park(dale)life

Summer Stuff

2007-09-09T17:17:00.000-05:00

Look, I finished my first ever knit baby outfit set thing!

I KNOW. It's exciting. I think I've solved my start-and-never-finish knitting problem - only knit small things! It's perfect!!

Now, just because I'm sure you're dying to see, here are some closeups:

Hat closeup

Sweater closeup:

Bootie closeup:

Much of these were knit on airplanes and streetcars, in and en route to cities such as Toronto, Philadelphia & Vancouver. Just gave the set to some soon-to-deliver friends, so hopefully I can post a picture one day soon with a real live model!!

The set travelled to BC with me and visited Rose & Kate's new apartment, where we saw a beautiful sunset from their balcony:

Also got to meet one of the cutest dogs ever - my new doggie pal Emmy Lou Hairy:

Rose and I took her for a drag through the park. That is one stubborn puppy!!

We had a lovely visit. Good dinner, lots of wine - wonderful hostesses!

The visit to Vancouver was followed by a trip to the Island to visit the fam. Pictures from that trip will have to wait until I get new batteries for my camera!!

mini Book Expo 2007 review #2 - "Star Dancer" by Beth Webb

2007-07-30T13:43:00.000-05:00

Mini Book Expo 2007 Review #2: "Star Dancer"

Author: Beth Webb

Writing this review has been tough. I didn't love the book, but I was going to post a nice, supportive little review for a couple of reasons. One, I feel guilty about posting two negative miniBook Expo reviews in a row, and two, Star Dancer is nowhere near as bad as "Vanquished". However, my conscience would never let me rest if I wasn't honest, so here we go....

As I read, I worried I was being too hard on the book. I struggled to remind myself that the author wrote this for "young adults", as opposed to actual adults like myself. But then I thought of all the other young adult fiction that I truly enjoyed reading at any age, authors such as J.K. Rowling, Katherine Paterson, Judy Blume, Philip Pullman, Ray Bradbury, L.M. Montgomery...I could go on and on. What's the difference about Star Dancer? Why did I never really connect with the book?

Star Dancer is set in "prehistoric times", where Druids have recieved two phrophecies from "the Goddess". Prophecy one is of a terrible evil that is to come. Prophecy two is of a child being born, the star dancer, who will save them from said evil. The Druids presume this star dancer will be a boy (shocker), but it's actually a girl. The girl is unacknowledged by the Druids until almsost too late - then has to leave her family to begin her accelerated druidic training, hopefully in time to save the world from the coming evil.

For starters, the book needs a good editor. At 343 pages (wide margins and generous font included), it is way too bulky. The pacing feels off, and scenes of high drama are interspersed with tortured dialogue passages that were difficult to read. I suspect Webb was trying to re-create some sort of olde-English feel to the text, but it comes off clunky and inconsistent. The storytelling passages, or inner monologues of characters are quite readable, but the dialogue is not so good.

The tone of the book is very condescending - similar in feel to the Lemony Snickett books (which I also disliked - though I would recommend the series to kids who are new readers). The language and plot are overly simplistic for the 12 year olds it was written for. Halfway through the book, there are serious events happening, but nothing in the characters individual plotlines seem to have prepared them for these events, so their reactions are unbalanced, weak and unbelievable.

The main character, whose name I've already forgotten (wait - Tegen, her name is Tegen), is supposed to be one of those underdog, uber-humble kids who is actually very exceptional. But despite the fact that the entire book (and series, eventually) is centred around her, Tegen never really came to life for me. I was more interested in the supporting characters of Gilda the midwife, and Tegen's brother, Griff.

Griff is supposed to be a "half-head", or "moon-face". He was found abandoned by the riverside by Tegen's father the same night Tegen was born. Griff speaks with his own special syntax (lots of "I's", and "yus", and "dunna's"), and this combined with the physical description makes it fairly obvious to a contemporary reader that Webb is describing someone with Down's Syndrome. The Griff character is very inconsistent, fluctuating between wise old soul, and annoying special-needs brother with confusing speed. Toward the end of the book, Tegen and Griff are married (hand-fasted), as per the wish of their village's Druid (Griff's natural father, who is dying). Up until this point in the book, Griff and Tegen have been fairly close, with Tegen relying heavily on Griff for emotional support. After the hand-fasting, things are awkward. Tegen becomes obsessed with the fact that Griff might want to consummate their marriage. He certainly tries, saying things like "I luvs yer, Tegen, and I want to give yus a big cuddle like men dus to women."

Umm, ew? And do you see what I mean by unbalanced? It takes a very special author to deal with difficult issues like child abandonment, misogyny, menstruation, and arranged marriages to de-facto siblings in a way that is appropriate (and still entertaining) for young adults. Webb doesn't quite make it.

The book wasn't terrible, but I have zero interest in reading the sequels, I wouldn't give it to any book-loving young adult I know, and I won't recommend it to anyone else. There are better choices out there.

mini Book Expo review - "Vanquished" by Hope Tarr

2007-07-24T21:37:00.000-05:00

Mini Book Expo 2007 Book #1: Vanquished

Author: Hope Tarr

Good lord. I'll try to keep the bleck's, blarf's, yuk's, and pitooee's to a minimum as I write this review, but it's seriously going to be a challenge.

I should perhaps start with a disclaimer - I am an unashamed reader of trashy novels. Well, maybe not so unashamed that I'm willing to read them on the streetcar. But I do have a serious soft spot for a trashy romance, and if vouchers for Almack's and corsets and parents-who-just-don't-understand and secret engagements and a kiss between the hero and heroine in the final few paragraphs are included, so much the better. If you haven't read one before now, I'm happy to recommend a few - for the most part they're delightful, escapist fluff, readable in a couple of hours.

Key words there being "for the most part". I wouldn't have made it past the first chapter in this particular book, if I hadn't felt obliged to plow through in hopes of saving some of your eyeballs from a similar fate with this review.

According to the publisher's synopsis, this book is set in Victorian England, "sizzlingly sensual and rich in historical detail", about a leading suffragist by the name of Caledonia Rivers, and an up-and-coming photographer with a troubled past, Hadrian St.Clair. A high-ranking political enemy of the suffragist movement has hired Hadrian to take a naughty photo of Caledonia to discredit her in the press and thereby crush the votes-for-women movement, but Hadrian and Caledonia fall in love and the evil politician's plan is (somewhat) thwarted.

From the beginning, Tarr sets Hadrian up to be unsympathetic to the suffragists in general, and she never really changes that image of him. Certainly, he falls for Caledonia at some point, but he never really sems to change his opinion of her life's work. If anything, you're given the impression that Caledonia wises up to the fact that life as a feminist is cold and lonely, and that what she needs to really make her happy is an extraordinarily macho man - the end of the novel sees her unable to continue her career as a suffragist and moving on to "true happiness" in life as Mrs. Hadrian St.Clair. Whaa? I can't understand how Tarr can write a book that purports to praise and support feminist history, when anyone with half a brain can see that it does COMPLETELY the opposite.

I like to think I'm centrist in my views, try to see all sides of an argument as much as possible, and am usually fairly moderate as a result (I recognize that this moderation comes from the comfort of a place in history where generations before me struggled for the benefits I enjoy!) but holy crap this book brought out the raging feminist in me. Here are some of the more maddening quotes:

"He longed to lift the suffragist veil and find the woman beneath", "Unlike so many of her suffragette sisters whose reputations skirted the fringe of respectability, Caledonia was said to be very good and virtuous", "Her mentor...the women braving the cold...everyone was counting on her to see them through to victory. Yet it had been a long time since someone, a man, had told her she was pretty."

Or maybe the touching scene where Caledonia confesses to Hadrian (mere moments before becoming his lover) that she's such a fraud, she isn't pure and virtuous - she had SEX with a then-fiance when she was 19, weep, weep, she's such a hypocrite, etc. etc.

The most annoying scene, which had me throwing the book on the floor in disgust and taking a few days' reading break, was the one a few pages later, where Caledonia gives the first blowjob of her "fraudulous", "hypocritical" sex-life. While she is telling him "you taste nice, delicious even", he is thinking about how 'never before had he cared enough to hold back a woman's hair while she went down on him'.

Jesus H. Christ. Seriously, did some porn-addicted 18 year old frat boy write this? The more erotic passages were mostly ridiculous. I don't mind a good erotic passage here and there - but I sort of like them to fade out just before the actual intercourse bits. Whenever this sort of book degrades into sexual euphemisms, "throbbing members" etc ., I find it jars me out of the story, and I don't usually get back into it. Tarr has written a few extremely explicit scenes, including one surprising anal sex interlude. Does anyone else think it somewhat unlikely that a woman in Victorian England would be clamoring for anal sex in her second sexual encounter? Hmmm?

I have issues with the supposed historical accuracy beyond Victorian sexuality. Sure, Tarr mentions historically accurate names (Millicent Fawcett, Emmeline & Richard Pankhurst, William Ewert Gladstone), but none of her actual characters behave with anything like historical accuracy. Caledonia's guardian Aunt, for example - there's no way someone in that role, in that era, would have been so permissive and encouraging.

The novels of this sort that to my mind are successful have many of the same glaring plot/character/historical inaccuracies - but somehow they manage to hit that magic place where the reader really ends up liking the characters and is therefore able to suspend disbelief and float through the story no matter the unlikelihood of the plot. Tarr's book never gets to that place. Her characters were flat and unsympathetic. I think there was definitely potential for this idea to take off, but this reader's feet remained firmly planted on the ground.

random street music

2007-04-17T22:32:00.000-05:00

So I'm sure most of you have seen the washington post article/video about their experiment with violinist extraordinaire Joshua Bell (I know Call-eeen did, if you haven't, read/watch it here). I just stumbled across this post on pitchfork, with 2 videos of the Shins in Paris, up to similar shenanigans. Why do they get a bigger response? Is it 'cause there's more of them? Pop vs. Classical? Paris vs. Washington? All of the above?

interesting

2007-03-28T14:58:00.000-05:00

Soooo, there's a book out there called "the Long Tail", by a guy named Chris Anderson (Editor of WIRED Magazine). Coles Notes: The book is about a marketing phenomenon he calls the long tail. Sounds boring, but it's actually pretty interesting - he uses the music industry as an example in the book - basically, imagine a simple XY graph. The X axis (vertical) is the frequency/number of albums sold in a week, the Y axis (horizontal) is the rank, by name of the album. The left side is dominated by the the Top 40, new releases that are currently recieving radio air-time.

Nothing new there, but here's the interesting bit - that huge amount on the left hand side of the graph decreases dramatically as you move to the right (apparently it's the 1/n rule, not that I know what that means), eventually dwindling to zero. Even really random, small interest albums generate a few sales, and the thing that's amazing is that this area under the "long tail" is much greater than the dramatic spike at the beginning. According to Anderson, in traditional retail models, new albums account for 63% of total sales - but online, because of ease of access, unlimited supply and huge selection, those numbers are reversed, and new albums account for only 36% of total sales!

MY POINT - I found a very interesting website today called "Sell A Band".

From the site:
Fans, dubbed 'Believers', find an artist they like on SellaBand.com. For USD 10, they can buy a share, or 'Part'. Once the band has sold 5,000 parts, SellaBand arranges a professional recording, including top studios, A&R managers and producers. Believers receive a limited edition CD of the recording. The interesting twist is that the songs are then made available as free downloads. Income comes from advertising revenue, which is split three ways: artist, believer and SellaBand. Since both believers and artists benefit from getting 5,000 parts sold, both are likely to actively promote the band (and SellaBand) everywhere musicians and music fans are active: on their blogs, on their MySpace pages, in online communities, to their friends, etc. Once the recording has taken place, the same goes for SellaBand's download portal: artists and believers profit from ad revenues created by driving traffic to their download page.

The site has been up since August 2006, and so far they have 4 bands that have reached the 50,000 fan mark. Their terms are pretty reasonable - sounds like it might be an amazing way for indie groups to pick up a bigger piece of that "long tail". Not to mention record an album for free.

I wonder how successful they will be - I can see some people being pretty disappointed if they've invested $10 in a few different bands, and none of them hit 50,000 (the magic number where they get something back, physically). That's what I think is most interesting, people supporting a group with almost philanthropic (or maybe entrepreneurial is a better word!) intent - there's no instant return on your $10, no guarantee of any personal return at all. Are they supporting the industry, or the website itself? They're really only giving the band a "chance", as the band doesn't get any money until the album is in the free download stage and ad revenue starts coming in.

Is it worth it for the bands? I don't imagine much money will come in during that first year where they don't own their master and they are only getting ad revenue. Then again, I don't have any practical idea how big those ad revenue numbers might be. And a year isn't a very long time, so this might be the best opportunity some bands ever get. Either way - neat!

dazzling

2007-03-11T09:41:00.000-05:00

I'm not much of a jewellery gal. Real jewellery, that is. I tend to take off my jewellery when it bugs me no matter where I am and usually forget where I put it, so I guess you could say that my collection is much more Claire's than Tiffany's, if you know what I mean. And I think that you do. Accessories are usually something I put on before I leave the house in the morning and then don't think about until it's time to get ready for bed and I have to take them off. Since I was about 4 years old, and I met a friend of my parents who always had long, perfect red-painted fingernails and big dramatic hair and sparkly earrings (give me a break - I was 4 and it was 1981) I've been in awe of people who always look perfectly accessorized. I dream of one day joining their ranks, but am pretty sure that thanks to my tomboy roots I'll never quite make it.

This lifelong obsession with accessories is one of the reasons I was so completely amazed with the ROM's newest exhibit, Ancient Peru Unearthed: Golden Treasures of a Lost Civilization.

This exhibit is about the Sicán civilization of Peru (800-1375). The Sicán pre-date the infamous Inca, and were actually around much longer (500 or so years, compared with the 100 or so of the Inca). And let me tell you, these people knew their accessories!

I've never seen so much GOLD in one place before. The exhibit is beautiful, and winds through the 3rd floor of the museum, directly on top of the Samuel Hall/Currelly Gallery. The Sicán were incredible metalsmiths, and there are many examples of their advanced craftsmanship in the show. Their society put great stock in personal ornamentation (mostly relating to status, experts think), and their theory seemed to be - if you can figure out a way to put GOLD on it, do it. They put modern ear-spool wearing kids to shame with their gigantic, ornate ear discs, that's for sure. (These suckers are 12cm in diameter and over a foot long!!)

The Sicán civilization was mostly unknown until about 30 years ago. Because of centuries of grave-robbing and looting, and the Spaniards' incredible lust for all things GOLD, there are very few traces of the Sicán to be found - and the few artifacts that did surface before the 1990s were a mystery to archaeologists. No one knew exactly what their context was, or who to attribute them to. In an amazing stroke of luck, archaeologists unearthed a completely untouched tomb in the early 1990s. The tombs above this one had all been looted, but they think that the looters hit ground water and were prevented from digging deeper to the final tomb, so it was preserved. Inside this tomb was what they call the Sicán Lord, and the incredible contents are what the ROM's exhibit is based around.

Exhibit highlights (if for some reason you need another reason besides the GOLD) include an archaeological "dig zone" for the kiddies, lots of accessible features for people who are vision- or hearing-impaired, and a great video presentation featuring traditional music. The ROM has also created a large amount of digital resources for this show, including a dedicated mini-site with an image gallery, podcasts, lots of info and activities. For the first time, the ROM is also reaching out to the blogging community, which is something I am VERY excited about. Seems to me that "Renaissance ROM" is about much more than the fancy building out front - they really are working to build an actual Renaissance in every aspect of the museum. Torontonians should be very proud to have the ROM in their backyard.

i love this story

2007-01-04T10:29:00.000-06:00

Wonder how Canada Post would fare with a similar charge?

http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2007000420,00.html

R.I.P nablopomo

2006-11-25T18:07:00.000-06:00

Boo me. After coming so close!

You see, I did this thing last Wednesday, where I put my credit card in a place other than my easily-accessible wallet (in the name of the holiday shopping budget). Immediately after doing so I gave myself a congratulatory pat on the back - good work you, way to stick to your budget. Then Thursday night came along. Specifically Thursday around 6pm, where I had to check into a hotel. With no credit card in my bag. fuuuuuuuuuuuck. Luckily, the woman I was checking in next to (my prospective employer, the reason I was at the hotel in the first place) heard my sad story and offered up her card. And wouldn't take no for an answer. It was nice of her, but fuck. Talk about embarassing.

Anyway, there I am at this lovely, posh hotel (rhymes with "Bing Beddie", Torontonians), sans credit card. The event rooms I worked in for the next two days didn't have internet access (long story, complicated, boring). My room had internet access...if you had a credit card. The business centre at the hotel had computers and internet access...if you had a credit card (why not just the room card? Because they suck.). I seriously would have just bent over and paid them the $12.95 PER USE fee if I'd had it, and I'm very sad that I wasn't able to finish the month.

Will keep my fingers crossed for the rest of you keeners. For now, I have less than 12 hours not only to figure out what I'm wearing to a wedding tomorrow afternoon in Cambridge - but to learn the five songs I'm supposed to be singing there. doh.

presents

2006-11-22T19:08:00.000-06:00

A while ago, my pal roro had a wonderful post about presents. Specifically, the first present you remember making or giving your parents.

I've agonized for days, now. Surely, at some point in my youth I gave my parents SOMETHING that I specifically intended to be a present, something that I wasn't told was a present to begin with (ie. today we're making flowers to give to your mom).

It doesn't help that my parents had a hippyish attitude to so-called "material things". My brother and I had a lot of crayons and dress-up clothes and lego, and a few dinky toys and random no-name Barbie's inherited from cousins and aunties. (PS, the blog that barbie pic came from is a must see - top marks for creepy doll obsession in another language, whoever you are!)

ANYWAY, my parents not only discouraged violent/war/weaponry toys, they discouraged gift giving in general. Not that we didn't get presents, because that is certainly not the case. They just didn't go crazy - it was a quality not quantity sort of scenario, which I think makes a lot of sense.

Only problem is, when you're 6, your idea of a "quality" gift can be....um....creative. I've mentioned before, but to recap, my family didn't do christmas or birthday's until I was 14 or so. Yeah, I know, seems weird - but trust me, when you grow up with it you really don't know anything different. All this to say that gift giving was usually a pretty random event - for the adults, at least. Kids tended to get stuff at the beginning and end of the school year, that sort of thing.

I remember my brother and I being obsessed with the idea of surprises. Ideally a treasure hunt with a surprise at the end of it. I have NO IDEA where this obsession came from. I remember spending the better part of the afternoon creating a trail of notes for my dad's arrival - and this was PRE post-it notes, people. I think we tried to get tape from mom, who was a willing conspirator, and used a combination of that and sheer five-year-old ingenuity to stick the notes where we thought they should go.

For example - The first note, on the front door, read "go to the living room". The one in the living room read "go to the kitchen". One in the kitchen read "go to the basement". The clues would frequently intersect, so if you were en route to the kitchen, you had to ignore the clue in the hallway that came later in the game. You get the idea. At the end, the "treasure hunt" would usually lead to my brother and I, hiding somewhere (linen closet, under the blankets on my parents bed, in a giant cardboard box), where we would of course attack our parents/finders with hugs and kisses and much laughing.

Seriously, all you parents out there - this is a great trick. My mom could get us to be in our "hiding place" for HOURS before Dad actually arrived. And in retrospect, how hilarious must it have been for my mom and dad? The two of them must have done some serious gut-busting behind our backs.

There you go, roro - not quite a present, but definitely my earliest recollection of a gift!

me, i want a hula hoop

2006-11-21T21:41:00.000-06:00

How did I forget about the Chipmunk's song, people? HOW?!

Finding lots of real musical gems, as co-workers bring in their fave holiday cd's to add to the partay playlist. I should have thought of this scheme YEARS ago. I am going to have *the* comprehensive holiday music collection, and all for very little effort, really. Awesome.

Some other must-hears, if you haven't already:

Lou Rawls - Christmas Is
Bob Marley & Wailers - Sound The Trumpet
Harry Connick Jr. - Christmas Waltz & This Christmas
Take 6 - Go Tell It On the Mountain
Martin Sexton - I'll Be Home For Christmas
Sarah McLachlan - What Child Is This
Mariah Carey - All I Want for Christmas is You
BNL/Sarah McLachlan - GRYMG/We 3 Kings (this one's for you Kate!)
The Weepies - All That I Want

Wouldn't it be great if I could make a living selling mix tapes? sigh. This office party assignment is definitely dangerous - I'm going to be sick of these songs WAY before the 25th actually rolls around.

one bank...one card

2006-11-20T19:17:00.000-06:00

Alright, check this out - remember my post a few days ago about scary corporate America, and the singing Bank of America hoser video?

Apparently Universal Music Publishing Group is suing for copyright infringement (NYT article). Hmmm. I agree that the song is appalling, but to sue for copyright infringement? It's not like the guy was performing to a sold-out stadium, or has in any way made money from this. Neither has he in any way made the original artist look bad or lose money. Yet another example of how effed contemporary copyright laws are.

ANYWAY, the video is still right up there with the Star Wars Kid, in my opinion. Here's a money quote from the NYT article:

Mr. Chandler also denied any involvement in leaking the video, although he admitted that, despite the cutting online criticism, the incident had an upside. “A lot of people thought it was fake, but I really do sing,” he said. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

I guess we shouldn't be surprised at further confirmation of his delusion.

Check out also, WFMU's comparison of the two sets of lyrics. (Yup - they're just as bad as you thought the first time you listened.)

holiday toonage

2006-11-19T15:55:00.000-06:00

So, there's a crazy lady in my office. You know the one - she makes us sing happy birthday, organizes a 'fridge cleanout' team the friday before every long weekend, dresses like she's in that movie with Melanie Griffith where she pretends to be a big office lady, tsks every time someone swears, never quite got the hang of technology - I suspect there's one in every office.

ANYWAY, she's decided to "put a team together" to organize our office holiday party. Side note - I organized the office party last year. By myself. It probably took an hour of my time, all told (room booked at local pub - check, drink tickets ready to pass out - check, pass out secret santa assignments - check, spend the rest of the budget on food - check), but from what I hear, this year's "team" is meeting weekly - and discussing things like decorating schemes and theme drinks, all under the crazy lady's supervision.

Luckily because I organized last year, I escaped being coerced into this year's planning spree. But I didn't escape entirely unscathed - I am apparently responsible for providing the festive music for this occasion.

Now, of all the jobs I COULD have recieved, I don't really mind this one. I do love me a good mix tape, as you all know, and this is really just an expanded version of this. But then I started to worry a bit. I didn't grow up celebrating xmas - what if I miss some key songs, and I ruin the party for everyone?!

So I've decided to open it up to you guys - what are the must-haves on this playlist? Any little-known classics that I should know about?

(Yes, if the crazy lady had her way, we would all dress like the carollers above, whom the internet tell me are a group of people called "Christmas Matters". It MATTERS, people! heh.)

chillin'

2006-11-18T18:04:00.000-06:00

Busy day, kidlets. I sit on a board of directors for a local economic development org, and today we had a 9-5 board retreat, where lots of exciting things were accomplished. We're registered not-for-profit, but we aren't a registered charity (which means we can't issue tax-receipts), so our lives revolve around funding sources - which are ever-changing marks. "Easy" funding sources, such as private foundations, aren't an option because of the lack of charitable status. And we aren't eligible for charitable status, because economic development of a community can be said to benefit individual businesspersons, which isn't seen as charitable. Our programs include a series of job fairs, community forums on topical neighbourhood issues (zoning, construction projects, etc.), election candidate debates, storefront beautification, how-to sessions for new canadians, mural projects, arts/crafts fairs, etc. - so I suppose individual businesses are supported, but it's all for the betterment of the community at large. Argh! As a board, we've decided that financial sustainability is our main goal. We've been really fortunate up to now, finding renewable sources of funding, but that means a lot of our staff are only hired on a per-project basis, and when funding runs out, we lose major human assets. If we can find sustainable funding, we can hire people on a permanent basis, which would be exciting for many reasons. ANYWAY - we have come up with several extremely entrepreneurial projects that might have extremely interesting results. Projects where we are running a seperate, for-profit endeavour of some sort, where all the profit is directed back to the original program. I'm really excited about the model we've come up with - but holy CRAP I think I've somehow signed on for even MORE work.

As a result, it's a take-out ordering, movie-renting kinda night chez moi. There will be some knitting, there will be some watching of So You Think You Can Dance (dance dance), there will be some lazing around on the couch.

There will NOT be any chores or volunteer work or even phone-answering. It's been a hell of a week, and I am DONE.

the case of the twisted shower curtain

2006-11-17T09:25:00.000-06:00

In response to this post on Keltie's blog:

Years ago, when I was young and foolish, I lived in an apartment building from hell in the annex (just before moving into the hippie flophouse with Roro - I was on a bad-housing streak). During my tenancy, my super decided to use my apartment as the "show" apartment, the unit he would bring prospective tenants to in hopes of wowing them with my spectacular furnishings (a piquant mixture of goodwill and ikea) and suckering them into signing a lease on the spot - WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. That's right, my habit being to go to work Monday through Friday, 8:30-5:30 or so, meant I was the perfect absentee tenant to use in his diabolical scheme.

Except it sort of back-fired on him.

You see, when you live alone, you pretty much know what to expect when you walk in the door of your apartment - you see your pyjamas on the corner of the couch and remember "oh yeah, that's where I flung them this morning in my mad dash to get to work on time", or the basket of laundry waiting to be folded at the foot of your bed, or the pen sitting on the top row of your keyboard keys, and these things are all comfortable and familiar friends, friends you EXPECT to see in your apartment because you invited them in.

But then one day I came home and went to the bathroom to wash the TTC off my hands, and my shower curtain was....wrong. It was pushed to one side and hanging outside of the tub, and for a minute there, I questioned my sanity. Did I forget? Did I break my lifelong habit of closing the shower curtain after showering so that it will dry and not get mildewy? Is it possible I didn't notice that this morning? And however unlikely (I ALWAYS close the curtain), the first time this happened, I convinced myself that I was crazy, that OBVIOUSLY it must have been me who did it. I lived alone - someone else would have had to be in my apartment, and that same someone would have had to touch my shower curtain. While I wasn't there. That's CRAZY TALK.

But strange things kept happening over the next week - the shower curtain was a regular victim, the door to my patio would be unlocked and sometimes open, my curtains would be opened/closed, lights left off would be on when I returned, papers left on my kitchen table were pushed aside into a pile. Finally, after returning home to find my BED MADE, I decided I wasn't crazy, that something very strange was going on, and I called the police. That's right, the police.

They took me seriously, thankfully, and sent over a pair of nice officers to talk to me about it. I walked them through my suspicions and showed them my "evidence". They told me that I should try to "booby trap" my apartment to find out for sure if someone was entering while I wasn't home - they showed me tricks like closing my bedroom and bathroom doors and wedging a tiny piece of paper in the door frame, so that if I came home and the pieces of paper were on the floor, I would know someone else had opened them. They told me that if my traps proved successful, to call them.

So, embarking upon what is retrospectively a hilarious scheme, I booby-trapped my apartment. I put the paper in the doors, I put shoes in the way so whoever walked through my entrance hall would have to kick them aside, I taped the bottom of my patio door so the tape would be broken by the next person to open it....and then I went to work and waited anxiously for 4:30, wishing I had Doctor Watson handy to keep me company, or at the very least that I was allowed to smoke a pipe at my desk.

I got home, and sure enough - every single one of my traps was sprung. I was totally furious by this time, because even though nothing was being taken, it had to be someone with a key, which was freaking me out. So I called my pals the police officers who told me something very interesting - the reason they had paid so much attention to my call was because the year before, the previous landlord in my building had been arrested for burglary because he was systematically stealing electronic equipment from tenants, entering their apartments while the tenants were not at work, and that older apartment buildings are always a problem, because the locks aren't changed frequently enough and there could be spare keys floating around the city. WHY DIDN'T THEY JUST TELL ME THAT TO BEGIN WITH?!?

(by request, the end of the story: the landlord was reprimanded by the police, and I called a locksmith - and gave notice)

let it snow

2006-11-16T16:58:00.000-06:00

Man, is it disgusting outside today or WHAT. The temperature itself I dont have an issue with -it's actually pretty balmy, all things considered. It's the rain that's making me crazy. Okay, to be completely 100% honest, it's the moving from an inside environment you've completely acclimated to, having spent most of the day fairly inactive in front of a computer, out to the nice fresh rainy environment, on to the stuffy hot disgusting subway and back into the fresh rainy outside and back onto the sweaty stinky hot no-seats streetcar and back into the wet outdoors and back in to your apartment which is hot because there is only one thermostat in your building (not in your apartment, natch) and the windows have been closed all day and AAAARRrRGH! I hate this weather! I don't know what to wear! I don't know what temperature to set the thermostat at! I don't know if it's worse leaving my windows open during the day (squirrels, robbers, wet), or coming home and literally stripping down to my gotch as soon as I step inside. I hate being hot and sweaty for no reason. I wish it would just get it over with and turn into winter, already.

two things

2006-11-15T15:50:00.000-06:00

1. Second Life

For some reason, I can't seem to escape references to Second Life lately, and Katr's post today has pushed me over the edge - not only because I'm a big fan of Case Camp, but because I think the entire idea is FASCINATING. (I know it's shallow, but the opportunity to have a 12" waist and STILL EAT CHEESE is one I can't pass up). I am now the proud owner (?) of a Second Life avatar and am deadly curious to see how this whole thing works. It still reeks of D&D-style gamery to me, which I was always too lazy to figure out, but I think the ability to be whatever you want to be is fascinating. I realize this is nothing new, that people have essentially been able to re-create themselves anonymously online for years, but don't you just love the idea of some really quiet, non-descript person having this raging, sexy, dramatic Second Life? And the thought of people who honest to god make a LIVING via this game/site? Holy. Anyway, stay tuned - so far my avatar is entirely boring and remarkably reflective of my real life (except the waist size)...but who knows what the future will bring (other than eye-fatigue from spending waaaaaay too much time looking at a computer screen).

2. Crazy Corporate America

Despite being deathly allergic to shellfish, I worked at Dead Lobster for a year or so while I was in University, and that experience, thank god, was my closest brush with the beast I like to call Crazy Corporate America. I still have nightmares of our managers trying to get us to wear Dead Lobster clothing during our off time (why not give one of these great Dead Lobster hats to your Dad for christmas? 5% off for Staff if you buy one today!), passing out pins for things like "best procedure follower" and calendars with pictures of Dead Lobster restaurants in different (American) cities, and generally proselytizing the seafood-themed "word" at any given opportunity. It was an all-or-nothing scenario - either you thought this was the best goddamn job you'd ever had, or you weren't Dead Lobster material. I have NEVER responded well to that sort of scenario - I was a very damn competent waitress (I think it's the ocd), I followed their rules, customers loved me (I think it's the boobs), and I couldn't understand why they wouldn't just leave me alone to do my job, collect my tips and LEAVE. Anyway, I eventually quit, leaving the memories of forced team bonding/brainwashing far behind...until this AMAZING video of a Bank of America employee BROUGHT IT ALL BACK. Sweet Jeebus, I would so love to hear what Bono has to say about the new lyrics. heh.

forewarned!

2006-11-14T17:09:00.000-06:00

The coolest thing I saw on the internets today:

http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/2006/11/business-card-and-garden-smuggler.html

I'm a big fan of BLDGBLOG, but this post is even cooler than the usual.

Sorry I don't have anything more exciting to say - I'm at work, in between the regular work day and our scheduled evening event, which starts in ten minutes. Ah, the glamorous life of a fundraiser in the cultural not-for-profit sector.

I would SO rather be at home.
this + this + this + this = bliss.

victory

2006-11-13T19:29:00.000-06:00

Alright, boring day here, folks - I'm feeling like a champion just because I spent the day at work, went to the gym and grocery store after work AND remembered to vote on the way home. Barely.

I wasn't on the voter list when I showed up, but I just had to show proof of my residence (I knew carrying around all those old pay stubs would come in handy one day) and I was handed my ballot.

Did anyone else have to use one of those mini screen things, where you're supposed to stick your pen and ballot into the box, but when you do, you can't see anything on the ballet? Man, I miss the good old days when there were full-on dividers between you and your voting neighbour.

No big plans for this week, so expect many more scintillating posts like this one. Between work events and knitting, this blog could change direction entirely. Speaking of knitting, wanna see what I'm working on? Well, you can't see it exactly because I don't have a picture of it yet, but this is what it's going to look like eventually. Except mine is alpaca and a beautiful shade of teal that will look perfect on my mom. Pretty, huh? The pattern is the most complicated I've ever done, and I've started giving myself a little whoop whoop (Arsenio-style) after every successfully completed row. Laundry, knitting (whoop) and Heroes - not a bad Monday night after all. As long as this doofus doesn't win the mayoral election, that is. Worst. Campaign. Evar. Fingers crossed, Torontonians! See you tomorrow.

memories

2006-11-12T20:12:00.000-06:00

I was waiting for the Queen streetcar today when all of a sudden, a grey cargo van pulled up right in front of us waiting folk. It appeared out of nowhere, and pulled to a halt very suddenly. Suddenly enough to make me panic a bit, and flash back to a time when my brother and I had to walk home from school and used to hide in the ditch or the bushes alongside the road everytime one of these drove by (I blame Unsolved Mysteries - we saw an episode where the 80s version of that van, with the bubble window on the side, kidnapped some kids off the street, and it scarred us for life).

ANYWAY, the grey van pulls up and out of it spring three people - a dad, and two kids, boy and girl, both under 13 or so. Mom was sitting in the back seat, couldn't tell what she was doing, never got out of the van. The kids and the dad, though, were filling up the news boxes right beside the streetcar stop - Condo News, Auto News, Renter's Guide, that sort of stuff. They were a precision drill team - each kid was responsible for a couple different mags, dad too, and they all pitched in uncomplainingly, chit-chatting with each other all the while. And watching them brought back yet another memory, this time not one that involves cheezy 80s television.

My parents haven't always been as financially stable as they currently are. In fact, in my early childhood we didn't have much - us kids never wanted for anything, but there weren't a lot of frills, if you know what I mean. My mom didn't work full-time outside of the home until I was in grade four or so, and it wasn't until then that our familial bank balance started to look a little healthier. Until that time, my dad worked full-time painting houses, and they both did other odd-jobs to make ends meet as necessary. My dad delivered pizzas for a while, my mom had a series of part-time jobs on weekends or the occasional evening - office cleaning, a memorable stint as janitor at the local psych hospital, and of course, the job that the grey van reminded me of, the rural newspaper route.

Now, I was a little kid, so I don't have any really focused or clear timelines associated with this period. I think it must have been before either of us was in school full-time, because I remember going with mom (occasionally dad, on weekends) on the route in the middle of the day. My parents had a green Datsun at the time, with matching green faux fur on the seats in the inside that my brother and I loved.

The three of us would pile into the car, and off we would go. The first stop, an exciting brush with the newspaper factory where we picked up bundles of papers off the rollers and there were lots of burly men and smoke and machines. Now, to be fair, I don't remember actually doing any of the work here - I suspect we were mostly spectators, an easily-distracted audience with the attention span of, well, impatient hamsters.

So we'd get the papers in the car, and off we'd go, out into the country surrounding Thunder Bay. Once we got there, our job (and by our job, I mean mom's job) was to roll up the paper and stick it in the little yellow Chronicle Journal box at the end of the long country driveways. I remember my brother and I ostensibly "helping" by trying to roll the occasional newspaper, but I suspect we mostly fought with each other and made our mom crazy.

The moment we lived for on this trip was when the last paper had been delivered, and mom would stop at a country store to buy a Mars bar. The three of us would sit in the car (or outside the car if the weather was nice) and share the chocolate bar before heading home.

Pretty simple memory, really. But watching that family today made me realize how much I owe my parents. And its thanks to them that I have the security of knowing that you do what you have to do to make ends meet, and that honest work is never something to be sniffed at or looked down upon. My life is so much easier than theirs was back in those days, but I have no memories of them complaining about being tired, or not having the time to play with us or read to us or cuddle us. I'm sure their memories of that time period aren't as rose-coloured as mine, but I wouldn't exchange mine for anything. Not even a Mars bar.

loving the nature...literally

2006-11-11T22:07:00.000-06:00

I was on College Street for a while today, and I happened upon the strangest thing.

I was waiting for the westbound streetcar at College and Euclid, and I saw this young fellow approach on foot from the west. He looked entirely average - jeans, sweater, scarf, backpack, all of them and himself squeaky clean. And then I noticed what he was doing.

This dude was walking up to the trees planted along the sidewalk, and kissing them. Walking up to each one slowly, caressing its branches, staring up into its leaves, then putting both his hands on the trunk and kissing it. He did this to every tree eastbound as far as I could see - sadly, I wasn't close enough to notice if there was any tongue.

seriously, whose idea was this?

2006-11-10T12:47:00.000-06:00

Okay, do you remember the movie "Galaxy Quest"? It's one of my all time favourites. Coles notes version - the cast of a Star Trek-esque show (Alan Rickman, Tim Allen, Sigourney Weaver, Tony Shalhoub - if you haven't seen it you really have to rent it) are kidnapped by aliens because the aliens have seen the television show and think the actors are genuine intergalactic heroes and not just b-grade actors in a cheezy low budget sci fi cult show.

If you've seen it, you will understand why this article brought the movie to mind.

It's like hiring Julie Andrews to baby-sit because she did such a good job with the Von Trapp family. Or asking Keira Knightley if she can score you some crank because obviously as Domino she would know the seamy underworld like the back of her hand.

Or asking DENZEL WASHINGTON TO NEGOTIATE A HOSTAGE TRANSFER BECAUSE YOU LIKE HOW HE HANDLED THOSE BANK ROBBERS THAT ONE TIME.

my first drunken post!

2006-11-09T23:56:00.000-06:00

Dudes, talk about just getting in under the wire! We had an event at work tonight, and I may have imbibed a tetch too little. I'm still at work, actually - if I don't throw something up on my blog in the next five minutes, I've totally missed the nablopomo deadline...and although I'm not really sure if this is legal in terms of the "spirit" of the competition, I saw this story earlier today and it made me laugh:

A Japanese bra company, in a bid to discourage Japanese from using plastic bags, unveiled a bra whose cup padding unfolds to become a handheld shopping bag.

I laughed, because, comparing the young lady in the photo and her bra-to-bag size ratio to myself, I would end up carrying around a fashionable hefty sack. Guess this is one innovation that's not for me!

Luckily, that's not the only "clever" idea this company has had. From the same article:

Lingerie maker Triumph has regularly designed bras aimed at drawing attention to
social issues and to raise its own profile. Last year it unveiled a bra that can be heated in a microwave so as to help save on indoor heating costs.

Can't wait to see what next year brings....I've always thought a bra that could teach me Spanish would come in handy.

copyright battle - just in time for remembrance day!

2006-11-08T16:49:00.000-06:00

Okay, I just read an article in online version of the Edmonton Journal that sort of makes my brainz spin.

The Edmonton chapter of Women In Black (and another local store, "Earth's General Store") are selling white poppies, with pins in the centre of the flowers that say 'peace'. I'm not sure how long they've been selling them, but judging from the article, this may be their second or so year - the white poppy originated in England in 1933, with the Women's Co-Operative Guild, many of whom had lost loved ones in WWI. The Guild and the Women In Black now, both deny that the white poppy is intended to supplant the traditional red poppy - they see it as a pro-active statement that could easily be worn in conjunction with the red poppy.

The Legion, on the other hand, is pulling one of my least favourite questionably-legal cards: Halt! Copyright infringement!

The Legion has been selling the red poppy pins in Canada since 1921, in remembrance of Canada's war dead. Rod Stewart (heh - that's seriously his name), vice-president of the Legion's Alberta/Northwest Territories command, is quoted as saying:

"This practice is not only disturbing, but illegal. The poppy, in any form
other than a real poppy, is a registered symbol of the legion and can't be used without permission. The legion will ask the groups selling white poppies to stop. Legal action has been used in the past
to enforce trademark infringement."

Ummm...what about all those elementary school kids drawing poppies for the Remembrance Day assemblies? And the poppies seen online here and here (scroll down) and here? Are they sending THEM infringement notices too? Whose buttheaded idea was it for the Legion to copyright the poppy - I don't think anyone in Canada associates the poppy with the Legion, we associate it with Remembrance Day!

Another "helpful" suggestion by the Legion was that "the white poppies "piggyback" an inappropriate political message onto Remembrance Day. A more appropriate day might be Sept. 21, the International Day of Peace, and suggest the groups sell olive branches instead of poppies."

SIGH.

I am conflicted on many levels. I am definitely antiwar. But there's a strange sort of split in my "definite" - in my head, I mostly "remember" the dead of WWII on November 11th. The wars/battles that have succeeded and preceeded that war have mostly had very unclear "right" and "wrong" sides. I feel an extreme detachment from the troops in Afghanistan right now - does anyone actually know what they're doing there, besides dying? It's awful to say, and I am of course saddened by their tragic deaths, but I also resent the Legion telling me that all of our war dead died in the "glorious" cause of protecting my freedom...'cause I don't really remember being asked my opinion about sending troops to Afghanistan.

I guess all this to say...I will respectfully keep a minute of silence at 11:11 on
November 11th, and if I see a white poppy, I will happily buy one and wear it
next to the red one currently residing on my lapel. But I am disappointed that the Legion, who I generally see as a strong contributor to community life in Canada, sees this pin as a threat instead of something that we should all hold as ideal. Then again, if there were no troops or war, there would be no reason for the Legion...and I guess that would mean someone somewhere is out of a job.

obsessed

2006-11-07T16:46:00.000-06:00

I'm not usually someone who plays a whole lotta videogames. Well okay, there were a few months back in 1985 or so where I couldn't get enough of one particular game, but other than that, and a quick brush with duck hunt when nintendo first came out, I've largely managed to avoid the obsession and save the majority of my quarters for important things like vending machine snacks and laundry.

Not any more.

beer-losophers

2006-11-06T22:24:00.000-06:00

PaGa and I just had a lovely, relaxing evening chez Mitzi's Sister.

It was songwriter's night. Which was exactly the mellow sort of mood we were in.

However, Mitzi's Sis being the hipster hangout it is, we had more than our fair share of laughable eavsdropping moments throughout the evening.

Two of my favourites:

Drunk guy to other drunk guy: "...a really judicious sense of coming in and out of the arrangement."

Same drunk guy to same other drunk guy five minutes later: "...99.9% of our people who come into our personal sphere..."

Maybe you had to be there, but trust me. It was really funny.

day 5 - boring

2006-11-05T15:40:00.000-06:00

Days like today are the reason I don't blog every day, and why I'm not sure I'm going to last the full month. Days where a thousand tiny aggravations make me grumpier than Oscar, and about as pleasant to be around.

My landlord is making me crazy. Last Monday night, I tried to do load of laundry - the washing part was no problem, but when I tried to put it in the dryer....no go. The darn thing wouldn't turn on. The power was fine - I heard the timer happily ticking away - but nothing happened when I pushed the start button. I hate it when machinery betrays you like that. So I hauled my wet towels (of COURSE it HAD to be a load of towels, aka the items of fabric in my apartment that takes the longest time to dry) up to my apartment and draped them over every available surface, grumbling the entire while. Because it was late-ish, I left a message for my landlord at his office, for his tuesday morning enjoyment, asking him to look into the dryer problem and keep me posted.

So the rest of my unusually busy week speeds past. No word from the landlord, but neither have I had time to do laundry or go down to the basement myself, so I sort of let it slide.

I had a bunch of housecleaning planned for the weekend. My weekly chance to redeem my apartment from hovel-dom, to catch up on dishes and groceries and other assorted chores that I typically neglect from Monday-Friday...including laundry, which was now already a week behind. I called my landlord last night, but his always-surly wife answered and said he was in bed. (8pm? Saturday? Seriously?) He called me back around 1pm today, and spun me a sad story about how an impressive series of repairmen betrayed him this week by not showing up when they promised. Apparently someone is once again scheduled for tomorrow, but who knows.

Now, like every time I have to ask my landlord for something, part of me feels guilty for holding him accountable for maintaining his property as promised in my lease agreement...and why the eff do I feel guilty? I'm far from a high-maintenance tenant - in the three years I've lived here, I've called for his help maybe five times and two of those times involved large amounts of water leaking from my ceiling.

That's all I have to say really, told you I was boring. I think that is what's making me grumpy, even more than the fact that I will now have to go out of my way to procure clean socks for tomorrow. Does anyone have any guaranteed cures for grumpiness? Favourite songs? Favourite feel-good movies? Reliable and affordable hit men for hire?

can't talk, knitting

2006-11-04T22:34:00.000-06:00

Enough yarn for seven scarves, plus one that is 7/8ths completed.

50 days to Christmas.

Exactly whose idea was it that my entire family should recieve a hand-knit gift this festive season? 'Cause I sure don't think it was mine. Don't get me wrong, I seriously love the knitting...I'm just starting to feel some pretty intense deadline pressure.

Maybe instead of fancy scarves, everyone will get one of these.

where's a camera when you need one

2006-11-03T16:46:00.000-06:00

A lot of streetcar/TTC-riding stories lately, but what can you do - welcome to the realities of my life.

Was on the westbound Queen car this afternoon. I'm not usually on the transit in the middle of the day, but I took today off for a 1pm job interview (oh okay, and also for the sleeping-in).

It was a pretty empty car, which is in itself a pretty awesome occurence. Room to sit, room even to cross your legs if you are so inclined. Bliss.

So, there's not a lot of peeps on my giant slinky streetcar. I'm sitting pretty close to the back, and no one is behind me, so I have a pretty sweet view of the all the happenings. This teeny, tiny, little old Chinese man gets on the streetcar at the Spadina stop. Tiny doesn't even really do him justice. I mean, this guy was miniscule - 4 1/2 feet tall tops, 60 pounds soaking wet, MAX, wearing a saggy old beige cardigan, a t-shirt of indeterminate colour, grey polyester grandpa pants, a black and brown striped scarf and one of those foam-front trucker hats that all the kids are wearing these days. So he's cute to begin with, and that's eye-catching enough on an empty streetcar, but the thing that really catches my eye is that he's pulling one of those giant shopping baskets on wheels. You know the ones I'm talking about. They're everywhere. But his didn't have that fancy plastic plaid liner, even from the back end of the car I could tell his was...different.

The teeny man sat in the first half of the car for a few stops, but you could tell he was restless. Lots of fidgeting with the cart and shifting around in his seat. Sure enough, a few stops later, he takes advantage of our being frozen in traffic to venture back to my end of the car, where he found a seat better to his liking (on a butt that bony I'm amazed he was able to sit at all!), that happens to be two rows away from my seat. And thank god, because otherwise I never would have seen the spectacle that was his empty shopping cart.

Now, I should maybe mention that although he is perhaps not dressed as au courant as some of the other Queen West hipsters who ride the car, he by no means looks homeless or remotely crazy. Just OLD. Really, really old. Now that he's closer to me, I can see the four or five wisps of hair on his head through the mesh of his hat (which is of course perched on the very top of his noggin), and the couple of long straggly white hairs coming out of his ears. His hands have a death grip on his cart, and now that he's close enough for me to see his ear hairs, I know why - this cart is no mere method of grocery transportation.

He has painstakenly woven several different ribbons through the mesh at the bottom of the cart, I'd say the first foot and a half of the bottom were woven in an incredible assortment of ribbon - we're talking Joseph and the technicolour rainbow here, as though he collected every shred of ribbon he'd ever come across on the street or in a store or at home, and incorporated it into the cart. It looks almost as solid as the old plaid plastic bag I mentioned earlier - I bet he has no problems when it rains.

The rest of the cart is covered in a mixture of old and new photographs and newspaper clippings - in English and what I think might be hand-written mandarin - everything sort of wrapped in saran wrap, or some sort of clear plastic. There is writing and drawing on most of these photos and paper clippings - items are circled, crossed out, underlined several times. I'm dying to know what the signifigance is - I imagine that if I was an author, I could find hundreds of stories in these clippings alone.

Also attached to the mesh is a Canadian flag, much the worse for wear, and several fake flowers and greenery in similar condition. Some sort of paper, possibly of the charmain variety (if you know what I'm saying), is wrapped around and around the handle bar of the cart, the very handle that he refuses to let go of.

As we pull up to Lansdowne Station, he prepares to get off the car, asking a young fellow nearby to pull the stop for him, using gestures that could have looked ridiculous, but ended up looking sort of dignified.

By this point, I am dying to know where he's from, and what he's doing on the streetcar, and why he has this fancy cart. But of course I don't say anything, don't even really make eye contact other than sort of smiling in his general direction. Which I'm pretty sure he can't even see. Then as he gets off the car - backwards down the stairs with his cart - I finally see what the front of his formerly white foam-front hat says, in a plain, centred red font: Toronto Is For Lovers.

team player

2006-11-02T14:26:00.000-06:00

"The popularity of brainstorming results in part from corporate America's knee-jerk faith in teams. In fact, the father of brainstorming, advertising executive Alex Osborn, advocated using people to storm a corporate problem "in commando fashion." And let yourself be labeled a "nonteam player," and you might as well start your own one-person consultancy. But teams aren't necessarily so great. "There are so many things people do in management because they think it's good, but there's no evidence for it," says Paul B. Paulus, a professor of psychology at the University of Texas at Arlington. "Teamwork is one example. Brainstorming is another." Prof. Paulus conducted research on the number and quality of ideas of four people brainstorming together versus four people brainstorming by themselves. Typically, group brainstormers perform at about half the level they would if they brainstormed alone."

OH MY GOD. Where WERE these guys when I was in University? To this day, I would rather shovel every driveway in this town with a teaspoon than work in an arbitrarily assigned group - there is absolutely nothing more frustrating. Don't get me wrong, every project should ultimately benefit from the input/criticism of multiple voices, and some of the best ideas I've ever had have been made into something MUCH greater than my original thoughts as a result of group input, but there's truly nothing worse than a forced brainstorming session.

Full article: http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/06164/697891-28.stm

NaBloPoMo - some things better left unsaid

2006-11-01T06:27:00.000-06:00

Alright dudes, I'm doing it. This, is my first post of (hopefully) 30 consecutive posts in the month of November. whoa. It's Katr and Keltie's fault for encouraging me, really, I can't think of another explanation because it's possible I haven't even written 30 posts in the (not-so-lengthy) history of my blog.

But I do have one stipulation on my participation - I absolutely REFUSE to say the word 'NaBloPoMo' out loud.(IS it a word, seriously?) I've tried to say it a couple of times here in the privacy of my apartment (hi, neighbours! I'm not crazy!), and there's no way it can be done. Every time I try, it reminds me of the time I was going to see "'Da Kink In My Hair" - I sounded like a complete dork every time I tried to say that, too.

No matter how I try, I can't change the facts - I use lame slang (cf. 'dudes'), my french accent is atrocious, and I think "prego" is the name of a spaghetti sauce. Verbal fireworks will never be my forte.

Good thing I can type.

Mom Jr.

2006-10-10T23:02:00.000-05:00

If I'm getting on the westbound bloor line, I always get in the front car of the train. After years of subway riding, I've finally gained that magic, stress-reducing transit rider's sixth sense: how to ensure you get on the train in the exact right spot to spit you out in front of the escalator at your destination station. Seriously, is there anything better than the doors opening and you're the closest to the escalator or stairs, thereby avoiding the aggravating crush of your fellow passengers? ANYWAY, I was at Christie Station earlier this evening, and I had to wait for the train. No biggie - gave me plenty of time to walk to my preferred end of the platform to await my ride. I had no book to read, my ipod batteries are dead, and I've yet to master knitting standing up, so I was basically just standing on the platform, spacing out. As you do.

So I'm standing there, dreaming of my apartment and the oh-so-cozy duvet that awaits me, and I gradually became aware of someone approaching my area. There wasn't another soul on either platform, except this slowly approaching dude, and myself. Not usually a problem, except this was a very strange dude. He came to a stop about 30 feet to my left, then began to stare at his feet and carefully side-step along the lines in the floor tile until he was about three feet directly behind me. I never thought I would curse my hard-earned transit sense, but there I was - alone and trapped at the end of Christie station with a....well, a possibly weird dude.

Thankfully, our train's headlight was now apparent at the far end of the station. And that's when I did the most ridiculous thing I've ever done. I suddenly had this overwhelming conviction that this person behind me was planning to push me off the platform into the path of the oncoming train. No idea why, but an honest-to-god sense of absolute, every-man-for-himself terror washed over me, and I grabbed my shopping bags and quickly did a side-step or two myself and walked until my back was touching the wall, where I stood, heart racing, until the possibly weird dude got on the train and the train departed.

Now before you write me off as a complete hoser, you have to realize something - my mother is the sort of woman who wears her purse strap over her shoulder and then clutches the purse in both hands and holds it directly beneath her boobs whenever she is in public. You know, just in case someone tries to grab it. The same woman who taught me to walk at night with my keys in the palm of my hand and stick the key's themselves between the cracks in my fingers like a sort of primitive set of brass knuckles. The same woman who can calculate in her head, within fifty cents, the exact price of her shopping cart full of groceries, including tax. The same woman who has every single piece of tupperware, spaghetti jar, or margarine container that has ever passed through her home because WHAT IF SHE NEEDS IT ONE DAY.

Tonight, standing alone on the westbound platform at Christie station, watching the tail lights of what should have been the train to reunite me with my duvet grow faint in the distance, I came to terms with the fact that I had just pulled a "mom". I came to the realization that I, too, will one day worry and call my child every single time I hear of something bad in the news that happened within 100km of their abode. I will save tupperware and clutch my purse and ask questions about the families of friends and boyfriends, and cut out job ads for company's that are close to my home town to entice my family to live nearer. I will teach them to stick keys between their knuckles and keep their head up when they're walking, and basically do everything in my power, no matter how crazy, to keep them safe.

The guy, the possibly weird guy on the platform tonight is most likely innocent of any malicious thoughts involving me and the oncoming train. I know that, you know that, even my mom knows that. But regardless, I have now officially turned into my mother...and to tell you the truth, I'm totally okay with that.

Mix Challenge #1

2006-10-06T13:42:00.000-05:00

A couple of very clever friends of mine emailed me with a challenge I couldn't resist: a mix cd challenge.

If you know me, you know I'm obsessed with making mix cd's for people. I love music, and I love telling people about excellent new music, and the challenge of making the perfect mix for any occasion is one I will always rise to.

But these friends (AaJe and SeMu) proposed something different from the usual exchange of great tunes. There are rules for this challenge.

Rule #1
The titles of every song must must tell a story, when they are read in order. The story must be one everyone is familiar with (ie. Hansel and Gretel, Snow White, etc.).

Rule #2
No maximum or minimum number of tracks - whatever you feel is necessary to properly tell your story.

Rule #3
No fair googling uber obscure (and quite possibly crappy) songs just because they have the perfect title. The songs must be songs you like and will listen to again.

Rule #4
We mail them to each other, and have to guess what stories people were trying to tell.

So, without further ado, I give you my contribution:

1. Parents Just Don't Understand (DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince)
2. Do the Whirlwind (Architecture in Helsinki)
3. When I Fall (Barenaked Ladies)
4. Ruby, My Dear (Thelonius Monk & John Coltrane)
5. Short People (Randy Newman)
6. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (Tchiakovsky)
7. Brain Stew (Green Day)
8. Heartbeats (the Knife)
9. No Bravery (James Blunt)
10. The Flowers (Regina Spektor)
11. Sleep to Dream Her (Dave Matthews Band)
12. Wake Up (the Arcade Fire)
13. Pinball Wizard (the Who)
14. Monkey Baby (Scissor Sisters)
15. the Icicle Melts (the Cranberries)
16. Home Again (the Polyjesters)
17. Somebody Loved (the Weepies)

So, didja guess the story? I guess there might be a giveaway track or two...leave your guesses in the comments! And if you're interested in partaking in the next CD Mix Challenge, send me your address and we'll talk.

the internet is a series of tubes

2006-07-05T10:13:00.000-05:00

Senator Ted Stevens (who is lobbying for legislation that would allow phone companies in the US to charge Google etc. for their delivery of VOIP) shares with us the most terrible (and hilarious) definition of the internet of all time:

"They want to deliver vast amounts of information over the internet. And again, the internet is not something you just dump something on. It's not a truck.

It's a series of tubes.

And if you don't understand those tubes can be filled and if they are filled, when you put your message in, it gets in line and its going to be delayed by anyone that puts into that tube enormous amounts of material, enormous amounts of material.

Now we have a separate Department of Defense internet now, did you know that? Do you know why? Because they have to have theirs delivered immediately. They can't afford getting delayed by other people."

How much do I love the fact that he tried to incorporate Homeland Security into his asinine ramblings! I can't WAIT for his explanations of, say, gravity, or maybe something really arcane like...electricity.

Link to Wired.com article.

The cool kids at boingboing have just posted an appropriate t-shirt design in response.

Clementine - by Sara Pennypacker

2006-06-28T19:46:00.000-05:00

"Here is a secret good thing: Sometimes I like journal writing at school because I can remind myself of things I might forget when I'm a grown-up. Like that I plan to smoke cigars. And I do not plan to get married. Cigars, yes; husband, no. What if I forget these things?"

Okay, this book? The one that's written for kids, like, less than a quarter of my age? It TOTALLY RULES. I scarfed through half of it between Bloor Station and Coxwell, and finished the rest between Coxwell and Dundas West on the way home. If you have a child anywhere from 5 -10 (publisher says 4-8 yrs.), they should read this book. Actually, never mind the kids, you should read this one for yourself first.

Clementine (Hyperion Books for Children, 144pgs, release date Sept. 2006) is an hilarious, Ramona Quimby-style precocious third-grader. How can you not fall in love with a kid who thinks the most beautiful words in the world are found on labels in the bathroom, and names her pets accordingly (Laxative, Mascara, fluoride and Moisturizer)? The book details a week in the life of Clementine and opens up with her best friend Margaret asking for "help" with an emergency haircut. As you can imagine, hijinks ensue. I love the energy of this character, and the black and white illustrations by Marla Frazee convey it beautifully.

Sadly, Sara Pennypacker appears to be website-less. However, I have found a few other books she has written, and plan to pick them up post-haste. I encourage you all to do the same!

Thanks for the book, Alexis! Off to read my second "Mini Book Expo for Bloggers" assignment, "the Big Why" by Michael Winter who, incidentally, has a travel blog for his current book tour. Hope the book lives up to the interesting-ness of the author...

Summer Reading Scheme

2006-06-24T19:22:00.000-05:00

The ever-lovely Kate recently alerted me to a super-fantastic plan hatched by her friend Lex (who was cool way before the hatching of said super-fantastic plan. She publishes everyone's favourite guide to the city - Cheap Eats Toronto!).

Lex recently attended Book Expo Canada and brought back more books than you can imagine. And instead of letting 'em collect dust over the summer, she's decided to host a mini book expo for bloggers - Claim it. Read it. Blog it.

Visit Lex's site, www.unsweetened.ca and peruse the list of remaining titles. Leave a comment with the book you'd like to read, and Lex will mail you the book - the only catch is, within a month you have to post a review on your blog, or send a review to Lex to post on hers. It's the honour system, people! Make me proud!

Catch you later...I'm going to look at the books...

Honey, what's that weird buzzing sound?

2006-06-13T10:24:00.000-05:00

During the 50s and 60s, Toronto Hydro disguised some of their neighbourhood substations as bungalows. That's right - those reclusive next door neighbours you may never have seen were quiet for a reason. THEY DON'T EXIST.

Check out BLDGBLOG for the full stories and some excellent photos. I love the idea that these buildings are Toronto Hydro's idea of generic, blend-in-able Canadiana, and I would REALLY love to know what the actual neighbours thought/think.

Check here for an address list of all the houses in the GTA (scroll down to "Schedule C"). Road-trip, anyone?

wishlist

2006-06-12T15:45:00.000-05:00

"Raffi wants kids to have a better world, launches book, CD"

http://www.cbc.ca/cp/entertainment/060612/e061240.html

"Impossible samba, improbable rumba ... dancing in your junglehood," he raps while breaking into slow, syncopated hip-hop moves to a surprised audience of one. "All grown up and on the go, tune into the global radio."

FYI - this is SO on my birthday list. Can you even IMAGINE how mind-blowingly AWESOME it will be to hear Raffi try to RAP? Never mind seeing the "slow, syncopated hip-hop moves". I need to take a moment...

ghosties

2006-03-13T21:25:00.000-06:00

Have you seen the movie Junebug?

I rented it last night. By myself. And I watched it - by myself. The last few weekends, by the time Sunday evening rolls around I've done so much reading my eyes hate me and my brain is spinning. And this week PaGa is even out of town so I have to rely on myself for entertainment (GeCo! You! Mind out of the gutter, lady). What better way to flake out than rent a movie?

So I did.

I've been wanting to see this one for a while - ever since I saw a preview and fell in love with their accents. (It's entirely possible that "junebuuug" is the cutest word in the entire world when said with that soft, southern sort of accent.) I was slightly deterred by whatsername's awful dress at the Oscars, it's true, but I somehow moved beyond my prejudice to reach out and grab it off the 7/24 video shelf.

Turns out it's not the quaint and light-hearted city-mouse-meets-country-mouse sort of flick I was expecting. It's the sort of movie you really ought to watch with someone because if you watch it by yourself you just end up asking "if he carved the bird and had it in his hand why didn't he just give it to her? And what's with the smoking? And do people really get married a week after they've met? And does every church in the world have the exact same basement?" and there's no one there to answer. Which is frustrating.

So instead of your brain being all delightfully post-tv mushy and ready for sweet sweet slumber, your brain is whirring and twisting and clicking away in your skull. But you do fall asleep. Eventually, that is. All the while seriously begrudging the fact that now you're only going to have five or so hours of sleep where you'd hoped to have a respectable eight (mom would be so proud).

Then all of a sudden your alarm says 5 and you can't tell from the light outside whether it's am or pm, but you do know that you've heard...something. Yawn, wiggle further into the blankets, start to fall back asleep...there it is again. Yup, a definite soft rustling, disturbingly reminiscent of a former mouse-ridden period in your apartment that you thought was long behind you. Oh God. Where is that noise coming from. Tired, ignore it. If I pretend it will go away. I can sleep through anything. Skootch further under the covers, start to relax...there it is again. Start to think about actually falling asleep but tense up at the knowledge that the mousemonsterkidnapper will most certainly take that opportunity to attack you. Finally wake up fully and throw your blankets off to stumble into your dark apartment and investiage...in your underwear, like all the famous explorers.

Discover that the mousmonsterkidnapper is in reality a lonely, empty plastic bag hanging from the doorknob of your bathroom, rustling gently in the breeze from the bathroom window you left open because it was so mild out.

According to the alarm clock, there's a whole 45 more minutes until it intends to shriek at me.

Might as well crawl into bed and think about Junebug some more...

chocolate revolution

2006-02-20T08:30:00.000-06:00

http://alasdair.livejournal.com/189736.html

beautiful

2006-01-28T14:31:00.000-06:00

Let's see...I can play percussion, you have a guitar, my neighbour plays viola and hey - doesn't that other guy over there have a bassoon? I know - let's start a band!

And they did.

It's crazy, it's all original, it's smart, it's genre-defying, it's incredibly compelling. I've been listening to their newest album 'lantern' all day, and I can't get enough.

Their sister-band 'the books', who do similarly cool, SMART tunes with more digital and sampled stuff, are playing at Lee's in May. Anyone want to join me?

slanket

2006-01-21T13:12:00.000-06:00

Okay, I know that my present-train doesn't technically roll around for another year or so and I also know that less than a month ago I was righteously spoiled by friends and loved ones, but I can't help it.

I want one.

taggity

2006-01-09T22:10:00.000-06:00

That darn roro has done it again - but seeing as how I skipped the last tag, I feel sort of honour-bound to reply to this one. 'Sides, I do weird things, this should be easy.

Hear ye, hear ye - 5 weird things about me. Although, as roro said, "what I consider weird, others might consider repulsive, obsessive compulsive or merely embarrassing." To that list I would like to add "plain stupid". Ahem:

1. Socks. I hate 'em. More specifically, I hate the seams that run along the toes. What MADMAN thought that was a good idea? It used to take me hours to get my shoes on when I was a kid (and boots people - I grew up in northern Ontario and Manitoba!). My poor parents. Luckily I learned to verbalize pretty darn quick. "Sock! Wong! Fix!"

2. I dig trashy novels. The very trashiest. Not even those John Grisham-esque crime novels, which at least use bigger words than "gown" and "rebel" and (sigh) "honour". That's right, I'm talking Harlequin romances, people. Better yet historical romances. I could suck back two of 'em in a lazy Saturday afternoon with nary a bed-head hair out of place--and there's an entire mostly-hidden bottom shelf on my bookcase as evidence. But come on, is there any better escape than pure trash? I think not. Then again, maybe it's just the juxtaposition of my bedhead, pyjamas and toast crumbs with the lofty, ridiculous romance. I know I'm not an idiot - I stand by my choices. But not enough to read them on the streetcar.

3. Stuffed animals. Got no use for them. There is one solitary stuffed thing in my apartment, and that's a Mr. Henke, the Christmas Poo. And listen up, PaGa - he was a present from my Aunt, so I don't care how grody you think he is, he's sticking around for a while yet. Sticking around...ewww...

4. The single solitary object of furniture I dream of buying when I can afford it (and more importantly, have space for it) is a big huge kitchen table. I don't want anything particularly fancy, I just want something I can cram ten or so of my friends around for vicious games of spoons or scrabble or some other game that starts with "s".

5. It takes me a really long time to wake up in the morning. If I want to get anything along the lines of ironing or breakfast or lunch-making done, on TOP of the usual bathing stuff, I have to give myself at least two hours. I'd say a good 50 minutes of those hours are spent just spacing out (a la office space), but I digress. One morning last week I snuck down into the basement of my building in my underwear because I'd left my pants in the dryer the night before. I didn't realize 'til I was halfway there that these were COMMUNAL halls I was traipsing through ...thank god the dudes who live upstairs were nowhere to be seen.

There you have it. Whoa crazy. Can you handle it. So now I tag - cupcake,andromachebrie, amigos (perhaps a combined effort?) and hairstick gal. No pressure folks, but I know you're all freaks who are DYING to share your freakiness with the three other people who read my blog. Bring it. It's so already broughten.

what a nightmare

2006-01-04T21:36:00.000-06:00

I just got an email from someone. We're not best friends or anything, but we worked at the same volunteer gig for a couple of weeks every year for the past five or so. She's great - interesting, smart, involved in the arts. I look forward to catching up with her every year.

Anyway, I think the email she sent is appalling. I'm going to cut and paste it in its entirety at the end of this paragraph so you can read it for yourselves. It's not just the fact that I disagree with the political content of the message (although I most certainly do), it's that I can't believe someone whose intelligence I respect sent what is essentially a piece of pure rhetoric, and cites it as the thing that 'pushed her off the fence' in regard to her vote. (SaHi, maybe you and your media literacy ways have changed me forever.) I disagree with anyone who choses to vote Conservative in the upcoming election - but if that decision is an educated one, based on a comparison of party platforms etc, I can certainly respect it. I don't want to tell people which party they should vote for - I want to reach into peoples' brains and make them THINK for THEMSELVES.

READ CAREFULLY - THIS IS IMPORTANT!!!Check out the date and time at the end of this e-mail. You decide!
SOMETHING WORTH THINKING ABOUTHello.My name is Alan Robberstad I am a Canadian. One voter out ofmillions of Canadian voters.Paul Martin is no friend of mine. Liberal governments have notmade my life any better. Liberal governments have made the future worse for my children.Jean Chretien and the Liberal Party became Prime Minister manyyears ago. Guess who was the Liberal Finance Minister.....PaulMartin...LEST WEFORGET Since 1993:(1) My taxes have increased.(2) My family's share of the national debt has increased.(3) My personal expenses have increased.(4) My waiting time to see a doctor has increased.(5) My concerns for my family's safety have increased.(6) My costs to educate my children have increased.(7) Government interference in my life has increased.(8) My personal debt has increased.(9) My income has stayed more or less the same.(10) My savings have decreased.(11) The buying power of my dollar, in Canada, has decreased.(12) The value of my dollar, in the U.S., has decreased.(13) My trust of elected officials has decreased.(14) My trust in the justice system has decreased.(15 )My trust in the immigration system has decreased.(16) My hope that a Liberal won't waste my tax dollars has decreased.(17 )My dreams for a better future for my kids, in Canada, have disappeared.That is my story since the Liberals came to power.I am not voting for Paul Martin's Liberals. I am voting against Paul Martin and his Liberal Party on June 28, 2004.I am voting for Stephen Harper and the Conservative Party.Do I like the Conservatives? Not particularly......I don't really like Politics. I am not political by nature. I am not passionate about politics. I am a middle age guy (48). I live in a small house on a fairly quiet street in Edmonton. I have a wife, Kathy, and two children (ages 19 and 17). I have no pets. I am a middle class man. I don't usually say too much.Until now.Now I am going to say something!In 35 of the past 37 years, Canada has been ruled by:(1) Pierre Trudeau - a multi-millionaire lawyer from Quebec.(2) Brian Mulroney - a multi-millionaire lawyer from Quebec.(3) Jean Chretien - a multi-millionaire lawyer from Quebec.(4) And now we are going to vote for Paul Martin???? -a multi-millionaire lawyer from Quebec???The leader of the Conservative party, Stephen Harper, is:(1) Not a lawyer.(2) Not a multi-millionaire.(3) Not from Quebec.Stephen Harper says that the Conservative party will:(1) Reduce my taxes.(2) Pay off the national debt as fast as they can.(3) Shrink the size and influence of the federal government.That's good enough for me. I'm going to give the Conservative party a chance with my vote.But wait! Paul Martinis now saying the same thing. My mother told me forty years ago: "Fool me once - shame on you. Fool me twice - shame on me!"The Liberals have had 34 years to be financially responsible. Remember, Jean Chretien was Trudeau's Finance Minister. Remember also, Paul Martin was Jean Chretien's Finance Minister These people have been raising my taxes for thirty four years. They have been mis-spending my tax dollars for 34 years.......34 years!And now Paul Martin says he'll stop taxing and spending. No way.Thank you for reading my story so far!Why am I telling my story to you?Although I feel alone, I know that I am not alone. Your story may be similar to mine. And you may also feel alone. One small voter in the midst of millions of voters.What can you and I do together to change things?Here is my idea: Lets you and I join up together. Just you and I. Together. As a small team of two.How can you and I fight a huge political machine?You and I have two things that we can use:(1) Our individual personal connections.(2) The Internet.The Internet is supposed to be this global zing tool, right? Let's put it to use.I have 27 Canadians in my personal e-mail address book. I am sending this e-mail to each of them.I'm asking you to do two things:(1) Forward this e-mail to every Canadian in your own address book.(2) Vote against Paul Martin and the Liberal Party on June 28.Vote for the Conservative candidate in your riding.I have probably written this e-mail too late. As I said I am not politically adroit. I feel like Peter Finch, in the 1976 movie "Network", when he shouted: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!" Please, forward the e-mail RIGHT NOW!!As I type these last few words the voting begins in less than 18 days.432 hours till voting begins. I hope the Internet is as fast as some people claim it is.This may not work. This e-mail may "fizzle out" and go nowhere. But you and I will have tried, won't we have?My best wishes to you. My best wishes to Canadians everywhere.My thanks to David Stokes from Toronto He actually wrote this just (5) days before the last federal election in 2000.Fool me once - shame on you. Fool me twice - shame on me!"Alan Robberstad Edmonton, Alberta June 10, 2004@ 3:00 p.m

decorations a go-go

2005-12-18T15:36:00.000-06:00

Normally I prefer to read when I'm on the streetcar. The current book I'm reading is particularly enjoyable and therefore the past few mornings I've been entirely oblivious to my surroundings. But the other day the old eyes were feeling tired so instead of reading, I was staring out the window and enjoying some tunes, just chillin' and watching my neighbourhood slide by.

A couple of stops past where I get on, there's a "community centre" of questionable repute, where they usually put up some half-hearted decorations for whatever hallmark holiday happens to be approaching. This year they have some scraggly tinsel framing the three big windows, as well as some 8.5 x 11 hand-made snowflakes, which is pretty standard. However, the thing that caught my attention, and that makes this year so very special is the addition of fake spray-on snow - the kind I always wanted to get when I was a kid, but my mom wouldn't let me because scraping it off the windows is a total bitch.

Anyway, some enterprising young spray-snow artist with a more lenient mother than mine thought the windows needed a little extra holiday spirit and decided to include a giant sky-writing-esque message: the time-honoured Santa-Clausean chuckle. Which would have been completely unexceptional, except for the fact that this particular artiste forgot the whole backwards-writing thing necessary for the decoration of street-level windows. As a result, as the streetcar drove past the three big windows, they read, in sequence: "OH, OH, OH!"

Happy Holidays everyone!

tweedlee-dee

2005-11-20T23:46:00.000-06:00

I've done it almost as long as I can remember. It helps me focus. It helps me relax. Sometimes I do it without realizing I've started. It's become easier with practice. The results are more reliable, I'm easily able to add certain flourishes and flairs. It's one of my very favourite things.

I love to whistle.

That's right - whistle.

You see, I've almost always got a song stuck in my head, and I've learned the hard way that singing or humming in public is more likely to get you strange looks and an entire subway bench to yourself rather than applause.

Some people really seem to like a little whistling. Strangers smile at me on the sidewalk or in the grocery store. Older gentlemen especially seem to think it's charming - a couple of years ago one even stopped me to say it had been ages since he'd heard something so cheerful.

Not that whistling doesn't have drawbacks. You get the occasional dirty look. And boy, do the babushka-clad biddies in my neighbourhood hate it. I have been told on two separate occasions that whistling is not 'ladylike' (though apparently my sweatpants and baseball cap fit the 'ladylike' bill without a problem).

I try not to be obtrusive with my whistling. I stop if I notice someone glaring. And I'm not some tuneless blow-hard who drives you crazy. I think my whistling is rather tuneful and pleasant. Yes, yes, bias recognized.

ANYWAY, I'm off topic. I have noticed a certain fascinating whistling phenomenon. Is anyone else out there a whistler, too? Perhaps you can corroborate my startling findings.

Whistling is contagious.

That's right - contagious. Something about hearing a whistle creates an incredible NEED in some people to whistle a tune of their own. Especially if they're standing right beside you on the subway platform. Especially if THEIR whistling completely ruins YOUR whistling. In fact, the ruining might even be the fun part for these...these bad people. I posit that these whistle-ruiners are the same people who grow up to monopolize conversation at dinner parties and who park just far enough over the line as to make the next spot impossible to park in. This is happening with an alarming frequency lately, and I'm really starting to be concerned. Is it just me? Does no one else find it rude to interrupt someone's whistle?

All of these different responses to whistling (approvers, disapprovers, ruiners) made me curious, and I thought I would do some online searching as to the etiquette of. Sadly I didn't find anything particularly helpful for my cause, but I did come up with something I must share:

Did you know that, according to Esquire Magazine, it is acceptable for a gentleman to whistle while standing at the urinal or the washbasin, but not in the cubicle?

I can see whistling whilst washing your hands, even possibly while standing at a urinal (though that's something I've yet to try - boys??), but have you ever whistled while you shat? Have you ever been inclined to, even in the privacy of your own home? Can't say I have. Might give it a try, though...just to see what it's like...

Hey, you!

2005-11-08T16:34:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I mean you!

You there, the blonde francophone standing in front of us with your (boy?)friend at the Horseshoe last night, with the sling bag and unintentional curly hair dreads.

I understand that you were at the concert because you enjoy the band. I understand that as someone who enjoys the band you may well know every single word to every single song. I even understand that being at this concert may well be the most exciting event to EVER happen to you in your ENTIRE life.

But why, oh god WHY do you have to shout the lyrics to every song? We were only standing 10 feet away from the stage left stacks, so the fact that I could hear you at ALL indicates that a ludicrous amount of sound was emerging from your throat. It wasn't even singing - it was shouting. Were you trying to audition? Perhaps hoping they would pick you out of the audience and say "You - yes you. With the sling bag and the unintentional curly hair dreads standing beside the boy who may possibly be your boyfriend and who looks to be slightly embarrassed at (afraid of?) his proximity to your vocal cords. Where have you been all of our lives? Please - come up here on stage and never leave us again. We can't make it without you and your incredible breath support."

And as if the shout/singing wasn't enough, where on earth did you pick up that dance? Was it even a dance? Were you simply spasming in ecstasy at finally hearing your heroes perform live? I've never seen anything like it. Upon consultation with fellow aghast concert attendees, we were able to discern a few favourite moves - a sort of uppercut boxing move, frequently followed by the classic rock sky punch, and a textbook headbang that necessitated the removal of your butterfly hairclip. But what about the...for lack of a better word, waddle? That extreme wiggle where you clench your arms to your torso and rapidly move from left to right as though you were a metronome set to 250? Can your eyes even focus at that speed? Didn't you give yourself a headache? It can't be good for you, this dance of yours. Not to mention distracting for the majority of the club standing behind you. A complete stranger even asked me if I'd ever "seen anything like that."

No, I certainly hadn't. Maybe you can open for them for the rest of their tour? You were certainly more entertaining than the ironically named opening act.

PS Spellcheck wanted me to replace 'francophone' with 'frangipani'. Heh.

taxi!

2005-10-16T14:06:00.000-05:00

I didn't expect anything much when I stepped into the cab. Anything more than the usual expectation, that is - being taken to my requested destination in the most expedient manner possible. But right from the get-go, this cab driver was....quirky. This driver was an asian male, probably in his late 40s or early 50s. Fair amount of bling on the front dashboard - gilt box of kleenex, those ceramic little gold cats with one paw raised, a red and gold paper lantern swinging from the rearview, that sort of thing. But after living in Toronto for a few years, I definitely prefer a quirky driver to a driver that tries to hit on me, so I figured everything would be fine.

It was a longer-than-usual ride for me - from Broadview/Danforth over to Stones Place on Queen West - and we both relaxed into the drive and into the tunes on the radio. The driver's station of choice was Q107...that's right, Toronto's Classic Rock Station. And boy, was he enjoying it. There had been mild steering-wheel drumming and head-nodding since I entered the vehicle. The most popular song was playing when he first picked me up (Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb) and involved a combo of windowsill/steering wheel/dashboard drumming. Good times. I didn't think it would get much more involved than that, when all of a sudden Janis Joplin's 'Piece of My Heart' came on.

I have fond, fond memories of Janis Joplin's Greatest Hits album - the one that features her sitting on a motorcycle on the cover, wearing a headband and shades and a big, silly grin. My parents had this record when I was a kid, and my lullaby of choice for ages was 'Summertime'. So when the driver immediately reached over to turn the volume up a little bit, I was into it. After four seconds with no comment from me on the volume shift, he reached over and turned it up some more. And four seconds later, even more. By this time I'm cruising in a seriously rocking cab. As in, people on the sidewalk are staring, looking incredulously at the source of the music when we stop at a traffic light.

It becomes rapidly apparent that my cab driver knows all the words to this song. This is my kind of cab driver, I think, and join in on the chorus (did I mention the few drinks I'd had?). He clearly approves, turning up the volume even a little bit more, nodding his head at me in the mirror and singing along in his super thick accent, bringing in the full driver's seat drum-kit when appropriate.

We rock our way westbound, and the song ends maybe two blocks from my destination. As soon as the song ended, he turned the volume back down, and I told him where to pull over. I checked the meter and gave him much more money than it read. We nodded to each other and I left, having exchanged all of ten spoken words.

"That's right, cab-driver man," I thought, "kindred rock spirits clearly have no need for simple conversation."

2005-09-29T13:53:00.000-05:00

Oh. My. God.

i'm a sucker for a little choreography...

2005-09-18T23:10:00.000-05:00

Best. Video. Evar.

Also - an excellent song! Wish I'd been up to see them do it live on MAD last Saturday.

(Scroll down, left side of screen, link to 'a million ways' dance.)

If any three other loonies out there want to learn this, I'm so totally in.

deep breath.....here goes

2005-09-12T20:20:00.000-05:00

10 years ago: blow-drying my waist-length hair, trying to get it to do that four-inch-high bang thing like Elaine from Seinfeld, while trying to read the driver's ed manual in preparation for my learner's test and figuring out what to wear for the first day of grade 11. The silk shirt and pleated jeans? The stirrup pants/pirate shirt/embroidered vest combo? How does one decide? Oh god.

5 years ago: blow-drying my shoulder-length hair after washing it to get the smell of Red Lobster out post-working a 10 hour "split" serving shift where not once but twice a manager had to break up a fist fight in my section, simultaneously pounding on the ceiling with a broomstick to get the raccoons living in the attic to STOP the freaking SCRATCHING and arguing with Beatrice about the thermostat.

1 year ago: blow-drying my chin-length hair in preparation for another in a series of boring blind internet dates, trying to decide what I think of my new job, still entirely shocked that they hired me, planning exACTly how I'm going to spend that first paycheque (hello VISA bill!).

Yesterday: blow-drying my hair...psych! Yesterday was Sunday. I don't bathe on my days off. On my days off I mostly read books of varying quality/importance, walk around my neighbourhood ostensibly doing errands, sit in High Park, do laundry/groceries/random cleaning and make mental lists of all the things I should be doing instead of walking/reading/cleaning/sitting - but only for a minute. Then I get over myself and enjoy the day as best as I can. Made dinner for the first time for PaGa, enjoyed some visiting and snuggling, then did the dishes and went to bed early.

5 songs I know all the words to: Too easy! How about 5 songs I thought I knew all the words to? 1) Beatles, 'Get Back' - 'Jo Jo was a man who thought he was a woman'. 2) Toto, 'Africa' - 'sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the seregeneeez' I still have no idea what I thought a 'seregeneeez' was, but I sung it faithfully for years. 3) Bangles, 'Manic Monday' - 'it's just an automatic Monday'. Especially embarassing, considering I knew what the NAME of the song was. 4) Beach Boys, 'Barbara Ann' - bop bop bop, bop bop-a-ram. Okay, it was grade 3, but still. 5) perhaps the most enduring of my misheard mishaps - the alphabet 'and the letter P' instead of 'L, M, N, O, P'.

5 snacks: triscuits, green grapes with cheese, dill pickles or anything dill-pickle flavoured, the perfect (ie. hard and un-bruised) granny smith or red delicious apple, freezees.

5 things I'd do with $100 million: wipe out family/friends mortgages/debt (take THAT student loan centre!), give my brother money to get 'dryft boardsports' off the ground, buy gram & gramps a house near great grandma in Thunder Bay, pay for my cousins/siblings post-secondary education choices, travel with friends/family. Pretty sappy and unoriginal, but there you have it.

5 places I would run away to: mom & dad, anywhere near the water, my bed (under the blankets), Cayman Islands if I'd just robbed a bank, grade 3 - the seekrit fort in the woods behind our house.

5 things I would never wear: anything with a thong, anything with horizontal stripes, a cummerbund, white pants, those stupid flat boots with furry trim all the kids are wearing.

5 favorite TV shows: CSI Las Vegas, That 70s Show, Star Trek: Next Generation, Firefly, What Not to Wear

5 greatest joys: singing, listening to music, reading, surprising people, talking to strangers

5 favorite toys: mini ipod, AnBa's loaner dvd/surround sound system, super teeny compact umbrella, super cozy no-skid blue slippers, Action Hero on my kitchen wall.

5 people I'm tagging: Ha! Roro, Katicus, Hairstick Gal, Call-een, Chateau Nice. Bring it!!

lessons learned from British Folksongs

2005-09-08T13:00:00.000-05:00

For my Barkworth Green friends:

I was disappointed that there was nothing mentioned about being deported to Australia for stealing a loaf of bread, however, here are some of my favourites:

"Avoid any situation where the obvious rhyme-word is maidenhead"

"If you look at the calendar and discover it's May, stay home."

"Don't ignore warnings. If someone tells you to beware Long Lankin, friggin' beware of him."

"If you are an unmarried lady and have sex, you will get pregnant. No good will come of it."

Lessons Learned from British Folksongs

video

2005-09-07T10:25:00.000-05:00

A friend just sent me this link to a video of MSNBC's Keith Olbermann giving what she called a 'searing editorial piece' about the US Gov't's response to Katrina.

http://media.putfile.com/OlbermannSwings

I know we've all been deluged with media coverage of New Orleans, but thought I'd post the first thing I've seen that illustrates some clear thinking about the political situation that's emerged post-hurricane. Will be fascinating to see what happens once the 'crisis' phase has passed.

play it again, sam

2005-09-05T06:38:00.000-05:00

Have you ever fallen in love with a song?

I mean, really-and-truly-head-over-heels-obsessed in love?

I've begun to notice over the past few years that not everyone can handle this sort of musical obsession - the extreme ability to love one song above all others, and to listen to said song ad nauseum for an undetermined period of time. Past roommates hated me, old boyfriends mocked me, strangers stuck beside my car in traffic looked at me funny.

Maybe it's a genetic thing. I clearly remember an Uncle of mine going through a divorce in the late 80s, lying on the rug in my grandparents' family room, listening to 'Sacrifice' by Elton John - loudly, with headphones, a bottle of red wine and, most importantly, the song on 'repeat'. (Hey man, whatever speaks to you, right?)

But oh, the magic of digital music and the repeat button! Let me tell you a little story that will help you to appreciate this marvellous piece of technology.

Picture it: 1990. I'm wearing whack shit like hammer pants and hypercolour t-shirts tied in a knot on my left hip, hair in a banana clip, socks rolled down to the top of my L.A. Gear kicks (with three different pairs of laces)....you get the idea. Clearly I am the epitome of cool. ANYWAY, something exciting has just happened to me - I've discovered the song 'More than Words' by Extreme, and have just bought the full-length album ('Pornograffitti') from my local A&M Records.

I rush home, put it in my red, dual-cassette 'ghetto blaster' in my room, and prepare to bliss out. Except - I can only bliss out for approx. 5.21 minutes at a time because then I have to get up and push play/rewind to get to the beginning of the song again. After several trips to the buttons, I began to think there must be a better way. I rummaged through my collection of blank tapes to find one that I didn't really like (it was a mix tape from a girl who was so totally like, not my friend any more) and headed back to my boom box to put my genius plan into action.

You can see what's coming, can't you? That's right - I taped 'More Than Words' back to back on an entire side of that cassette. If memory serves, I believe it fit 7 times in a row (and at the end of the final repetition, there was a few seconds of Mariah Carey's 'Vision of Love' from the previous tape). No more play/rewind for this sucka. Man, was I proud of myself.

My poor family, you say? Forced to listen to my current obsession through the walls of our home? Oh please -

Mom was in the kitchen listening to 'Lady in Red' (an all-time Mom fave - there's a good chance it's playing in her kitchen right now)

Trav was in his room listening to 'U Can't Touch This' (or possibly the Humpty Dance) and possibly shakin' his thang. Ew.

Dad was in the living room listening to something by Nana Mouskouri that he'd had on repeat since the early 70s.

Told you I came by it honestly.

meds

2005-08-25T21:34:00.000-05:00

So, I work in an office. A pretty cool, interesting office, but an office all the same, with cubicles and supply closets and gossip and filing cabinets and petty disagreements and many people sharing the same windowless, airless space.

A hazard of such environs, as I'm sure many of you can attest to, is the sharing of germs. I'm certainly not afraid of germs (heck, I ride the ttc every day), but there's something really disturbing about one person at work getting sick...and then a week later the rest of us coming down with curiously similar symptoms...

Anyway, one of my coworkers, an absolutely lovely lady whom I very much enjoy working with, has a very bad habit of not feeling well and COMING IN TO WORK REGARDLESS. I appreciate her dedication. However. I do NOT appreciate having to share her illnesses on a regular basis!

It's seriously like clockwork. A couple of weeks ago, she came in while demonstratively (I'll spare you the details) not well. Three days later, I was getting ready to leave work early to go to a walk in clinic. sigh. I was pretty sure I had caught her case of strep throat, having suffered through strep a few times when I was in public school. ANYWAY - I get to the walk-in clinic (The Doctor's Office in the Atrium) and get my deli-line-up-esque numbered ticket to await my turn. The place is literally deserted - there are two nurses giggling over Jennifer Aniston's Vanity Fair interview behind the counter, the bored receptionist staring at her computer, me sitting beside a sad-looking aloe vera plant, and that's about it. After nearly half an hour (oh how I hate waiting rooms), they bring me in to the examination room and ask me to take a seat on the paper-covered examination table.

Now, I'm short, so I hate hopping on to those slippery suckers at the best of times, but there was no stool here, so I literally had to 'climb up'. It was difficult. The paper didn't make it. After another fifteen minutes or so (fifteen minutes - long enough for me to inventory the office: 18 tongue depressors in a jar on the counter, one pair of rubber gloves in the trash can, two prescription pads, box of what looked to be assorted syringes, large sign saying "we do not, under any circumstances, prescribe narcotic analgesics such as tylenol 3, codeine, hydrocordone, levorthanol, morphine or anileridine". Obviously I'm in a high-class joint. I'm thinking about calling my firstborn 'levorthanol'. Thoughts?) the doctor finally comes in. He doesn't bother with introducing himself, just walks over to the counter (with the tongue-depressors and syringes) and, keeping his back to me, asks me what he can do for me today.

I explain that I suspect that I have strep throat, and he grunts, opens the tongue depressor jar, takes one out, turns to me, asks me to open my mouth and say 'ahhh' (seriously - just like sesame street). Then he says, "yeah, it looks inflamed in there. So do you want the test, or do you just want me to write you a prescription".

Whaaaaa? Am I there to self-diagnose and self-prescribe? What if I don't actually have strep throat? What if it's something much worse which has similar symptoms? More importantly - what would he do if I asked for a narcotic analgesic to dull the pain?

I asked for the test, and he most begrudgingly administered it. Ten minutes later it turns out I did indeed have strep, and he did indeed write me a prescription. However, I am completely appalled at his drive-thru, cavalier approach to my health care. Thank god my real doctor is a little more....well, curious, about me and my health. She's involved. She cares. Now if only she had convenient office hours...

July Redux...2 (...3? Does the botched try count?)

2005-08-15T20:24:00.000-05:00

Alright, when last we visited our heroine...

I'd left you hanging with good ol' T.Bay. The Tunder. Birthplace of...moi. Strange little place, isn't it. (When my family moved to Vancouver Island in 1989, we were highly amused to find out that on the Island, there is a 'Thunder Bay Reunion' hosted every summer at Rathtrevor Beach. Yeah, we never went.) Anyway - there are three reasons I keep going back to this particular small town.

1. Visiting of grandparents and other assorted family members.
2. Persians (scroll down - second entry, after the 'Hoito')
3. McKellar confectionary burgers - the best online reference I could find was this listing: McKellar Confectionary. Across from the now defunct McKellar hospital (ed. note - also birthplace of moi). Doesn’t look like much (and it isn’t) but good burgers, etc for lunch. The owner has a peculiar habit of lining up hotdogs on his forearm while he dresses them (hmm-mm). You haven't lived 'til you've had one of these arm-dressed babies.

Yes, I'm aware two of three are food-related. I welcome your speculation in the comments field.

Anyway, as previously mentioned, I was in Thunder Bay for my grandparents' anniversary. And yes, I played the song. The song I sweated and slaved and bled over. It was a smash hit. At least, I prefer to tell myself that the tears in everyone's eyes were caused by overwhelming sentiment as opposed to gut-wrenching physical pain caused by my awkward transitions. Another fantastic Thunder Bay thing is tubing down the Kaministiquia (bonus points to anyone who has never been to Thunder Bay and figures out how to pronounce that). Picture it - myself and 30 of my immediate family members all wearing assorted bathing suits and sun-gear, sitting in giant individual inner tubes (with a sling thing in the middle so you can't fall through), PLUS three very important cooler/snack (oh, okay - beer) tubes, all attached into one giant floating mass, cruising down the river for a couple of hours. Let me tell you - as long as your younger cousins know you well enough to fear retribution if they try to tip your tube and dump you into the river - there is no better way to spend an afternoon. All in all, it was a really great family visit. I could totally do it again. One day.

Next vacation stop was supposed to be Cuba...but due to circumstances beyond my control (namely - JuGo's budget!), I ended up staying in Ontario. Spent a weekend with CaHaBe at their cottage in Gravenhurst - lovely. Then I picked JuGo up in our swish rental car and we headed up to her aunt's cottage on Kapikog Lake (by MacTier, beside Lake Healey, just off Georgian Bay, second star to the right). Kapikog has a couple of Islands in it that are Crown Land, so we parked at the Aunt's cottage, loaded our gear up into the Aunt's canoe, and headed out to the nearest Island for a little wilderness adventure. We are total survivor champions, by the way. No flush toilets, fire ban, wasps - you name an inconvenience or danger, and we faced it. ha. Seriously, though, it was awesome. I was filled with the spirit of our Voyageur ancestors and much to JuGo's chagrin, was inspired to burst into song halfway across the lake. Come on, if you can think of a better time for a rousing chorus of 'Land of the Silver Birch' , I'd like to hear about it.

(Holy crap I love those last two links - what is it about Canadiana that calls for chee-zee midi files? I'm marking them in my favourites, and I suggest you do the same. Quick, before you lose them!)

During the morning of our fourth day chez Island, JuGo's Aunt pedaled the paddle-boat (paddled the pedal-boat?) over and invited us to upgrade to luxury accomodations for our final night. We thought about it (for about two seconds) and happily accepted. So our final night of vacation was spent being spoiled by JuGo's lovely, incredibly hospitable relatives and their seemingly bottomless wine cellar. Good times.

Post-camping (as in, the very day after we returned to civilization), I attended the second of the two weddings I was obliged to attend this summer. I had to sing a song as part of the reception (accompanied by my fabulous friend FeWi), and was supah nervous, but apparently my fears of nerve-induced-lack-of-breath-control were ill-founded as the performance appears to have been well recieved. Phew. Something from this wedding to add to my ever-growing list of bad things said during wedding ceremonies - the Pastor/Priest went on at the beginning about how marriage is a sacred covenant between a man and a woman (I could already sense trouble brewing), and how in terms of sacraments, blood sacraments are acutally the most holy (Is that an axe and a bleating lamb I see behind him?) and how of course, marriage is a blood sacrament because the BRIDE is designed to BLEED on her wedding night!!! Swear I didn't hear another word until 'may I present to you for the first time Mr. & Mrs...'. HOLY FUCK. What is WRONG with that man? And the worst part is that most of the attendees just sat there smiling and nodding, as though it were the most natural thing on earth. How do I end up at these sort of weddings?

As a final treat, and much needed post-traumatic-wedding-ceremony recovery period, I spent the long weekend in the company of several lovely friends at a beautiful cottage in the Gatineaus (on Lac Dam, to be specific). Slightly rainy, but fantastic nonetheless. I am spoiled. July was a great month.

oh god

2005-08-10T21:00:00.000-05:00

So, I spent the last hour or so finishing the second half of my July update...only to hit 'publish' and find out that Blogger was DOWN for an hour.

I lost everything.

sob.

For fuck's sake, it was a good one, too. I can't face trying again tonight. But soon. Promise.

July Redux...1

2005-08-06T14:58:00.000-05:00

Yes, as a few of you have oh-so-rightly pointed out - it has been a while. Though if you know me well enough to be reading this thing, you probably know something else about me - I'm lazy. And easily distracted. What can you do?

Here's an as-brief-as-I-can-make-it breakdown of the busiest month of my summer.

1. The wedding of S&S. Typically there's not much involved for a wedding, work-wise, unless you're one of the dudes getting married, or are related, or a member of the wedding party. Or, in my case, have a big freaking mouth. That's right. In a flurry of excitement (hormones?) over an office lunch room wedding detail discussion (specifically - how expensive wedding cakes are - who knew?), I spontaneously volunteered my co-worker JuGo's and my services in the area of wedding cake making. Oh God. My only explanation is that I may still have been high off a recent baking success, for my friend LaTr's birthday. ANYWAY, here I was, committed to baking a cake. We held a trial run (and an icing fight), which was wildly successful. Actual cake-making commenced a few days before the wedding, and much to our proud surprise, turned out not bad at all. The wedding was ok, too.

2. A first date! Yes, even though it was the busiest month of my summer, and even though I was technically 'off the stuff', I managed to somehow MEET someone. Who is totally great. I figure anyone who can gracefully handle a first date that is a blatant attempt to multi-task my social obligations (I took him to a screening of Kaeja Dance at Camera - my friend ElCo works for the company and I'd promised to support her event) is worth keeping around for a while. More on him later, I'm trying to work chronologically here.

3. A trip to Thunder Bay! ...and crap, I'm outta time. I know it's cruel to leave you on the edge of your seats like this (humour me), but I seriously have to leave. More on the busiest month EVER soon. Promise.

eavsdropping - I love it

2005-06-29T23:00:00.000-05:00

So I'm in Pizza Hut. I've been dragged in, really. A slave to SuBr's craving for a can of coke. When I say Pizza Hut, you probably think of the standard, red-roofed restaurant, suburbs-style. But no, this place is solely a take-out joint - sandwiched between what I think is a copy centre and a hair salon, it's about the size of a postage stamp. There's a bench and four stools on the wall across from the cash register, but that's about it. When we walk in (in search of cold carbonated coke in a can), there are three what I'm going to call 19-year-olds sitting on the stools (boy, boy, girl), sharing a hawaiian pizza, and one lank-haired not-so-clean-looking forty-something dude who is CLEARLY eavsdropping on the painfully earnest 19-year-old conversation.

SuBr proceeds to ring the bell in search of counter staff to help her with her beverage craving, so I decide to watch the scene unfolding on the wall of stools. The older dude is highly enjoying the conversation. The kids are pretty hippy-looking, probably first year sociology majors, you know the type (heh). As I watch, the older dude repeatedly tries to make eye-contact with the kids. He's very keen to join in their conversation. He's absolutely itching to share his opinion, I can tell. After eye-contact doesn't really work, he leans in on the counter and blatantly takes an 'I'm totally listening to what you're saying' pose, occasionally nodding his head in agreement with the inspired prose that bubbles from their youthful lips like coke from SuBr's can.

SuBr recieves and pays for her coke, and as we're leaving, I was treated to this bit of inspired conversational genius:

19-yearold boy1: "His new album, it's just, you know, things are like, totally fucked."

19-yearold boy2, chewing: "dude"

19-yearold girl: "I know. And what about those stretch SUVs? (complete non sequitir, btw) They're just so....like, evil. Every time I see one I want to barf."

older dude, forcefully, very excited to finally find his opening: "Man, that is just ....SO BEAUTIFUL!"

I'd have to agree with him.

swollen fingertips

2005-06-13T22:31:00.000-05:00

So I bought a guitar last payday. It looks like this. Except blue. I am completely in love with it. I wish my guitar had big blue eyes so I could see tears of happiness when I get down on one knee to propose to it. I wish I could sit all day with my ear pressed to it's side and listen to the sounds of the gently plucked strings. I wish I could put it in my pocket and take it with me everywhere.

Ahem. Inside voice.

Anyway, I admit I'm obsessed. The whole thing started with a surprise anniversary party for my grandparents. They will have been married for 35 years this July (second marriage for both), and my family decided to host a surprise party for them, in Thunder Bay. Where they live. Where I'm going. With my new guitar. Why? Because two of my aunts and I decided it would be swell if I learned to play, and the three of us sing, their wedding song. And, god help me, I agreed. (I'll save my thoughts on the lyric 'When I feel blue/In the night' for another time.)

To be completely honest, I've always wanted to learn how to play - I've had a long-standing dream of being that cool kid around the campfire who takes requests - but now I'm faced with the stark, unfriendly reality of having three measly weeks to learn this song. It's not a particularly difficult song. I understand the chord progression. I've memorized the changes and the form and the lyrics. I can sing the melody AND the harmony lines so that I can teach my aunts. I just can't play the darn thing yet without painful start-and-stop chord searching. I know I've been playing for a whopping six days, for a total of about five hours, but I think I might be guitar-challenged. I'm doing terrible things to my left wrist and I know it, but I can't play the chords yet without looking at the strings. And in order to see the stupid strings, I have to tilt the guitar's butt away from me at about a 45 degree angle so that I can accommodate my stupid boobs, which means my left wrist has to twist in a ridiculous fashion to wrap around the neck. sigh. First highland dancing, then soccer, now this. Stupid boobs. I need to find a large-breasted female guitarist who can give me tips on how SHE learned to cope. Anyone out there know someone they can recommend?

PS Spell Check wanted me to replace 'boobs' with 'Bob's'. That's funny.

food for thought

2005-06-09T07:27:00.000-05:00

The past three mornings, I've gotten up (after several 'snooze's'), turned on my computer, checked my email (I know I have a problem), read my NYTimes headlines, checked the weather network (sim. re: problem), and turned my iTunes on random as I leave the computer to get ready.

For the past three mornings, one of the first songs iTunes plays, while supposedly on RANDOM, is 'Here I Go Again' by Whitesnake.

Which is scarier?

a) iTunes' unsolicited commentary on my life?

b) the fact that I have Whitesnake on iTunes to begin with?

the right stuff

2005-06-05T08:24:00.000-05:00

Had lunch with my good friend JoDa on Friday, and he told me the following story which I am filing under 'fuck, my friends are cool'. Enjoy.

Growing up, JoDa's younger sister was a New Kids on the Block fan. And not just any fan, the kind of obsessed pre-teen/teen fan whose room is wallpapered with posters, who owns several concert t-shirts (and wears them), and who pesters mom and dad to 'play my tape' every time they're in the car - with her long-suffering brother groaning and sighing beside her in the backseat.

Fast-forward 13 or so years to last Wednesday evening - JoDa works at a small museum downtown. They have several openings nearly back-to-back, so it's been a couple of busy weeks around the office. After the last opening, JoDa and his boss take some of their big sponsors out for dinner to a nearby downtown hotel, to say thank-you etc. The dinner is great, everyone's happy. After the sponsors leave, JoDa goes to visit the bathroom before getting into his car. On his way out, a guy passes him and walks up to and sits at the bar. JoDa thinks "Oh my god, that's totally a New Kid. My sister would die if she got his autograph.", and heads up to the bar to 'take one for the team'.

JoDa (slightly tipsy from successful sponsor schmooze): Hey, you're famous! (with pointing finger)
NK: No, no, I'm just a guy. Just having a drink here. I'm not famous.
JoDa: No, you're totally famous. You're (scrambles for name)...Mark Wahlberg!
NK/DW: Uh, yeah....thanks a lot. I'm Donny Wahlberg.
JoDa (panicking because he's obviously losing this guy's interest): Man, I bet you hear this all the time, but....
DW: What, your sister's my biggest fan?
JoDa: Seriously, she totally is!
DW: Yeah, thanks very much. See you later.
JoDa: No, really. She is. And I can prove it.
DW (intrigued because JoDa is being so persistent): Oh yeah?
JoDa: Yeah. Now, you and I are about the same age, right? What do you think the chances are that a guy our age is a NKOTB fan? Probably not great, right?
DW: OK, I can buy that.
JoDa: Alright then, if my sister WASN'T your greatest fan, how would I be able to do this:

And my good friend JoDa, proceeds to RAP, right in the bar, the middle part of 'Games', which Donny performed on the original recording. For the curious, the rap goes something like this:

Games, oh, ee, oh, oh, oh, games, games, games, games, games.

[RAP:] Yeah, people keep on fronting on the Beantown posse, but it's time to step up to the stand, 'cause we ain't going out like that. Back, huh, stronger than ever, did you think we'd sever? Never, we're too clever to be taken down clown by your ignorant state of mind, I ain't blind but every time I look I find you dissin' a mission that strictly be righteous, we gotta fight this so now I think I might just take a stand, man, like never before, and I'm sure that we'll endure so now it's time to even the score I hear you knocking me but you ain't shocking me 'cause jealousy is telling me that you're just jocking me so keep on talking skee, with pride I'm walking see, because on anybody's block is where I'm gonna be rockin' gee. Don't play those games, oh, ee, oh, oh, oh, stop playing those games.

DW: Holy shit man, that's hilarious! I don't even remember it that well!! C'mere and sit down.

So JoDa sits down with the New Kid (who buys him a beer), and they proceed to shoot the shit. Apparently DW was in town filming 'Saw 2', and that day they had just finished filming some sort of scene where several of his fingers get cut off. After their drink, JoDa says, "Alright man, you have to give me something for my sister.", and DW signs something on a cocktail napkin. As JoDa is leaving, napkin in his pocket, DW is all "Dude, you're a cool guy, you totally have to come back. I'm here almost every night." JoDa is all "Yeah, sure, sounds great. Thanks for the autograph." and leaves.

I hope MY brother is taking notes, because this is the best big-brother story EVER.

the better way

2005-05-31T23:28:00.000-05:00

Waited a few minutes for the streetcar at Dundas Station tonight. Not unusual - after rush-hour, those cars seem to show up whenever they darn well feel like it. One of my favourite songs is playing on my iPod, the weather is nice - no biggie tonight, the waiting. When the car finally slithers in, I'm one of the first people on - just in time to watch crazy man #1 get on behind me. He's gotta be in his mid-late 50s, balding, what hair he has remaining is slicked-back, Homer Simpson three-strand-style. He's wearing tight faded jeans that haven't seen the inside of a washing machine since their first 'stonewash', a silk shirt (hang on, ladies) undone to mid-stomach, several random chains, large beat-up leather bomber jacket on top of it all. He's carrying a hardshell guitar case and a bag from McDonald's and has a dog (named Roxy, as we were all soon to learn) with a leash trailing him (the dog is attached to the leash, but the leash is not attached to CM#1). As soon as he gets on the streetcar, he starts talking (to Roxy, maybe?) about how he's going to 'jam', doesn't want any quarters or 'hasslin', just wants to 'jam'. Man. As he makes his way to the back of the streetcar, the driver (aka Crazy Man #2) stands up at the front of the car and YELLS to my motley fellow passengers and I "This car is leaving in THREE minutes" and stomps off the car. Ooooo-kaaaay. Obviously someone is having a rough night. I take my iPod headphones off, because it looks like CM#1 is getting ready to perform at the back, and this (I suspect) will be too good to miss.

Sure enough, CM#1 seems to be in fine form. First, he just sort of bangs around back there, getting settled, opening his guitar case, closing it, pulling out a Big Mac and eating it Mastodon-style (we're talking MAX three bites), frequently calling shit out to Roxy who is cruisin' the rest of the car, gettin' to know us, peeing on the exit door pole, that sort of thing (seriously). He finally gets Roxy back to his seat, when CM#2 returns to take us all home. CM#2 starts the streetcar with much honking of horn and ringing of bell - presumably to warn Roncesvalles in general that we are en route. As soon as the car starts to move, he goes on the mic and says "those of you standing had better find something to grab on to because I ain't slowing down for no corners".

And we're off. CM#2 wasn't kidding - I'm holding on for dear life, and trying to help the poor girl beside me who is juggling bicycle and book bag and groceries as we zoom toward home. Around this time, CM#1 starts to 'jam'. Apparently 'jam' = wigged out improvised blues/country sort of wailing, with lots of "Roxy!"'s interspersed. Because of the erratic streetcar, poor CM#1 is really sort of flailing about at the back - legs are flyin', elbows akimbo, crouched over, sitting straight, one leg up, guitar neck all over the place. More interpretive dance than music performance, really. Maybe he went to York, they're big on interdisciplinary arts there. Anyway, then Roxy jumps up in his lap, and inspires a disgruntled sort of blues chorus of 'damn bitches always want attention'.

MEANWHILE, CM#2 is doing the strange streeetcar driver-cum-tourguide routine that they occasionally pull. You know, OVER solicitous. Verging on outright sarcasm. A girl gets on, says thank you when he gives her a transfer, he's all "No, thank YOU." He's calling out all the stops, telling us completely unsolicited things like "Dundas St - connection to College streetcar via Dundas, College and Carlaw". I mean, as if everyone on the car is a tourist instead of tired people taking the same streetcar they take EVERY DAY.

At about this point, CM#1 has had enough of the streetcar/rollercoaster ride and starts to heckle CM#2 from the back of the bus. "Hey man, what's the rush? This your first shift? You trying to kill us all or something'?" Sarcastic CM#2 replies "I'm just trying to get home to my dog, he's been alone for 12 hours." Then starts to rant about how CM#1 is a "juicy fruit" and how everyone who rides the streetcar is an unappreciative bastard, and how we complain when he's late and then have the nerve to complain he's driving too fast, etc. etc.

Ah, the symphony of disgruntled ttc employee and crazy guitar-playing man. It played all the way to Queen Street, where CM#1 got off the car, loudly complaining (still to Roxy) about the "asshole driver", and the driver is giving it right back to him saying "Oh Yeah? Don't forget your dog, man. Man's best friend. Obviously YOUR best friend." etc.

Thankfully, only one more stomach-twisting corner and I was able to pull the bell, share a final smile/raised-eyebrows with my fellow 'normal' passengers, silently wish them luck for the rest of their journey - and escape.

a case of me

2005-05-27T23:04:00.000-05:00

Alright, I admit it. I recently ended yet another brief, disappointing romance. Recently as in two days ago. Didn't want to spend long in the gloomies - this one was most definitely not for me.

Anyway - I was definitely disappointed. We are, after all, talking about a shockingly pathetic run of luck here. I wallowed for a bit. With chocolate chip cookie dough (thanks MaFr), Joni Mitchell's Blue album and CSI. But then I somehow, and very suddenly, reached a wonderful zen sort of place. Dating! Who effing needs it?! I am going to embrace my life and all the exciting things that are going on, and just buckle down, enjoy the summer, spend time with my excellent friends as much as I can and work on loving my fellow man in general. No more online dating, no more crush-of-the-day, no more THINKING about it.

Thus resolved, I embarked upon the day. Today. Things started very well. Good hair. Had Pho for lunch, made plans for a possible trip to Cuba in July (!), left work early for a co-worker-farewell patio party, left around 7:15 to stop in at Ring music, picked out the guitar I'm going to buy on Friday, turns out I went to Malaspina with the guy who was working there (who knew?), then had one of those wonderful walks over to Bathurst Station where every song that plays on shuffle is better than the last, and people are smiling, and there are cute dogs...and then I get to the subway station, pay my token, head down the stairs beside the escalator (you know the ones) - only to have a man who is lining up at the bottom of the escalator to go up lean over into my path so that I have to jerk back in surprise, in order to say, directly to my shocked face 'I want to fuck you.'

On any other day I most likely would have laughed it off. You have to admit it is sort of funny - this perfectly normal-looking balding man in a miami-vice-style t-shirt/suit combo accosting me in this way. But I guess my new-found love for life and the city and my place in it was a little more fragile than I thought, because here I am, back to Joni Mitchell, cookie dough and CSI.

be excellent to each other

2005-05-26T22:25:00.000-05:00

Alright, I have recently (and by recently I mean within the last year) acquired a camera phone. I didn't ask for it. Thankfully I didn't pay for it - apparently the nice (and by nice I mean...well, you can guess what I mean) people at Rogers think of me as a 'valued customer' and decided to give it to me, gratis. I'm not complaining. It's cute, and stuff. But only recently have I discovered the potential of having a pocket-sized camera (albeit a camera of shitty quality) kicking around just about every time I'm out in public. There is crazy shit out there! And I'm the one to capture it all on film. Well, not all the time. Sometimes people give you really weird looks when you pull your phone out, turn it sideways and hold it a couple of feet away from your face. Not that I, erm, know from experience or anything. Ahem.

I apologize for being away for so long - but there were just so many exciting things going on in town. Sandra Bullock endorsing my favourite band? This was just too good to be true. And not only that - important neighbourhood events, not-to-be-missed community theatre performances and...shopping? If this crazy schedule keeps up, I'm going to have to move to a part of town wear nobody noes me or something...

(I know it's contrived. Just look at the g.d. pictures.)

05-05-05

2005-05-05T10:45:00.000-05:00

I just ate a fortune cookie.
The fortune reads: "A lady called luck is watching you".

Is it just me, or is that more than a little creepy?

effing prom

2005-04-21T15:30:00.000-05:00

My good friend LoCh sent me an e-mail months ago, about an energetic and (presumably) lovely group of ladies who were collecting girly prom-related items to give to young girls who couldn't afford prom dresses of their own. All together now: 'Awwwww.' Being the e-mail-active gal I am, I promptly forwarded the message to several co-workers I thought might be interested in donating.

Fast-forward a month later. Two co-workers have actually taken the time to go through their closets and come up with some odds and ends for these prom girls. One problem - they can't make any of the 'drop-off' spots because they live too far away. The very last drop-off option is at Queen/Shaw, and as that particular intersection is sort of on my way home, I agreed to take their donation and take all the credit, I mean drop it off for them. ShCo accordingly brings over to my desk a small LaSenza bag. You know the one. White, big old 'La Senza' on the side. IN the bag is the following:

3 pairs unused nylons (nude)
4 rhinestone hair clips
1 pearly necklace (no, not that kind of pearl necklace, perv)
1 dolce & gabbana bra, elegant, silver, retail $250CDN, never worn (made previous owner's boobs "too pointy")
various make-up items and other sundries

So, the bag sits on the filing cabinet in my 'area' for a couple of days. It sits there so unassumingly and quietly, that I completely forget about its existence and miss the drop-off. That's right, because of me, three girls will not have nylons to wear to their prom.

Despite missing the drop-off (Tuesday) the bag remained on my cabinet, in my 'area'. One day, I said to myself, I'll have to give that stuff back.

Today, someone (JuGo) noticed the bag and asked 'What's that?' I pulled my chair over and told her. (Picture it - my cubicle faces the door to the 'small board room'. The door is currently closed because all of the program directors are involved in a meeting behind it. My chair is facing this door, and JuGo's is to the left, with her back to the door. The cabinet is to my left.) I said, "Oh, it's random jewellery and nylons and crap for those prom girls, but I missed the drop-off. Hey, did I show you this?" I proceed to pull out the fancy, designer bra. "Can you believe someone spent $250 on a bra?" "What size is it?" asks JuGo. "I don't know," I say, "about this big." and I put one fist in each cup and hold resulting fist-bra out to JuGo.

At that very moment, the door to the small board room WHIPS open and my boss rushes out. Not my direct report, everyday boss, but THE boss. The man in charge of the entire operation. And there I am, right in front of him, with a $250 bra on my hands.

I'm still blushing.

I'm so fired.

sore feet

2005-04-17T18:04:00.000-05:00

Do you ever have a moment when you just have to sit back and appreciate the completely insane, Monty Python sketch-esque DISASTER that is your life?

Put yourself in our heroine's shoes - running late for an evening engagement. No particular reason she is late. The bulk of the day has been spent sleeping, reading trashy novels and eating treats from a nearby Polish deli. For some unknown reason, she was completely unable to rouse herself from her slothful, be-crumbed state to get ready. Until, holy FUCK she has to leave in half an hour. Then the fun begins. Leap into shower. Leg shaving can be saved for another day. Leap out of shower. Madly apply lotion, scramble into clean underwear and begin to blow-dry hair. Once hair is dry, rush into closet and search high and low for favourite (missing) black tank top. Find tank top five frustrating minutes later in sock drawer. (?) Blame mice for moving it. Effers. Plug iron in. Turn to pick up extremely wrinkled pants, turn (quickly) back to ironing board and knock iron flying. Spend five minutes scraping melted carpet off the iron and soaking water from floor, while cursing liberally. Throw yourself into (wrinkle-free) clothing, rush back into bathroom. Remember belatedly that one of the things you didn't get around to doing today was buying deodorant. Search through scary under-sink cupboard in desperation - there's a random mini sample deodorant in there somewhere. Swear you saw it a few months ago. Hastily apply makeup and brush teeth. Rush back into room to throw together over-night bag (because of course, you're going from this evening's engagement to a walk-a-thon the next morning, and the cursed TTC doesn't run early enough to get you there on time, so you have to sleep on a fellow walker's couch). Remember your sweatpants. Forget socks. Remember night-gown. Forget toothbrush. Shove clothes, sneakers, make-up case and pledge sheet into plastic bag. Go put coat on, grab birthday present, house keys, metropass and cellphone. On the way out of the door, grab the plastic bag with overnight-stay accoutrements. Stare in horror at the broken pieces of plastic handles that remain in your hand as the contents of said bag tumble into the hallway of your building. Curse. Kick the bits and pieces back into your apartment, throw gift/keys/cellphone/metropass onto couch, scramble in hall closet for large black duffel bag (seldom seen outside of airport, for aesthetic reasons) and shove contents of original overnight-stay bag (including broken, useless, handle-less plastic bag) into duffel bag. Pick up gift/keys/cellphone/metropass, duffel bag, and exit back door of apartment into sun-porch. Try to open screen door to the outside. Stare in horror at listless, flapping door handle. Try again. Curse. Shove screen door really hard. Curse. Throw down duffel bag/gift/keys/cellphone/metropass and stab hand through the screen itself to try to pull on the handle from the outside. Curse some more. Pick up bag/gift/keys/cellphone/metropass and unlock door back into apartment. Walk out front door and around the block, giving the useless screen door the finger as you walk past.

It's not so bad looking like you're running away from home late at night with a duffel bag full of your favourite things - but only if you don't forget the pbj and oreos.

as restless as a willow in a wind storm

2005-04-12T23:31:00.000-05:00

always
it's
Spring)and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves

Just a little e.e.cummings to start off the post. Love him.

Despite the recent un-springlike mini cold-snap my mind has latched on to the still-weak beams of sunlight and followed them through to memories of springs past. I swear that from my windowless office, I can smell trees waiting to be climbed and bugs waiting to be chased and games of freeze tag waiting to be initiated.

Heh. Freeze tag. That's right up there with 'Mother May I' and 'Red Rover' and 'What time is it, Mr. Wolf?'. Do kids still play these games? God, I hope so. I have a very vivid memory of one of my aunts teaching us how to play 'Mother May I' in my grandparents' front yard. Twenty years later I'm still skeptical about the 'Mother May I Make Aunty's Bed' question.

Better yet were the games we made up ourselves. Oh admit it, you made games up too. And chances are good they had stupid names and even stupider rules. My brother and I had a favourite when we were between the ages of about 4 and 9. It was called 'Janet'. We would get dolled up in our favourite dress-up clothes, gender be damned, and parade about the house calling each other Janet.

"Hi Janet!"
"Hi Janet!"
"I like your hat, Janet!"
"Thanks, Janet! Want to go ask mom for a snack while I set up the autobots, Janet?"
"Okay, Janet!"

.....and that was pretty much it. No one is sure what posessed us to initiate this particular game, never mind why we loved it so much. One theory (and I can't lie to you, it's my favourite) is that it has something to do with my brother's love for Janet from 'Three's Company'. ha hahaa

Another favourite game was 'Dark Dark Tarantula'. And yes, the name made it much, MUCH scarier. Of course, when you're 8, scary = fun. If we weren't spinning around in bathroom stalls, chanting 'Bloody Mary' or telling stories about a man with a hook for a hand scratching through the rag top of a convertible to attack the blissfully unaware passengers, chances are good we were playing Dark Dark Tarantula. I've actually noticed this game (essentially tag, in the basement, with the lights out) in the childhood stories of several friends, but always with a different name. The best 'other' name for it I've come across so far is 'Shit Monster'. Thanks to JeCo and her siblings for that one. Classic.

Anyway, perhaps the stresses of the past week just have me yearning for simpler times. If you have any stories of childhood exuberance, please do share.

The more embarassing, the better.

Gonna be a Lovely Day

2005-04-08T12:44:00.000-05:00

Is the whole world as excited about this movie as I am?? Roller Jam skate-off! Underdogs fighting the good fight! Sequined costumes! Bill Withers on the soundtrack! As if summer wasn't hard enough to wait for as it is.

La La La La Lump....In My Oatmeal

2005-04-05T00:32:00.000-05:00

I highly recommend adding random Sesame Street tunes to whatever playlist you have going on. I boogied home to a little unexpected Electric Mayhem this evening (sometimes shuffle is a good thing). How did the Street manage to score such hipsters to make their music? 'Can you picture that', 'Pinball Number Count', the entire Sesame Street Fever album, 'Green'.

This guy has the right idea - he's posted his 25 Favourite Sesame Street Memories. My brother and and played that 'I one the sandbox! I two the sandbox!' game AD NAUSEUM. (That is, when we weren't playing Janet. Which is a whole 'nother post.)

I'm thinking about prefacing all conversations with 'It is I, Captain Vegetable' for the next few days. 'As a former beauty queen' is wearing thin around the office...

Groping Stuart MacLean

2005-04-04T23:45:00.000-05:00

I hate daylight savings. You'd think that by my age it would cease to sneak up on me - like that crazy man who smells like urine on the 504 streetcar - but no, every stinkin' year I am amazed by its arrival. This year was no exception.

I had a date to meet my friend SaRo from Ottawa for brunch at Future's, at 11am. My alarm went off at 10, giving me what I thought to be ample time to shower, check my e-mail, iron my socks, etc. Oh fine, I didn't acutally get out of bed until three snooze buttons later, but still - ample time! Turn on the computer...only to face a moment of sheer, gut-dropping panic as I realize my desktop StrongBad clock (who never lies) says it's 11:30. Rub the eyes, look over at the alarm clock, look back at the computer. Don't think 'oh, it's daylight savings', think 'oh, I must have changed the time on my clock when I set my alarm last night' and start getting dressed as fast as you can. I didn't clue in to what had really happened until I heard (alright, eavesdropped on) pope-mourning church ladies on the subway.

Anyway, I arrive at Future's, desperately late, desperately looking around the extremely crowded place to see if I could spot SaRo. No luck. I scored a table near the door and sat down to await her phone call/arrival (important detail for the anal-retentive: I had no number for where she was staying). After half an hour of waiting, I give up and go order breakfast. Two bites into my breakfast, another friend, JeHa, randomly walks in. We exclaim. Hug. She sits down to watch me eat and tell me a story.

She had come to Future's directly from Book City. At Book City she was attempting to buy a birthday present for LaTr, another mutual friend. While approaching the cash register to purchase said birthday present, she noticed that standing by the till was none other than Stuart MacLean. Deciding not to be a spaz and run up to say: "remembermeImetyoutwoyearsagoatRyersonIreallylikeyourstuffyou'retotallygreat"
She waited until he had departed the store. After he left, she went up to the till, said to the checkout person, "Hey. That was Stuart MacLean, wasn't it". They had a bonding moment, geekery-style and then JeHa's phone rings. She answers it, and it's LaTr - who absolutely CANNOT know that JeHa is in a bookstore, or the birthday surprise will be hooped. LaTr says, 'Hey, where are ya?' JeHa stalls wildly and says, "Errrr...uh...yeah, guess what? I totally just saw Stuart MacLean!" And as she speaks she notices that the man himself had re-entered the store and was standing right beside her. Now for someone trying to simultaneously pay for a book, distract LaTr on the phone and convince Stuart MacLean that you're not a psycho, the next move is obvious. You say to LaTr on the phone, loudly, "Yeah, he's standing right beside me. I'm touching his arm." and grab Stuart MacLean. Then before he can press charges, you grab your receipt and book and run away.

Fuck my friends are cool.

Kicker - I was obviously so engrossed in listening to JeHa's tale that I completely missed the fact that SaRo was sitting at another table in Future's waiting for me. We never did meet up, and now she's back in Ottawa. Moral of the story - daylight savings creates chaos, but from out of chaos will rise other friends. Ones with funny stories.

sleet

2005-04-02T11:29:00.000-06:00

Things I don't want to do today:

- make chitchat about Toronto and a cappella with a stranger from the Czech Republic
- walk past the crowds praying at the 'Pope vigil' on Roncesvalles
- deal with complicated 'perfectly nice' boy who wants more than my friendship
- figure out exactly what the heck I'm going to do with this blog