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!