Happy birthday, Best Friend!

I said I would call but I haven't, so hence, here is a haiku:

Lolabola is
a person who likes to eat
perogies for lunch.

Not technically about nature. Oh well.

I dedicate this video (crap sound and all, but worth watching to the bitter end) to you:

His space

Thinking of visiting One Great City!? Say 'hello' to your new bed:

Cat included.

This happens with the arrival of each new piece of furniture. It's as though he's trying to speak to it on a spiritual level, working hard at some weird animal-mineral bond. The quality of this photo was crappy, so I put a filter on it, but I wanted you to see this rare posture, a bizarre mix of meditative relaxation and territory-marking (because normally he's curled up, sleeping, like any other cat). Like a blue moon, it only comes by once in a while. Unlike a blue moon, it coincides with new furniture.

Please don't mistake this posture for an indicator of extreme comfort. Actually, it's not bad. It folds down and sleeps two, erm, skinny people.

Pictures!

As you may know, 'camera' has been on our list of Shit To Get for a while now, but considering the cost, we had to wait for the right time. Meanwhile, B had the ingenious idea of looking into the possibility of some assistance from air miles. Considering the last time he checked he had enough for one free video rental, I wasn't too hopeful, but it turned out he now had enough for two $25 Staples gift certificates (thank-you, MLCC!). These, plus the fact that we were interested in last year's model, meant we got a real bargain.


On Saturday, we woke our bikes up from hibernation and took them out for some Ukrainian food. On the way there and back, we stopped on one of my favourite bridges, which, you guessed it, is the visual theme of this post. I finally get to show it to you!

Clearly, the rail line is not taking any chances with suicides.

The picture at the top of this post was the view on one side of the bridge. This was on the other:

Moon left, light right.

You & me

A couple of days ago I had what was, I've now decided, my last interview for my thesis. That's fourteen altogether and it's enough. I thought of doing one more with a particular kind of person but I think it's unnecessary - I'm already four people beyond the number initially proposed. No need to overdo the overdoing.

Meanwhile, I've been slogging through the transcriptions, and while it may be mind-numbing and painfully slow, at least each interview is under an hour and a half, and at least I don't have thirty of them to do. Anyone I meet who has undertaken the same task has always had just so much more to do than I have, which is good because I realise that it can get done eventually, but also bad because I wonder when I became such a wimp as to think I can get away with complaining about a measly fourteen interviews.

Of course, a certain amount of each sound file is my own voice, and I find it pretty interesting how much I change from one interview to the next. There's hyper me and excessively agreeable me and cautious me and sympathetic me and even-toned me (all of which irritate the piss out of me when I have to listen to them being played back) and it just seems that I don whichever hat feels appropriate, which I suppose must depend on some kind of vibe I sense being exuded by the other person. It makes me wonder two things: first, could I have acted out some other shape of myself and if so, would the interview have proceeded differently in a way that we both would have noticed?; and second, which one of them are they showing me and what is it about me that made them show that particular self?

I try to treat everyone the same, but is it really possible? Where one person will laugh at something I say, another will change the subject. In return, my response will vary. It's not that one is more favourable than the other (though who doesn't enjoy having their jokes laughed at?) or that anybody is at fault; I think it's that as two people together we become something else, part you, part me, all us, but I'm never quite the same as I am on my own or with a different person.

If this is so, how is it related to the phrase 'I don't like him'? Do I not like him? Do I not like me around him? Do I not like us? When I think of the people I really like, I think that I really like myself, too.

I think that my feelings towards others is perhaps more dependent on this idea of 'us' than I normally acknowledge.

God said, one question. He said, what's the capital of Peru? God said, Lima!?

B and I have been really into bean dishes lately. One of our cookbooks is full of them, and over the past few months we've had just about every bean going.

One winter I used mostly dried beans, then I went back to cans for a while to save time, but recently I bought a bag of dried lima beans, for a change I guess. Last night, I put the whole bag in cold water for a few hours and forgot about them. They started to split and wrinkle. I thought for sure they were a lost cause, but I cooked them anyway, leaving them to simmer for about two hours. I drained them and had a quick taste. I was beside myself. They were absolutely delicious - creamy and nutty. Just like that. No salt, nothing.

Maybe it was because my expectations were so low, but I don't think so: I went to a workshop today on seniors' transportation, and even though it was interesting and kept me very busy, my mind kept wandering back to the lima beans. It was a little like when you're a kid and you get a new pair of shoes: you get wrapped up in something for a few minutes and then you remember that there is a small, new, truly wonderful thing in your life that you are excited about and you're like, The shoes! Well, The beans! I couldn't wait to get home and experiment.

The recipe I followed was nice, but the strong flavours drowned out the limas (lemon, tomato, feta, thyme - go figure). No biggie as I have a whole half of a gigantic jar left... to spread on toast! Blend into a beverage! Sprinkle on cornflakes! Eat neat! Endless possibilities.

(Maybe my mind wanders back occasionally to lima beans with fondness when I'm otherwise spending my time feeling like I'm making some sort of contribution, however small, but the above level of detail can only be thought out at something like tonight's Coolie meeting... which just got cooler, if that's possible.)

Channel

I went to a great show with B a few nights ago at our favourite venue, the one with the well-stocked beer fridge. If it's a folksy kind of show, like it was that night, there are always little tables and chairs set up, so it's a bit like being in a pub with live music, only bigger and without the food. Then J-Lo and his new lady turned up with two other friendly people and we all sat together. A definitive night out - what fun!

The opening act was a local musician who played piano and sang in a breathy voice. I liked her a lot. She sang some very funny songs, including one about Brian Stewart, her favourite CBC News anchor.

(Just as an aside, my favourite news anchor is, big surprise, Ian Hanomansing. Em and I considered starting a fan site for him. I'll bet it would get lots of hits.)

Anyway, when this musician spoke in between songs, she had this sweet, high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like her singing voice. It's fascinating how that can happen.

The time I was most taken aback by this phenomenon was at last summer's folk festival, when I heard Death Vessel. k's friend said she thought he was channelling someone when he sang. I don't know, but the whole thing was mesmerising.

He doesn't speak here, but when he does, his voice is very deep.