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.