Armed citizenry

You like provincial militias.

I know what I'm talking about. I've read War and Peace and seen every one of the Rambo movies. And what we need is local infantry units trained in unconventional warfare. I propose community militias organized at the provincial level. These volunteer forces would not be used abroad or even out-of-province.

Here's the thing: I'm not joining the Reserves. I have no interest in fighting overseas and no interest in being called up to serve some ephemeral "national" interest. Bottom line, I'll fight to protect where I live, and I can do that more effectively with training and with the support of like-minded comrades.

We shouldn't overestimate the value of citizen militias--they're not the equal of professional soldiers--but we shouldn't downplay them, either. In natural disasters, units could be deployed in support of civic and police authorities. In the very unlikely event of invasion, the militias could become the seeds of guerilla units. While Canada is, at best, a middle power militarily, it's no stretch to believe we could make Canada virtually uncontrollable for a would-be occupier.

Why such limits on deployment? I've already said: lots of Canadians would like military training and would like to be more involved in their communities; far fewer have any interest in being posted far from their families in the event of war. Tell someone "you'll be fighting for your house, your property and your loved ones," and, based on my extensive experience playing the game Risk, I'd anticipate an enthusiastic reponse.

Cephalopods

You like octopi, squid and cuttlefish.

Most invertebrates are morons. This giant class of animals contains beasts as diverse as lobster and oysters, slugs and sea sponges. And smack in the middle of this class full of dunces slips the cephalopods, the unlikely geniuses. Octopi can open jars and navigate mazes, not to mention use rudimentary tools, while squid and cuttlefish use flashing lights along their bodies to communicate with each other.

It's not just smarts, though. Squid include one of the largest monsters of the deep, the Colossal, while cuttlefish include one of the smallest -- the beautiful, lethal Flamboyant (the Blue-ringed octopus is another cute killer).

Third in their triumvirate of intriguing qualities would have to be their ability to morph their bodies, altering skin textures and colour, and slipping their elastic bodies through the most convoluted contortions.

So raise a briny glass to your neighbourhood kraken, and thank the gods they didn't end up on the top of the evolutionary chain.

Oh, I should mention the fourth kind of cephalopod, the nautilus. These prehistoric survivors are interesting only because they've survived for eons. But they're dumb as posts. You hear that, nautilids? Go fuck yourselves.

My Wife

I love you, Baby. Happy anniversary.

Rockall

You like giant chunks of stone that stick out of the ocean.

If I told you there was a tiny island, north of Ireland en route to Iceland, sticking like a jagged tooth out of the Atlantic, would you believe me?

Oh, you would. Okay. See, I was gonna say something like, "Well you should, fucko, cuz it's true!" Seems kind of pointless now, though, eh? Well, anyway, it's true, there is, and it's called Rockall.

Almost as tall as it is wide, this "islet" is just begging to be the site of a super-secret Bond villain HQ. There's a little flat patch -- called Hall's Ledge -- just below the summit. That's where I'd put the entrance. Disguise it as something inconspicuous, like a red manhole cover, and have an elevator dropping down into a cavern as big as Sarawak Chamber. That's where you'd have the gun-toting bikini chicks pumping gas into high-speed submersible ski-doos in preparation for an invasion of Franz Josef Land (that's where they'd want to build the new improved super secret base).

Rockall has been briefly occupied before, but never by me. I am currently looking for a volunteer to live there permanently, claiming Rockall in the name of Like. I can offer you three cans of kidney beans and a number of swear words to use against the British navy when it comes calling.

Pocket Knife

You like having an EDC.

There was a time when every man carried a pocket knife. It was a simpler time, a better time, when communists lived in fear of political witch hunts and fathers stood ready to open packages, whittle branches or stab lunatics into submission.

The best option is as individual as your needs. A contractor might want the variety of tough tools offered by the Surge. The outdoorsman may gravitate to the military essentials of a Swiss army knife. No one, male or female, survivalist or peacenik, should leave home without a Signature on his/her key chain. It's worth fuck-all in a struggle with a grizzly, but the pen alone is worth the price of admission.

And, of course, you should never underestimate the value of a good lockblade. Sharp things never go out of style, whether you're a headhunter in New Guinea, or a day trader on Wall Street. A personal fave is the Spyderco Dragonfly. This small knife avoids the stigma of walking the streets with a commando knife strapped to your hip. But with its tough contruction, convenient pocket clip, light weight, and quick one-handed opening, this mini-machete is perfect for everyday tasks like skinning an orange or a mugger.

Of course, if you couldn't care less about the opinions of polite society or your local police, fuck subtle: hang one of these bad boys on your belt. Nothing says "I am dangerously unstable" quite like packing a machete on the subway.

Livin' small

You like tiny houses.

You like massive mansions, too, so let's not get too granola crunchin' crazy. But it would be cool to have mini digs somewhere on your 400-acres of manicured grounds.

The small house phenomenon is gaining steam--or at least its media presence is. I only know of one truly miniature house near my chateau, and it's a summer-stay only. That hasn't stopped the grow small movement from building online, though. Tumbleweed was one of the first outfits I encountered. Tiny Green Cabin looks like it's the cottage version. There are plenty more modern-style options, too.

The real question, though, is just how hardcore you want to get. If you're really committed to minisculing your life, why not go all the way and move into a teardrop trailer. And if you're going for it, go for it: the Rascal. Just borrow someone's moped to tow this to its permanent site - you're using it as a house, not a camper - dig a hole outside to make number two in, and enjoy bragging rights at any squirrel-fest smoke-in in the country. When some white kid with dreads starts copping attitude about his hemp sneakers, you can squash him verbally (right before actually kicking the ever-living shit out of him): "Hemp sneakers, eh? Well, I don't wear shoes. I use tree roots to lace leaves onto the soles of my feet. And I don't own a bike - exhaling while exercising is just too environmentally unfriendly. Oh, and did I mention where I live...?"

Salty Spiders

You like jumping spiders.

Creepy crawlies are a mixed bag. Mantids are cool, cockroaches are nasty; bees rock, while centipedes are full-out foul (one of the few living things - people using bluetooth headsets are another - that's an immediate kill-on-sight for me).

Most spiders are a factor five on the ick scale. They're cool, sure, but they make my skin crawl. Still, I try to give them the respect they deserve as predators, and only kill them when necessary (like, if they have that really gross-looking fat abdomen - those fuckers gotta die).

Salticidae are among the coolest spiders. Why? Cuz I said so. Just look at them, with their stocky physiques, two big puppy eyes and superstar leaping ability. They're about as adorable as spiders get (even this giant is cute...for a spider). An important, little known fact about these critters is that they are the only spider with a complex language. It's primitive, in some ways: the written form is a picture-based, hieroglyphic system, while the spoken version has no past tense and only three vowels. But still! They're spiders and they talk to each other about current events and their plans for the coming weekend. Is that the coolest shit you've ever heard or what?

Merry Christmas

You like saying "Merry Christmas."

You heard me. Not "season's greetings" or "happy holidays," but good-old Christ-centric "Merry Christmas."

There are ass clowns on both sides of this debate: The outraged born-agains who think it's sacrilege to call December 25 by any name that doesn't mention their Messiah, and the PC crowd who are convinced it's wrong to call things what they are for fear someone, somewhere, some time will be offended.

I'm an atheist. Religion is stupid. But Christmas isn't just a Christian holiday. It's a secular celebration, too. The holiday we celebrate in the West this time of year - with Santa, Frosty, Rudolph, Christmas trees and wreaths, stockings, waist-expanding goodies, tons and tons of loot and, for some, a manger baby - is called Christmas. And the historical origin of these celebrations in Western and European nations is undeniable: the holiday formed around the myth of the birth of Christ (and yes, I'm aware of the fact that Christmas wasn't the first winter holiday - that pagan rituals predated it - but maybe we can make a rule that a holiday dating back two thousand years can lay claim to being an established tradition, and that denying its dominance of a season is just disingenuous).

Are there other holidays occurring in roughly the same time period? Sure. And I'm happy to have someone wish me a happy "whatever" day, too. Heck, I don't even mind "Season's greetings." What I object to, though, is the purposeful exclusion of the word Christmas - not because avoiding it is ungodly but because it's illogical and dangerous. It's a manipulation of good intentions, namely the desire to be inclusive, to socially engineer culture and revise history.

Overbuilt

You like ensconcing everything you own in bad-ass Pelican cases. Nothing says bring on the nuclear strike like using a Pelican case for your wallet, lunch box, brief case and carry-on luggage.

Sure, you could argue a large, hard wallet is impractical. But I guess that depends on how badly you want to protect your stuff. If you're content to have your bus pass destroyed in a terrorist attack, by all means, keep using that leather piece of shit. But if you want luggage that doubles as a weapon, go Pelican - you never know when a sky marshal might need back-up.

Trapper Trudeau

You don't like Christmas cards that look like they're an ad for Reggie's Fur Emporium and Bait Shop. Justin "The Mad Trapper" Trudeau, an MP in Canada, sent out a Christmas card featuring a photo of him, his wife and two kids buried beneath a heap of fur (quick, somebody call CAS - those young kids must have been hyperthermic!).

The photo was zany. It wasn't, "Yeah, we're wearing winter gear and it has fur trim." It was more like, "Look at me cuddled inside the lush skins of 596 eviscerated animals. Mmmm, smell the entrail residue!"

Trapper Trudeau has replied to critics with a bunch of yadda yadda about sustainable furs and supporting Canadian products. No thoughtful person gives a shit about either of these lame justifications. I'm not sure having a fur-trimmed hood on your parka is any worse than eating a hamburger (for the record, I'm against both). But I'd think it was odd if someone sent out a Christmas card showing their family surrounded by mini mountains of ground beef, clutching bacon burgers in greasy paws, liquid fat smeared across their faces and dribbling down their chins. I mean, look at this fuckin' photo! What's the message? "I'm not the scion of Canadian royalty, I'm a Yukon dog sled driver."

Get your head out your ass Justin, and educate yourself.

Canis latrans

You like coyotes. That's right, coyotes.

These wild dogs are getting a lot of bad press these days. I'm not about to diminish personal tragedies, but we don't base public policy on freak incidents, and we don't post bounties on a species because of one lightning-strikes fatality.

Coyotes are smart and they're survivors. They're also canines, and all canines are automatically fuckin' awesome. The millions of dog lovers across North America need to embrace these cousins of their pets. I'd like to suggest a pro coyote political party for Canada. The platform would have one slogan and one issue: "I like coyotes." That's it. Every debate, the answer to every question: "Now that's a great question, Lloyd. Um, if we're going to like coyotes, we need to like coyotes. Growing our liking for coyotoes will unify coyote likers, which can only benefit liking coyotoes. I like coyotes."

Every night at my wilderness retreat I can hear coyotes howling. I love it. My daughter loves it. And if a coyote ever attacks my daughter, I'll still love coyotoes - even as I hunt down every last one of them and extinguish their heart beats with my bare hands.

Amateur Astronomy

You like observing the stars, and what better way to do it than with your own observatory.

It's not as expensive as you might think. Okay, it will cost a few bucks - if you're living in a television box this winter, you may have other priorities - but should be manageable for any property owner with a steady job.

What do you need? Not much. Bare bones: a telescope and an observatory. (You can watch the stars without the latter, but you'll look like an asshole--seriously, without an observatory, you're just one more fuckin' jerk with a lense). The best entry-level scope is something called a Newtonian reflector on a Dobsonian mount, and a six-inch reflector is big enough to provide decent views while still being highly mobile. But the mobility thing kind of doesn't matter if you have your own site, so I say bump it up to the eight-inch. Only a few extra bucks, but the larger aperture makes a big difference (should give you at least eight more seconds warning when the giant earth-smashing asteroid is about to hit).

An observatory is a building, though, not just a scope. The budget conscious should scope out something like SkyShed. Their smallest structure is just 6X6, but it's also under two grand.

Of course, if you make some smart budget choices--don't worry, kids thrive on peanut butter and macaroni--you can upgrade: a fifteen-foot home dome and the Orion UP20. That's right, for less than thirty grand, you can watch aliens eating their breakfast on planet Brakwxt 7. I see you, you warty purple fucks!

Mountaineering

You like mountain climbing.

On the face of it, mountaineering is just plain stupid. Like free-diving and BASE jumping, one could argue that it's little more than socially-sanctioned Russian roulette. Consider Annapurna in the Himalayas: this 8,091 metre monster has a fatality to summit ratio in excess of 40%, which basically means that for every 10 people who've enjoyed the view from the top, four people have died trying to get there.

You have to wonder: as people are plummeting down cliff faces, suffocating in avalanches, being crushed beneath seracs, or just plain old freezing to death, do they ever think to themselves, "Why couldn't I just play chess?"

But we all know the answer: because chess isn't mountain climbing. Listen, I'm not going to bash chess. Being a grand master at that ancient game is its own special brand of cool. But climbing K2 isn't cool, it's bad-ass. It's also not Russian roulette. You see, roulette is all chance. Mountaineering has a big element of chance, sure, but the random factor can be mitigated - some times - by the skill, fitness and just plain old drive to survive of the climber.

Climbing 8,000 metre peaks is like playing chess while running a marathon and being sprayed constantly with ice water, never knowing when a dumpster full of bricks may fall from the sky or a sinkhole drop out beneath your feet. And when shit goes south in the high-altitude death zone - when ropes break, blizzards hit, and oxygen tanks run dry - it becomes a near-peerless test of human endurance.

Whoring

You like above-board hookers.

Ontario recently decriminalized prostitution. 'Bout time. Advocates of legalization can talk about women's safety and tax benefits for society - both valid points - but the real reason it should be legalized - and should have never been against the law - is simple: your body, your choice. The incentives you receive to fuck somebody are between you and the recipient of your services. It's depressing that so many people have trouble grasping the obvious validity of this position. It makes you realize how sadly backward we still are, despite all of our technological progress. People still oppose gay marriage, people still go to jail for owning marijuana plants and yes, in many (most?) parts of the world, sucking a dick for $50 can get you arrested.

Government, get the fuck out of our personal lives.

Monster Dogs

Great dogs come in many shapes and sizes (I love my small terriers). But today you like the giants, the canines that clear 100-pounds with room to spare.

Let's be blunt: in most ways, big dogs are impractical. They're short-lived, cost more (in virtually every way), slobber more, take up more room, have bigger craps. If we're going to be honest, there's only one really persuasive reason to have a 150-pound pup, and that's security.

But what a reason! Think about it. Want to instantly transform your home from target to fortress? Just add a Dogue de Bordeaux. Nervous about letting your teen have a few friends over while you're away? Make sure the bouncer is a Boerboel.

Don't let politically correct goofs convince you there's something wrong with wanting a canine guardian for your home and family. A loved, trained big dog with protective instincts is a responsible choice. Mistreating a dog, using a dog to frighten people or otherwise acting like a total dick is never cool, but having a fearless bodyguard for your children and property is just smart.

That doesn't mean you can't have fun with people's perception of you as a macho dick with a small dick. There's a trend to give huge dogs cute names, like calling your Fila Brasileiro "Snuggles." I say go the other direction: give your dog an aggressive name. And not just something cliche, like Bullet. How about Siege or Guillotine; Blood Hunger or Mangler; or even I Will Feast On Your Lungs?

Carrot Cake

Few slices of cake are worthy of their own blog post. But the carrot cake at the Aulac Big Stop, New Brunswick, deserves the Nobel prize for decadence. You like it a lot.

For the record, I have no idea what cream cheese icing is. Whenever you tell someone you had carrot cake, or know where you can get carrot cake, or have a guy who flies carrot cake in from Colombia, some fuckin' jerk will ask you if it has cream cheese icing. I don't know if the Big Stop restaurant's carrot cake has cream cheese icing or not. It has icing, tons of it, and it tastes fantastic.

Carrot cake isn't even my favorite cake. I'm a chocolate guy myself. But there is no piece of cake better than the half-eaten slice I have sitting in my kitchen at this moment. Hell, I'd sell your soul for a slice.

Stick up

You like swagger sticks for civilians.

Why should military officers be the only ones who get to carry this awesome fashion accessory? Fuck that. We all have people we want to hit with sticks, so why not have a well-made, sleek tool for the job. I propose that swagger sticks should become the male version of a purse. If women can carry around those bottomless trash bags slung over their shoulders, men have the right to look equally ridiculous. And a swagger stick is a helluva lot cooler than a murse (not to be confused with a man bag, which is just smart planning).

Imagine walking into a subway car, your favorite coffee shop or a parent-teacher interview with a swagger stick tucked under your arm. Can you say instant respect?

Boardgames

You like using dice, cardboard, wood cubes and plastic bits to pummel your friends, smash their plans and stomp their self-esteem into dust.

Boardgames are full-ahead awesome. This may come as news to many of you, particularly those who only shop at department stores. How excited can you get about a Winnie the Pooh version of Sorry? No, I'm talking about a new generation of games--games that are fast-paced, strategic and fun (www.boardgamegeek.com lists all of them).

Now, I'm not going to pretend these boardgames are an easy sell to Grandma Gertie and the retard twins. People with the attention spans of guppies and the imaginations of bricks will have a tough time believing something called Puerto Rico is worth learning to play (lame name, granted, but terrific game). Some games are an easier entry point than others. Newcomers to the hobby might check out these titles: Carcassonne, Ticket to Ride or Settlers of Catan (personally don't like that last one, but most beginners do). Tougher--but more interesting--entry points would be Puerto Rico, Agricola or Dominion.

If none of these games win over your friends or family, your friends and family are stupid.

Texas massacre anyone?

You like the toothy snarl of a chainsaw.

Ever wondered what it would be like to stand in front of a stadium full of people and hit a power cord on an electric guitar? Well, average Joes can get the same experience - sorry, minus the groupie blowjobs backstage - with a few hundred bucks and a stand of virgin forest. The noise, the vibration, the sweat and the adrenaline - it's all there.

Even a little saw, like this Stihl 170, will provide the newbie with tons of thrills: seeing a 70-foot giant plummet earthward, feeling the grip of the chain as you junk the logs, talking chainsaws with other chainsaw people (believe me, it's an elite club). And should you be unlucky and have an accident, you'll have an awesome story when people ask how you lost your leg.

To increase the chances of having an accident, newbies might consider jumping in with both feet: skip the junior Stihl and custom-build one of these bad boys.

Me

Today you like the return of me, Rick Spalding.

I know you've been lost. Without my guidance, your life has been on a swan dive into misery. Well you can shelve those plans for walking naked into the wilderness on New Year's Eve, because I'm back.

A lot has happened since you last knew what to like. Unlike you, my life has improved (I know, hard to believe, given how great it was before). Bought a house, had a daughter, elected president of a south Pacific island. Confirmed that aliens exist and they're hot for me.

So kick back, relax, and stay by your computer. Life just got good again.