Birthday

Every time I go to borrow a camera from the U, they give me the exact same one, which is fine because I really like using it. I used to be able to borrow it for two weeks, but the guy doing the loaning these days has been very stingy indeed; he will barely let me get away with a few days. Here was our conversation:

Me: I'd like to borrow a camera.
Him: What kind?
Me: Just a point and shoot digital camera.
Him: A video camera or a still camera?
Me: (Thinking, yet again, that I have to use a more descriptive term for camera next time so I can skip this part of the conversation because it's annoying. My stance is, camera is camera. If I want a video camera, I say video camera. Like milk. Milk is milk and if I want chocolate milk I say chocolate milk.) Still.
Him: How long do you want it for?
Me: Can I bring it back on Tuesday?
Him: In five days? No, that's too long.
Me: Well, I live downtown, I'm not on campus very often, but I will be here on Tuesday.
Him: Tuesday morning?
Me: Yes.
Him: 9am?
Me: Sure.
Him: Ummmm, okay, but this goes against our policy.
Me: Thanks!
Him: And just so you know, there are lots of other students who live downtown.
Me: There are? I thought I was the only one.
Him: No, you're not, actually.

I wouldn't normally be so sarcastic towards a stranger, but this guy was being ridiculous. They don't have a policy of any kind - he has a policy. It was Thursday afternoon at this stage. When does he want me to return it - in one day? On Monday? What difference does it make? And since I get the same camera every time and it's there every time I go to get it, cameras aren't exactly in high demand, are they? I pay my tech fees every semester and I return the camera when I say I will and if someone else needed it in the meantime, I'd bring it back sooner, like a library book.

I know it's not fair of me to expect a longer loan based on a precedent established by other tech labbies. I really just want to complain about him because this isn't the first time he's been snarky. I think it's important to him that we both know he is the one holding the position of power.

Moving along, I can now show you pictures! (And yes, I will be using the damn camera for my thesis too, but leisure is a permitted reason to borrow one.)

A brown paper parcel has been sitting on the table for over a week, waiting for today to be opened, because today is my birthday. Let the fun begin!

This is what was inside the box, from B's mom:


On my 17th birthday, I woke up to a similar scene - Mom had laid out seventeen pairs of socks on the table for me. There are only (only!) seven pairs here, but this was just as exciting. And they're knee socks!

Even though the interaction with that guy brought me down, this is a great birthday so far.

A certain chill is in the air

Holy CRAP it's cold outside. I like cold weather, but I draw the line at this wind. It just claws at the bridge of your nose (because if you are sane, that is the only piece of skin you will risk exposing) until all you feel is despair. A real-life version of a Dementor. Mwa ha ha.

I feel I must talk about the weather. Between Lolabola and me, who lives in the colder city?

One Great City!: -26 with a windchill of -44.
City of Champions: -28 with a windchill of -41.

I don't know what's worse. At least the sun is shining a little here.
--
Why does the cat insist on sitting on the coffee table? I have told him repeatedly not to sit there. I have even wagged my finger. He is so misbehaved. B calls him 'an evolutionarily advanced cat'. I think he's a brat.

He looks really funny there, in the middle of the coffee table, staring at the heater clanging away. Thank god it works!

Winter and gender

Yesterday was a wonderfully sunny and warm (for January) day, and the world's longest skating path was packed to the gills with One Great City!-zens of all shapes and sizes. B thought it would be nice if there were a lane along the edge reserved for those who do not abandon skating just because it's -20; a kind of user's perk, not unlike what one might get with a season's pass at the local amusement park, with payment not in monetary form but in the act of plunging self wholeheartedly into winter regardless of temperature, which is much more egalitarian. Well, in the financial sense, at least. I mean, what if you're allergic to winter? There was a lady on the radio the other day who talked about this kind of heat rash she develops, but from the cold. Maybe she could apply for a subsidy - free long johns?

And since it was so mild yesterday, I shouldn't have been surprised to find that there were lots of other people on the town ready to check out the art-house movie we had planned to see that evening. It sold out without our help. Returning home, we swung by the not-art-house cinema and arrived just in time to catch There Will Be Blood. I am not sure what to make of this one (cue Film Critic!). It's a great movie, etc. but the main thing sticking out in my mind is this: if there was ever a film made where the only role for a man was as either a) incidental crowd member or b) husband with virtually no lines who appears in a scene for the sole reason of further revealing the characters of the women, it would not be nominated for awards. People would pick up on the fact that there were no men in it, talk about this only, then quickly shelve it as a 'chick flick' and nobody would know if it was any good or not, except maybe Mom.

Is it the movie or the watching experience?

Heath Ledger... dead? I was surprised by how much this shocked me.

I recall watching 10 Things I Hate About You with Lolabola and her B the night we were getting our stuff ready to sell at the Crap on Tables Festival, as Apple-to-Pear likes to call it. We sold a few bits of jewellery and an oil lamp or two, and stashed the cash away in an old mints tin. Years went by and then few months ago I discovered this cash and spent it - so I owe you, Lola! In the meantime, the $5 bill had gone through a redesign of sorts, so the lady at the counter gave me the raised eyebrow when I handed her this unfashionable-looking fiver. Don't people sew money into their mattresses anymore?

This is sad news, but at least he had a chance to move away from the teen drama thing... not that I didn't have a good time watching that film. Silly movie + friends + sarcasm = one great evening.

Brokeback Mountain was a better movie. I sure know a lot about film, ha ha.

Pop economics

The news is full of stories about a receding US economy. I don't know much about these things, but I did know this was coming, and here's how:

In the first semester of my second year I took my favourite course of the program, Urban Development. I hadn't expected to like this class because I wasn't interested in development, but it was really interesting and the instructor was great - really funny, full of personality. He wore a suit and tie to class every day because he worked for a market research company and he had this thinning head of hair so there was nothing unusual-looking about him, but he had this quirkiness that reminded me a little of Joe and Gran. He would be talking about a chart, for example, and if it happened to be round he would say something like, I love this chart because it's shaped like a pizza and pizza is my favourite food. He'd say it in this really excited way. Then he'd smile there for a second, as though imagining eating the chart. He talked an awful lot, but I was always interested in what he had to say (unlike the rest of the class, who all thought he was dull, which just astounded me) because he would get so into whatever it was he was talking about. He was endearingly peculiar.The weirdest thing about him, I thought, was that he drank at least one, if not two, bottles of diet Dr Pepper every single class. I don't think I'd ever seen anyone drink diet Dr Pepper before, let alone repeatedly.

One class, he went off on one of his many tangents and predicted a US recession was right around the corner due to all the lending that was going on for mortgages to people who really couldn't afford them. And lo, a recession is upon us, and whenever I hear something about it, I see a bottle of diet Dr Pepper.

Mmm, delightful

B and I have slowly been working through the dregs of post-Christmas num-nums and now it's down to a single, rather sizeable box of Turkish delight. I like Turkish delight and all (except for that crappy excuse for it that used to come wrapped in a shiny, dark pink wrapper that matched the colour of the jelly. I think I was in my twenties before I found out that Turkish delight wasn't purple) but it's really not my first choice when I feel like reaching for a snack, do you know what I mean? A square or two a year is sufficient, but lately it's been more like one a day. B dropped out of this a long time ago; Turkish delight has fallen from his list of Stuff He'll Eat When There's Nothing Else Going, so I am on my own here. And even though I have a little bit every day, by some miracle, the supply remains. It won't go down. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's cloning. What is its mission? Is it to destroy my teeth? No, it is to convince me to convince others that Turkish delight is a delightful snack every single day. I'm not convinced. Nor should you be. Do not go buy, or accept a gift of, Turkish delight because it won't go away ever. You will just feel sorry for it and eat it until your teeth rot out of your head.

There are indeed no tits on this radio

I have been getting up at 5:30 to listen to a radio show as part of my thesis research. It's a three-hour program which I record and play back later, transcribing the relevant parts. The whole process is taking up tonnes of my time, hence the lack of writing. Or running. Or doing anything but attending the odd work meeting where I feel somewhat out of place. I wish I could speak confidently to a room full of men in suits.

This radio thing is a conundrum. B found a recorder for me so I can record the show as it plays online, store it on the computer and then listen to it later, transcribing the relevant bits. Before, I was listening to the show live on a ghetto and taping bits here and there. Meanwhile, I was just doing what you do when you listen to the radio - sewing, dishes, making breakfast - so that was pleasant! But I was missing a lot of relevant stuff. This way, I tape the whole show, but since it's not that reliable a recorder, I have to be near it all the time to make sure it's mostly working. Then, I have to listen to the show all over again, essentially. This is going to take forever. I suppose I could go back to the ghetto and tape the whole thing on cassettes - can you even buy those anymore? Whatever. I'm still at the stage of trying out techniques and it's not critical that I document every last word.

Getting up this early is anti-social, not so much because no one is up at that time but because I want to be in bed by 9pm, which is pretty early. This happened last night. I was doing that incessant yawning thing - I hate that. A clear sign that I need to be asleep, but I'm not. Luckily, we were just at J-Lo's place and since he lives in the same building as us, I just walked upstairs and I was home. Yay!

What?

Finished Wuthering Heights this week. If you haven't, don't bother. I had some expectations for this book but about three-quarters of the way through I realised that nothing had happened and nothing was going to and so it was just a matter of slogging through the rest of it.

Wuthering Heights is a widely appreciated book but I don't understand why. I feel the same way about The Velvet Underground, Lost in Translation, Family Guy and Neon Bible. I guess a thing's greatness is bound to slip through some people's abilities to appreciate it otherwise we'd be overwhelmed by all the great things out there to appreciate. (Read: I can't be bothered.)

So now, I'm finally reading the last Harry Potter. My favourite things about these books are the names of the places and the characters. Little Whinging. Cornelius Fudge. Wilkie Twycross.

:)

Not exactly profound literature, but I get the appeal here. Dad says he doesn't. I wonder if he liked Wuthering Heights?

Andy Warhol wanted 'figment' to be written on his tombstone

...or nothing at all. So said the quotation on the wall at an exhibit I went to on Saturday. Quotes are overrated. I'll bet half the time the person is just spewing some offhand spew. Like that stupid "Let them eat cake" which she didn't even say. I guess I like the notion of a quotation as a tiny glimpse into a profound idea but when it's used as some marketable sound bite meant to make the deceased sound all mysterious, it's annoying.

I went to this Warhol exhibit on Saturday, the last day before it moved on to that place that rhymes with vagina (I wish I made that one up but I didn't. It's from a list of the top 5 or however many ways that One Great City! is better than that other place, and the number one reason is that this city's name doesn't rhyme with vagina, but really I think that's a point against us). It was lots of fun; full of portraits I had no idea he'd done. At one point, I thought I was looking at Rod Stewart but then I realised no, it's Barry Manilow. And still no. Turns out it was Wayne Gretzky! That Andy Warhol drew Wayne Gretzky's picture was news to me (as was The Great One's resemblance to Barry Manilow), and this picture was, I'm certain, the actual precursor to all '80s record covers: horrible. The Karen Kain one was even worse.

Not that it sucked. I like Andy Warhol, and it was just an enjoyable day. The gallery was packed and the people-watching was as good as the wall-watching. My favourites were his ballpoint pen sketches from early days and the girl in skinny turquoise jeans - she was from the people-watching part, though she would not have been out of place in that Gretzky print.

At the end of the exhibit there was a little station set up where you could draw your own portrait. I can't draw. I mean, I never try. So I drew me in green pencil. I would maybe have put that up here but I posted it on the wall there.

There were other things going on at the gallery, in particular the Frank Warren Post Secret thing which apparently the whole world knows about but me, so I guess I don't need to go on about it but maybe I will because I thought about it a lot. I think I read every single postcard there. Some stand out, like, I overdress at meetings to compensate for the fact that I have no idea what's going on... no fucking idea. And, I have many close friends and confidantes but I am so lonely. And, I have been in love with my sister-in-law for 40 years. And, it shouldn't be a crime to kill your mother-in-law. And, I'm a 37 year-old single nurse in the maternity ward and I check the ages of the mothers to see if I still have a chance. And, best of all, my friend's band sucks!

Reading these made me feel sad and whatever the opposite of lonely is at the same time (and I'm still laughing about the last one). I guess they are nothing more or less than quotes. Well, nothing less. People thought about these. They are more than snippets of cool-sounding drivel. I hope.

New day

Now that Christmas and all ensuing nonsense has come to an end, I have a list a mile long of Stuff to Accomplish. But why do any of that when I can be here?

I like a new year. Take the time to reflect on the past and be conscious of the year ahead, and you really get something out of it, don't you think? For years, I've made a note of the highlights of the year in a little leather-bound notebook Denise gave to me. Spanglish has a post in the same vein that looks like fun; two responses from each category, so here goes:

Learned:
How to think like a lawyer
The limitless possibilities of the mind (that looks so dumb written down, but I can't think of any other way to phrase it)

Met:
El Hash's little boy. Love at first sight.
Apple-to-Pear's little boy. Joy in a onesie. Or is that a romper? A sleeper??

Don't want to take into 2008:
A tendency to micromanage
A small preoccupation with the seven signs of ageing

Want to hold close into 2008:
The people I love
A sense of humour

Looking forward to in 2008:
Curling lessons with B and our camping pals
Graduating

Life-changing in 2007:
A letter that expressed friendship so nicely
This blog

Hope to accomplish by the end of 2008:
To be more accepting of others
To be more accepting of myself



I had a nice Christmas. Did you? I went home to Cow Pie and stayed with the parents, whose house is one of my favourite places to be. It reminds me of high school, which I remember disliking intensely at the time, but oddly have only very fond feelings about now. Whenever I go home, I wander around the neighbourhood through the back pathways, the parks, to the 7-Eleven, past my old bakery job and the spot which used to be a library in a portable but is now a permanent church. None of these places holds any memory of how isolated I used to feel; at least, it's not isolation in a fearful sense but more in a free and anticipatory way. Maybe that's what it was all along. I think about all the things that made me so purely happy, like running and best friend and Duke Ellington songs and the moon, all of which still make me intensely happy.

Happy new year to you - again!

Stupid city I love

Today is B's birthday. Whenever he tells anyone this, they always say, new year baby! To which he always replies, I'm not a baby. I find it all very funny.

I wanted to make him an ascot as a birthday gift. I bought the pattern a couple of weeks ago in a fabric shop down by the university when I was in the area. I should have bought material there and then but I didn't really like any of it, so I put that off until yesterday, when I was right downtown, which has a small fabric store amidst all the wedding dress shops. Sorry, had a small fabric store; I found out the shop is in the process of moving to another part of town, in step with the art supply store, the army surplus store, and soon, the book store and central post office. One Great City!? One Great Doughnut! is more like it. Our downtown is becoming more parking lot than destination, and the most depressing part is knowing how vibrant it used to be. The photos of downtown in the past, with its hordes of strikers, shoppers and workers, tall buildings and streetcars, are everywhere, but you can't even walk across the city's most famous intersection anymore; you have to go underground because above ground is for cars. Are subterranean pedestrians meant to make a city great? Not that it matters since there's nowhere to walk to but a bunch of parking lots.

Since this birthday-wishes post to my partner has morphed into a rant about the city, I might as well go with it. This song captures the spirit of this city like nothing else - there is no need for me to go on.

So, back to the ascot... instead, I am going to give B the pattern of the ascot and the promise that the real thing will be around his neck once I've had a chance to go by way of the university again. And maybe we'll take a walk around downtown today. It's new year's day. There won't be anyone there.

Happy birthday, B! And happy new year.