. At the very least, he thinks a mid-winter break would be good for everyone's mental health. He could be right about this.

For many Sack residents, the Easter long weekend is a four-day affair. On this basis alone, it's a highly anticipated break. It also represents an informal end to the grayish tones of another Maritime winter.

On Good Friday, your agent encountered Oscar as he ambled down his front steps into the glorious morning sunshine. The weather, as it would be throughout the weekend, was spectacular.

"Four days off," I called out in greeting. "It doesn't get any better than this."

Oscar smiled broadly in agreement.

"All I can say," he replied, "is thank God for Jesus for getting us some time off."

***

Cheese!

It's a pity there wasn't a roving photographer in the Sack during the Easter holiday weekend.

In the course of their weekend activities, Sack residents provided numerous opportunities for some interesting snapshots. Some people displayed the mundane and routine aspects of suburban life. Others certainly reflected its oddities.

Good Friday at Big Doug's house.

Big Doug offered a good example of both sides of this spectrum on the first day of the long weekend. Generally, he's known for his fervent attention to lawn maintenance and snow removal. April, however, is the no-man's-land between those seasons. It's too late to shovel and too early to mow. This leaves Big Doug with only one other significant activity to pursue.

He washes his truck.

***

While this may seem like a routine matter for some, it's serious business as far as Big Doug is concerned. He doesn't just wash his vehicle, as much as he gives it a thorough, loving cleansing.

Shortly after half-past eight in the morning on Good Friday, Big Doug's open garage door revealed a flurry of activity. For the first half hour, he organized the various tools and materials required for the job. His preparations seemed almost ritualistic in nature.

Big Doug as a kid.

Once everything was assembled, Big Doug carefully and repeatedly washed his truck inside and out. It was a sight to behold. His concentration and attention to detail was astonishing. Every nook and cranny bore inspection and careful cleaning. In total, the entire process took about four hours. I don't think he took a break during the entire period.

To say the least, Big Doug's truck received a very serious washing.

***

Oscar was most impressed by the fact that Big Doug actually washes his truck. He said he couldn't remember the last time he washed his own vehicle. It never seems to cross his mind as something to do.

"Besides," he added, "I thought that's what rain is for."

Weed, however, was awed by Big Doug's marathon truck washing effort. He said people do a lot of crazy things, but as long as they're not hurting themselves or others, we should give them our respect.

"If washing your truck for four hours floats your boat," he said, "then knock yourself out."

***

A curious lens would surely have fallen on Computer Doug over the Easter long weekend.

Your agent first encountered him early on Good Friday afternoon. This wasn't long after Big Doug finally finished washing his truck. I was returning from a pleasant run in the old town. Computer Doug was picking up his morning newspaper. We stopped for a brief driveway conversation.

Not Computer Doug

Computer Doug has a distinctive flair when it comes to suburban leisurewear. On this particular day, he wore a pair of orange sweatpants and a faded, baby blue Tears for Fears concert T-shirt. On his feet were his customary bear claw slippers. A tangled mass of hair swirled atop his skull.

Computer Doug explained that he had just recently awakened from a lengthy slumber. He said he was enjoying a brief period of wakefulness before returning to bed for an afternoon nap. Apparently, his wife, Marion was gone with their kids until the supper hour.

"That sounds like a good way to spend a day," said your agent.

Computer Doug nodded his agreement. He said there was only one thing on his to-do list for the entire day. Later, he had to go out to pick up an order of fish and chips for the family meal.

Eat me.

According to Computer Doug, Marion insists on eating fish for supper on Good Friday. She says it's a tradition that she's bound to follow regardless of his opinion on the matter.

Despite being the only item on his to-do list, Computer Doug expressed some dissatisfaction with Marion's requirement for fish and chips. He couldn't see anything wrong with having an old fashioned Easter ham.

Marion's requirement for fish, according to Computer Doug, had nothing to do with her religious beliefs. He said she was simply honouring her late mother's devotion to the same tradition. Marion's mother, he noted, observed the practice for the same reason. Her mother forbade her family from eating animal meat on Good Friday.

"No one in her family has been religious for two or three generations," said Computer Doug, "so no one has the slightest idea why they only eat fish. But apparently, Marion's mother and her grandmother will be rolling in their graves if we barbeque a steak on Good Friday."

"God forbid," replied your agent.

"You've got that right," said Computer Doug. With a wave of his newspaper, he hitched up his orange sweat pants and walked back to his house.

***

Go fish.

On Easter Monday, I encountered Computer Doug again. He was leaving the local coffee cathedral with a take-out order. I inquired about his welfare and whether he enjoyed his Good Friday fish and chips.

"Please," said Computer Doug, "don't get me going. Fish have caused me a lot of trouble lately."

Apparently, a lot of people in the old town are crazy for fish and chips on Good Friday. The first place Computer Doug visited was packed with customers. He said the anticipated wait for take-out orders was over half an hour.

"That's ridiculous," he said.

Unwilling to wait, he went to another fish and chip shop. There was a big line-up there, too. It was even longer than the first one. This one extended onto the street.

Computer Doug said there was only one other fish and chip in the old town that came to his mind. He was en route to this establishment when he passed a roadside purveyor of fresh fish. This is a common sight in the old town. Commercial fishermen make some extra money by selling their catch from the back of a pick-up truck.

On the spot, Computer Doug decided he would stop to investigate the fisherman's goods. A handwritten sign by the truck indicated there was smoked mackerel and scallops available.

"I thought it would be even better than fish and chips," said Computer Doug.

He purchased a quantity of both products. He was the only customer, so he didn't have to wait. Even better, the seafood actually cost less than a family-size order of fish and chips.

***

Holy Mackerel!

Computer Doug said he was unprepared for the negative reaction to the seafood when he got home. He was expecting to be congratulated for his ingenuity and adherence to Marion's suspect family tradition.

Instead, he discovered that Marion has no stomach for mackerel. She only eats scallops to be polite. Computer Doug's two young boys were equally disappointed. His youngest declared the mackerel to be "gwoss." The eldest believed the scallops to be revolting, if not a little bit frightening. More important, both were livid about the absence of french fries.

"In other words," said Computer Doug, "I blew it."

***

There was only one way to rectify the situation.

He went back to the first fish and chip shop and stood in line. The wait was even longer than when he first visited. He said it was well after seven o'clock in the evening when he got home with the family's Good Friday supper. Marion was still upset with him. The kids were cranky.

The next day, he gave the smoked mackerel and the scallops to Little Doug.

***

If you're going to have a tradition, Computer Doug says you should at least believe in the reason for practicing it. This way, you'll put a lot more energy into things. He said he would've been happy to stand in a long lineup for fish and chips, if he felt it was a righteous thing to do.

"But I guess I'm not prepared to line up at a fish and chip shop just because my mother did it."

***

Sound Bites

2010-03-24T20:03:00.009-03:00

'Splendid' is the Sack's word of the month for March. Your agent was solely responsible for the selection.

I used the word about three weeks ago when Computer Doug casually inquired about my recent visit to the US.

"It was a splendid trip," I replied.

Later, I pondered my use of the word. It's not one I utter frequently. I don't hear others using it very much, either.

I supposed I liked the sound of the word, because I started to use it more often. Florence, the Wonders' next-door neighbour, purchased a new car recently. When she asked my opinion of it, I said it was splendid.

I said the same thing when Big Doug asked about my welfare. In that case, of course, I said I was doing splendidly.

The word was invoked later that day during a conversation with Oscar and Weed at the local coffee cathedral. Weed was talking about our recent spate of sunny skies and double-digit temperatures. Nodding my agreement, I said it had been a splendid spring, even though it was really wasn't spring yet. Oscar immediately announced that 'splendid' should be the Sack's word of the month.

"That," I replied, "would be a splendid idea."

You have to find your amusements somewhere in the waning days of winter.

***

"One man's noise is another man's music."

Weed made the above comment during a discussion on the front steps of the Wonders' house. It was early in the afternoon on a splendid Saturday in the Sack.

The subject at hand was a phenomenon that occurred on the previous Thursday.

On this occasion, it was just after the supper hour. The sun was still shining and for the first time since autumn, the temperature outside was quite agreeable. As your agent and Mrs. Wonders concluded their evening meal, a strange sound suddenly emanated from the street.

It was the sound of children playing.

***

Kids today.

With the advent of digital doodads, one could reasonably say that children don't play like they did in previous generations. There seems to be more indoor activities now. There's probably less group play, too.

In the Sack, kids are far less likely to play outdoors during the winter. The only exception is young Doo. He's outside constantly throughout the year. Unfortunately, most of his play involves digging, shoveling and breaking things.

The rest of the Sack kids, however, rarely seem to gather outdoors during winter. When they do, it's usually not for long.

***

Old codgers.

Your agent remembers childhood in a much different manner. We were outside with hockey sticks in hand right after the morning cartoons. Sometimes, we'd even skip the cartoons if conditions were particularly favourable for hockey.

Oscar and Weed recalled the same experience even though we grew up in different parts of the country. We also agreed that we roamed further afield from our homes in pursuit of play at a much younger age.

We also recognized that we're slowly becoming old codgers.

***

When outdoor temperatures rise, today's Sack kids finally make their appearance. Oscar says they're like migrating geese. They suddenly show up en masse in the Sack's centre circle.

He was talking about the kids, of course. Not the geese.

When Sack kids made their debut last Thursday, the neighbourhood soundscape was suddenly altered. There was screaming, squealing, shouting and laughter. The dull thud of a bouncing ball and the clatter of running shoes kept a steady beat.

It was like someone cranked up a stereo.

***

Who wants to make noise?

In the days that followed, a number of Sack residents mentioned the sudden appearance of the children. It was interesting to hear their opinions on the matter.

Folks with kids were generally in agreement that it was good to see the little buggers get out of the house for a change. At least, that's how Computer Doug phrased it. It might have been noisy outside, but he said it was peaceful and quiet at his house for the first time in ages.

Big Doug, on the other hand, compared the kids' arrival to the appearance of the first mosquitoes of the season. He said a few of them would probably benefit from a good swat on the arse, too.

He was talking about the kids, of course. Not the mosquitoes.

***

Oscar, Weed and your agent were certainly in agreement about Sack kids and their enthusiastic play. It was a pleasant sound indeed.

Your agent would far rather hear the sound of frolicking children than the incessant drone of lawnmowers, weed clippers and other gas-powered contraptions. It certainly beats the noise from late night street theater at Burning Manor, too.

Sack kid in the future.

Oscar, however, did make a good observation about the current crop of Sack kids. They are certainly noisier than the last group of kids who played on the street. This would include Oscar's seventeen year-old boy, Dorian and his pals. They wouldn't be caught dead hanging around a suburban cul-de-sac now.

There is probably some truth in Oscar's observation. In fairness, the newest bunch are still very young children. Only a handful are older than seven years. Most of them have barely started school.

Nevertheless, Weed says there is already evidence that these kids are unique in comparison to the graduating class of Sack residents' offspring.

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt," said Weed, "they're the dorkiest kids I've seen in a long time."

***

According to Weed, one must only observe the nature of their play to see the dorkiness in Sack kids. Haphazard, he said, is the only way to describe it.

"It's like they don't know what to do with themselves."

There is probably some truth in this, too. It's quite a sight to observe the kids in action. They seem to bolt out of their homes at the same time. Each kid appears to be in a frenzy. They whoop and holler as they sprint onto the street from different directions.

Once assembled near the Sack's centre circle, they engage in some kind of primitive street dance. One little boy is particularly adept at pirouettes. Another seems to have quite a knack for interpretative dance. At least, that's how Weed describes it.

Get the round thing!

The dancing, however, is brief. There's a sudden pause as if they're unsure about what to do next. Seconds later, a plastic ball materializes and the throng of children pursue it like prey. However, there seems to be no rhyme or reason for the chase. No one seems to know what to do with the ball when it's captured.

Eventually, the ball is thrown in the air and the chase continues.

***

The ball chasing does not last long. Suddenly, Sack kids are careening around the centre circle aboard a varied collection of bicycles, tricycles and scooters. Most of the bikes have training wheels.

The trikes, bikes and scooters, however, are soon discarded. The kids clamour over the rocks in the centre circle and make half-hearted, hopeless attempts to scale the small group of trees.

Alien messaging tools.

Moments later, they're writhing on the pavement with coloured chalk in hand. A great deal of scribbling and scraping ensues. When they're done, Oscar says their writing looks like some kind of alien message.

This artistic activity doesn't last very long either. This is rather unfortunate because it's the only time when the kids aren't screaming at the top of their lungs.

In the next moment, they're back at the pointless ball-chasing. Then the bikes and scooters reappear. They run around a bit more, before returning to the pavement with their chalk. This entire cycle of activities continues several more times in rapid succession.

Oscar says watching Sack kids play is like watching a Japanese game show. There's lots of screaming and squealing and it's not exactly clear about the point of things.

***

The problem, in Weed's opinion, is that the newest generation of Sack kids are lacking in any physical dexterity. None seem to have any emerging sense of coordination or athleticism. They also seem to have little knowledge of any formal games. As a result, their play is scattered and disjointed. The only common denominator is the constant screaming and screeching.

Oscar, however, says it may simply be a matter of time before they calm down. He thinks they're still trying to get used to the fact that they're actually outside. Once they calm down, he says we'll probably see them in a different light. He could be right about this.

So as spring descends upon the old town and summer beckons, one can only hope that Sack kids will settle down a little bit. Perhaps their play will be more relaxed and take place at a lower volume.

Either way, their presence on the street must be seen in a positive light. It means they're happy to be alive and that warmer days are ahead.

That's a splendid thing on both counts.

***

Fun and Games

2010-03-06T21:50:00.006-04:00

On the strength of a partially completed Bachelor of Arts degree in English, Oscar fancies himself as the Sack's arbiter of grammar and pronunciation.

When the recent Winter Olympics began in Vancouver, he moaned about the lazy verbal skills of the local populace.

"Every time I turn around," he said, "people are talking about the 'Lympics'."

From Oscar's point of view, folks were cutting corners with impudence by not articulating the 'O'. He ranted about it during a recent gathering at the local coffee cathedral with your agent and Weed. The subject arose when he accused Weed of this same offense.

Weed chewed on a maple sugar donut during Oscar's tirade. When he finished the donut, he looked at your agent and asked:

"When did 'Scar get so 'pinionated?"

***

Like many Canuckleheads, the Winter Olympics drew the rapt attention of Sack residents.

Weed was so moved by the exploits of our country's athletes, he spray-painted his emotions on the pile of snow in the Sack's centre circle. He used some green paint when he ran out of the red stuff.

Others on the street roundly applauded his efforts. Gordon, the Sack's resident hand wringer, was the sole exception.

When your agent encountered Gordon at the local shopping emporium, he was quick to point out that Weed's unauthorized use of the Olympic logo could result in legal action by the proper authorities.

Weed says Gordon has no 'Lympic spirit at all.

***

Weed's artwork wasn't the only evidence of national spirit around the Sack.

Ben, a senior cook in the Canadian Forces, proudly flew a Team Canada flag on his car throughout the Games. Florence, Marion and Gordette were observed with those ubiquitous red mittens flogged by a national, foreign-owned department store.

Oscar chose a more unique method for displaying his nationalist ardor.

When the Games began, he vowed to remain unshaven until the Canadian men's hockey team won the coveted gold medal.

If Canada didn't win, Oscar would be stuck with the beard for at least another four years. He said he had already considered this possibility, but was certain that "we shall prevail."

By the time the gold medal hockey game began, Weed observed that Oscar looked more like a criminal than a patriot.

***

The success of the Canadian men's hockey team was a very serious matter around the Sack. Amid the corporate hype and the media hyperbole, hockey really does matter to many Canuckleheads.

There are probably many reasons for this, although only a few likely have anything to do with hockey.

Big Doug's opinion on the gold medal hockey game was a good example of this devotion. He told me that none of Canada's other medals would mean anything to him, if our hockey team lost. He said it would be a real kick in the arse if the American team won instead.

Weed was also clear about his feelings on the subject. He said he couldn't imagine leaving his house for a long time if the game didn't go well. He said we probably wouldn't see him for weeks.

Oscar, who was present at the time, said maybe there was an upside to losing, after all.

***

Of course, Oscar was still adamant that a Canadian victory was essential. He said he had been praying about the outcome of the game for days. Although he's a declared atheist, he says it's always a good idea to hedge your bets.

Nevertheless, Oscar's desire wasn't entirely fueled by patriotic fervor. Apparently, his beard was driving him crazy. Gloria, his wife, wasn't fond of it either.

The next time he decides to do something stupid, Oscar says your agent should make a firm effort to talk him out of it.

"You can count on me," I replied.

***

Like folks in other countries, Canuckleheads are often communal when the big game is on television. Last Sunday, a number of Sack residents hosted gatherings to watch the gold medal game between Canada and the United States.

Little Doug's entire extended family arrived at his house. Elizabeth and her husband, Prince Phillip were welcomed at Gordon's house along with some mutual friends. Ben and Norma hosted a large number of Ben's military co-workers. Big Doug went to a gathering at his brother's house.

The residents of Burning Manor certainly did not pass up a prime opportunity for a Sunday drink-fest. The game didn't start until after 4 pm, but Dirk and Dora had a full house by half past the noon hour.

Dora's father, Teddy McGnarly was clearly geared up for the match. Just before noon, he came bounding down the front steps of Burning Manor. It was about -4 degrees outside. Nevertheless, he was shirtless and wore only jeans and a pair of slippers.

He walked to his truck and retrieved a case of beer. While he was there, some of his compadres arrived for the game. Despite his bare chest, Teddy stayed outside and chatted with them for about ten minutes before they walked into Burning Manor laden with beer.

Oscar said Teddy's half naked appearance on a cold winter day was exactly the kind of fortitude the Canadian hockey team would need to win the gold medal. As such, he said this could only be a good omen.

***

Oscar might have been right about the omen. The Canadian team eked out an exciting overtime victory. Canuckleheads everywhere went bananas with joy.

The old town's Sidney Crosby scored the winning goal. This made it especially joyous for folks in these parts.

Oscar, Weed and Computer Doug watched the game at the Wonders' house. Almost everyone wore some kind of Canadian hockey paraphernalia. Weed actually wore his hockey helmet, but took it off in the second period because it was too hot.

The drama of the game kept everyone transfixed right until the overtime conclusion. There were highs, lows and moments of great tension.

When Sidney Crosby scored the winning goal, everyone leapt in the air. A great amount of hooting and hollering ensued. Spontaneous hugs and high five's followed. Oscar spilled his drink and Mrs. Wonders broke her glasses. Weed danced an impromptu jig. Computer Doug wept.

When the national anthem was played, everyone sang. We were off-key and our lyrics didn't match, but no one cared.

***

The Winter Olympics are over now. The hoopla has come to an end.

The excitement of the previous two weeks and the dramatic conclusion to the hockey game seemed to take its toll on Sack residents. Conversations about snowboard cross, speed skating and the skeleton have subsided. Attentions have returned to the routines of daily life. At least, that's it what it seems like to your agent.

Oscar says we're suffering from a post-Olympic hangover. He was very deliberate in pronouncing the "O."

***

A strong dose of Maritime weather has probably compounded our doldrums.

In the old town, strong North Atlantic gales and heavy rain have been the norm. The accumulation of winter snow has slowly eroded into smaller mounds of ice, salt and mud.

Weed's Olympic artwork is now unrecognizable. The flag of the cellar dwelling Toronto Maple Leafs, has replaced the Team Canada flag on Ben's car.

I haven't seen anyone wearing those funky red mittens.

***

Following the gold medal hockey game, Oscar quickly shaved his two-week old beard. However, he left a burgeoning mustache behind. Weed was quick to refer to it as a "70's porn star mustache."

Oscar has also refused to become winter weary like other Sack residents. The Paralympic Games, he pointed out, begin next weekend in Vancouver. There will be unprecedented television coverage of the event. He says we should be regrouping and preparing to cheer for our Paralympic athletes.

In particular, Oscar says that Canada's sledge hockey team will be defending its gold medal. Their perennial adversary, the United States team, is the current world champion. Another dramatic showdown is anticipated.

In his enthusiasm for the team's fortunes, Oscar has made yet another bold declaration. Apparently, he has vowed not to shave his mustache until Canada wins the gold medal in sledge hockey.

Again, this will mean at least another four years of the mustache if the United States wins.

"What do you think?" asked Oscar, when he told me about his plan.

Recalling my vow to persuade him from foolishness, I looked at the beginnings of his 70's porn star mustache.

"I think it's a great idea," I replied.

***

Burning Issues

2010-02-21T16:01:00.009-04:00

Press conferences are for the birds. I mean that quite literally.

My first ever press conference was held before a gallery of birds in the Wonders' backyard. A flock of American Goldfinches filled the trees before being scattered by the arrival of Little Doug's cat, Stephen.

After Stephen toddled away, only a Downy Woodpecker remained. I have no idea about his press association, but I suspect he works for some kind of anti-Guy Wonders organization. When I finished my update regarding Maxwell's latest antics, he seemed unimpressed.

"That wasn't very interesting," he said finally.

A brief silence ensued. The flock of goldfinches had been rather annoying with their barrage of questions. But this woodpecker was turning out to be a tough crowd all by himself.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way," I replied eventually.

More silence passed. Then the woodpecker asked, "You got anything else?"

"Not if you're going to be so critical," I said calmly. It takes a lot for a woodpecker to get under your agent's skin.

Another uncomfortable pause settled over the back yard. The woodpecker looked skeptical.

"Okay, he said at last, "what's been happening at Burning Manor?"

***

Dirk and Dora are long-time residents of the Sack. They are les enfants terrible of the neighbourhood.

The couple lives at Burning Manor. The house earned this moniker after it burned to the ground about five years ago.

Oscar says that event continues to be regarded by Sack residents as the "most crazy-assed thing" that has happened here. He could be right about this.

The years before Burning Manor went ablaze were like the earliest days of human civilization. Shenanigans occurred with great regularity. There were many incidents of raucous and riotous behaviour. Sleeping hours for Sack residents were nasty, brutish and short.

Back then, the old town's peelers didn't even need the couple's address when a call came in. Directions were unnecessary.

It took about nine months for Burning Manor to rise again. When Dirk and Dora moved back into their rebuilt home, Sack residents hoped the couple would approach their lives with more peace and serenity.

To some degree, that's what happened. Shenanigans still occurred, but to a lesser extent. Middle of the night street theater declined considerably. Peeler visits continued, but there were fewer arrests. Marathon weekend drunk-fests were eliminated entirely.

From an evolutionary perspective, it seemed that Dirk and Dora were proceeding in the right direction.

***

Unfortunately, your agent's Darwinian motif must end here.

During the last nine months, there has been some serious retardation in Burning Manor's development.

Shenanigans have increased significantly. Passions for alcohol and late night parties have been rekindled. Visitors to Burning Manor, according to Gordon, the Grand Poohbah of the Sack Residents Society, are up over two hundred percent since 2008.

This evolutionary regression really began last summer. Sack residents had grown accustomed to seeing Dirk for only brief periods before he disappeared for his three-week work stints aboard an offshore oil rig. As the summer unfolded, however, it became increasingly evident that Dirk was no longer employed.

Sack residents became aware of this change because afternoon parties on Burning Manor's back deck became the norm. These gatherings frequently turned into evening affairs. On one particular occasion in August, Dirk and Dora hosted what appeared to be a twenty-four hour booze bash that saw more than one visit from the old town's peelers.

Oscar says that particular party was either an attempt at a Guinness World Record for drinking endurance or an effort to eliminate the world's supply of Guinness beer.

He could be right on both counts.

***

Intelligence from Tuesday Night Bingo (where Dora's extended family mingle with several Sack residents) suggests that Dirk was laid off from the oil rig gig, but received a healthy severance package.

This information appeared to have some credence as the denizens of Burning Manor suddenly seemed to be flushed with cash. In July, Dora motored into the Sack in a brand new car.

This was a notable event because it marked the first time a vehicle graced the driveway of Burning Manor with a complete set of hubcaps.

Within a matter of weeks, however, Dora's new Hyundai Accent appeared in her driveway with a broken taillight and a significant dent in the rear. No information was forthcoming about the origins of the damage. Sack residents, however, said a collective prayer for the poor soul who had to exchange insurance information with Dora.

***

The renewed shenanigans at Burning Manor will certainly be fodder for future endeavours on the blogging machine. However, an update would not be complete without introducing its newest inhabitant. This individual arrived in September and it appears that he'll be a permanent fixture here.

His arrival is not good news for Sack residents. In the past, Dirk and Dora have enjoyed a motley collection of colourful boarders and short-term visitors. However, none would appear to top their latest addition. Since September, he has been the focal point of the following events:

Two visits from the old town's peelers, including one that resulted in his arrest.

Several late night screaming matches with unfortunate cab drivers.

Verbal altercations with Elizabeth, Gordette and Computer Doug's wife, Marion.

Observant readers of these pages will notice the similarities between the above events and Dora's past misadventures in the Sack. They would correctly conclude that an apple does not fall far from the tree.

Burning Manor's new inhabitant is Dora's father.

***

It should be no surprise that Dora's dad is a burly, rough-and-tumble character.

He's in his late sixties or early seventies, but he retains the appearance of a barrel-chested bulldog. His nose looks like it has been broken more than once. He also has an alarming shortage of upper front teeth. It has already been observed that he wears a set of dentures for special occasions only.

Oscar says those special occasions likely include court appearances. He could be right about this, too.

To cap off his rather unruly visage, Dora's father has a tangled mass of unruly grey hair. As a finishing touch, he has one other charming characteristic. By all accounts, he's a raging alcoholic.

***

Dora's father's noisy entrance into Sack life caused your agent, Oscar and Weed to grant him his very own moniker.

We decided that he resembles an aging brawler who spent his life as a hockey player in the minor professional leagues. In truth, his actual appearance is closer to a career criminal and frequent inhabitant of the correctional system.

In the end, however, we decided that an aging, minor league hockey goon persona would at least give the man an endearing quality.

After much debate, Dora's father was anointed with the name, Teddy McGnarly.

***

As a result of Dora's new car, Teddy McGnarly has been forced to park his battered pickup truck on the street. When winter arrives, however, an overnight street parking ban goes into effect. This allows snowplows to do their jobs.

Unfortunately, no one told Teddy McGnarly about this.

In December, the old town was graced with a furious snowstorm. When a snowplow arrived, the operator saw Teddy McGnarly's truck and promptly drove away. The Sack was left unplowed.

Naturally, this was observed by the usual Sack residents who stand on alert when matters of snow removal arise.

Gordon and Gordette, arms folded, stood together in their window. Elizabeth made regular appearances at her front curtains. Big Doug prowled the perimeter of his driveway like a lion, waiting to remove any errant snow caused by the plow.

At the slightest delay in snow removal or if a glaring inefficiency is noted, they're quick to contact the old town to seek satisfaction.

***

Within an hour of a telephone call, a snowplow arrived in the Sack and cleared space for a tow truck. The tow truck soon arrived and began to connect itself to Teddy McGnarly's vehicle.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Teddy McGnarly came flying out of Burning Manor clad only in an undershirt, jeans and a pair of work boots. A more appropriately dressed Dirk arrived on the scene a little bit later.

By the time Dirk arrived, however, Teddy McGnarly had already laid his hands upon the tow truck driver. The snowplow operator, who was stopped down the street, was also forced to intervene in the matter.

The peelers arrived shortly after that.

***

In the end, the peeler car took Teddy McGnarly away. The tow trucker operator removed the truck. The street, of course, was plowed to the satisfaction of the heavy hitters who lead the Sack Residents Society.

Thankfully, Dora wasn't home at the time or, at least, she was sleeping when the shenanigans occurred. No one is certain about this.

It also remains unknown whether Teddy McGnarly was charged with an offense. He was seen at Burning Manor the next day. His truck, however, did not appear for another week.

Elizabeth lives next door to Burning Manor. A few days after the affair, she had a verbal encounter with Teddy McGnarly. He accused her of calling the tow truck and the peelers. Oscar tells me that Teddy concluded his tirade by casting a pox on Elizabeth's house. At least, this would be the most polite way of expressing it.

Elizabeth, of course, was unperturbed by the casting of a pox upon her home. After all, Teddy McNarly's daughter, Dora has already done this on numerous occasions. Showing an uncharacteristic sense of humour, Elizabeth says it probably won't be the last time.

Unfortunately, she could be right about this.

***

Expecting the Worst

2010-02-14T19:15:00.015-04:00

If you were thinking about holding a press conference in front of a tree full of goldfinches, I wouldn't recommend it.

As my press conference continued, the goldfinches broke into another barrage of questions. I couldn't make heads or tails of anything. Once again, I asked for order. The birds were in the midst of calming when suddenly, they flew away. Your befuddled agent stood before an empty press gallery.

I was about to go back in the house when a shadow moved at the corner of my eye. Little Doug's cat, Stephen was perched on the deck rail. He was out on one of his bird-hunting trips. The mystery behind the abrupt end of the press conference was solved.

For a few moments, Stephen gave me an accusing glare, as if it was my fault that his prey had vanished. I returned his gaze with a look of indifference. Eventually, he hopped off the rail and toddled down the deck stairs.

I was about to return to the house when I heard a sharp, distinct sound. Glancing into the trees, I spied the distinct markings of a Downy Woodpecker. He was about six feet away on an upper tree branch.

"Is the press conference still on?" he chirped.

"I guess so," I replied. What else does one say to a Downy Woodpecker?

"Okay, then, he answered quickly, so what's up with Maxwell these days?"

***

Maxwell, Britney Bitterman's beau has not disappointed Sack observers during the last nine months. His antics have continued to amuse and amaze.

For the uninformed, Maxwell is a wheeling and dealing n'er-do-well who has ensconced himself in a comfortable Sack home on the sole strength of his talent for procreation.

Maxwell, Britney and their two rug rats, Hekyl and Jekyl have been living in the Sack with Britney's parents for several years now. Despite occasional rumours of a move to their own apartment, they seem destined for long-term residence in the Bitterman home. Mr. Bitterman said as much during a recent driveway chat with Oscar.

According to Mr. Bitterman, only a big lottery win is likely to terminate the current living arrangements.

***

Mr. Bitterman has good reasons for pessimism. During Maxwell's tenure at the Bitterman home, he has consistently demonstrated his inability (or perhaps, unwillingness) to earn a regular income.

Of course, Maxwell would be the first to explain about his extraordinary bad fortune when it comes to matters of commerce and employment. From his point of view, he has been on the cusp of economic success on numerous occasions, only to see his aspirations crushed by the devilish Lady Luck.

Cutlass Supreme Painting would be Maxwell's best example of this. This is the commercial painting business for which he serves as sole proprietor and chief
executive officer. The company's assets consist of its namesake, a battered 1995 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, a stolen fourteen-foot ladder, a box of simple text business cards, and whatever quantity of weed that Maxwell possesses at any given moment.

According to Maxwell, Cutlass Supreme Painting has been on the verge of securing numerous lucrative painting contracts. In the end, each gig has failed to materialize. As a result, the company's total revenue since inception remains somewhere close to a number resembling a maple sugar donut.

***

With the scarcity of work at Cutlass Supreme Painting, Maxwell faced the indignity of employment in the public domain. After a series of short-term gigs with other commercial painting outfits (amateurs who didn't appreciate the talent of the best interior painter east of Montreal), he found a full-time gig with the old town's waste management brigade.

Working under the supervision of his illustrious cousin, Doug "Dougie" Duggan, it first appeared that Maxwell had found his niche. After an extraordinary run of several months, he claimed that he was on a fast track to commanding his very own waste management crew.

Sadly, the job went awry after Maxwell suffered a shoulder injury at work. Apparently, he was demonstrating his acclaimed "Look, ma, no hands!" trick while perched on the back of a waste management truck. The resulting fall caused him to miss a considerable period of work. When he returned, his hours were sporadic. Eventually, the waste management profession determined that his services were no longer required.

***

For most of last year, Maxwell kept his distance from anything resembling paid employment. His only source of income seemed derived from peddling pot from the porch of the Bitterman abode. Thankfully, his delightful partner, Britney continued to bring in some cash from her part-time gig as a cashier with a government-operated liquor store.

In the fall, however, Maxwell stunned Sack observers with his announcement that he was stepping into a new career. He told Weed all about it during an impromptu discussion at the local coffee cathedral. This is where he takes his pot peddling activity when the weather turns cold.

According to Maxwell, he was about to enter the rarefied air of the white-collar world. Starting on the following week, he would assume an inside-sales position with a local lawn maintenance outfit. It would involve selling service packages over the telephone to an unsuspecting public.

Maxwell noted that his new career included a significant bonus scheme. With success almost guaranteed, he would likely quadruple his salary without breaking a sweat. In anticipation of this future wealth, he fully expected to take Britney and the kids to Disneyland by the time March rolled around.

It's very common for Maxwell to count his chickens before they hatch.

***

Of course, Maxwell's white-collar career lasted less than three days. He was two days shy of completing the weeklong training program.

Maxwell didn't say much about what lead to his departure. Apparently there was something about the company's misrepresentation of their bonus package. Most certainly, it had nothing to do with his absence on the second day due to an apparent "wicked toothache."

Mr. Bitterman provided the latter explanation during another driveway chinwag with Oscar.

***

One might expect that Maxwell would withdraw from the cruel world of gainful employment after yet another setback. And that's exactly what he did for the remainder of 2009.

In January, however, Maxwell displayed steely determination by landing a part-time job. He anticipates that it will become a full-time gig when spring arrives.

Your agent was the first to learn about this latest achievement. I was driving in the downtown quarter on a cold Tuesday morning. Traffic had come to a halt. The freezing temperature had somehow contributed to a broken water main. A work crew was holding up traffic to allow cars in each direction to navigate a single lane.

When I reached the worker holding the temporary stop sign, a very curious image materialized. Sitting on an upturned bucket beside the worker was Maxwell. He wore a white construction hat and a neon traffic vest. A take-out coffee was in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Maxwell smiled broadly in recognition and held up his coffee in a celebratory toast. I replied with a congratulatory 'thumbs up' and then lowered my window for a brief chat. Maxwell explained that he was on his first shift as an employee of a traffic services company. With great authority, he said it was the company's responsibility to manage traffic flow during significant road construction and repair.

Naturally, I had arrived during his first morning break.

***

Later, Weed learned that Maxwell secured his new part-time job through his connection to an existing employee. This was none other than his cousin, Dougie Duggan. Apparently, his career in the waste management profession had also turned sour.

Maxwell also told Weed that it's virtually certain that he'll be employed on a full-time basis when spring road construction begins. He expects to be rolling in cash before summer arrives.

His Disneyland plans abandoned, Maxwell has apparently turned his attention to a loftier goal. He says he's planning to save his hard-earned money until next year. At that time, he expects to have enough for a down payment on the Bitterman's Sack abode. Mr. and Mrs. Bitterman, he explained, would likely buy a condominium somewhere in anticipation of their future retirement.

Weed was emphatic that Maxwell outlined this plan with a straight face.

***

Sack observers agree that it's quite prudent for Maxwell to save his money for the future. This is especially so, given the most recent update on his fortunes.

Three weeks ago, Weed's partner, Daisy garnered some fascinating news during a conversation with Britney Bitterman.

Apparently, Britney had visited her doctor a few days before. This is when she learned about an impending change in the number of inhabitants at the Bitterman home.

Britney and Maxwell are expecting their third child in early July.

***

At the moment, there's no information available regarding Mr. Bitterman's awareness of this matter. As far as reactions are concerned, one can only expect the worst.

Resident Alien

2010-02-07T21:36:00.004-04:00

The press conference continued. Poised in the trees off the Wonders' back deck, a flock of American Goldfinches acted as my audience. Once again, they sang out their questions simultaneously. It was impossible to make sense of anything.

"If you aren't going to be civilized," I said with authority, "this press conference will be over."

An immediate hush descended on the trees. After a few seconds, a sharply coiffed goldfinch in the front row sang out his question. A press pass tucked under his right wing identified him as a correspondent for the dreadful Finch News Network.

I made a great show of ignoring him.

Seizing the moment, another bird chirped in with a different question. It was actually a Pine Siskin. Sometimes they hang out with goldfinches.

"Come again?" I replied, making eye contact with the bird.

Realizing that she held the floor, the Pine Siskin cleared her little throat and sang, "Are there any new residents in the Sack?"

***

During a midweek morning last June, a small cube van entered the Sack and backed into Gordon's driveway. A few moments later, a car arrived and pulled in behind the van.

Oscar, who works from home, was sitting on the steps of his front porch when the vehicles arrived. He said he was taking a well deserved break at the time. It was far more likely that he was taking a break from lying on his couch.

According to Oscar, two young men emerged from the cube van. Gordon and his girlfriend, Gordette got out of the car. One of the young men opened the back of the van. It contained a number of boxes, pieces of furniture and other personal effects.

It didn't take long for Oscar to realize what was happening. Gordette was moving in with Gordon. It was her first day as a new, permanent resident of the Sack.

***

About two years ago, Gordon's marriage came to an abrupt end. His wife had secured a new job out west. She decided to leave Gordon and their marriage behind.

This wasn't a great surprise to most Sack observers. Order and conformity are very important to Gordon. His fervent attention to his home and property is almost legendary. His former wife's nature, on the other hand, was more relaxed. She had other, more varied interests.

It probably didn't help that Gordon often rubs others the wrong way. He tends to hold people to his own standards. Not surprisingly, this leads to conflict in diverse settings.

These characteristics, as well as his irksome efforts as the Grand Poohbah of the Sack Residents Society, have earned him a reputation as a bit of a dink.

Over time, it appeared that his former spouse came to the same conclusion.

***

Gordon clearly struggled in the months that followed the end of his marriage. It took some time for him to find his stride again. It didn't take too long, however, before he met Gordette.

After Sack residents had some exposure to Gordette, it became clear to that she shares many of Gordon's values and characteristics. In fact, this is how she earned her moniker in the first place. Ben's wife, Norma calls them "two peas in a pod." Oscar says they're "cut from the same cloth."

I think we're running seriously short of metaphors around here.

***

Not long after meeting Gordon, Gordette had a nasty run-in with Little Doug. He had the temerity to park his truck along the Sack's centre circle. Gordette backed her car out of Gordon's driveway and promptly dinged the side of Little Doug's pickup truck.

In Gordette's mind, the accident was Little Doug's fault. He thought otherwise, noting that he was watching The Dog Whisperer on television at the time of the accident. A caustic verbal exchange ensued.

In the end, the matter was resolved. Gordette, however, had already proven that her union with Gordon was a match made in heaven.

***

Gordette has been living in the Sack for almost nine months. As Oscar puts it, she has only shown up our collective radar screen on a few occasions.

The most recent time was only a few weeks ago. She gave young Doo a proper, public scolding in the midst of the Sack's centre circle. Using a baseball bat, he had been striking a metal pole attached to a "No Parking" sign. He had been doing this repeatedly for about fifteen minutes. He was making an awful racket.

Gordette's appearance on the scene was actually welcomed by other Sack residents. Big Doug said he was considering a chainsaw when Gordette approached the boy. He said he was going to cut the baseball bat into sawdust. Oscar said he was thinking about chasing Doo with a chainsaw.

In a strong, even voice, Gordette ordered the boy to cease and desist with the baseball bat. He quickly recognized her formidable demeanour. When the sharp lecture was over, he turned on his heels and marched down the street toward his house, dragging the bat behind him.

***

It was appropriate that Gordette was the one to intercede when Doo was clanging his bat against the metal pole of the "No Parking" sign.

Not long after her accident with Little Doug, the old town's civic workers arrived and erected a sign on opposite sides of the Sack's centre circle. It was no longer legal to park where Little Doug's pickup truck was located when the accident occurred.

Some Sack residents were perturbed by the sudden appearance of the signs. Parking along the circle was handy when visitors arrived or when they were in a hurry. Some people wondered why they weren't consulted about the signs.

At the time, Gordon was in frequent contact with the local city councillor about other Sack-related matters. However, he denied any knowledge of the old town's decision to install the signs.

Eventually, the matter was forgotten.

***

Before Christmas, however, there was an small gathering of Sack residents at Big Doug's house. It was a low-key, drop-in affair to celebrate the holiday season. Gordon and Gordette were in attendance.

Mrs. Wonders had occasion to engage in a lengthy conversation with Gordette. Apparently, she's thrilled to be sharing her life with Gordon. She's also looking forward to helping Sack residents in dealing with the old town about various civic matters. She said everyone will be happy to know that she has some unique skills and experience in this area. This is because she has worked in an administrative capacity for the old town for the last fifteen years.

As evidence of her prowess, Gordette nudged Mrs. Wonders' arm and said, "Who do you think got us those "No Parking" signs?"

***

Weighty Matters

2010-01-25T21:27:00.044-04:00

Where to begin after nine months of silence? If each bit of Sack news were a snowflake, there would be a small mountain of the stuff to shovel.

A short time ago, young Doo (now at the lofty age of ten) was out in the Sack's centre circle. I watched him dig aimlessly through a mound of snow. That's when it occurred to me that I should just grab a shovel and move small bits of Sack news at a time.

But where to start?

Later, gazing out at the Wonders' snow-covered back deck, the answer appeared. On the feeders, a flock of American Goldfinches was grazing on sunflower seeds.

Suddenly, the birds became a throbbing mass of inquisitive readers of your agent's past scribblings. They sang out their questions about what has transpired in the Sack over the past nine months. It was like a press conference, except with goldfinches.

"One question at a time," I said calmly, "I can only answer one at a time." The throng of birds slowly grew quiet.

"Okay, then," chirped a plump male goldfinch, "Who won the Doug of the Year award for 2009?"

***

For the first time in recent memory, there was little
debate about the Doug of the Year (DOTY) award winner. Computer Doug made it too difficult for us to ignore him.

Simply put, Computer Doug made himself larger than life during 2009. He didn't accomplish this with a sparkling résumé of accomplishments. Instead, he did it by adding about forty pounds to a frame that was already on the portly side.

Computer Doug's weight gain earned him the DOTY award for one particular reason. Throughout the year, he made frequent declarations about his devotion to a healthier diet and a more active lifestyle.

Somewhere along the way, things went awry.

***

Computer Doug spent most of the year without a job. His last few employers have shared the alarming habit of going tits up. Oscar says you should probably start looking for another job, if Computer Doug shows up at your office as a new employee. He could be right about this.

After being cast into unemployment, Computer Doug added a few extra pounds in a short period of time. He was the first to admit that it was due to inertia. However, it didn't take long for him to declare his desire for a healthier lifestyle. His first effort would be to adopt a vegetarian diet.

Computer Doug opted for a step-wise approach to change. First, he eliminated red meat from his diet. He confined his carnivorous behaviour to poultry and pork. Gradually, he would embrace a full vegetarian position. This would include a ban on fish, something he admitted he didn't like anyway.

In Computer Doug's case, however, this new diet meant consuming a lot of poultry and pork. Apparently, he developed affection for a substance called turkey bacon.

By the end of summer, it was clear that his particular brand of vegetarianism wasn't working. His weight had increased by about twenty-five pounds. In September, however, he declared war on turkey bacon. He would become a strict "daytime vegetarian." This meant no meat of any kind until supper. The only exception would be Sunday breakfast.

It has been a long-observed tradition in Computer Doug's family to have a "big fry" on Sunday mornings.

***

Computer Doug announced in October that he had secured a new job. It's outside of his field of expertise, but the job will pay the bills while he looks for something better. Fittingly, his new job is with a company in the food business. Thankfully, they're not in the turkey bacon trade.

One might expect that a return to work would have a slimming effect on Computer Doug's expanding belly. Unfortunately, his weight continued to rise despite the successful adoption of daytime vegetarianism. He said it was a clear case of overcompensation.

"By the time supper rolls around," he told me in November "I want my meat."

***

Shortly before Christmas, your agent observed
Computer Doug and another fellow as they carted
two enormous boxes into his house.

Later he would tell me that the boxes contained the makings of a new electronic treadmill. He said he and his spouse, Marion were planning to get in shape when the new year arrived.

Patting his stomach, he said he needed to get rid of his spare tire.

***

Computer Doug doesn't know about his victory in last year's DOTY contest. He's also unaware that his treadmill purchase has created a bit of wagering around the Sack.

Oscar has started a betting line on the amount of time that will pass before the treadmill is at the curb during one of the Sack's yard sales. Weed has a side wager on how long it will take before the machine is used as a clothes hanger.

However, Computer Doug has made it clear that it might be some time before any bets are settled. Your agent encountered him on his driveway last Saturday. I asked about his progress with the treadmill.

"Kinda slow actually," he replied, "I haven't had a chance to open the boxes yet."

***

Here He Goes Again. . . . .

2010-01-23T22:13:00.010-04:00

"Jesus, it's January."

According to Oscar, this is what Canuckleheads like us would say if Jesus tried to impress us with that walking on water thing here in Canada.

Nevertheless, it is January and your agent has twice before threatened to return to the blogging machine. I'm skating on thin ice as far as credibility is concerned.

Let this entry be known as the third declaration of intent. This time I even changed the header image. That's gotta count for something. . . .

***

Pants on Fire

2009-11-02T20:30:00.005-04:00

Yes, about that "I'll be back in August" thing. I really meant to say November.

The Sack is still standing. Shenanigans still occur with some regularity. However, your agent has been too busy to give it any attention. This condition will continue for another few weeks. First, I must complete a working venture south of the forty-ninth parallel. If you failed geography, this means, in a rather loose fashion, the U.S.A.

Weed says it would be a good idea if every place in the world was known simply by its exact latitude and longitude. No more place names anywhere. He says people would get along better because it would be too confusing to figure out which countries they didn't like.

Oscar, of course, disagrees with the idea. He says he has a long-standing dislike for anyone who lives along the fifty-second parallel. It doesn't matter what longitude they live along either.

"I've got no time for the fifty-second parallel," he said flatly.

***

Our regular programming should resume before the end of November. Meanwhile, if you're American and you see a guy wandering around with his pants on fire, that will be me.

***

"I Shall Return."

2009-07-18T20:27:00.004-03:00

Where were we? I can't believe three months have passed. Your agent, of course, has been a busy man. Too busy, unfortunately, to get to the blogging machine.

The American general, Douglas MacArthur is the apparent source of the title of today's brief entry. However, my friends at Wikipedia note that "I shall return" wasn't uttered as a stand-alone sentence. It was merely part of the larger statement, "I came out of Bataan and I shall return."

Anyway, I've never been to Bataan and I don't know very much at all about military history. I shall, however, return to the blogging machine sometime in August. There's a project to finish up and then a driving vacation to the wilds of Toronto and parts north of there. After that, there will be more tales from the Sack.

The Sack has been a busy place during the last three months. While the usual shenanigans have ensued, there are many new developments to report. Young Doo broke his arm (again) and Weed has grown a beard. Big Doug suffered a major lawn catastrophe and there are several new Sack residents to introduce. Sometimes it's hard to believe the breathtaking excitement that occurs in a suburban setting.

Oscar, however, is still a dink.

***

The Season in Between

2009-04-12T16:30:00.003-03:00

As far as weather is concerned, these are uncertain times in the Sack. We're stuck in that no man's land between the end of winter and the arrival of bonafide spring conditions.

During the last two weeks, the old town has experienced two sudden snowstorms, a tantalizingly sunny day with low two-digit temperatures, and then a maddening number of days with every type of weather a meteorologist could imagine.

Oscar, Weed and your agent discussed this matter during a recent sojourn at the local coffee cathedral. At issue was the proper name to attach to this in-between season. It should be no surprise that a dispute erupted between Oscar and Weed.

***

Oscar was in favour of "wring" as the moniker for this arduous valley between winter and spring. He said it was a time where one could do nothing else but wring one's hands in frustration.

Weed, on the other hand, was fond of "sprinter." He felt this was an appropriate name, given one's propensity for running back and forth to change clothing or adjust the furnace according to rapidly changing weather conditions.

Your agent thought both monikers had merit. As a result, I had no preference that would allow either man to claim victory in the debate. This ensured a continued argument at the coffee cathedral and no hope of a resolution.

***

If there has been anything consistent during "wring" or "sprinter," it would be the fog. This should be no surprise to anyone living in a port city along the North Atlantic.

The old town, of course, receives fog in spades throughout the year. However, it seems even more prevalent these days. During the last few weeks, we've seen fog in the midst of a snowfall and during a predominantly sunny day. The rest of the time, the fog has simply hung over the old town like a dense, low-lying white cloud. At times, you can almost reach out and touch it.

Your agent, of course, is a big fan of fog. I like the surreal lighting it creates when it settles over the old town. I also appreciate its appearance when you rise in elevation somewhere and can look down upon it. At times, I even enjoy the cool dampness on my skin when I'm out and about on a foggy day.

Oscar, on the other hand, doesn't look fondly upon fog. He says there's something sinister about it. In his opinion, foggy days and nights are when crazy people are more likely to run amok.

"Only a serial killer gets a charge out of fog," Oscar said firmly, poking a piece of maple sugar donut in my direction.

Weed, however, agreed with your agent. He said he had no problem with fog. In fact, he said it had one major benefit in comparison to other types of weather.

"My hair," he said proudly, twirling a curling, wavy lock that dangled from under his pork pie hat, "is way more manageable on a foggy day. You wouldn't believe the difference it makes."

According to Weed, there's no product on the market to rival fog as a hair conditioner. He said it was too bad you couldn't bottle the stuff and sell it for that purpose.

"I could make millions," he said confidently.

***

The Sack's word of the month for April has been chosen. Once again, it's a phrase rather than a single word. Around the Sack, we're rather loose about this sort of thing.

This month's word is fog-related. Ben uttered it during a discussion with Oscar and Weed. At the time, they were standing at the foot of Ben's driveway on a foggy wring afternoon in the Sack.

Exaggerating his own Newfoundland accent, Ben apparently looked about and said, "Dat's some t'ick fog, b'y."

Oscar and Weed looked at each other immediately and then replied in unison, "Dat's the new word of the month."

***

Ben, of course, was thrilled that his phrase was selected as the Sack's word of the month. He's a big fan of these shenanigans.

Oscar said we should present Ben with a commemorative plaque to mark the achievement. However, Weed was opposed to the idea. This was mostly because Oscar wanted him to construct the plaque himself using Little Doug's vast array of woodworking tools.

Despite being unemployed at the moment, Weed said he had far more important things to do than make trophies for other Sack residents. His only exception, he said, would be in the construction of a plaque awarded to Oscar.

"It's gonna be called the "Dink of the Month" award," he said wryly.

***

"Dat's some t'ick fog, b'y" has been uttered numerous times around the Sack since it was acclaimed as the word of the month. Weed used it three times in one conversation before Oscar told him to shut his "cake hole."

"Shut your cake hole," by the way, was the Sack's word of the month for March.

Dora, the queen of Burning Manor, used the phrase during a confrontation with Elizabeth about her illegally parked car. That's a story for another day.

***

Despite the fog and the onslaught of sprinter, there have been a few signs around the Sack of the approaching spring.

In the first instance, we note a change in young Doo's play behaviour. Now that the block of ice in the Sack's centre circle has melted and the surrounding snow has vanished, the boy has discarded his various digging implements. His bicycle and a hockey stick have replaced those tools.

Doo rides his bicycle in a clockwise direction around the centre circle for what seems like hours at a time. It's no casual ride, either. Most of the time, he pedals like he has a particular destination in mind.

When he tires of the cycling marathon, Doo retrieves his hockey stick and proceeds to strike it against the pavement, the curb or the ornamental rocks in the centre circle. Sometimes, he simply scrapes the stick along the pavement as he wanders aimlessly up and down the street.

Doo's hockey stick shtick has proven to be rather unpopular among Sack residents who live around the centre circle. The sound of wood against stone has become a familiar part of the Sack's wringtime soundscape. Not surprisingly, someone will usually open his door and tell Doo to give himself a rest.

That's when Doo gets back on his bike and races around the centre circle once again.

***

The second instance of the changing seasons can be found in the street debris revealed by the departure of ice and snow.

In the centre circle, there's a piece of aluminum siding lying in the brown, muddy grass. It's the same colour as Computer Doug's house and seems to match an area of missing siding high on his west wall.

Computer Doug, however, denies that the siding originates from his house. Despite the evidence to the contrary, he claims it must belong to someone else.

Oscar says there could be two reasons behind Computer Doug's denial. If Computer Doug acknowledges that the siding belongs to him, then he must admit that his home requires some maintenance and repair. As long as he denies it, there's no need to do anything about it.

Secondly, Oscar says it's plausible that Computer Doug is simply following a commonly held convention among Sack residents. If there's a particular piece of debris on the street or even on your own property, you're not obliged to pick it up if it doesn't belong to you. The real owner of the debris is responsible for this.

This is also why there's been a plastic, camel-coloured shoe tray in the middle of the street for the last few weeks. The wind has blown it onto several lawns (including the Wonders') but no one (including the Wonders') has taken the initiative to pick it up and dispose of it.

***

In addition to the errant siding and the plastic shoe tray, there's also a dark, damp piece of clothing on the pavement near the top of the circle. It's closest to Weed's residence (at Little Doug's house), but he claims no ownership of it.

The most common type of debris on the pavement, however, is shards of jagged, colourful plastic. These appear to be the crushed remains of children's toys.

Like the rest of us, young Doo declined any knowledge of this debris. When your agent asked him about it, he simply shrugged his shoulders and then went back to striking his hockey stick against the curb.

***

Your agent also discovered the flattened, wet packaging for a hair colouring product on the Wonder's driveway. I've yet to encounter anyone who's willing to accept ownership of it.

In the coming days, I'll be keeping my eyes open for a Sack resident with Medium Bronze brown hair.

***

Our final sign of the impending spring occurred a few days ago. Oscar and your agent were chatting beside his parked car at the time.

As we bantered about, the front door of the Bitterman residence opened. A barechested Maxwell emerged into the foggy afternoon air. Ample portions of striped boxer shorts were visible above his low-slung blue jeans. On his feet was a pair of battered black slippers.

Maxwell stepped onto the top of the front steps and casually scratched the dark hair on his exposed belly. He lit a cigarette and then coughed noisily after the first drag. This was followed by a looping curve of phlegm that he spit across the steps and onto the lawn.

After a few more hits on the cigarette, Maxwell walked down to his unlocked and inoperable 1993 Cutlass Supreme. He rummaged in the back seat and then emerged with a small plastic bag. After tucking the bag under his arm, he took a few more quick drags from his smoke, before firing it onto the street with a practiced flick of his fingers. As he wandered back into the Bitterman residence, he scratched aimlessly on his left butt cheek.

Oscar and your agent watched Maxwell's appearance without discussion. The sight of a barechested, ass-scratching Maxwell is akin to seeing the first plump robin on your front lawn.

After Maxwell had disappeared into the Bitterman house, we continued to stand in silence. Oscar simply gazed out at the ceiling of white fog that hung over the Sack.

Finally, he turned to me and said, "Dat's some t'ick fog, b'y."

***

A Bitter Pill

2009-03-29T22:15:00.003-03:00

The Bitterman clan has been out of the Sack's spotlight for some time. This changed recently.

Mr. Bitterman, of course, is the patriarch of the family. He's a hard working man who seems to grow more beleaguered every year. This is mostly because of the trials and tribulations of his family.

Oscar is the Sack's primary correspondent on Mr. Bitterman's fortunes and current temperament. The two men enjoy a driveway relationship on account of living next door to each other.

Recently, Mr. Bitterman confessed to being at the end of his rope, as far as his family life is concerned. According to Oscar, his neighbour claims to be on the verge of "running away to Timbuktu."

To make matters worse, Mr. Bitterman is also suffering from some medical problems. A few years ago, his gall bladder was giving him "the gears." Now, he's complaining that he has "got the gout."

Mr. Bitterman has a certain flair for language at times.

***

Mrs. Bitterman is an interesting contrast to her husband.

For a considerable period, she appeared to walk through her family's troubles like a zombie. At the time, she was also at war with a bad case of menopause. She packed on a considerable amount of weight in only a few short years. It was rare to see her interact with other Sack residents.

Despite her increasing size, it seemed like she was trying to be invisible.

During the last year, however, Mrs. Bitterman has lost an impressive amount of weight. According to her husband, she's on some kind of fad diet. This involves periods of intense carnivorous behaviour, interspersed with grazing solely on various forms of vegetation. At least, that's how Oscar explained it.

In fairness, Mrs. Bitterman's weight loss should be attributed to more than just dieting. She has also been in regular attendance at a local fitness centre designed solely for women. Sack residents often see her carrying a mauve gym bag when she leaves for work in the mornings. According to Mr. Bitterman, his wife has been going to the gym "religiously" for the past eighteen months.

That can't be a bad thing.

***

Nevertheless, Mrs. Bitterman's renaissance has still ruffled her husband's feathers. He says she has become good friends with some like-minded fitness club members. In addition to their workout time, the group of fifty-plus women has been going out regularly for dinner, drinks and movies.

Mr. Bitterman says he has been mostly alone to deal with "all the family bullshit." Oscar says his neighbour is not happy about this at all.

***

Of course, Mrs. Bitterman is probably just getting on with her life, rather than becoming immersed in the constant drama provided by her daughter, Britney and her delightful partner, Maxwell.

Yet, Mr. Bitterman still has a point. Britney and Maxwell have continued to stumble through adulthood with no apparent sign of maturation. There are also their two rug rats, Hekyl and Jekyl to consider. While he remains a proud grandfather, Mr. Bitterman says the children are proving to be far more than he bargained for at this stage of his life.

"I can't believe there's still diapers in my house," he has told Oscar on several occasions. "I thought we were done with that years ago."

***

Maxwell has continued to be the bane of Mr. Bitterman's existence.

In short, Britney Bitterman's beau has proven himself, time and again, to be very adept at idleness. Consistently, he has failed to earn a steady income that provides any benefit to his young family. While Britney brings home some money from her part-time job at the local liquor commission store, they remain heavily dependent on the Bitterman family for their keep.

This is the gist of Mr. Bitterman's tirades when he meets with Oscar at their beside their respective driveways.

As a result of this situation, Mr. Bitterman says there's not even a hint on the horizon that his daughter, Maxwell and their offspring will be moving out anytime soon.

Maxwell, in the words of his de facto father-in-law, "doesn't have dime-one to his name."

***

Weed is the Sack's correspondent on all matters relating to Maxwell. He has provided us with some updates on Maxwell's view of the situation.

Maxwell, of course, was employed with the old town's waste management brigade. His career was interrupted when he toppled from the back of one their waste removal trucks. Apparently, he was demonstrating his patented "Look, ma! No hands!" trick. Sadly, a shoulder injury ensued.

The bum shoulder took Maxwell out of action for many months. He started to pick up a few shifts here and there with the waste management professionals, but eventually the work just dried up.

Fortunately, Maxwell claims that he's still waiting to hear about a disability settlement. He says he'll probably be "set for life" when the matter is finally resolved.

In addition to an upcoming windfall, Maxwell has continued to act as the Chief Executive Officer and sole proprietor of Cutlass Supreme Painting, a commercial painting enterprise. It's the most professional outfit of its kind among those that you've never heard of. At least, that's how Maxwell explains it to Weed.

Cutlass Supreme Painting, of course, has been in operation for a number of years now. However, it has yet to see a single dollar of income. This has everything to do with the absence of any real commercial painting gigs.

***

When he's not tending to their toddlers or under Britney Bitterman's watchful eye, Maxwell spends his time at the food court in the local mall. He's also a regular at the local candlepin bowling alley. This is a place, by the way, where champions are made.

According to Weed, Maxwell also spends his time peddling marijuana. Apparently, he's known as a low level dealer in low quality weed. This business is quite likely his only current source of income. However, Weed is quite confident that Maxwell likely indulges in enough of his own product to minimize any real financial gain. He could be right about this.

Maxwell, however, does remain with one enduring asset. He's still in possession of a 1983 Cutlass Supreme, the namesake of his commercial painting business. Both have value in Maxwell's eyes, even though neither has ever really been operable.

Weed reports that the vehicle recently suffered a burned out thingamabob. Maxwell says a new one is on order and is expected to arrive within a matter of weeks.

Mr. Bitterman, of course, isn't a big fan of Maxwell's 1983 Cutlass Supreme. In his mind, the vehicle is an eyesore fit only for a junkyard. The guardians of Sack aesthetics, Gordon and Elizabeth, certainly share this view.

***

According to Mr. Bitterman, the mobility of the vehicle isn't dependent on a back-ordered part. He says the real reason for the car's inertia is quite simple.

"Maxwell," he explained, "doesn't have a pot to piss in."

***

The family woes at the Bitterman abode have also been compounded by the recent return of their forgotten son, Jason.

Jason Bitterman is Britney's younger brother. He has been away from home for a considerable period. He left the old town when he joined the Canadian Forces. Now he's a three-year veteran of the Army. Until recently, he was posted to the military base in Petawawa, Ontario.

I like to say Petawawa almost as much as I like to type it.

Mr. Bitterman says the experience has certainly "made a man" out of Jason. Before he left home, he was considered impulsive and only sporadically responsible. Mr. Bitterman claims that his son is now lean and disciplined. Unfortunately, he adds that the young man has also demonstrated a new tendency to be self-righteous and hotheaded.

Jason has been posted back to the old town. He's also scheduled to deploy to Afghanistan later this year. Right now, he's staying at the family home as he awaits the purchase of his very own house.

It should be no surprise that Jason has had a few run-ins with his de facto brother-in-law, Maxwell. According to Mr. Bitterman, it didn't take his son long to discover that Maxwell was a lazy-assed civilian with no particular redeeming qualities. A number of confrontations have ensued, with Jason's sister, Britney usually in the middle of it all.

Apparently, this is the primary reason for Mr. Bitterman's desire to immigrate to Timbuktu.

***

About a month ago, one of the confrontations looked like it would get out of hand. Jason, it seemed, announced his intention to punch the living crap out of Maxwell.

Mr. Bitterman had to call the peelers.

Oscar was incredulous when he heard the story, since no other Sack resident has mentioned the matter. Certainly, he hadn't witnessed the peeler visit himself. Weed hadn't heard of it, either. It seemed impossible that such an event would also escape the eye of Gordon, the Grand Poohbah of the Sack Residents Society and his second-in-command, Elizabeth.

Weed, however, has deduced that the affair must've occurred during Gordon's latest two-week trip to Cuba. This would mean that the peeler visit occurred on Elizabeth's watch. Oscar says he intends to pursue impeachment proceedings against her at the earliest opportunity.

Nevertheless, it still remains surprising that the rest of us didn't notice a peeler visit to the Bitterman home. I think we might be maturing.

***

According to Mr. Bitterman, the peelers arrived and cooler heads prevailed. No charges were laid against anyone. Jason, however, was asked to leave the premises for twenty-four hours.

Since returning, Jason has kept his distance from Maxwell. In fact, Mr. Bitterman says his son has yet to acknowledge the other man's existence. He says Jason acts as if Maxwell doesn't even exist. Apparently, this causes continuing conflict with Britney, although Mr. Bitterman says Maxwell doesn't pay the matter any heed.

This continuing situation has unfolded without much interest or participation from Mrs. Bitterman. Her husband says she remains "addicted" to the gym and continues to "hobnob" with her friends.

Meanwhile, Mr. Bitterman sees himself as being left to suffer the consequences of their offspring.

***

Oscar says there's no telling what someone will tell you in the midst of a driveway relationship.

Apparently, Mr. Bitterman has revealed some of the hardships associated with having "the gout." In particular, he has noted an unfortunate side effect of the medication being used to treat his illness. He says he has been constipated now for weeks. For him, this is like adding "insult to injury."

"It's one thing to be living with an imbecile," said Mr. Bitterman about Maxwell, "but it's another thing to be constipated all the time."

According to Oscar, Mr. Bitterman has also acquired a rather strong body odour. He doesn't know if this has anything to do with getting the gout. Certainly, Mr. Bitterman didn't mention it.

After telling Oscar about his constipation, Mr. Bitterman apparently leaned closer to him and added, "Do you know what I mean?"

Oscar couldn't think of anything else to say but, "I catch your drift."

***

Short Blasts of Hot Air

2009-03-08T16:30:00.003-03:00

Today's entry has no particular theme or focus. It's just an assortment of Sack news and nonsense.

Let's get ready to ramble. . . .

***

A few weeks ago, that Obama fellow from south of the border paid a visit to this land of Canuckleheads. He popped into Ottawa, the nation's capital for about seven hours. There was much ado about the matter in the media.

Oscar and Weed watched the whole thing on live daytime television. Both, of course, have the time for such endeavours. Weed recently became unemployed, while Oscar works from home. Even a seasoned eye would have difficulty telling their circumstances apart.

While Oscar and Weed are in general disagreement on most matters, both were very impressed by the new American leader. Weed said he would have no problem getting behind such an articulate, intelligent skipper.

"There's something about the dude that makes you want to be on his team," he said firmly.

Oscar nodded his agreement. He said it was a vast improvement on the previous American leader.

"Obama makes the other guy look like he had a brain injury or something."

***

The Sack's new ghost neighbours are back on the radar screen.

Oscar became the first Sack resident to interact with one of them since the couple arrived here in late December. He informed Weed and your agent about the matter during a recent conference at the local coffee cathedral.

Apparently, Oscar encountered the male half of the couple outside in the Sack last week. The fellow was getting into his car as Oscar ventured out to the community mailbox.

According to Oscar, the man's name is Winston. Unfortunately, this was the extent of the information he was able to garner during their brief conversation. He said our new neighbour, Winston was remarkably reticent about revealing any information about himself or his partner.

***

Oscar is blessed with the ability to meet people very easily. He's particularly good at putting people at ease and making a good first impression. Winston, however, proved to be a tough nut to crack. Oscar said the man was polite, yet distant. He laughed at Oscar's irrepressible wit at the all the appropriate places, but resisted any inquiries about his own life. At least, that's how Oscar described their meeting.

When asked about his occupation, Winston merely said that he worked "in business." Oscar couldn't believe the vagueness in his reply.

"That's like saying you're from Earth," said Oscar with a smirk, "when someone asks where you're from."

***

Oscar says the experience tells us that something nefarious is going on at Rental Doug's former abode. He said Winston and his partner are either involved in the espionage game or they're running a marijuana grow-op. He said he hasn't made up his mind on the matter.

"As soon as I get more information," said Oscar, with a wave of his donut, "I'll let you guys know what my final assessment is."

Weed said Oscar is probably right that the couple is involved in espionage. He said he has a good idea about the focus of their spying activity, too.

"They work for Oscar's main office in Toronto. They're here to check up on him and see what he does all day," he said with confidence.

Then he poked his own donut in Oscar's direction and added, "You, my friend, are about to get busted."

I remain doubtful about all of this.

***

Young Tremayne has paid another visit to the Wonders' front door.

Tremayne, of course, is the Sack's leading peddler of fundraising chocolate bars. In your agent's opinion, the boy is a legend in his field.

On this occasion, Tremayne was hawking chocolate bars in support of an upcoming school ski trip. He explained this in a dry monotone.

"A ski trip," I said cheerfully. "That sounds exciting."

Tremayne simply shrugged.

"Have you been skiing before?" I asked.

"Nope," said Tremayne. He was rummaging through his bag of fundraiser chocolate bars. I had already agreed to purchase one.

"Well, I'm sure you'll have a great time," I said hopefully.

Tremayne's face remained noncommittal. After accepting my cash and passing over my chocolate bar, he looked up and said, "If you don't go on the ski trip, you have to spend the whole day in the library."

"Ah," your agent replied, "that would suck." For the first time, Tremayne smiled.

"We're goin' on a bus," he said with his first hint of enthusiasm. "It's gonna take two hours to get there."

"That's a long drive, eh?" I answered.

"Yup," said Tremayne, "that's four hours altogether." A look of bold confidence suddenly appeared on his face.

"That's okay, though," he added, "because I'm gettin' a window seat."

***

Elizabeth, the second-in-command of the Sack's venerable Residents Society has delivered some new intelligence on the subject of Dirk's recent black eye.

Dirk, of course, is the dark lord of Burning Manor. His fragrant partner, Dora is the lady of the joint. Burning Manor is their Sack residence. It earned this moniker after their original house burned down. Before that, their place was simply known as the crazy house.

Recently, Dirk was observed bearing a rather nasty facial injury. Black, purple and yellowish bruises surrounded his right eye.

Sack observers have been stymied in their attempts to learn about the origins of Dirk's injury. At Tuesday Night Bingo, there are people who travel in Dora's complicated family and social networks. Apparently, they're always quick to provide the rest of the story whenever shenanigans occur at Burning Manor. Unfortunately, the Sack residents who frequent Tuesday Night Bingo haven't been in attendance. Both Norma and Doo's mom have given up the bingo in order to save money for their respective trips to Cuba.

Elizabeth, of course, does not attend Tuesday Night Bingo. Oscar says she wouldn't be caught dead at such a venue. He could be right about this.

***

The explanation about Dirk's black eye came to Elizabeth from a very unlikely source. As Weed put it, this marked the first time that news about the denizens of Burning Manor had arrived in such a fashion.

The details of the matter came from Dirk himself.

Elizabeth, of course, obtained this information in an equally unique fashion. She simply approached Dirk on his next-door driveway and asked, "What happened to your eye?"

According to Dirk, he took a spectacular slip on a patch of ice and then fell squarely on his face.

Elizabeth, of course, was left unsatisfied by Dirk's explanation. When she informed your agent about the conversation a few weeks ago, she smirked and said, "Of course, that bloody woman of his had nothing to do with it."

***

Our final bit of news also concerns Elizabeth. On Thursday, your agent motored into the Sack at the end of the workday. Her husband, Prince Philip was carefully escorting her down their front steps.

There was a noticeable cast on her left foot.

Oscar was quick to fill me in on the details of the matter. He said he had spoken directly to Prince Philip about the subject. Apparently, Elizabeth had taken a spill on an icy sidewalk near her job at a local psychiatric facility.

Prince Philip said his lovely wife suffered a badly broken ankle.

Weed says this is clear evidence of "karma in action." He could be right about this.

***

Chickens on Ice

2009-02-15T20:30:00.005-04:00

It has been a dreary winter here in the old town. A thickening layer of ice now covers the deep snowfalls of January. The streets and sidewalks have grown narrower with every passing day. The Sack's centre circle looks like a crude ice castle.

It's a frigid place right now.

Oscar says the neighbourhood looks increasingly like a remote village in the high Arctic. He says it won't be long before we're getting around in snowmobiles, rather than cars. Weed, on the other hand, likens it to the planet Krypton as shown in the first "Superman" movie. Despite threats of global warming, he says we're really on our way to a new ice age.

Both observations, of course, are a little over the top.

Big Doug seems to be more level headed about the matter. When your agent encountered him the other day, he captured the essence of the weather in a single sentence. He also offered a note of optimism.

"It's a freeze-your-arse-off kind of winter," he said plainly. "It'll pass."

***

Oscar, Weed and your agent made plans for an outing to the local coffee cathedral. It was a Wednesday afternoon.

Oscar was in the midst of his workday. This meant he had nothing better to do but venture out for coffee. Weed, on the other hand, was on his third official day of unemployment.

So far, Weed said his unemployment experience was going swimmingly. He was slowly erasing his "personal sleep deficit". Apparently, this is your accumulation of lost sleep hours over a lifetime.

Weed says he's determined to get what's owing to him.

***

In addition to some severance pay, Weed says he has ample employment insurance to cover him over the next twelve months. He's targeting September as the time to locate a new job. In the meantime, he's going to chip away at his sleep deficit.

This is probably a good idea, too. Starting in June, Weed's going to be at home with his three-year-old son, Baby Doug. He'll be a stay-at-home dad throughout the summer.

Oscar says Weed's going to need all the sleep he can get. He could be right about this.

***

Weed said the opportunity to take a job like Oscar's would be the only reason he might stray from his current plan.

This was the third consecutive day they would go to the local coffee cathedral for an extended period. So far, Weed hadn't seen any evidence that Oscar had lifted a finger toward anything work related. In fact, the pair had enjoyed a two-hour breakfast at a local diner on the previous morning.

"I could ace a job like that," said Weed.

***

Your agent was present at the daytime trip to the local coffee cathedral on account of a "mental health day" away from work. Apparently, I'm entitled to such a day every year.

The fiscal year, of course is drawing to a close. If I didn't take the day off soon, I'd lose it. By "lose it," of course, I'm referring to my mental health day, not my mental health. I might live in a frozen suburban cul-de-sac, but I haven't slipped into the abyss quite yet.

Touch wood.

***

We walked past Gordon's house on the way to the local coffee cathedral. His longish, sloping lawn was covered in a smooth layer of frozen snow.

"It looks like a perfect sheet of ice," Oscar remarked. "You could walk right up to Gordon's front window like you're walking on pavement."

"Nah," said Weed, "you'd wipe out before you got there."

This reply, of course, ignited a fierce debate about whether one could walk up Gordon's ice covered lawn without falling. This was also how it was decided that an actual race should ensue. The three of us would compete against each other.

The idea was to race from the bottom of Gordon's lawn up to his front windows and then back toward the snowbank at street level. The loser would spring for coffee and a round of maple sugar donuts.

***

Even though Gordon's lawn was ice covered, there was a much thicker level of brittle snow underneath it.

Your agent and Weed had almost reached the house when Oscar legs plunged through the ice and into the deep snow. He was encased in Gordon's lawn right up to his crotch. Later, he would blame the plunge on the excess weight of his man boobs.

On the race back from Gordon's front windows, Weed suffered the same fate. Your agent's slight frame turned out to be a key advantage.

I won the Sack's first-ever race across Gordon's ice lawn.

***

Oscar had already extricated himself from the snow when Weed broke through its icy cover. He left two deep leg holes behind him as he laughed at Weed's predicament.

It took Weed a minute or so to free his first leg from the snow. He had to lie back on the ice to free his other one. Eventually, his other foot rose successfully in the air. Unfortunately, it was shoeless.

"I lost my sneaker," said Weed with dismay. With some effort, he retrieved it from the three-foot hole on Gordon's snow covered lawn.

Eventually, we reconvened on the street. There were now two distinct pairs of holes in evidence on Gordon's property. There was also a line of footprints leading to his front windows and then back again.

"That's going to drive Gordon crazy," said Weed. "He's going to think that Inuit terrorists are after him, or something like that."

"You've got that right," replied your agent. "Or maybe, giant raccoons."

Oscar nodded his agreement. "Then I don't mind buying the coffee and donuts. It's money well spent."

***

On the way to the local coffee cathedral, another dispute erupted. Oscar suddenly turned to Weed and said:

"What did you mean when you said, I lost my sneaker back there?"

Weed looked perplexed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Oscar smirked and said, "You said sneaker. That's the American term. You meant to say running shoe. That's the Canadian term. We've always said running shoe."

"No," said Weed flatly, "I meant to say sneaker. That's what it is."

Oscar looked indignant. "That might be what you think. But you should be saying running shoe." He wagged his finger at Weed and added, "You, my friend, are watching too much American TV."

"Get out of town," Weed retorted, "I watch CBC all the time."

"Yeah," said Oscar dismissively, "just to watch the hockey games."

Weed bristled and added, "And I listen to CBC radio in the car all the time."

"Right," said Oscar, "just to get the hockey scores."

And so it went from there. The pair argued about the matter all the way to the coffee cathedral. They were still going at it while we waited to place our order.

***

My mental health day had so far yielded a race across Gordon's icy lawn, casual involvement in a debate about the linguist merits of sneaker and running shoe and finally, a discussion on the erosion of Canadian culture caused by the preponderance of American media.

I thought a mental health day was supposed to be good for you.

***

Later that day, I decided to chip away some of the ice on the Wonders' driveway. Despite our best efforts, we haven't been able to shovel some of the snow before it froze.

As I toiled mindlessly at this task, Computer Doug emerged from his house.

Computer Doug, of course, is the most experienced unemployed person in the Sack. He has been without work since early November. That's when his employer went "tits up."

Since before Christmas, Computer Doug has kept a very low profile around the Sack. He rarely seems to venture outdoors. Whenever anyone does catch a glimpse of him, he's dressed in the same attire: A pair of faded pajama bottoms, a bland T-shirt and his trademark bear-claw slippers. His face is usually unshaven, as well.

On this particular occasion, however, Computer Doug was clad in a bright red pair of sweatpants and a yellow pullover. On his feet was a pair of black Wellington boots.

To say the least, it was very peculiar attire.

***

"You must think I'm a fashion disaster," Computer Doug quipped, as I strolled over from the Wonders' driveway. He was standing beside the open door of his car.

"What do you mean?" I replied, feigning ignorance.

"Every time you see me out here, I'm dressed in the first thing I can find." He held his arms out and looked down at his own garb.

"Well," I said slowly, pointing at his feet, "I certainly like your Wellington boots."

"My what?" he replied.

"Your Wellington boots," I said. "That's what those are."

Computer Doug shrugged. "Oh, yeah? I've always called them rubber boots."

"Well, now you can call them Wellingtons, if you like," I said with a grin.

Computer Doug looked at me doubtfully for a moment, before saying, "I'll try to remember that. But I don't wear these very often. I just couldn't find my sneakers.

***

We stood beside Computer Doug's car and chatted for a while longer. Apparently, he came outside to search for some lost bananas. He said they might have dropped out of a bag when he returned from the local grocery emporium.

As far as his welfare was concerned, Computer Doug said he was doing reasonably well. He said he had no employment prospects on the horizon, despite a daily online search. When the weather warms up, he planned to become more aggressive in this regard.

When asked how he spends his days, Computer Doug simply shrugged and said, "Most of the time, I just sit around and surf the net all day. And sometimes, I play mindless games on the computer."

"That must get boring after a while," said your agent.

Computer Doug nodded. "Yeah," he replied, "but I'll probably be finished with it soon. I've been on the Internet so much, I think I'm close to the end of it."

***

Given the frigid temperature and his flimsy attire, Computer Doug hastened his search for the errant bananas. After a brief search of the car, he pulled a blackened bunch of the things from under the backseat.

"Oh, well," said Computer Doug.

"How long ago did you buy them?" your agent asked.

"About a week ago," he replied. "Finding them has been on my list of things to do."

"I guess you can check that box off now, eh?" I answered.

"I guess so," Computer Doug said, as he closed the car door.

***

Besides checking the box on his list of things to do, Computer Doug had another reason for locating the bananas. Two weeks ago, he decided to become a vegetarian. Apparently, he's taking a step-by-step approach in this direction.

"So far, I'm off all meat, except chicken," he said with pride.

"That's great," your agent replied. "Does that include fish?"

"Yup," he answered. Then he added, "But I never ate fish anyway. I don't like it."

According to Computer Doug, his step toward vegetarianism is for health reasons. Since becoming unemployed, he said he has gained fifteen pounds. At this, he lifted his yellow pullover and showed me an ample belly.

"See what I mean," he said flatly.

"I get the picture," I replied.

***

During his two-week venture toward vegetarianism, Computer Doug said he hadn't lost any weight. In fact, he thinks he might've gained a few pounds.

"I've been eating a lot of chicken," he said with quick smile.

In fact, Computer Doug said he had been eating turkey bacon for breakfast every morning. For lunch, he said he was frequently enjoying some boxed chicken nuggets available from the local grocery emporium.

"Turkey bacon?" I said with a puzzled tone. "I thought you were only eating chicken."

Computer Doug shrugged again and said, "Well, it's still poultry. I'm down to poultry only. By spring, I should be a complete vegetarian."

"That's good," I replied, "I guess the chickens will be happy about that."

"I guess so," he grinned. "Well, I better take a run out and get some new bananas. If I'm gonna get off the chicken, I gotta start eating more fruit."

Computer Doug locked the car door and then moved toward the house to get his coat. As he waved a friendly good-bye, he pointed down at his boots.

"I'm gonna take my Wellington boots off first, though," he said in a formal tone, "and put on my sneakers."

***

Smorgasbord

2009-02-01T20:45:00.004-04:00

We return to the blogging machine with a smorgasbord of Sack news.

***

Smorgasbord was the Sack's word of the month for January. The word was chosen only a few days after the month began.

The word of the month is a very informal piece of business. If someone spontaneously utters an amusing word around the Sack, all you have to say is, "That's the new word of the month." That's all it really takes. The word is spoken, someone identifies it and presto, you've got your word of the month.

Presto, by the way, was the Sack's word of the month last September.

In some cases, the word of the month can be a phrase. Even then, it's still known as the word of the month. In this neck of the woods, logic is often in short supply.

This neck of the woods was the Sack's word of the month last March.

***

Smorgasbord was chosen after hearing Oscar's tale about the New Years Eve party he attended. Apparently, there was a well-stocked, open bar at the event. Oscar called it a "smorgasbord of free drink." Both Weed and your agent jumped on the word right away.

Once a word is designated as the Sack's word of the month, it tends to be uttered with some frequency. Weed, for example, has since used it to describe the donut counter at the local coffee cathedral. He called it a "smorgasbord of sugary delights."

Computer Doug has also uttered the word. After the old town's waste management professionals left a trail of garbage behind, he lamented the "smorgasbord of crap" at the foot of his driveway.

***

The word of the month for February has already been chosen. It was selected a few weeks ago. This was a very unusual decision. Until now, the word had always been picked in the current month. It has never been selected in advance.

Oscar and your agent made the decision to break from tradition. Given the circumstances of the word's usage and its rarity, we agreed that an exception could be made.

Last week, Weed made an announcement at the local coffee cathedral. Apparently, he will be laid off from his job at a nearby call centre. He had been assured about the security of his position only the week before. But now, the place will be closing its doors.

Weed said he was gobsmacked when he heard the news.

Gobsmacked is a slang term of UK origin. It's not commonly used in this neck of the woods. Weed, however, couldn't say why it suddenly emerged from his mouth.

"I was too gobsmacked to think of anything else, I guess," he said with a shrug.

***

Weed will be officially unemployed next week. He becomes the second Sack resident to suffer this fate in recent months. Computer Doug's employer went "tits up" several months ago.

Tits up was the Sack's word of the month last November.

While Oscar was saddened to hear about Weed's job loss, he was also elated that he would have more company in the Sack during the weekday.

Oscar, of course, works from his home. This doesn't seem to involve any particular labour on his part. As a result, he's always on the look out for someone to play with during the day.

During Computer Doug's recent unemployment, Oscar has been less than pleased with the man's participation in weekday activities. Despite numerous invitations to engage in daytime shenanigans, Computer Doug has spent most of his time at home in his pajama bottoms and bear-claw slippers.

"If I could only get the guy out of his pajamas," Oscar lamented, "we could start having a little fun."

Both your agent and Weed were a bit gobsmacked by Oscar's choice of words.

***

Aside from a few brief appearances following a heavy snowfall, Sack kids are rarely seen outdoors these days. Not a single street hockey game has developed near the centre circle. A raucous, long-lasting snowball fight has yet to occur.

This is not a new phenomenon. It has been a growing trend for a number of years. Sack kids, it seems, don't play outside in the winter anymore.

Weed thinks this situation is a crying shame. He says that kids, at least those in this neck of the woods, have been drawn indoors by an increasingly digital world. Eventually, he argues, they'll rarely be seen outside during the rest of the year.

"Digital communication has driven them indoors," he said with a frown, "and global warming will keep them there. They'll be mole people when they're older."

Oscar wasn't pleased with Weed's apparent pessimism in this matter. In tandem with Computer Doug's blue mood, he said it didn't bode well for some daytime fun in the weeks ahead.

"It looks like I'm going to have my work cut out for me," said Oscar.

***

During this dreary winter, there has been one exception among homebound Sack kids. Eight-year-old Doo has been marching to the tune of his own drummer. He's outside every single day without fail.

Young Doo, it seems, doesn't change his habits with the season.

A solitary figure in the Sack's centre circle, the boy spends almost his entire time outdoors after school and even into the early evening. On weekends, he puts in double shifts. It doesn't matter how cold it is, either. He's out there without fail.

When Doo is outside, he engages in only one activity. He digs in the accumulation of snow and ice in the Sack. That's all he ever does.

At times, it can seem almost disconcerting that Doo spends so much time alone in this manner.

It's known that Doo's mom has placed strict limits on the boy's access to electronic doodads like television and computer games. Without these amusements, there seems to be little else to hold his attention indoors.

Following a snowfall, Doo spends his time shoveling the snow on the street toward the centre circle. He looks like he's trying to emulate the Sack adults doing the same thing on their driveways. In Doo's case, however, this is a rather purposeless endeavour. A passing snowplow will eventually perform the same function.

Thankfully, this doesn't seem to matter to young Doo. His attention seems focused on the shoveling journey rather than the shoveling destination. I've asked him numerous times if he would like to help me shovel the Wonders' driveway.

Aimless street shoveling, however, seems to be more his style.

***

When the snow has been cleared from the street, Doo's attention shifts to the small mountain of snow in the Sack's centre circle. This is when his digging efforts really begin.

Again, however, there doesn't seem to be any particular intention in Doo's behaviour. The boy digs with reckless abandon. Depending on the hardness of the snow, he'll use any kind of digging implement he can get his hands on. Lately, the small mountain of snow has been transformed into a giant, crudely formed ice cube. Doo has been whacking at it daily with some kind of metal rod.

Your agent's curiosity about Doo's activity in the circle has mounted as time has passed. A few weeks ago, I ventured over to him to inquire about the purpose of his labours.

"What are you doing?" I asked pleasantly.

"Nuthin'" the boy replied. He barely looked up from his digging.

Doo was standing atop the mountainous lump, while your agent stood at ground level. Scattered about his work area were the tools of his trade: a garden spade, a hockey stick, several two-by-fours and a three-foot metal rod. It was a veritable smorgasbord of digging implements.

"Are you building something?" I inquired, imagining the foundation of an impending winter fort. Pausing for a moment, the boy gave me a blank, distracted look. Finally, he gazed down at your agent.

"Naw, I'm just diggin'."

***

It's now official. Jeff Christ hath forsaken us.

A few weeks ago, Jeff left for the promised land in Alberta. He has a job lined up with the oil sands project. Apparently, it will pay twice as much as his former team leader position at the local call centre. Jeff hopes to return to the old town to complete a teaching degree at one of the local universities. However, this depends on whether he gets accepted at other universities in Canada.

Weed says it should be no surprise that the call centre has gone "tits up" so soon after Jeff Christ's departure. Jeff stopped working there just after Christmas.

"Jeff didn't know the place would close," Weed explained, "but I think he had some kind of sixth sense about it."

Apparently, this is why Jeff Christ wasn't gobsmacked when he heard about the closure.

***

While Sack residents lamented Jeff Christ's departure, his uncle, Ben informed your agent that he wouldn't be surprised to see his nephew return sooner rather than later.

Apparently, the imploding economy also has affected the country's most lucrative industry. Folks from this neck of the woods have been migrating to Alberta for years in order to find well-paid employment. Now, some of them are being laid off. Many are returning home.

While Jeff's job isn't supposed to be in danger, Ben says it's still possible that more job losses could follow. Jeff, of course, was very optimistic about his chances. He said he wouldn't go if he didn't think he could make things work. Still, his uncle is concerned that he has put all his eggs in one basket.

"If his job goes tits up in a month," said Ben, "the kid's going to be gobsmacked."

Ben, of course, is a big fan of the Sack's word of the month shenanigans.

***

There are now ghosts living in the Sack.

The new occupants of Rental Doug's former abode still haven't been viewed in any detail. They moved in during December, but have scarcely been seen since then.

The matter has intensified in recent weeks. The house has stood silent for the last ten days. There are no tire tracks on the driveway. It remains unshoveled. The house is dark at night. Nevertheless, there are sporadic reports of lights on in the late evening.

Even if the young couple is actually a pair of ghosts, Weed says he's still impressed by the size of their carbon footprint.

"They didn't put out any garbage at all last week," he said calmly.

Oscar, however, has his own theory about the pair. He thinks they moved in and then did what an inordinate number of Sack residents have already done.

"They went to Cuba, man," he said confidently. "Where else would they go?"

***

Finally, we have some news pertaining to Dirk, the dark lord of Burning Manor. Apparently, he's sporting a black eye. Your agent hasn't seen it himself, but I've been assured as to the veracity of the claim. According to Oscar, Dirk's appearance was observed by Elizabeth, the regal vice chair of the Sack Resident's Society and next-door neighbour to Burning Manor.

When Elizabeth sees something amiss at Burning Manor, one can only believe that it's true. She has an eagle eye for that kind of thing.

No one, unfortunately, has any idea about the origins of Dirk's black eye. Most people assume that his fragrant partner, Dora was somehow involved. They could be right about this.

***

Like Sack kids, Dirk and Dora tend toward a low profile during the winter months.

Weed says it's unlikely that the pair is drawn inside because of the digital world. He reckons it's the drink that's keeping them there. When you spend the other seasons drinking on your back deck, he says there's only one place to go when the winter arrives.

"Drinking round the kitchen table," Weed said thoughtfully, "that's where they're taking it. And that's probably where he got the black eye, too."

***

In most cases, we could gain intelligence on Dirk's black eye through reports from Tuesday Night Bingo.

Unfortunately, Norma is on temporary leave from her attendance at this cheerful event. Along with Ben, she has been saving money for their upcoming trip to Cuba. They're leaving next week.

Doo's mom, of course, has also retired from the bingo racket on a temporary basis. She's doing it for the same reason. Her and Doo's stepdad, Sticky are going to Cuba during the March school break. Young Doo will be staying with his grandmother for the entire period.

There will be no digging in the Sack that week, my friends.

***

Dissecting the Dougs

2009-01-11T20:45:00.010-04:00

Shortly after New Years Day, a young couple moved into the house previously occupied by Rental Doug and his blended family.

So far, Sack observers have seen very little of the new residents. Blankets cover their second floor windows. Although their driveway has been shoveled following our frequent snowfalls, no one has actually seen them do it. Oscar says they must be shoveling in the middle of the night.

When the couple arrives in the Sack, they drive their vehicle directly into their garage. No one has yet to see the couple use the front door. Already, Oscar is concocting theories about this. Most of these involve international intrigue, money laundering and being on the lam.

Weed, however, says there is only one thing we can be sure about so far. During his brief glimpses of the male half of the couple, his worst fears have been confirmed.

"The guy doesn't look anything like a Doug," he said wistfully.

***

It's time to report the winner of the 2008 Doug of the Year (DOTY) award. Before doing so, some words of explanation are in order for the uninitiated.

Until recently, there were four men named Doug living in the Sack. Now there are only three. Big Doug, Little Doug and Computer Doug compose the Sack's current Doug population.

By any measure, that's still a lot of Dougs in one suburban cul-de-sac.

Last September, the fourth Doug (Rental Doug) moved away. About eight years ago, there was also another Doug. His name was Doug That Moved. You can probably figure out on your own, how he got that particular moniker.

Some people also note the existence of yet another Doug in the Sack. This is a controversial subject. Weed's son is now four-years-old. Since birth, he has been known as Baby Doug by a handful of Sack residents. His formal name is actually Owen Douglas.

In the "real" world, everyone else knows Baby Doug as Owen. Sack purists believe that middle names shouldn't count unless one uses that name all the time.

In the Sack, we take our Dougs very seriously.

***

Given the significant number of Dougs in the Sack, it's no surprise that an annual award would be conceived.

The Doug of the Year award (DOTY) is bestowed each year to the Doug that stands out the most amongst his peers. In some cases, the award is given in recognition of some special skill or achievement. More often, however, it's given to the Doug who amuses us the most.

Although we take our Dougs seriously in the Sack, we prefer it when they don't take themselves seriously.

***

The 2008 version of the DOTY award marked the ninth year of the selection. For those with interest in such matters, here are the previous winners:

2000 - Doug That Moved - Often regarded as the Pete Best of the Dougs, he won the award for doing the very thing that earned him that particular moniker. He moved.

2001 - Little Doug - Acknowledged for his ability to fix stuff and an unfailing willingness to do this for others.

2002 - Big Doug - Recognized for his impossibly green lawn and his manic snow shoveling abilities.

2003 - Little Doug - The Sack's first two-time DOTY award winner, Little Doug was primarily recognized for unintentionally hitting Gordon (the grand poobah of the Sack Resident's Society) in the ass with a golf ball.

2004 - Computer Doug - Twice in one year, he saw U2 in concert. This was hardly impressive to your agent, but Oscar and Weed regarded it as notable.

2005 - Rental Doug - Recognized for being an all-round decent fellow and being in cahoots with Satan.

2006 - Little Doug - His third victory - A continuous series of unintentional, yet comic antics earned him the award. Oscar said the win guaranteed Little Doug's eventual election into the yet-to-be-created Doug Hall of Fame.

2007 - Little Doug - A questionable fourth win and the first back-to-back victory. Completing renovations on Oscar's house and supplying moose meat pie to Weed may have influenced the decision.

***

Selecting the DOTY award winner is usually a fractious affair. Disagreement among the trio of judges (Oscar, Weed and your agent) is common. Skullduggery and hidden agendas often rule the day. This is why the DOTY award is only slightly more credible than the Golden Globe Awards.

According to custom, the 2008 DOTY award was determined following Oscar's Boxing Day brunch. The dining room table was cleared and our respective sleeves were rolled up.

While the usual conflict ensued, there was something everyone could agree on. The Sack's Doug population was decidedly dull during 2008. While each had their moments, none really stood head and shoulders above the rest. Oscar says this was because we have an aging Doug population. He could be right about this.

Nevertheless, a DOTY award winner must be selected. With his typical eloquence, Weed characterized our task as follows: "We just have to pick the Doug that sucked the least this year."

So that's what we did.

***

Little Doug is a four-time winner of the DOTY award. He has also garnered the honour for the last two years. While he's certainly deserving of accolades, his relationship with the judges often clouds the decision-making process.

Both Oscar and Weed are often indebted to Little Doug in some way. Oscar's house, for example, remains standing only because of Little Doug's renovation and home maintenance skills. Weed, on the other hand, is betrothed to Little Doug's daughter, Daisy. Along with Baby Doug, they've been living rent-free at Little Doug's house for some time.

This year, however, Oscar and Weed were quick to reject Little Doug as the DOTY award winner. While he continued to amuse us with his forays into the dating world, his hapless run of bad luck and unfailing good nature, Oscar argued that Little Doug was just a little too predictable in 2008.

"When was the last time the guy took a decent tumble from a ladder?" he asked pointedly.

"That's right," added Weed, "and he didn't lose his dentures once this year."

Your agent, however, noted that Little Doug did capture our attention with several recent events. I pointed to his infamous "toe-to-toe" conflict with Gordon's new girlfriend, Gordette, following her unfortunate crash into the side of his pick-up truck. There was also Little Doug's recent relationship with Amandazon to consider. Unfortunately, Oscar and Weed remained steadfast on their opinion.

"Little Doug was too predictable this year," said Oscar flatly.

"That's right," said Weed again. "He lacked pizzazz."

***

Of course, Oscar and Weed have their own reasons for denying Little Doug a third consecutive DOTY award.

Both were miffed that Little Doug did not make any moose meat pie for the holiday season this year. It didn't matter that he was busy fixing the siding that blew off Oscar's house following a nasty pre-Christmas storm.

"C'mon, man," said Oscar defensively, "he had the moose meat in his freezer. I saw it myself."

"That's right," said Weed, for the third time. "If you've got the moose meat, you've gotta make the pie."

Weed, of course, is a big fan of moose meat pie. But he also had another reason for voting against his de facto father-in-law. Starting in February, Weed and Daisy will pay rent to Little Doug for their accommodations. Nevertheless, Weed was quick to refute this as a factor in his DOTY decision.

"Paying rent is only fair," he said firmly, "but moose meat pie is another matter entirely."

***

Despite your agent's best efforts, Big Doug did not make the grade for the DOTY award either.

For the ninth consecutive year, Big Doug maintained an unwavering commitment to lawn care and home maintenance. His fervent attention to snow removal was also in evidence. More important, he continued his unbroken practice of saying, "arse" whenever describing the human bum. Not once did he say "ass."

"The guy is a model of discipline, consistency and the Protestant work ethic," I argued.

"Pshaw," said Oscar flatly. "Boring and predictable. You can set your watch by the guy. Besides, I think he's Catholic."

"Perhaps," your agent replied, "but there's something impressive about his consistency in being boring and predictable. You've got to admire that in a person."

Weed looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "Well, he did stomp all over the flag on Canada Day."

"That's because it was on fire," said Oscar dismissively.

"You're the one who set it on fire," argued Weed.

Oscar waved his hand in the air. "That was an accident. It was boring and predictable that Big Doug would be the one to put it out."

Your agent tried to argue further that Big Doug's proclivity for the word "arse" was deserving of the DOTY award. Oscar, however, wouldn't budge.

"He called me an arsehole three times this year," he sniffed.

"Only three times?" asked Weed. "I can't believe it wasn't more than that."

***

There was some debate about whether Rental Doug should even be considered for the 2008 DOTY award. Oscar argued that he wasn't a Sack resident on December 31 and, therefore, shouldn't be eligible for the honour. Weed, however, noted that Doug That Moved won the inaugural DOTY award in 2000.

"The guy moved in July that year," he pointed out.

Unconvinced, Oscar said it was high time that we established some firm rules around eligibility for the DOTY award. He said it was no wonder the DOTY lacked the respectability of the Nobel Prize.

"You're just holding a grudge against the guy," said Weed, "just because he was in cahoots with Satan." Oscar, of course, was quite convinced that Rental Doug was a follower of Beelzebub.

Further debate ensued on this question. In the end, it was agreed that Rental Doug would be considered for the DOTY award. Weed successfully argued that it would be a human rights violation to discriminate against someone just because of his relationship with Satan.

Apparently, however, it's still acceptable to discriminate against someone who fails to make moose meat pie for the Christmas holidays.

***

Rental Doug, of course, was a formidable candidate for the DOTY award. After all, he made a yeoman effort to purchase Burning Manor from Dirk and Dora during 2008. In fact, he made numerous forays into the depths of Burning Manor in his quest to buy the place.

Rental Doug was also the first to provide detailed reports on the state of the infamous house, including his observations of Dirk's wall-o'-beer cases, Dora's purple bong and the fist-sized hole in the wall in the front hallway.

"The guy has been into the deepest recesses of Burning Manor," said Weed with enthusiasm. "He's like the Francis Drake of suburbia."

Oscar, however, dismissed Weed's argument with the wave of his hand. He said Rental Doug required no particular courage to plumb the depths of Burning Manor.

"If you're already in cahoots with Satan," he said dismissively, "what could you possibly be afraid of?"

***

Unrelated to Satan, unable to make moose meat pie and completely lacking in any gainful employment: These were the qualities that brought Computer Doug onto the main stage as the winner of the 2008 DOTY award.

Computer Doug certainly enhanced his reputation this year as someone who seems almost dazed by his own existence. At times, he appeared confounded by the fact that he resides in a suburban cul-de-sac along with a spouse and two small children. Since losing his job this fall, he seems increasingly like someone who just woke up to discover this. He's rarely seen these days wearing anything other than pajama bottoms, a flimsy T-shirt and his bear-claw slippers. Oscar said he saw him shoveling snow in that same get-up prior to Christmas.

Overall, however, Computer Doug was awarded the DOTY due to his recent loss of employment. He was the first Sack resident to be directly affected by the world's economic downturn.

As Computer Doug described it, his employer went "tits up." This was the second consecutive time he had lost his job due to this condition. As a result, the judges acknowledged that Computer Doug remains as a useful measuring stick of the health of the North American economy.

"Computer Doug," said Oscar, "is like a canary in a coal mine. When he goes down for the count, you know trouble's on the way."

"That's right," echoed Weed.

"Okay," replied your agent. "I'm getting tired of talking about this anyway."

***

With the DOTY deliberations concluded, I bounded down the steps of Oscar's house. When I reached the street, I heard a faint banging noise from the side of his place.

Despite the brisk winter weather, I decided to investigate the source of the noise. I found it hard to believe that anyone would be toiling on home maintenance affairs on the day after Christmas.

At the side of Oscar's house, however, I found Little Doug high atop a ladder. He was repairing the siding on his neighbour's home.

"I thought you fixed that already?" I asked.

"Yeah," said Little Doug. "But I noticed a piece that was still loose."

"That's very nice of you," I replied. "But if I were you, I'd get off that ladder and go relax for a while."

"Yeah, I know," said Little Doug, with a chuckle. "I just have one more thing to do after this and then I'm going for a nap."

"Good," I answered. "What else do you have to do?"

Little Doug chuckled again from atop the ladder. "I gotta make some moose meat pie. I'll never hear the end of it from Oscar and Weed, if I don't."

***

The Nutcracker

2008-12-26T22:15:00.006-04:00

An important meeting to determine the 2008 winner of the Sack's Doug of the Year (DOTY) award was convened at Oscar's house today. This annual matter is always decided following his Boxing Day brunch.

Various amounts of champagne and orange juice are consumed by the judging panel during the deliberations. After furious and often inane debate, the DOTY winner is unanimously declared.

We'll tell you more about the outcome of the affair in our next posting. But first, here's a report about a Christmas Day encounter with Computer Doug.

***

It was Christmas Day in the Sack. The street was crowded with illegally parked cars. These belonged to friends and family of various Sack residents.

During mid-afternoon, your agent wandered outside to put some cardboard in the composting bin. It was a bright, sunny day, although there was a slight chill in the air. As if by request, the recent spate of horrid winter weather had dissipated in time for the holiday.

Returning from the side of the Wonders' house, I encountered Computer Doug as he walked out his front door. He was armed with his own supply of cardboard intended for the recycling bin.

Computer Doug was unshaven and he looked tired. His hair was wildly askew. He wore a faded baby-blue T-shirt and a pair of worn pajama bottoms. On his feet were his legendary bear-claw slippers.

In contrast, your agent was clad in a sleek, black turtleneck sweater and a stylish black toque. Both were Christmas gifts from Mrs. Wonders and the venerable Mr. Claus.

Computer Doug put his load of cardboard down and approached your agent for a chat.

***

We exchanged Christmas greetings and asked about each other's welfare. Computer Doug said his Christmas Day was unfolding as expected.

His two young boys had been up at the crack of dawn. Their living room now looked like the scene of a recent riot. The kitchen was awash in breakfast dishes and preparations for Christmas dinner. A small army of his wife, Marion's family was expected to arrive within the hour. Efforts to restore the house to order had just begun.

"Aside from that," said Computer Doug dryly, "everything is going great."

***

Computer Doug admired your agent's new garb. I told him it was the latest in casual wear for the man who puts out his garbage in style. He looked down at his own bedraggled appearance and chuckled.

"I don't think I'll get many points for style right now, eh?" he said with a smile.

"No," I replied, nodding at his pajama bottoms and bear-claw slippers, "I think you've still got last year's look."

Computer Doug shook his head and said, "That's the story of my life."

***

Computer Doug said he received some fine Christmas gifts this year. His best was a DVD boxed set of a favourite television show. He received it from his wife, Marion.

Marion also provided him with his oddest gift. It was a ninety-six-piece socket set. According to Computer Doug, it included sockets for both Imperial and metric measurements.

"That's impressive," your agent replied.

Computer Doug sighed and said, "I suppose so."

***

Computer Doug, of course, has no capacity for mechanical or home maintenance affairs. As an area of interest, such matters don't appear on his radar screen. He has as much use for a socket set as he would for a bad headache.

Despite this, Computer Doug acknowledged his gratitude for Marion's gift. On such occasions, he knew it was the thought that counted most. He did, however, express his opinion regarding her intentions behind the gift.

"I think she's trying to encourage me," he said flatly.

***

Rental Doug's new socket set came in its own attractive case. He said the whole package looks very impressive. At the risk of disturbing its orderly appearance, he had yet to remove it from the packaging.

Of course, there remains a good chance that Computer Doug's socket set will remain unopened. He said he had been trying to think of circumstances where he might make use of it. So far, nothing had come to mind.

At the same time, he wasn't too concerned about needing it. "A socket set is no good to you, if you don't own a socket wrench. I don't think Marion knows that."

***

Computer Doug had only recently obtained his own understanding of socket wrenches. He called Little Doug earlier in the day to discuss the matter. Little Doug, of course, performs almost all of Computer Doug's home maintenance. He fulfills the same role on Oscar's behalf. Your agent has also employed his generous skills on a few occasions.

Little Doug was happy to explain the purpose of a socket wrench. He also offered the use of his own socket wrenches, if the need arose. Apparently, Computer Doug had no idea about such things.

"I now have the capacity to loosen and tighten nuts and bolts," he said with authority.

Despite some deep thought, however, Computer Doug still couldn't imagine a single nut or bolt in his possession that required such attention.

"If you ever have any nut or bolt issues," he said kindly, "I'll be happy to loan you my socket set." I nodded my appreciation and said I would keep his offer in mind.

"But, if you do need it," he added, "you'll have to borrow a socket wrench from Little Doug."

I said I would keep that in mind, as well.

***

As we continued to chat in the pleasant sunshine, Marion's head suddenly appeared from behind their door. She asked her husband if he planned to stay outside for much longer. Their guests, she said politely, were less than forty minutes from their arrival for the Christmas festivities. Apparently, there was still of plenty of work to be done in the house.

Computer Doug said a quick apology to Marion and said he would be inside in just a few more seconds. When she disappeared back into the house, he returned to the subject of his new socket set.

"You know," he said in whispered voice, "if I had given her a new ironing board for Christmas, I'd never hear the end of it."

As he prepared to gather up his cardboard, Computer Doug looked at me and added, "I've made it through my entire life so far without owning a socket set."

Then he picked up his load of cardboard and shuffled off toward his compost bin.

And that, my friends, was the nuts and bolts of my Christmas Day conversation with Computer Doug.

***

Doug Shrugged

2008-12-21T20:25:00.008-04:00

Oscar, Weed and your agent were ensconced at the local coffee cathedral. It was late on a Sunday afternoon.

Our discussion roamed through a variety of topics. Our favourite hockey teams are losing with alarming regularity. There wasn't much more to be said about that. Then we had a brief, yet spirited discussion of the recent Canadian political crisis. Oscar said it was the most significant thing to happen in Canada since Wayne Gretzky got married.

I remain doubtful about that.

Our conversation then wandered onto less significant topics. Somehow, Oscar and Weed became embroiled in a discussion about the expression, "I'd give you the shirt off my back."

Weed expressed his opposition to the literal image behind the phrase. Aside from giving up his shirt for a bandage, he couldn't see why the practice would be necessary.

"If you're walking around without a shirt," he said with conviction, "why should I give you mine? You should've put one on before you went out. I mean, come on."

Oscar had a different view of the matter. Although he might be a bit self-conscious about his man boobs at first, he was generally willing to give his shirt to anyone who had a good reason for needing it. However, he did place a limitation on his generosity. He said he would draw the line at giving up his shirt during the winter months.

"My shirt's not going to do a damn thing for you in the winter," Oscar declared. "You're still gonna freeze your butt off, so why bother?"

The conversation on this topic actually lasted for about ten minutes. I think it's going to be a very long winter.

***

Little Doug is definitely a "give you the shirt off his back" kind of fellow. He's always willing to help his fellow Sack residents.

Last week, Little Doug was at the Wonders' house. He fixed your agent's refrigerator door. The darn thing wouldn't close properly. Now it closes with a satisfying thunk. As he corrected the problem, Little Doug enlightened me about his latest trials and tribulations. Everywhere he turns, it seems, he can't win for losing.

It began, of course, when Gordette, Gordon's new girlfriend, backed her car into the side of Little Doug's truck. A significant amount of damage occurred. This was followed by a verbal spat with Gordette. There were also a few squabbles with the insurance company in trying to resolve the matter.

In the end, everything was sorted out. However, Little Doug described the affair as a "royal pain in the butt."

***

Despite the run-in with Gordette, Little Doug did not allow the matter to get the best of him. He gave credit for this to his new personal philosophy. Apparently, it's proving to be very helpful in coping with his recent streak of bad luck.

Little Doug's new personal philosophy is captured by a single phrase. He says it aloud to himself whenever he ends up on the wrong side of things.

The magic phrase, according to Little Doug, is "C'est la vie."

***

It seems unlikely that uttering a single French phrase can make a big difference when life goes awry. However, Little Doug swears by it. There must be some credence to his belief, since he has it used with some frequency lately.

Shortly after having his pick-up truck repaired, Little Doug was driving on a main road near the Sack. Suddenly, he was summoned to the side of the road by one of the old town's peelers. At the time, he said he was bewildered by the peeler's decision. He wasn't speeding and he didn't believe that he had violated any rules of the road.

Unfortunately, the peeler had a very good reason for stopping Little Doug. Apparently, his driver's license had expired about eight months ago. Little Doug was completely unaware of this.

"I didn't get a reminder in the mail and I hadn't looked at my license in ages," he said with a look of innocence. "I had no idea."

While the peeler seemed sympathetic to Little Doug's plight, it wasn't enough to avoid a costly ticket. The fine amounted to two hundred and seventy-five dollars. This didn't include the cost of renewing his license either. In fact, when Little Doug attempted to renew it, he was informed of some outstanding parking tickets incurred by his daughter, Daisy. He couldn't renew the license unless he squared up the parking tickets, too.

In the end, the whole affair resulted in an unforeseen expenditure that was close to five hundred dollars. Thankfully, Little Doug had his new personal philosophy at the ready.

When I offered my sympathy in the matter, he simply smiled and said, "C'est la vie."

***

That wasn't the end of Little Doug's run of bad luck.

The next incident didn't cost him any money. It had nothing to do with his pick-up truck or the old town's peelers. Instead, it was a matter of the heart.

Little Doug's first marriage ended about ten years ago. His wife ran off with a man from the Internet. He was from the great state of Maine. They're married now and reside in the great state of Vermont. According to Little Doug, the couple is doing just great.

Only in the last few years has Little Doug ventured into the world of dating. Ironically, he has been utilizing the very same Internet to locate a suitable partner.

"What's good for the goose is good for the gander, I guess," he said optimistically.

Unfortunately, this strategy hasn't yielded any long-term success. Little Doug's dating opportunities have been few and far between. The unions that have materialized haven't worked out too well. Thus far, his most notable relationship was with a woman named Marcella. Sadly, he discovered that she had quite a crazy extended family. Since Little Doug already has one of those himself, he didn't think it would be a good idea to take on another one.

Recently, however, Little Doug became acquainted with a woman named Amanda. They corresponded via email for some time, before exchanging telephone numbers. About six weeks ago, they started to see each other in person.

Little Doug said he felt a good deal of affection for Amanda.

***

While Little Doug and Amanda seemed to share similar interests and values, there was one very glaring difference between them.

Little Doug is rather short and stocky. When he wears his one pair of good dress shoes, he says he's almost five feet, seven inches tall. In his regular footwear, however, he's a few inches south of that measurement.

When clad in sensible, flat shoes, Amanda stands at six feet, two inches tall.

Weed, Little Doug's de facto son-in-law, was the only Sack resident to catch a glimpse of Amanda. He saw her from the front door of Little Doug's place when she came to pick him up on a Saturday night. He said he was quite impressed by her "Amazonian" appearance.

Much to Little Doug's chagrin, Weed thereafter referred to her as Amandazon.

***

The height difference was promptly acknowledged at the start of the dating relationship between Little Doug and Amanda. Both felt it was an irrelevant detail in their growing attraction to each other.

Little Doug said they even developed some humour about the matter. Amanda's pet name for him was Tall Boy. In response, he would call her Shorty. In total, they saw each other for about five weeks. Little Doug said things seemed to be going very well, indeed. They had even talked about spending some time together at Christmas.

The matter of the height difference seemed forgotten.

***

On the first Saturday in December, however, they went to a Christmas dance hosted by Amanda's employer.

Little Doug said their evening together was relatively pleasant. He was a bit uncomfortable because he didn't know anyone at the affair. Also, his feet were a bit sore on account of wearing his good dress shoes. Nevertheless, he held the opinion that it was a successful evening.

After the dance, he spent the night at Amanda's place.

The next day, however, Amanda dropped a bombshell on him. She said their height difference was becoming a matter of concern for her. Apparently, it had been further illuminated at the dance. She wouldn't elaborate on this, but Little Doug figured that her co-workers might've joked about the contrast in their height during the slow dances.

According to Little Doug, his face was generally aligned with Amanda's chest when they engaged in a slow dance.

***

As a result of her concerns, Amanda said she didn't think a relationship with Little Doug would be possible. She definitely wanted to remain friends, but she needed some time to think about the matter.

She said she would call him some time in January.

Little Doug admits that Amanda's decision has been difficult to accept. He thought the height issue had been "put to bed" at the very beginning. More important, he was upset that she might've been influenced by the perceptions of others.

"I don't care what other people think," said Little Doug forcefully, "and I thought she didn't care about that either."

I offered Little Doug my condolences in the matter. I said it was too bad that things didn't work out. It was also clear that he was due for a change in fortunes.

Little Doug nodded his agreement and then shrugged. "Well, what are you gonna do. . . . the only thing I can say is c'est la vie."

***

Yesterday afternoon, Oscar and Computer Doug were chatting on Oscar's driveway.

The pair has been spending a lot of time together lately. This is because Computer Doug is unemployed. Oscar, of course, works from his home. However, his workload closely resembles that of an unemployed person. As a result, both have time on their hands.

Your agent cruised into the Sack at this moment. I was returning from the local shopping emporium. Removing some bags from the car, I strolled over to Oscar's driveway.

"Where have you been?" asked Oscar.

I glanced at the bags in my hand. "The mall. I was doing my Christmas shoplifting."

Oscar nodded, but Computer Doug gave me a startled look.

"I'm kidding," I said quickly. Computer Doug looked only mildly relieved.

"What about you guys?" your agent asked. "What're you up to?"

"Waiting for Little Doug," Oscar replied. "We're going to Home Depot."

According to Oscar, Little Doug is going to make some repairs at their respective houses over the holiday season. Computer Doug needed some plumbing materials, while Oscar was in the market for a new toilet. Little Doug would make sure they bought the appropriate items needed to perform the two jobs.

Glancing over at Little Doug's house, I noticed that his pick-up truck was gone. "So, where is he?" I asked.

"Weed took him downtown to get his truck. He left it there last night after his work Christmas party. He took a cab home."

I wondered for a moment whether Amanda might've had a change of heart. "Did he go to the party with someone?" I asked.

Oscar shook his head. "Nope. He went by himself. He got dumped by Amandazon, eh."

"I know," your agent replied.

***

A few minutes later, Little Doug motored into the Sack. He pulled into his driveway and then climbed slowly out of his truck. He walked toward us with his hands in his pockets and a dejected look on his face.

"What's wrong?" asked Oscar.

Little Doug shook his head and jerked a thumb back at his truck. "Follow me," he said in a low tone.

We trailed behind as he led us to the passenger side of his truck. There was a long, thin scratch running from the rear tail light up to the passenger door. At that point, a large V-shaped scratch covered most of the door. Another long, narrow scratch then continued from the door to the front headlight.

"Somebody keyed my truck," he said quietly.

***

Apparently, Little Doug had parked his truck overnight on a downtown residential street. About seven other cars received the same type of damage. He said it must've happened in the middle of the night. The peelers were called about the matter, but the chances of catching the offender seemed unlikely.

We commiserated with Little Doug for a few minutes. Oscar ranted about increasing vandalism in this day and age. Computer Doug recounted a story about the same experience a few years ago.

Your agent took a closer look at the shape etched on Little Doug's passenger door. It really was a nasty V-shaped scratch.

"Hey," I said suddenly, catching Little Doug's attention. "Does this remind you of anything?"

He looked at the scratch for a few seconds and then shrugged. I ran my finger along the outline of it and said, "C'est la vee!"

For the first time that day, Little Doug laughed.

***

Next: The Doug of the Year (DOTY) award. . . .

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all who wander through the Sack via Cul de Sac Blues!

Snow Follies

2008-12-07T17:30:00.003-04:00

A few weekends ago, the Sack awoke to about thirty-five centimeters of snow. Quite suddenly, autumn had given way to winter.

Your agent awoke on that Saturday morning at about six-thirty. I was stirred by a distant scraping sound.

Rising to the bedroom window, I gazed out upon the Sack. It was eerily quiet. Under the soft glare of the streetlights, the neighbourhood seemed covered in soft, white satin. The trees were heavy with snow. Even the exposed trunks were layered in white. It was a beautiful sight, indeed.

The distant scraping was suddenly audible again.

Scanning across the street, I spied movement on Big Doug's driveway. He was putting the finishing touches on his first snow-shoveling job of the year. A straight snow bank lined each side of his driveway. The cleared asphalt was almost bereft of snow. His prized pickup truck had also been swept clean.

Did I mention it was only six-thirty in the morning?

Despite his pristine driveway, Big Doug wouldn't be able to drive anywhere. There was still thirty-five centimeters of snow covering the rest of the Sack. The snowplows wouldn't dig us out until late in the afternoon. None of this, of course, likely bothered him.

Big Doug was in shoveling heaven, man.

***

The arrival of snow seemed to awaken an early Christmas spirit in some residents. The first seasonal adornments materialized on the street within days of that first snowfall. On the Sunday, Ben was observed storing a freshly cut Christmas tree in his garage. The next day, it appeared undecorated in his front window. By the end of the week, it was fully dressed for the season.

Gordon is almost always the first Sack resident to decorate the exterior of his home. For him, this is a very serious business. To the grand amazement of everyone, however, he was beaten to the punch this year. His comeuppance came from a very unlikely source.

Dirk and Dora, the denizens of Burning Manor, were first to decorate their home for Christmas.

***

Dirk was responsible for the decorations. He strung a line of Christmas lights in a partial framing of Burning Manor's front porch. The lights were green.

On the snow-covered lawn, however, Dirk erected something quite extraordinary. He placed a large, inflatable snow globe adjacent to the driveway. There was a smiling snowman inside it. When the whole business was activated, a flurry of artificial snow swirled around the snowman. At night, the globe was backlit.

It was quite a sight.

Sack observers have been confounded by this sudden expression of holiday spirit at Burning Manor. In the past, the only holiday spirit there seemed to be the liquid variety.

Dora, in particular, seemed enthralled by the inflatable snow globe. Oscar says he saw her standing outside on consecutive evenings, simply staring at it. She was mesmerized by the thing.

Oscar says she was probably stoned. He could be right about this.

***

When the next weekend arrived, Gordon roared into action. He spent his entire Saturday beautifying his home with all manner of decorations.

The lighting scheme alone took most of his time. At night, his house now illuminates most of the Sack's centre circle. Oscar says the place looks like a casino. He could be right about this, too.

Gordon also made liberal use of wreaths and boughs. His porch and doorway are covered with both items. There's also a large plastic Santa Claus face on the wall above his garage. A strategically placed spotlight gives it prominence at night.

As usual, Gordon has also erected a pair of mechanical reindeer on his lawn. They're made of thick white wire. Small white lights provide an outline of the animals. At short intervals, the reindeers' heads bow and then slowly rise in the air. This makes it look like they're grazing in the snow.

Gordon puts the reindeer out every year. As always, Oscar will make a clandestine attempt to reposition them. Ultimately, one reindeer will appear to be sniffing the other's behind.

***

Young Doo took advantage of the sudden abundance of snow. A hefty mountain of the stuff was piled in the Sack's centre circle, courtesy of the old town's snowplow brigade. That's where Doo decided to build a snowman.

The boy toiled over his creation for two solid days. At times, other Sack kids joined him. It was clear, however, that Doo was the project's foreman. He built the snowman at the highest point of the snow mountain. When the job was completed, his creation towered over the street like a religious statue.

Every time Oscar walked past it, he crossed himself.

***

Your agent was in the midst of shoveling the Wonders' driveway, while Doo was in the early stages of creating the snowman. Rest assured, this was many hours after six-thirty in the morning.

In need of some respite, I crossed the street to the Sack's centre circle. I decided to exchange pleasantries with the boy. Oscar says it's a good idea to maintain good relations with Sack kids. This way, they won't steal from us when we're old and lacking in agility.

After polite greetings, Doo told me all about his plans for the snowman. He said it would quite likely be the world's biggest. As he described his intentions, a thin line of mucus seeped from his left nostril.

Given the wintry atmosphere, I asked him what he wanted for Christmas this year. That's when the following conversation ensued:

Doo: "I wanna Wii"

Me: "You wanna what?"

Doo: "A Wii."

Me: "A wee what?"

Doo: "A Wii. I wanna Wii."

Me: "You want a wee."

Doo: "Yeah."

Me: "What's a wee?

Doo: "It's a game console."

Me: "Right. A Wii."

Doo: "Yeah."

Me: "Why do you want a Wii?"

Doo: "Because. . . . it's fun."

***

Dirk's inflatable snow globe, Gordon's festive house and Ben's Christmas tree certainly gave the Sack some early holiday flair.

Doo's snowman, of course, only added to this slice of suburban life. However, it was shaped in a rather unusual fashion. Rather than being a roly-poly snowman, his creation was tall and lean. The lad had certainly focused his attention on height rather than girth. It looked more like an obelisk.

Nevertheless, it certainly contributed to the Sack's newfound cheeriness.

***

Naturally, this state of affairs wouldn't last.

This week, the old town received several days of persistent rain, strong wind and dense fog. The temperature rose dramatically. At one point, it was fifteen degrees outside. That's almost sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

It didn't take long for the heavy coating of snow to disappear. Only a small pile of it remained in the Sack's centre circle, along with the remnants of Doo's snowman. Everything else was wet, damp and dreary.

On Wednesday evening, your agent and Oscar strolled over to the local coffee cathedral. Oscar had maple sugar donuts on his mind. Upon our return, we walked through the Sack. It didn't take long to realize that the neighbourhood's early Christmas spirit had dissipated.

***

The Christmas tree in Ben's front window was mysteriously absent. Later, we would hear from Norma about the matter. Apparently, their cat had knocked it over earlier that day. When we walked past their house, they hadn't been home to discover it yet.

Gordon's house was still shining brightly. However, something was amiss with one of his reindeer. It had nothing to do with butt sniffing, either. Instead, it appeared to be malfunctioning. Rather than moving its head in a grazing fashion, the reindeer was nodding in a quick, repetitive manner.

"Don't look now," said Oscar, with a hint of concern in his voice, "but I think one of Gordon's reindeer is having a seizure."

***

At Burning Manor, the surprising holiday spirit was clearly deflated.

The inflatable snow globe on its front lawn was collapsed in a disjointed, wet heap. A torn piece of plastic was flapping in the wind. The happy snowman was partially visible in the carnage. It looked like it had been run over by a truck. The recent wind and driving rain was likely to blame.

Dirk's green Christmas lights had also become dislodged from the porch roof. A line of lights drooped lazily in front of the entryway. They haven't been lit for days now.

After the heavy rain, Burning Manor's lawn was a muddy mess. With the almost unrecognizable snow globe in its midst, there was little evidence of Christmas cheer.

Instead, Oscar said it looked like a paratrooper had recently landed in the midst of a war zone.

***

Doo's obelisk-like snowman had also suffered from the rain and mild temperatures.

When first constructed atop the snow mountain, it stood almost as high as the trees in the Sack's centre circle. Now, it had been brought down to earth. While the snowman still maintained its lean proportions, it had melted in a most unfortunate fashion.

It resembled a phallic symbol more than a snowman.

***

Gordon has yet to tend to his epileptic reindeer. It could be that he hasn't noticed yet. For comedic purposes, no one is likely to mention it to him, either.

The grisly remnants of Dirk's snow globe remains on the lawn of Burning Manor. Apparently, Dirk has returned to his job on an oil rig and won't be home until shortly before Christmas. No one expects Dora to do anything about the matter. She certainly hasn't been spotted outside staring at it.

Thankfully, the sight of young Doo's snowy phallic symbol is no longer welcoming Sack residents to the neighbourhood. Yesterday, he was observed taking matters into his own hands. Armed with a hockey stick, he destroyed it with a series of vicious chops. By the end of the day, all traces of its existence were gone.

Oscar says it looked like Doo took more pleasure from the destruction of the snowman, than from the building of it. He could be right about this.

***

It's now only about three weeks until Christmas. That's plenty of time for the Sack to rekindle its holiday spirit. Already, there seems to be some evidence of this.

Yesterday, Big Doug erected some Christmas lights on the front of his house. He hasn't done this for a few years. Your agent wandered over to his place, while he was in the midst of this task.

Although he tends to be a bit on the gruff side, Big Doug seemed surprisingly cheerful. After chatting amiably for a few moments, he asked if I had heard the latest weather report.

"Nope," I replied.

"Big storm coming tomorrow," said Big Doug. "Could be rain. Could be snow. It's too soon to tell."

"Well, let's hope for some rain, eh?" your agent said hopefully.

Big Doug grunted and looked into the sky as if assessing the possibilities. Finally, he said, "Snow's a pain in the arse, but I wouldn't mind it if we got some."

"Really?" I replied. "How so?"

Big Doug gazed around the Sack for a second and said, "Take a look around. . . we could use a little Christmas spirit around here."

He could be right about this.

***

Profit Taking

2008-11-21T22:30:00.010-04:00

Rental Doug's former Sack abode remains empty. A "For Rent" sign sits prominently on the front lawn. With numerous vacancies at Serenity Terrace, the rental development next to the Sack, it could be some time before we gain a new neighbour.

Oscar finds this state of affairs to be immensely frustrating. It has been several years since we enjoyed the privilege of bestowing a new moniker on an incoming Sack resident. He says this is one of his favourite aspects of living here.

Weed continues to ruminate on the loss of Rental Doug. Although it's highly improbable, he remains hopeful that an incoming new resident will have the same name. He says it's essential for the Sack's Doug population to be replenished.

"I don't care if the new guy's name is Bob, Sergio or Guptil," said Weed, "we absolutely have to call him Replacement Doug."

***

In the lives of Sack residents, there are clear signs of the slowing economy. Nevertheless, there is also good reason for optimism. In the midst of job losses and a declining real estate market, one can still find evidence of industry and creativity.

Last week, your agent completed some business in the downtown quarter. As the weather was inclement, I hailed a cab. After settling into the back seat, I informed the driver of my destination in the Sack. He adjusted his rear view mirror and gazed back at me. "I think I know where that is," he said with a smile.

The cab driver was Doo's stepdad, Sticky.

***

Sticky has a low profile in the Sack. As a bus driver with the old town's transit authority, he puts in a lot of overtime. He also works a lot of split shifts. It's rare to see him at home in the Sack.

According to Sticky, the old town has placed a cap on overtime. This has reduced his weekly earnings. By driving a cab in his spare hours, he could more than make up the difference.

"Man, that's a lot of driving," I said sympathetically.

"Ah, yup," he replied. That's what Sticky says when he means, "yes."

***

Sticky explained that he could probably manage without driving the cab. However, he and Doo's mom are planning a vacation in early April. They're going to Cuba for a couple of weeks. To enhance their savings, Doo's mom is also making a substantial sacrifice. She's giving up Tuesday Night Bingo until next summer.

Sadly, young Doo will not be accompanying his parents to Cuba. He'll stay at his grandmother's house for the duration of their trip. Sticky said they don't want the boy to miss any time away from school.

"I'll bet he's not happy about that," I said.

"Ah, yup," said Sticky.

***

Britney Bitterman's beau, Maxwell is no longer peddling pot from the porch of the Bitterman residence. Apparently, his inventory has been exhausted.

While most observers would consider this to be a despicable business, Maxwell claims that it was merely a temporary and well-intentioned enterprise. He explained this to Oscar and your agent during a recent discussion at the local coffee cathedral.

According to Maxwell, he received a quantity of marijuana from one of his legions of cousins. It arrived in lieu of an outstanding financial debt. This unexpected development caused him to consider his options.

"I could've either smoked my brains out," said Maxwell with a thoughtful look, "or I could do something good for my family." That's how he decided to peddle the pot from the porch.

Still, Maxwell was apologetic about using the Bitterman residence as his storefront. Unfortunately, without any means of transportation, he said he really had no choice in the matter. In fact, the whole point of the enterprise was really about transportation. He said the profits would be used to fund repairs to his 1993 Cutlass Supreme. The vehicle, of course, has been parked in the Bitterman's driveway for some time. It requires a new doohickey of some kind before it can be operable again.

Maxwell said the new doohickey has been ordered from Canadian Tire. He expects the car and his illustrious company, Cutlass Supreme Painting to be back in action within the next week.

The completed repairs can't come a moment too soon, either. Maxwell says he has "tons" of interior painting gigs lined up between now and "probably April." In fact, he's already thinking about how he might spend some of the profits.

"Yeah," said Maxwell, as he picked at his maple sugar donut, "I'm thinkin' that me and Britney might take a trip next April."

"Oh, yeah?" replied your agent. "Where're you guys gonna go?"

"I don't know yet," he said casually, "I'm thinkin' maybe Cuba."

***

Doo's stepdad, Sticky and Britney Bitterman's beau, Maxwell are certainly making an effort to keep the local economy cooking. The same could be said about Tremayne, another Sack resident.

Tremayne, of course, is the Sack's primary pusher of fundraising chocolate bars. He's nine years old. Already, he has three years of experience under his belt. If there was a Golden Circle for chocolate bar sellers, Tremayne would be a three-time winner.

Of course, it's uncertain whether any of Tremayne's causes have ever actually seen the money he collects. When asked about the purpose of the fundraising, he's rather vague about the matter. Sometimes, he just says the money is for his brother, Jimbo's school. That's about as much as he can tell you.

One might also wonder about how many chocolate bars end up in Tremayne's mouth. After selling a bar to your agent, he'll often return the next day. He'll ask if I have any chocolate to spare.

***

A few weeks ago, the Wonders' doorbell rang. It was about four-thirty in the afternoon.

When your agent opened the door, Tremayne stood boldly on the porch. He nodded a greeting and held up his bag of chocolate bars. He opened it only a few inches, enticing me to look at its contents.

"You wanna buy some chocolate bars?" he asked quietly.

Tremayne usually offers me a quantity of bars first. Then he allows me to negotiate down to a single one. It's a very effective strategy.

"How much?" your agent replied.

"Three-fifty," answered Tremayne.

***

Two years ago, Tremayne's chocolate bars sold for two dollars. Last year, the price rose to three dollars. These price increases, I told him, were becoming ridiculous. Tremayne simply shrugged.

"So what are you raising money for this time," I asked. Tremayne shrugged again and said, "School."

"Whose school?" I replied.

"Mine."

"And what's the money for?"

"My class," said Tremayne. "We're goin' somewhere else to do something."

I paused for a moment and said, "That sounds like a lot of fun."

Tremayne nodded with disinterest. Then he asked, "So, how many do you want?"

***

I bought only one chocolate bar from Tremayne. Belt-tightening, after all, has to start somewhere.

About an hour later, the doorbell rang again. I couldn't believe that Tremayne would be back so soon looking for chocolate. This time, however, an adolescent girl stood on the porch. She looked to be about fourteen years old.

Like Tremayne, the girl was selling fundraising chocolate bars. Apparently, her cheerleading team was planning a trip to the great state of New Hampshire.

***

I bought another chocolate bar from the teenage girl. It's good to have a back-up bar for when Tremayne returns to the door. Interestingly, the girl's chocolate bars were only two dollars.

They were exactly the same as the ones Tremayne was peddling.

***

Tremayne has yet to arrive at the Wonders' door looking for chocolate. Whenever he does appear, he'll have some explaining to do. I have no doubt that he'll have a reasonable response for the price discrepancy.

Of course, it could be that the chocolate bar price varies at the fundraiser's discretion. Maybe Tremayne needs a new doohickey for his bike. Or perhaps, he's planning his own trip to Cuba.

Either way, one thing is very clear. If you asked whether Tremayne will make it through the coming recession, I would have only one response.

Ah, yup.

***

Dollar Daze

2008-11-15T08:00:00.005-04:00

Big Doug is back in no-man's land. The lawn care season has ended, but snow has yet to fall. His shovels line the wall of his garage like soldiers awaiting orders. There is nothing for him to do.

Rather than any fervent desire for snow, Big Doug's strong work ethic lies at the heart of the matter. With his hands rendered idle, he becomes irritable and distracted. He can putter around with some make-work projects, but nothing seems to bring any satisfaction. He needs work that has meaning and purpose.

Lawn care and snow shoveling share an important characteristic. It's work that must be done. This is what drives Big Doug's engine. In spring, his lawn must be coaxed back to a green, robust state. Then it must be maintained throughout the summer and early fall. This requires effort, consistency and patience.

Snow on Big Doug's driveway requires a different kind of attention. It must be removed with diligence and expedience. With the frequency of nor'easters in the old town's neck of the woods, Big Doug's shovels remain occupied throughout winter and most of spring.

In between grass and snow, however, lies a cavernous black hole. This is why, for Big Doug, November is the cruelest month.

***

Signs of an emerging economic slowdown have already appeared in the Sack.

Your agent and Oscar took a stroll to the local coffee cathedral last week. It was a Wednesday morning. Your agent had taken a rare day off work. Oscar, of course, needed no such excuse. He works from home.

As we entered the establishment, Oscar elbowed me in the side and pointed. Computer Doug was sitting at a corner table. The old town's newspaper, The Chronically Horrid was spread in front of him. A cup of coffee and the remains of a maple sugar doughnut were at his elbow.

After acquiring our own supply of java, we joined him at his table. It didn't take long to learn why Computer Doug was at the local coffee cathedral in the midst of a workday. When Oscar asked about his welfare, he grinned sheepishly and said, "Well, I'm unemployed again."

***

Several years ago, Computer Doug lost his job. The company he worked for, in his words, "went tits up."

At the time, Computer Doug was unfamiliar with unemployment. Beyond looking for another job, he didn't know what to do with himself. Thankfully, Oscar was able to take him under his wing. He gave him a crash course on how to enjoy idleness. This is an area where Oscar holds considerable expertise.

Eventually, however, Computer Doug found another job. Everything was going swimmingly until the previous Monday. When he arrived at work, he was greeted with some very bad news.

"The company," said Computer Doug, after swallowing the last of his maple sugar donut, "has gone tits up."

***

Computer Doug said he's a bit worried that he has worked for two consecutive companies that have gone tits up. He said he's starting to get a complex about the matter.

"I think I've got the Midas touch," he said evenly, "except in reverse."

Despite the job loss, Computer Doug wasn't too worried about the future. He'll get some unemployment insurance money for a considerable period. His wife, Marion earns a decent wage, so they'll be able to manage their bills. He also has some information about another opportunity that might be worth investigating.

Computer Doug says his fingers are crossed.

***

Rental Doug and his blended family had to move from the Sack last September. The house they were renting was placed on the real estate market.

The owner was hoping for a quick sale. Without any offers coming in, the asking price dropped twice. But still, no one seemed interested in buying it. Last week, the house was taken off the market. A "For Rent" sign now stands on the front lawn.

Rental Doug and his blended family could have been living there still.

***

But they're not living there anymore. Rental Doug and his blended family purchased their own home. They won't be coming back to the Sack.

Weed frequently bemoans the loss of Rental Doug. He says it cuts the Sack's Doug population by twenty-five percent. "That's a quarter of the Dougs, man," he says with frustration.

Oscar, however, says he's glad to see the back of Rental Doug. This should be no surprise to Sack observers. Oscar thinks Rental Doug has some kind of nefarious connection to Satan. Apparently, he was placed in the Sack in an undercover role. When "all hell breaks loose" in the world, Rental Doug was supposed to show his true colours.

Oscar says the whole matter is covered rather nicely in the Book of Revelations. I have no idea about such things.

***

The declining economy has also affected another Sack resident. A few days ago, Oscar stormed through the Wonders' front door. He was bursting with newly gleaned information. He said it was garnered directly from the horse's mouth.

"Jeff Christ," he said breathlessly, "is moving out west."

***

Jeff Christ has been gainfully employed at a local call centre for several years. He enjoyed a meteoric rise to the rank of team leader. According to Weed, who works at the same call centre in a junior position, Jeff's colleagues and subordinates regard him as a very fine fellow.

Nevertheless, call centre supremacy isn't Jeff Christ's calling. At least, that's how he explained it to Oscar when they encountered each other at the local coffee cathedral.

Jeff said his passion for the call centre game dropped dramatically during the last year. He didn't see much possibility for further advancement. Also, his salary was rather paltry for the amount of work that he did.

In the end, he decided that he wanted to pursue his real passion. Apparently, he wants to go back to school to become a teacher. He hopes to gain acceptance for next September. In the meantime, Jeff said he needs to save more money. His salary at the call centre wasn't going to be enough.

Besides, he has a strong feeling that there will be layoffs at the call centre very soon.

***

In order to earn more money, Jeff Christ is going to Alberta in January. He has a job lined up in the oil sands industry. He'll make three times the amount he was paid at the call centre.

Although he was hopeful of returning to the Sack in September, Jeff Christ said he was unsure whether everything would come together that way. He said he would go to whatever university accepted him. If one of the old town's schools didn't accept his application, he wouldn't be back.

Jeff said he would likely keep working in Alberta, if he doesn't gain entrance to a school next September. This way he would have maximum savings when acceptance finally came.

***

Jeff Christ's impending departure was a significant topic when Weed joined us later at the local coffee cathedral. Oscar said he wasn't entirely surprised about Jeff's decision. "I knew this was coming as soon as Rental Doug moved away."

According to Oscar, Jeff Christ is leaving the Sack because "his work here is done." Under his theory, the young man's presence was directly connected to the existence of Rental Doug. Apparently, Jeff was living here only to keep an eye on the man.

Now that Satan's agent in the Sack has departed, Jeff Christ's services are needed elsewhere.

***

In your agent's opinion, Oscar's explanation was preposterous. Rental Doug remains in the local area. Who would be keeping an eye on him now?

Oscar thought about this for a moment and then replied, "I don't know. That's God's problem now, not ours."

Weed, however, had his own theory about the matter. He said the departure of both men was a very dire sign. With the economic meltdown, constant war and rapid climate change, he said it was no surprise that both would leave the Sack.

"Things must be so bad," he said thoughtfully, "that both God and the Devil are getting out while they can."

***

Computer Doug's job loss, the failure to sell Rental Doug's former home and Jeff Christ's departure could be evidence of the declining economy. These could also be normal events that occur in the lives of cul-de-sac people.

I have no idea about such things.

Of course, it will still be very sad to see Jeff Christ leave the Sack. He is, of course, a very fine fellow. Hopefully, he will come back in September.

It was also unfortunate to see Rental Doug and his blended family move away. They were well regarded by other Sack residents.

Of the two departures, however, it's Jeff Christ's that remains in your agent's mind most. Every time I think about it, my thoughts converge on the same phrase.

Jeff Christ hath forsaken us.

***