Submersion

A few days ago there were a couple of City guys on the river clearing the snow for a skating rink, but one of their ATV-type vehicles had become partially submerged. It had been so sub-zero for so long that I was surprised there'd be any soft bits left on the ice, but maybe that was near a sewer - you know, all that steamy shit, ha ha, spewing into the river! (OK, we're not that bad here.) I watched them as they tried to drag it out. They wrapped one end of a rope around the ATV and tied the other to a snow plough up on the bank. One guy remained on the ATV and the other ran up to the plough and put it in reverse. The ATV budged slightly, but not quite. My shoulders tensed. This went on for a while. I was running (on the spot at this point) and didn't hang around to see how it all unfolded because I was starting to get cold and besides, I felt like an ass for not helping - but really, what could I do? The whole thing reminded me of that bit in In the Skin of a Lion where a father and son in the Ontario wilderness use a couple of horses to haul a cow out of the ice, which was one of my favourite parts of that book. The cow is so nonchalant about it all - much like the ATV was, I'm sure!

This morning, I went back to the scene and I saw something black sticking out of the ice but I couldn't tell if it was part of the ATV or not. Would they leave it in there and just wait for the spring thaw? It was probably just a shopping cart or a newspaper box or some such item that I saw.

The reminder

The other night, I dragged B to a meeting on the state of cycling in One Great City!'s downtown and ways to improve the situation. If you have ever ridden a bike here, you will know that the smallest change in policy or infrastructure would symbolise a big bear hug of acceptance in this otherwise hostile environment. We sat around a table with two huge maps and discussed away. As meetings go, it was a gooder.

There was a man there who reminded me of someone. It took me a few minutes to figure out who that was. This happens a lot. When it doesn't come to me right away, I try to focus on what part of the person it is exactly that is doing the reminding. With this man, who really looked nothing like anyone I knew, it was his mouth and the way he talked - he had a sweet voice and a small bit of a lisp and his nose turned up just a little. Once I had that I figured it out right away: it was an old friend who had died earlier this year. We were close in high school, but we drifted apart after that. It was so nice to be reminded of him.

Incidentally, he loved to ride his bike and the last time I saw him, which was about two and-a-half years ago, we went for a bike ride together.

Cool cat

Just heard an interview with a jazz artist named Robert Glasper. He says 'cats' all the time. He also says that he doesn't like to tell people about his influences because people will listen for that, instead of just listening expecting nothing and finding the influences themselves.

Behold!

I really wish I had a camera. There's something I want to show you. Instead, I force you to rely on my oh-so-sharp descriptions to create your own picture in the best camera of all, the mind's eye.

It's our Christmas tree. For some reason, after years of opposing it, B decided that this year we should get one. He thinks that chopping down a living organism, chucking it in a bucket of water and hanging things on it for two weeks before it dries up and turns into a fire hazard in the name of tradition is bizarre - imagine!

I had become used to not having a tree, but I didn't argue with his change of heart, so on Friday, we walked to our nearest tree dealership and brought one home, put it in the bathtub to thaw and went to the pub, where I ate a steak and kidney pie (which wasn't very good).

Sunday, we began the decorating, or as some say, 'trimming' - but I've never been into that word. We had a few decorations knocking around which we supplemented by some hand-made ones. The first one I made was a kind of tribute to Martha Stewart Does Christmas, a small styrofoam ball covered in stuff. Around the centre, a band of red 'velvet' (svelvet?), lined above and below in a dance of alternating shells and whole cloves, with a crown and base of dried petals (I think they're roses, but they've kind of faded so I can't tell). I really want to give this to someone I only kind of know and say nothing and see what happens. B made popcorn and cranberry garlands. It looks like the ratio is 8:1 popcorn to cranberry, which is good because cranberries are not cheap. There is a yellow star, an angel relying too heavily on cotton balls, a fan, a frame housing a sticker with a Toulouse Lautrec painting on it, a candy - or something? - but my favourite is B's coloured paperclip sled. He is the duck's nuts for making this thing. OK, I just wanted to write 'duck's nuts', but it is a good-looking sled. He disagrees and has hidden it towards the back.

I love this tree! But the whole concept of decorating a tree really is ridiculous. It is a little bit like dancing in a packed night club. I imagine aliens landing and observing what we humans do and thinking... huh? It must look so absurd from outside.

I heart Sagittarius

There are lots of birthdays in my life in December. Today, for instance, is the birthday of the fabulous Mr. Bedell, smiley, witty and quality material at a stuffy party full of people you don't know and don't care to. I know today is his birthday because we are friends on facebook. (Fucking facebook - but useful!) The 6th was B's brother's, the World's Biggest Simpsons Fan. I want to sick his not-pompous expertise on another, whose high-and-mighty attitude indicates unsubtly that she believes she is the holder of that title, over a game board match. He would slaughter her. The 17th is a lady's with whom I share the same place of birth and last name, the only person I know who farts freely and doesn't apologise, because it's natural. I admire her lack of concern with norms. The following day is the birthday of two people: a hoob with a twinkle in his eye and a superhot air traffic controller. And Monday will be that of the lovely Apple to my Pear, a great letter-writer and one of the funniest people I've ever met. She makes me happy just standing beside me.

I like December.

Runner up

Have you ever won second prize out of two? How did that make you feel?

I walked into a door today. It got caught on my cheesy green styrofoam slipper and bounced back just as I was exiting, face first. The result is a slightly swollen right cheekbone. I imagined explaining it to people: "Oh, this? I walked into a door." Right. Were I a duplicitous person, like say Cathy Ames or Tracy Barlow, this kind of false-sounding truth could come in handy. Instead, I mentally run through how I might say it to ensure that when I do, it will in fact sound like the truth and not some cover-up. This is exactly how I feel when I call in to work sick. How can I make the truth sound true? Maybe I just have an inbred guilty conscience. I blame mass.

It doesn't matter anyway because nobody noticed. I had no opportunity to put my truth-telling practising to the test.

I met with my thesis committee tonight. I noticed on the walk there that I wasn't apprehensive at all, but maybe I should have been. It's not that the meeting went badly or that they are unhappy with the proposal, it's that the discussion brought up the same issues I'd struggled with in the process of coming up with this topic, which was part of the reason it took me so long to write the damned thing (well, that and you tube). I thought that I had got past that with a revised version, but as a tiny piece of me had anticipated but not wanted to acknowledge, what I had on the page was more anthropology than planning. It now looks like I'm going to have to do more work than I'd planned, and I'd already planned to do plenty. The word "cumbersome" came up a couple of times. I really don't want to go down that path!

Still, it felt great to have that discussion. Come to think of it, I remember now that I'd wanted it back in March, but I wasn't sure with whom. I guess I have the right committee.

On most nights over the past three weeks or so, this crazy exhaustion has started to seep into my body sometime after dinner, making my muscles ache. I have noticed a correlation between this sensation and running earlier in the day. Oh, the fatigue! I am not trying to say this in a complaining-pants way because I really don't mind feeling exhausted at all - as long as I can go to bed. It's when I can't go to bed, like at an event which required payment and I'm wishing more than anything that I was in bed but I'm not, I'm standing, which is just hell. (In such cases, it seems I've recently taken to sleeping anyway.) I feel this way tonight, but I didn't go running today. What did I do, walk? I did have an out-of-character glass of whiskey, which normally I hate because the smell of it reminds me of getting my ears cleaned as a child, but is quite nice hot with lemon, cloves and a spoonful of sugar. It's the booze. It has knocked me out.

Today feels like a Second out of Two day.

December

Homage to Banksy.

Happy birthday, Em!

Four random things:
1) At age five or so, was famous in our neighbourhood for being able to swim the whole length of the pool underwater without coming up for air;
2) Can sleep at will;
3) On the phone, often sounds bored but isn't, and;
4) Big Eagles fan. Huge. For that, you must be strangled!

Procrastinate much?

My parents sent me a little webcam. Every time I talk to them on the phone I tell them that I'm going to go set up that webcam. Yesterday, I was stretching my stiff limbs after a wintry run when I noticed COBWEBS on the box housing said webcam.

B laughed when I showed this to him and has volunteered for the role of Webcam Set-Upper. I hope he gets on it before it goes mouldy.

Ah

Jian Gomeshi says "Pokiston". And not like "pahk"; "pock". I've heard Saskatchewohn and Eye-raq and, Lolabola's favourite, Eye-talian, but Pokiston is a new one to me. Is he Pakistani? Because maybe he's just saying it properly. Like when you hear someone say "brusketta". But he was just interviewing someone from Pakistan and it didn't sound to me like that person was saying Pokiston. Hmm.

Untitled

At 5am I woke up, got up and flipped through some sewing books I had bought on-line on one of those waves of book-gathering - do you have those? They happen to me at the library, too. I get all excited about a particular topic and pile the books on, convinced that this time, I will read/use them ALL, because suddenly I am a very fast reader who is focused and makes very good use of her time. Yogourt containers I use; time I waste. Anyway, since Christmas is coming and I do have the odd gap in my otherwise strenuous schedule of two hours of work per week, I have been thinking about getting on top of making some gifts, and this year, I will be starting before Dec. 23rd - wa-hoo!

The first book was a baby book, which I bought because a few of my close friends have had kids recently. I have yet to make anything out of this book because I think most of it is silly (come on, decorative hangers? I can see Mom's eyes roll) and the few things that stand out require practice, and plenty of it. Stitching in a boldly contrasting colour only looks good if you have a very steady stitching hand. I will no longer be fooled by the hope with which those beautiful, professionally-taken photographs fill me. What I make will not look like that. After the twentieth try, though...

The other book is a basic how-to-sew-for-your-own-body book. I am all over the idea of making my own pants for the rest of my life. Trying on pants is a disheartening activity. This book I had yet to even open, but it looks good, especially for its spacial organisation tips - I love those. So I went on a re-organisation rampage for the day, and the result is not all that different from how things were set up before, which is sort of disappointing considering how much time I put into it, but like I said, I'm not so good there.

I have crammed my 'Thesis Station' (how do you like that?) from my little desk onto the end of B's desk, so I am now facing east instead of north. (This might make me smarter.) I took said little desk and transformed it into a full-time sewing table by a) taking the stuff off it, and b) moving it into another room. I know. Ingenious. One of the tips from the book was to put a big piece of paper-covered plywood onto a smallish table for cutting material. I will be able to do that now! (The floor is another option, but not with cats.) So, with both the time and the space to practice, I am set. I can hear the professional photographers knocking already...

Tutti fruitti

Fruit is something I usually have to consciously commit to eat. Unlike, for example, a cookie. This is because it is nearly always bad, and that is because I live in Canada and not Orange County. Fruit here is most reliably tasty in liquid or leather form. Failing those, it can be jazzed up. Just a few minutes ago, I chopped a pear up into little pieces and plopped a few spoons of very delicious 8% mf yogourt on top. The pear was more cracker than pear it was so dry, but in disguise like that, eating it was effortless.

When I lived in Korea, it was different. Persimmons were in season at this time of year and some days, I'd eat five. In the spring, it was strawberries, and in the summer, watermelons. Some days were so hot I'd eat exclusively watermelon. Korean fruit is really nice. Canadian fruit can be too, but the window is smaller.

By the way, did you know that watermelon is THE most nutritious fruit? I heard this announced by a radio show host on the CBC (I forget who). He had always thought of watermelon as the the bubble gum or the candy floss of fruit or something like that, which made a lot more sense to me than the spinach or the broccoli of fruit, which is what it really is.

In Korea, in a bigger city than the one I lived in, there was a bar I went to a few times called Watermelon Sugar, named after the book (which I've never read). It was tiny and busy and loaded with phalluses. My friend John and his friends would take me there when I was visiting. We always had fun. I had completely forgotten about that place only that someone on the radio mentioned the book recently.

Joey

Hi. I'm Joey. I am in this really great, albeit quite depressing, film (I think that's the film I'm thinking of...). And you thought we were all friends! People in bands aren't friends. They are co-workers. Colleagues. "Work-mates". Do you like your co-workers? Oh. Anyway, I feel a bit stuffy in this sweater, but don't you think it looks smashing on me? Actually, it's not the sweater, which is, in fact, a t-shirt that just looks like a sweater because I am a piece of knitting, it's this post from which my legs dangle that causes me grief. It is practically in my ass. I've been hanging here like this for almost TWO YEARS. At least I have arms.

The latest

Guess what?

I HAVE JUST FINISHED MY PROPOSAL!

(Only 3.5 weeks after that little deadline, but whatever.)

Wa-hoo. I feel so free. You are the first person I've told. I want to spread some of my joy over to you.

I sit and wonder why y y

B had been bugging me about seeing Grease for a while, so we watched it last night. He had never seen it before - can you believe it? I really didn't want to see it again, but it was about time I saw something he picked. It was actually pretty fun, except that I kept kind of crying. Some of the details, like Sandy's high ponytail at the drive-in or Danny's face at the very end of Summer Nights, were so vivid in my memory that I felt like I was right back on Sara's couch in grade two, watching it for the eleventh time.

The item below makes me cry, but that's less to do with soppy sentimentality and more a plea to make it stop. I think the song is pretty good - OK, dated, but still good - but the video! When was the last time you saw this piece of crap?

Barf is a really great word

At 2:00, I had to get out of the house. I printed off my proposal, which I still haven't handed in (!) and went to the Village to read it over a cup of coffee. I thought the change of scenery might shed some light on the stuck parts, which it did. By my second cup of coffee I had only got through the first 13 pages but I was feeling really ill so I left. I'm not sure if it was the coffee or the "barista" and all her half-fat-no-foam-peppermint-ginger-latte-shouting or the guy watching Celine Dion videos on his laptop or what, but I couldn't really stay in there much longer.

I crossed the street to try on a pair of ruby slipper-ish shoes I'd seen in a shop window earlier this week. I needed to get this weird idea that they were great shoes out of my head. As the cafe did to my writing, so my feet did to the shoes, that is, I got a new perspective on them. The old perspective was, as you know, what cute shoes! The new perspective was, these shoes make me look like a tramp in spite of my frumpy outfit, that's how trampy they are. I probably should have bought them there and then but, like most stilettos, I really couldn't walk in them for shit and I hated the heel because it was this light red plastic - is there anything barfier than that?

Maybe this?

Or, Lolabola might think, this?

Urban wildlife whisperer

I saw the fattest squirrel on Saturday. It had this big ass. I know it was actually fat and didn't just appear fat because I saw another one nearby that wasn't. The skinny one saw me, and kept an eye on me the whole way up a tree. He'd scamper up for a few seconds, then stop and stare me down, then up a little more, then he'd check back. Are you still here? STILL? He was really put out by my presence but his little abrupt movements were so fun to watch that I couldn't help my rudeness. It's November. I think he should get on with puffing up like his friend.

On Sunday, I saw an injured raccoon. It was dark out and I thought at first I was looking at a porcupine, but then I saw the ringed tail. It was crossing the road and limping on three legs. I was running, extremely fast of course, but I slowed down to make sure it got across without being hit by a car. And what was I going to do if a car came along, anyway? Jump in front of it, Protector of Small Mammals that I am? Well, no car came along, and the raccoon hobbled without too much bother through a small patch of wilderness, then across the path, at which point it looked at me. Like the squirrel, this guy seemed a little offended by my being there as well. What are you staring at? You never hurt your leg before? I should have told him the story of how I crunched my own ankle at that very spot six months earlier. He didn't want to talk so he went off into the woods where he was very well camouflaged.

Is it safe to assume that an animal without lipstick or a bow in its hair is a boy?

Happiness is a silent bed

We have the loudest bedframe in the world, which is funny because it's called The Zen. It's a wooden frame with three particle board panels to hold the mattress. The bed has always been a bit creaky, but somewhere between summer and fall things really got out of hand. The simple act of crawling into bed started a racket not unlike the fireworks that are often set in the lot behind our apartment here. To roll over was to fire a series of gunshots. Sleepless nights ensued. This weekend, we vowed to do something about it. I thought we'd have to get out the oil and tighten the screws or throw the frame out altogether, but all it took in the end was a little panel-flipping and a few pieces of that sticky-back felt and it's as though we have a brand-new bed frame.

I am SO goddamned happy! I can't wait to go to bed. Good-night.

Tagged by Lolabola

I remember...

... in elementary school not being able to decide if I'd rather be Nancy Drew or one of the characters in Archie comics.

I remember when I first realised that A and I were friends. It was in grade 11. I was over helping him paint his basement with a few others and the two of us went to pick up some pizza in his Little Red Chevette. There was Chinese music on the radio. The music, the little car and our silly banter all made me giddy. I laughed the whole way. I felt like a normal person around him.

I remember my grandmother telling me about her stillbirth. She knew the baby would be stillborn because she had become jaundiced. She said they wrapped the baby in a napkin - that was the word she used. I remember how she looked small, sweet and strong all at the same time when she told me this.

I remember one day going down to the Wells. It was a hot and hazy day in September - not very typical Irish weather. I took Emily Carr's autobiography with me, which Lolabola had given to me. I remember thinking how much Emily Carr reminded me of her, my own best friend.

I remember looking at the world map from my cot at night when I was really small and thinking that North and South America looked like a diving bird and Italy looked like a boot. I haven't heard anything about the bird, but I hear the boot all the time.

I remember walking home for lunch with Mom when I was five and seeing the older girls walking by themselves and not being able to wait until I was old enough to walk by myself. I remember forgetting all about my craving for independence when we got home because we would put on this Mozart record with a dark blue cover and listen to the lovely music.

I remember the first time I went to B's, which was the second time we met. He had invited me over for a guitar lesson as a birthday present the first time we met. I didn't want to go to the lesson at all, but we had made the arrangement, so I went because I never stand people up, especially people I barely know. I walked up to his door, bass in hand. I remember that I felt like an idiot because I had no case. He said, you don't have a case? I had purposely put no effort into looking good because I didn't want him to like me. After the lesson, I wanted him to like me. He held his cat while he waved good-bye. I was sure he thought I was an idiot. Look at her, with no case.

I remember the telephone cake Denise made for Em's 7th or 8th birthday. It was a rotary phone. I don't remember what candies she used to decorate it, but it was the coolest cake ever. Everything Denise does is cool.

I remember stealing change from Mom's purse to buy Tahiti Treat from the vending machine in our townhouse complex in grade one. I think I did this twice.

I remember the only time I ever saw a spider spin a web. It was outside Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin in 1993. I was with Matt and we had just had an argument about Catholicism. The spider was a good tonic.

I remember when my best friend in grade three stole my green eyeliner. My aunt had given it to me for Christmas. When it went missing, I called my friend, in tears, to ask her if she had seen it. She hadn't. Em was convinced she had taken it and so accused her. She denied it. I looked for it in her room one day when she was in the bathroom and found it on her dresser. I grabbed the eyeliner and held it in my hand and put my hand into the pocket of my cream-coloured knit hoodie and kept it there until I got home. My hand got sweaty and my heart pounded the whole way down the hill. We never talked about it, but I knew she knew that I knew she took it, and I knew that she knew I took it back.

... and I can't remember the lyrics to the song that goes "I remember...blah bla dee dee da da dee da... come running ba-ack to meeeee". It's an old reggae song, and I've had it in my head the whole time I've been writing this post, which took a few days.

See it in your mind

You should have seen the sky - this morning and tonight, both were beautiful. Must be some ash in the air... and yesterday - one brilliant ray of sunshine punched a hole through the blue-grey clouds. Anyone under it probably had a revelation of some kind or another.

And I remain camera-free.

So how about an old photo again?

Quite unrelated.













La la la la la an interesting tree

And what of that deadline?

So, today is October 22nd and you have been wondering if I have finished that proposal, no? No, indeed, I have not! But that's okay. I had tricked myself into this deadline to ensure it would be finished by the end of the month, which it will be because I have actually been working hard at it rather than letting it fester on my hard drive. Somewhere in the past couple of weeks I picked up a fourth job (let's call them "projects" - I don't want you to think it amounts to working any more than any other normal human), so now I have so much to do that I am back to getting things done, unlike the lazy-ass I had become over the summer. Sigh.

Tell me I'm full of it, full of excuses - that's okay, I can take it! I am on TOP of this thing. I shall keep you posted. Meanwhile, please enjoy this very hilarious and cute video:

In common

B's old roomie came through town and stayed for a couple of days on his way to Toronto and back. By chance, B had planned a trip to Cow Pie and was away for most of his first stay, so it was just roomie and me. When they were living together and B and I first started dating, I was over a lot and I thought some resentment was built up, but maybe that's just in my head. Still, he has remained much more B's friend than mine, so I was expecting a little awkwardness, particularly considering it would just be the two of us. Actually, it was really nice having him here and there was no weirdness whatsoever. I was reminded of how many things we actually have in common, such as reading John Steinbeck books, eating beans on toast, walking fast and playing Scrabble.

One thing we do not have in common is revealed below:

On the first night of his return trip, we went to (what seems to have become) our local (since I am pretty sure we're there all the time) for a bite to eat and a drink. It was raining so I brought an umbrella. When my arm got tired I held it in my left hand. I don't like holding an umbrella in my left hand because it feels like half my body isn't covered. I switch it over to the right to compare and make sure that I'm not imagining it - I am indeed imagining it, but it's a really powerful imagining and makes me feel all off-kilter. I am extremely right-hand dominant so my right side feels like it takes up more space than my left - hence the unbalanced brolly. My left hand is pretty useless - though it is engaged right now in this typing exercise - it's a wonder that the muscles in my left arm haven't atrophied.

When I was a cook, I used both hands, each having very specific jobs. Both hands were equally necessary, but the right hand certainly took care of the more dexterous activities. Towards the end of my "career", I got pretty bored so once in a while I'd switch hands. Sandwiches came out wonky. Productivity slowed. Catastrophe ensued. Not really, but it did work to combat the boredom. At least I always used both hands back then, but I'm pretty sure the umbrella thing was an issue then as well, but I can't really remember because it doesn't rain much in Cow Pie, which is where I lived when I was a cook.

This boredom-relief technique was inspired by my uncle, who is an intellectual. He would write with his left hand to exercise his brain. I haven't tried that in a long time.

It would be nice to be left-handed because that is unusual, and it's nice to be unusual, isn't it? Or even better, ambidextrous! Roomie, it was revealed that night, is virtually ambidextrous. This we do not have in common, so maybe he can hold an umbrella in either hand and feel covered, but I didn't ask.

I bet you thought I was going to tell you some heinous story of how we totally clashed on a major issue of importance! No, I just wanted to see if you ever got that umbrella feeling yourself.

Rural wit

Excerpts from the bathroom wall of the local eatery in a small town in the south of the province:

Fall Courses for Men
All workshops limited to 8 participants due to the complexities of the subject matter

Can a toilet roll change itself? 2 hours. Demonstration and round-table discussion

Do dirty dishes levitate themselves to the kitchen sink? 1 hour. Hands-on workshop followed by debate

The fundamental difference between the laundry hamper and the floor. 2 hours. Slide show and panel discussion

Dealing with loss of identity when you lose the remote to your significant other....

...etc., etc. I was in tears. Not because I think men's domestic incompetence is a reality and I can totally relate (I'm worse at changing the toilet roll, and besides, you just know they had the men's version in their can, likely with the categories of nagging, talking on the phone and taking too long to get ready when you're only going to the grocery store) but it was just so well-worded. I really wish I had a camera so I could just put it all up for you, word-for-word.

Fuck spirited energy

When I was walking home from a meeting on Friday, I saw the funniest thing. A guy was holding his camera up to a building with a big banner hanging from it emblazoned with our provincial slogan and between the banner and the camera was his middle finger.

I laughed. That is just so here. The smirk on his face showed that he wasn't unhappy about the slogan so much as he was excited at the opportunity it offered to do something kind of deviant. Healthy self-deprecation is rampant here. I mean, the Jets barely ever made it out of the playoffs but people were crazy about them. They still are. They lose, but they're ours. They embody our self-deprecation - bond! Party! If the slogan had managed to capture some of that, I think people would be well and truly behind it. Since it didn't, it will happily be used as an inspiration for creative reflection featuring the finger.

Judy & K'naan

This is Judy, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. She's pretty wound-up. You can't just decide to pick her up and pet her - she freaks out. But if you're just sitting somewhere minding your own business, she'll start to gently claw at your thigh and try to hop up onto your lap. Then she'll sit there and purr and you can scratch her neck, but you can't get too embracing because she gets wound up again and jumps off. Showing affection on her terms seems to be her way of being in control. I take what I can get because she doesn't offer it often, but when she sits there, cautiously happy, she is so sweet!

Sorry, I hate the I-love-my-pet thing, but she really is a good one. She was just sitting here, so I thought I'd give her some web exposure and now everything is covered in hair.

What I was going to write about was this: B, k, k's husband and I went to see K'naan the other night. It was at this great venue with the most well-stocked beer fridge I've ever seen - reasonable prices and all. The gig was all ages and normally that means 14-29 or so, but I saw every age from infant to 60+. The people-watching was as good as the show itself, and the show was great. This is the last song he played, which got everyone dancing:



Pretty pixelated, but oh well. You can still see the lovely sunsets.

Avoidance proposal

It is October 1st and I still haven't handed in my thesis proposal. I am trying a new self-imposed deadline. Should I tell you what it is? Will that make me do it lest I have to actually articulate my sorry-ass excuses, such as I had to work 27 hours that one week or I went away somewhere or I couldn't turn off the old you tube, therefore embarrassing myself into finishing the damned thing?

It is October 22nd. 2007.

Meanwhile, I have been reading Into the Wild, which J-Lo (yes, the multi-talented starlet) loaned to me. There are some interesting things coming out of this book. One of them is a quotation by someone called Anthony Storr. It's kind of long so I won't copy it here, but the gist of it is this: a child who expresses avoidance behaviour might develop into an adult who needs to find order and purpose in life that isn't totally dependent on interpersonal relationships. I thought this was really interesting because I've always thought of avoidance as just, well, something to be avoided, that it really served no purpose and one should always work to address things, and people, directly. But to look at it this way is a new concept to me. Maybe someone who avoids things actually just gets more understanding out of solitude. I should remember that the next time I get all confrontational with a certain significant other...

...and with myself! In avoiding my adviser, I find order and purpose in my own thoughts on my proposal. Hmm. No, you shouldn't buy that entirely, but there is a little truth to it.

Too-short walk

Last night was the most beautiful night. It was warm(ish!) and windy and the moon was a big, silver, lopsided egg. I walked over to a nearby neighbourhood to meet k for coffee. It was a working coffee. (We actually worked! Normally, we gab.) When I got in the door, I was instantly brought back to grade 12 when I always went out for coffee at night. Now, that is strictly a daytime activity. Not for other people, though. It was hopping. k's husband came by later and had to sit outside because there were no seats. He didn't miss much. We were working.

The walk home was even better than the walk there. When I got to the bridge I had a full view of the moon and its reflection off the river. Are you ever on a walk where you hit a part that you wish would go on forever? I wished this part of the walk would go on forever.

I was listening to Nelly Furtado at the time. Does that ruin it? I don't know, I'm kind of into her last album...

Happy things

The piping plover is my new favourite bird. It is small. It is endangered. It is a shorebird. It runs madly around the beach on little toothpick legs, once in a while taking flight, staying really low to the ground. The tiny plover makes the not-so-huge sandpiper look pretty big.

I saw several of both these birds on the east beach near Halifax. Jill and Bob took me there for a walk on a windy, sunny Sunday. Their dog, Duke (World's Best Dog), isn't too hot at fetching things out of the water, but he is an expert enormous-stick-carrier. He struts around with a big branch between his teeth until he feels compelled to bury it in the dunes somewhere.

Jill and I went for a swim. The water was freezing, so I wasn't sure about it at first, but the opportunity to swim in the ocean is always hard to pass up. Once I jumped in, I didn't want to get out. Maybe it was the salt or the big waves or Jill's enthusiasm - she is one of the happiest people I know - but it felt great... until my hands went numb!

Bob and Jill are so genuinely friendly that you feel instantly at home with them. They never let you do the dishes or anything and they are always topping up your glass. They are both great story-tellers. And Bob has the most beautiful white hair. I love white hair.

What is up?

Here are a few of the many, many things happening in my very important life of late:

Last week, I went running for the first time since I hurt my ankle back in May. I was listening to music and it got me all wound up so I ran too fast and I got really tired so I had to stop for a bit and catch my breath. My throat gets really constricted when I exercise. A week later, I went running a second time. It wasn't my intention to wait so long between runs, even though I was stiff as a board, but I've been pretty disorganised with my time. I didn't have to stop but I felt really lethargic by the end of it. That's okay. It will take a while to get back into it. I'm just happy that my ankle could handle it. I bought a new pair of runners, but I didn't use them for either run. I feel like I'm saving them for something... I'm not sure what.

For the first time ever, B and I invited someone we'd never met over for dinner. He is a friend of a friend and he recently moved to town. Mutual friend suggested we meet up by creating a three-way (ha ha) conversation on the old "social utility". You never know how these things are going to go, so I guess you hope for the best and expect, well, nothing. Well, I could have expected a great deal and not been disappointed because this guy was just fantastic. We had a great time, but I drank enough wine to be a little too aware of how my mouth felt wrapped around the words as I forced them out. This is my way of ensuring nobody knows that I might be a little bit drunk.

Our visitor and the mutual friend met in Halifax. I'm going there today. My flight leaves in exactly 3 hours. I'm going to a conference and I have to make a presentation on a transportation project we're doing here. Public speaking makes me extremely nervous. One thing that helps is to imitate someone who has a great voice, like Judy Maddren.

My parents came to visit last weekend. They came at just the right time, weather-wise. It was sunny and 27 degrees every day. We went to the beach and Dad and I actually went in for a swim, it was so hot. We cooled off fast, though.

"The beach?" you ask, "I thought you lived in the middle of Canada?" Well, the beach in the middle of Canada is part of what makes this province such a little gem. Have a look at this photo:










The middle of Canada.

The finger

On Friday, I was cycling to work and I came to a busy intersection where the traffic moves fast. There is a huge right-hand turning lane and in this situation I just stay at the right side of the next lane over and pedal madly because the sooner I am out of the intersection, the sooner I can return to being exposed to being squashed from only one side instead of from all sides. As I'm riding along, someone honks their horn right behind me. It's really frightening when this happens. A horn is supposed to get through to another person encased in car blaring music, so when you're not surrounded by one, it scares the crap out of you. Since I had done nothing wrong I figured the car was just annoyed at having to slow down for a bike - not uncommon. So, I give the driver the finger. Then she drives up beside me, rolls down her window and my legs start to shake. Oh god. A confrontation! And at the point of maximum exposure! Well no, she was telling me that it was the guy behind her she was honking at, not me, so I flap my hand all over the place and apologise like crazy.

There are two times when I will flip the bird at a driver: when they are clearly rude or when they are probably rude but maybe not, but since I'm irritable I will interpret it as rude. This was a case of the latter. I have been trying to tell myself lately that I like cycling and I don't need to spend the entire time on my bike feeling annoyed, but if you've ever cycled in One Great City! you'll know that it is a real challenge to treat the activity as a pleasure here. Still, I have accepted myself as really not much of a finger-flipper because the feeling I get from it when it is a case of the former (satisfaction? smugness? moral superiority?) is not enough to risk the feeling when it's the latter. And this city really doesn't need any more animosity between cyclists and drivers! Anyway, I don't feel that badly about Friday - horns are maddening and scary. Maybe, instead of a horn, cars needs to be equipped with a more direct system which identifies the recipient and sends a clear message to avoid any misinterpretation or entanglement... like a hologram of a finger that appears on the person's dashboard with "YOU cut me off" underneath. Or something.

Funny cat apron

First, I borrowed a camera again. Second, my parents are visiting and Mom brought the really hilarious apron. Therefore, I can now show you a picture of the apron:

Your dancin' feet are always on my couch

I got another job. It's going to keep me busier than usual: about 23 working hours per week. I wonder if I can handle this. I'm already starting to spoil after this "sixteen again" summer.

I have been trying to come up with something interesting to write all week but when nothing came to me, I opted for something uninteresting, and then I remembered something I had meant to write about last week but didn't (and you can decide if it's interesting or not). It's for no reason that I write about this only that the subject, Janet Jackson, came up in a conversation recently. When I heard her name, I thought of two things. The first was when Em bought Control. She came home from Sam the Record Man or wherever with the tape but decided she didn't want it - it was a purchase made in haste, which can be good but mostly is not. She went back to the record store to return it but they wouldn't take it back because she had torn off the cellophane. She was so disappointed. I think this was in her pleather-mini-dress and black-faux-chain-mail-Le-Château-earrings phase, which sounds bizarre but was actually sweet. She must have been in grade four and ten bucks was a lot in grade four! Ten bucks is a lot now, actually...

Anyway, the tape stayed and I think Em made the most of it, but I'm sure she doesn't rip stuff out of the package now until she's certain she wants to keep it.

The second thing that Janet makes me think of is visiting Alan in Toronto with Ando. Alan and Ando are old friends who get one another on a level that no one else can penetrate, as Ando would put it. Their friendship takes on a life of its own when they are together. Case in point (I promise I will not use that expression again), as we walked down the street to some place, out of nowhere, they acted out the opening sequence from the video of "What have you done for me lately?". It was HILARIOUS!

So, I present said video. Enjoy!

It shouldn't bother me... no!

I had a really weird dream last night about Mike Patton. (When are dreams not weird?) He barges in on this group of people and shoots someone in the face. There was a bus or something somewhere. Everyone is freaking out. Then people start to dissipate but for some reason, I'm not allowed to get away because he thinks I'm going to turn him in, so he threatens to shoot me too, but I promise to keep my mouth shut and I guess I do a good job of coming across as honest because he lets me go. Then, all of a sudden (as happens in dreams) the mood completely changes and we are talking candidly in a doorway. I realise that he is about to take off and that I can't let him get away without telling him how great I think he is, so I gush for a while about how I admire his amazing vocal range and his creativity, yadda yadda. He's genuinely flattered, then he's gone. A few minutes later, my "cell phone" (?me?) rings and it's him, and he is asking me out on a date. I say that I have a boyfriend and we would be going just as friends, and he is fine with that. I hate myself for saying this in the apologetic voice of a weenie. We make a plan to meet in a cafe and I am determined to be on time because all of a sudden (again, as happens in dreams) we are now back in Homicide Mood and this is not just a friendly meeting any more but my LIFE here because, as it turns out, if I don't meet him, and on time, it means he'll realise that I was a liar all along and I will turn him in, in which case he will hunt me down and kill me first. So I'm taking all these trains and buses everywhere, only it's this dark, dense, mechanical city I'm in which is totally unfamiliar and the roads are like roller-coaster tracks and I become totally lost. Time is ticking. I ask a shopkeeper for directions to the cafe. The routes suggested are not that complicated, but each will take enough time to result in my being late. I start to panic, looking down the roller-coaster road trying to figure out which route to take... and then I wake up.

I hate talking about dreams because:
a) no one ever wants to hear it, not really, and more importantly;
b) something happens between my brain and my mouth where, in that process of having to articulate this pleasantly vague series of loosely-connected images and events, the essence of the experience of the dream is well and truly lost.

Maybe that's why a) is so.

Anyway, I think I've pretty much captured the spirit of the dream above (which is, if have cell phone then use it, and tell partner of plans to meet other men) so the key for me is not to speak dreams but to write them, because:
a) I can go back and tweak things for clarity, and;
b) you, Dear Reader, can stop reading whenever you like and I'll never know that I bored you because I can't see your eyes glaze!

Horray!

Mmm pierogies

There’s no place
like this place
near this place
so this must be THE place

So says a sign on the famous local pierogie restaurant, where I ate a few nights ago with some friends. It’s basically an old house with a complicated floor plan that looks like it was decorated by someone’s grandma… which reminds me of a birthday party I had a few years ago at a friend’s grandmother’s house – the friend was living there while her grandmother was in hospital or something. Another friend, upon surveying the décor, said, “It feels like someone’s grandma lives here”. Well, it just so happens…

I'd write more, but I have to go away for the long weekend. Wah!

Cloud gazing

Yesterday, I was feeling really tired and lazy so I went for a bike ride to a nearby park. It was a hot, hazy, windy day. I was thirsty when I got there, so I bought a can of pop. I don't drink pop much, so it's always kind of exciting when I do have it. I laid down on the grass and looked up. There was only one kite. It was kind of an unremarkable kite, with no tail or shimmery bits or anything - it just looked like an oversized monarch butterfly - but it was doing a great job of flying. There was a sky-full of sunbeams shining down through the clouds, a spectacle which an old boyfriend and I used to call God. But not god.

As I lay there, I tried to recall in detail the steps I would take on an opening shift at the diner where I used to work. I imagined piercing the tape on a box of hashbrowns with a fork and tearing it off, stacking the bags of potatoes upright inside the box and slicing the tops off them with a serrated-edged knife as the grill heated up. A straight-edged knife slipped easily, especially if it was really sharp, so I was more likely to cut myself, which I often did anyway. I pictured opening the butter packet starting at each end and then unfolding the top, cutting the butter into four chunks which I'd then smear on the grill. Unfolding the butter packet in any other order meant that the paper would probably tear, or at least not come off as easily, which was annoying. I saw myself pouring each bag of potatoes in a line on the grill, careful to keep any of the butter from slipping into the trough, evening out the piles of little potato cubes and dousing them in pepper and seasoning salt. It was always easier to shake out the pepper because it was coarse. Then the sausages, and the bacon... I really had to concentrate hard to remember everything, not only because I've forgotten but also because it's so hard to prevent your mind from wandering if you're lying on the grass not doing anything in particular.

I was more tired when I came home due to all that thinking, but I managed to stay up and watch Little Children, which I thought was a really good movie.

(The photo is not of yesterday's sky but just a random prairie photo taken when I still had that camera.)

Tonne o' dirt

For the past week or so, there has been a big pile of dirt in the parking lot/alley/rink behind our building. I don't know where it came from, but from the moment it arrived there have been kids playing on it. They run up it and run down. They charge at it on a bike and make it half way up and then roll back down. They push one another up and somersault down. They make dirt angels in it. They throw one another off it and laugh. Man. You want to give kids something to do, put a big pile of dirt in their neighbourhood.

When I was here I took a boat from one part of the country to another and when we'd approach a village, all the kids would come out to wave at the boat, then they'd jump into the river and play in the waves from the boat's wake, killing themselves laughing. Then they'd jump off the bridges.

I love how kids will turn the most mundane thing into a source of serious fun. It just wouldn't occur to me to try to get enjoyment out of a pile of dirt. Well, it's gone now, I see, and so are the kids, but they've probably found a sinkhole somewhere.

...has added you as a friend...

This morning, I woke up at 4 am. It took me until 5:15 to figure out that in fact I was not falling back asleep, so I got up to read. First, I thought, I'll quickly check my facebook account. Five hours later, having combed through all my friends' profiles and scanned the jillions of networks searching for anyone who popped into my head, I'm debating if I should post a few pictures. Fucking facebook.

I (and probably everyone else) have been living in this unreal world for months now where I feel like I've reunited with people I haven't seen or thought about in years. After only exchanging shallow greetings or a poke, or even just seeing their names in print, I'm now thinking (and dreaming) about these people regularly. All I have to go on, though, is this little glimpse of who each person is now, and I try to fit this into my old memories, which doesn't always work. It's so strange. It's not at all the same as bumping into someone from junior high at the grocery store, but I can't decide if it's better or worse. Or just different. It's amazing how people get into your brain and stick around after so little interaction. Maybe I just have nothing better to think about right now.

Around the house

Do you see this? How it buckles in like this, due to excessive sock-stuffage? I hate this. It's my view from bed. Horrifying.










This, I love. It's a wiener dog. In a stripey sweater. Holding a pointer. On the cover of a computer programming book.










Slipper transformation!
On








Off








Em, a dab hand at knitting, made me these for my last birthday. B says they look like little duck feet. The Apple to my Pear, the other knitter in my life (apart from Mom, superknitter), made me a beautiful blue shawl with goldie bits and three different buttons, each amazing, but I have no photo of that. I do have a photo of Lumpy, though, which she made for me a few birthdays ago:

Isn't he lovely?

Here comes that sinking feeling

Today, I bought a new bag. It is blue-grey vinyl with a couple of trees on it and a tie for a strap. It was made by a local clothing shop owner who (obviously) makes new from old. She has some really great stuff in her store. Sometimes, I wander in their just for inspiration and ideas, only to return home and forget all about them. I need to write these things down.

This shop is in the cool part of One Great City! which has one of my favourite intersections ever, consisting of a Mediterranean restaurant on one corner, a cafe on another, the token drug-dealer-at-the-bus-stop vicinity opposite that, and a proper public seating area offering great people-watching opportunities next to the liquor store on the fourth corner. I love sitting there, even though it's just a bunch of concrete. I didn't sit there today, though. It was a bit too grey and blustery for that. Luckily, though, I stood at the intersection long enough to witness the common ritual where someone oblivious to the "No Left Turn M-F 15:30-18:00" sign decides to try to turn left, pissing off everyone behind. Horns are honking, people are shouting, but traffic in that lane is going no place. Then, right before the light turns red, Oblivious Driver realises what's going on and bolts straight ahead. Unfortunately, it's too late for the others, who have to wait another round. I remember from first year Psych class, the "weeder" class (and weeded out I was), that people feel much more disappointed at an opportunity that was just barely missed compared with one that was missed by a long-shot. I'm sure those drivers in the back felt that way today.

What the hell does this have to do with a new bag? I digress. No I don't - I just have to go out and look for things and write about them and make up those connections as I go along. Okay, I have made my connection and here it is: the drivers who missed that light were not so unlucky after all as they were the ones who got the opportunity to see my spiffy new bag as it walked past them. That should make up for the sinking feeling of having just missed a green light that was so close they could have kissed it.

Deny, deny!

Every day, I read about climate change. The part I find the most interesting is The Denial Industry (cue dramatic music), a well-oiled network capitalising on people's tendencies to believe what we like and to generally not be bothered. It reminds me of a magic show: if we really wanted to find out how to saw a woman in half without hurting her, we'd know how it was done. If we tried to find out whether a statement made by Tim Ball was grounded in fact or not, we'd learn the truth. Happily for the magician and Dr Ball, we people like a bit of illusion and don't necessarily follow up on footnotes.

Anyway, this Denial Industry really makes me think of when I worked at a certain science centre. As all non-profits, it was ailing in the funds department, so decided to sell its soul, er, name, to a certain telecommunications corporation. I'm opposed to selling out, etc., but the bit that really got me was that the whole organisation now had to completely erase all indicators of its previous identity. That meant that not only were we forbidden to ever wear a vest with the sweet, kind-of-goofy and therefore charming-because-it-wasn't-at-all-slick logo on it again, but all such paraphernalia had to be destroyed, never to be seen or spoken of again. So we all got to work dismantling Old Identity and began building up New Identity as though the new one was the only way it had ever been. This was The Denial Machine in action before my very eyes!

Perhaps you work in an industry where this kind of thing goes on all the time, but to me, this was absolutely astounding (as Dad would say).

Erasing history?

Eradicating collective memory?

Making like something had never existed?

Had I walked into 1984?

Well, no, because guess what? Thanks to the trusty interweb, The Denial Industry failed, at least in this instance, and I didn't even have to try very hard.

Cookie monster

The corner store near our place sells cookies that have been taken out of the packet and re-packed into smaller portions in little plastic bags. I'm pretty sure the Canadian Food Inspection Agency would have a problem with this. B has a weakness for chips, so to assuage his guilt, he often returns from the store with one of these baggies for me, because I am a cookie fiend. I have tried to stress that he doesn't have to do this, because I really don't need the equivalent in cookies to his chips. But they just keep coming. Tonight, it is a bag of Oreos. They look like the generic Oreo, but for some reason, these ones taste minty. Aren't the mint ones green in the middle? What the hell is going on? If I only had the original bag! Since starting this post, I have eaten at least three. The sweetness is killing my teeth, but I can't stop. Thank god it is just a little bag... only five more to go.

Close up

I used to have a subscription to Owl magazine. This was a while ago. One of my favourite parts was the close-up picture where you had to guess what you were looking at.

Can you guess what this is?
Let's make it a multiple choice question. Is it
a) a Chinese healthy ball?
b) a road on a snowy day?
c) a pair of pants I wore back when I had said subscription?
d) the mighty Mississippi?

Yes, it's d, flowing under a pedestrian bridge which served as the look-out to the collapsed I-35, which you couldn't see too well. You could, however, see lots of pedestrians, a pretty, hazy skyline and this interesting view of sludge down below.

The plaza

Minneapolis has many lovely plazas, and even though I thought about the writing of this very post as I wandered through them last weekend, I neglected to take more than one plaza photo.

Voilà:
It's not even a very good one - there aren't even any people in it. Oh well.

Plazas make me think of William Whyte's highly enjoyable film and book on the opportunities for social interaction presented by bits of cities which are well-designed. Plazas are featured. Apparently, lots of interesting things can happen in plazas, especially at lunchtime. Unfortunately for the sake of this post being interesting, nothing happened to me in any plaza in Minneapolis. They were really lovely, though.

"Plaza" was one of those words which Em and I thought was really hilarious. For a while, we even thought we had made it up. Who would really take a word like "plaza" seriously, anyway?

Re-use

I am reading a book of for the old thesis called "Car Cultures" and one of the chapters is about how cars are used to their very last breath in Ghana. According to the authors, Ghanaian people understand well how cars work and are quite apt at fixing their own cars themselves, using whatever might be around to repair and replace lost parts, and making use of their own bodies in the absence of tools, like tasting a battery to see if it is dead.

While it is poverty which underlies this, I really do admire it when people try to get the absolute most out of a thing - it's like an opportunity to be creative while keeping waste to a minimum. I've revived an old interest in sewing for this reason. The act of sewing itself kind of irritates me, which is why I gave it up in the first place, but turning an old shirt into a yoga mat bag gives me a feeling that turns the whole experience into enjoyment.

The camera which I borrowed had to be returned this week, otherwise I'd show you a photo which I would have taken of said bag. It's pretty ugly, but it used to be a t-shirt, so whatever!

Purple reign

I love Prince. He is fab. (I also love You Tube, because it means I can watch his old videos and see him play on television without having to endure any of the Superbowl.) He is a brilliant songwriter, guitarist and mover-and-shaker. Who else but Prince looks fantastic in a salmon-coloured jacket? Or in orange and blue together? Or lace pants? As if he had no influence on this fine lady.

So I was pretty damned excited to go here:

I stood outside in the afternoon and had my picture taken under the Jane's Addiction star. B and I planned to go later that night, but, horror of horrors, we got drunk elsewhere and didn't quite make it back.

Next time!

Dot city, dot dot city

Lolabola, One Great City! has a Dots! I passed it a couple of weeks ago. The huge “Closing Down Blowout Sale!” signs pasted in the windows were what caught my eye (there are in fact no visible dots at this location). I knew I had to return before long, and yesterday, having picked up my composting tin from neighbouring big box store nightmare, I had my chance. I wandered in with the goal of finding something to help me look a little less ratty, and emerged 45 minutes later with three nice tops and one pair of pants for $38. And only one item made in China. Wa-hoo! Good old Dots. Good-bye.

I’m not a big clothes shopper. I find the whole experience a bit depressing. Nothing ever fits, especially not pants. Shirts feel like they’re on the verge of falling apart. Almost everything is made a million miles away under god-knows-what conditions, and to try to shop locally is truly limiting, here in One Great City! at least. So, an experience such as I had yesterday is kind of refreshing, but part of me still feels uncomfortable. The volume of clothes available in the average ladies’ clothing store is completely overwhelming, and Dots was no different. Where the hell do all these things end up? Am I adding to the demand that more of this crap be churned out by buying some of it? It just feels like a big waste.

The shape of things

Sometimes a shape can be funny. Take the shape of a cat. The cat sits in the window and his silhouette is so funny-looking - the ears sticking out on the round fuzzy head which connects directly to the back with no visible neck. I tried to capture this in a photo, but he kept moving.

I walk over and pat him on the head and talk to him in an annoying sing-song voice. I totally do that weird voice-thing when I'm around something cute. Why, why?

Mom has an apron with a very hilarious cat drawing on it. It's as though the cat is totally posing for its portrait. I would really love it if one day she gave me that apron. Then I'd actually use one.

Menno militia

Like the majority of the population, I'm sure, it's a challenge to find something in common with my in-laws (we're not married, but you get the idea). That said, the weekend of the visiting father-in-law was a roaring success. I was a little concerned that there would be gaping holes of awkwardness and too much unnecessary driving, but that was not the case at all. We managed to show him some real highlights of the city, take in a fringe show, avoid major chain restaurants, drink a goodly amount of beer, have interesting conversations, cook him a meal that he enjoyed and walk lots. We even got away with paying for a few things! It truly was an excellent weekend and he genuinely seemed to enjoy himself. I know he was out of his element most of the weekend but he really took it in stride. Poo on me for not giving him enough credit for having a sense of adventure.

One of the places we visited was a Mennonite heritage village. If you really want to hit the message home that you are totally helpless without the comforts of civilisation as we know it, visit this place. Like the guy who had to be a sandwich maker in the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I am utterly useless. I'd love one of those old sewing machines with a foot pump, though.

There was a house there with a little room-divider thingie (that's it in the photo) that reminded me of the old entrance to my grandparents' hotel in Ireland, which was painted white and blue, I think, and had a huge brass knob in the middle of it. I have a memory of arriving in the town they lived in one night in the rain. I must have been about six. I remember seeing that door and feeling just so happy to be there. It forever sticks out in my mind as happiness. Looking at the picture now I don't really know why it brought that memory to mind because they aren't all that similar.

I like doors, especially old ones.

Hey, nice couch

We are the proud owners of a "new" couch. An ad was posted for it in the laundry room for fifty bucks. A couple of days later, it was in the alley. It has been sitting in the middle of our living room for - god - a month now, waiting to be cleaned. I was being really indecisive about how to do that and B just worked around it.

We finally went to the mall last weekend in search of options, and after much running around, decided on a hand-held carpet cleaner. I'm kind of pissed off that this thing is now in our lives because I don't think we'll use it that much - it's pretty bulky and we have no storage space (and that's not just because I hoard stuff!). But at the mall, land of endless stores all selling the same thing, it was the best option. Also, it was like a million percent off at the good old Bay - which figures, because it only half works. We had to hand wash the couch with a soapy rag and then soak up the water using the "vacuum" setting. I say we, but B did it all. He is convinced that we shouldn't return it, that this method is quite effective. That is something Dad would say. Well, the couch looks pretty good now, so I won't complain if the lame cleaning device remains a resident.

We rearranged the furniture so that now it is the two old futons that are in the middle of the living room, on their way to goodwill. Since B's dad is visiting this weekend, they will be gone by tomorrow! Definitely.

Green food

All I've wanted to eat since this heat wave came along is gazpacho soup. After two weeks, I had the brilliant idea of combing some cookbooks for something new and there it was - green gazpacho. It has tomatillos, green onions and peppers, jalapeños, lots of herbs and lime juice. I was really excited to make it. I'm not sure if it was because I didn't use tomatillos (couldn't find any) or because I didn't marinate the vegetables overnight (should've read the recipe through) or what, but I didn't really like it that much. It felt a bit stringy. I will work on that one.

I've been making iced tea nearly every day. I have tonnes of loose green tea and I'm drinking way more of it iced than I ever did hot. It works really well - a few spoons in a big jar of cold water, put it on a sunny windowsill to steep, then add a spoon of concentrated lemonade and shake it up and put it in the fridge. A few hours later, it's gone. Mom made this when we were kids, but with black tea. Yum!

Air con

I hatehateHATE air conditioning. It’s not because I hate being cold. Sometimes, it’s cold. That’s OK. I will dress accordingly. What I hate is that I have to wear socks, long pants and a sweater, and drink a hot drink all day long to keep warm, and outside it’s 35 degrees. It’s absurd. If it was minus 35, or plus 21, I would be fine with taking steps to address the fact that I feel cold. However, nobody should feel cold in 35 degree heat. That is an unnecessary and wasteful cold. Cold in vain.

“But what are other people supposed to do? You can put on more clothes – they can’t take more off.”

Somehow, I don’t see the balance. I am absolutely freezing. I can’t feel my thumbs. You are “comfortable”? Surely we can reach some compromise.

Air conditioning seems to know no compromise. It is either on or off. I would be perfectly fine with an open window, a fan and a cold drink, doing my best to adjust to the heat, since it's hot.

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I wrote most of that a couple of days ago. It still stands, but today, it is ridiculously hot. It is the kind of hot that doesn't go away no matter how still you remain. It is the kind of hot that renders you unable to think of anything interesting to write in your blog. The kind of hot that overheats your computer. It all makes you think you should give up and go to the pub.

Don't just stand there...

I had "Bust a Move" in my head the other day

Your best friend Harry
Has a brother Larry
In 5 days from now
He's gonna marry
He's hopin' you can make it there if you can
'Cause in the ceremony you'll be the best man

If he's your best friend's brother, then why are you the best man?

Unemployment, 4 ways

It's not that I'm unemployed - I'm not. I am just working so little at the moment that some days it feels like I don't have a job. Until things pick up, I will count this as the fourth of The Unemployed Periods of My Life. Here are the other three:

1. The winter/spring after the summer after I graduated, I was jobless for an entire nine months. I was living with my uncle and grandmother at the time. That part was amazing. I really didn't like having so much time on my hands, though.

2. When I was first living with Lolabola, I had no job for about a month. One day I called her at work to talk about a butt crack I had seen walk by our apartment. She was too busy. I thought, I need a job.

3. A few years later, I was living with Ando. We were job-free together, for a month or two. I watched "Best in Show" four times in one week. I can only think of five movies that I've seen more than once since high school, so that is a lot for me.

On Monday, a workless day, as I wandered around my neighbourhood eating chips and drinking pop, for the first time ever I kind of wished I was 16 because then I wouldn't have felt guilty for wasting time. I really don't ever, ever want to be 16 again.

Camping, canoe and camera

B, now back from Atlanta (yay!), and I spent the weekend camping with a couple of friends in an almost-desert. 50 mm less rain annually and it would have made the cut. It rained while we were there, walking through the dunes.

We also took a canoe onto the river. We paddled hard upstream and didn't have to do much at all going back. I have no idea how long we were out there, but long enough to knock us all out once we got back to the campsite. It didn't rain at all while we were canoeing.

The river winds a lot so the view from the canoe changed with every turn. There was one point, when everyone else was doing the work, where I could just sit and drink in the scenery. Everything seemed so serene. I didn't have the camera with me, but it was sunny, and a little bit hazy, and the trees drooped over the river bank except for a little bit of a clearing where you could see the rail line. I don't think that that point was any more beautiful than any other part of the river, but it made me feel really peaceful.

I don't actually have a camera. I'm not really interested in taking pictures. Now that I've started this blog though, I think I need to start taking at least a small interest, just enough to make the writing a little more interesting - like a picture book! So, I've borrowed a camera for a few weeks from my institutional learning facility. I will take many pictures in that time.

Sad little bird

Look at this poor little guy, all covered in dust. I've had him since I was about four. His cage has fallen apart a few times, and now it's held together by a complicated arrangement of invisible string. If it didn't look so daunting, I would take it apart and dust him off. He wouldn't know himself.

Em pointed at this when she was over with some friends and exposed me for the packrat that I deny ever being.

Old emails

Since going back to school, I have revived some old skills. Procrastination is at the top of that list. The other day, when I should have been writing, I sifted through my email folders. The 'sent' box had about 900 messages. Maybe this kind of procrastination was warranted.

I have kept some of my oldest emails around to remind me of what a dickhead I can sound like. Here's a sample:

can I wish you a
happy millennium, or is the assinine word itself
enough to drive you bananas?  Ha!  Happy millennium!
I am saying it as often as possible, every opportunity
I get and THEN some.  I am obnoxious.

What did you do for the MILLENNIUM?
i got wasted and sang karaoke - with a few friends,
but mostly strangers.  Jesus.  I traded toques (that word is
Canada-wide, right?) with a guy.  Yeah.  I loved mine
to death, but, having had it for years, it was time to
let go, it really was.

Anything I write embarrasses me after a while. The thought of this blog, out there, in oblivion, for anyone to read, is a scary one.

Ankle trouble

I sprained my ankle a few weeks ago. It puffed up and I hobbled around for a few days, then it healed – but only to a point. At week three, I decided maybe it was time to address this. I went to a physiotherapist, found in the phone book and chosen over all others because she was close, and I think a little bit because she was a woman. She turned out to have a positivity that was infectious.

She did some tests on me and determined I had damaged three ligaments, which were just taking their sweet-ass time to heal. She gave me a horseshoe-shaped piece of foam to wrap around my ankle. Trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with it was like an episode of Mr Bean. I finally had to get her to show me directly. This is what she meant:

Apparently this is good for the swelling. I have also been instructed to do squats, spell the alphabet with my foot and flap my feet as I cycle.

Flap flap.