Well, I can’t say exactly, as I am not sure what is going on (and it isn’t exactly my news), but I expect some major upset in our life and finances for the next weeks- not necessarily good, but we are taking it well. I’ll keep you posted.
I tried to send off my Mennonite scholarship prop last night, but an unfortunate computer ailment ate my disk. Hence, I am in today using the Union comp to send the thing off. Wish me luck. Though, as all students know, the true cream of scholarship applications is in pleasing your advisor by the doing, not necessarily the receiving. So, "check" on that.
Oh, and last night my world tilted on its axis. The same chick who rocked my world by upsetting the birthday gift race and getting me the BEST FF’ING PRESENT EVER with Milton’s Tramp just put a permanent smile on my face with news last night. She, like the polite, sweet and friendly Maritimer that she is, actually remembered that I was desperately seeking a copy of Chaplin’s Autobiography to call my own, and found it in a book store in Toronto. YAY! Actually, it isn’t even the getting of the book that pleases me (although that makes me happy), but the fact that she thought of me. It’s corn-ball, but the thought really does count. Now I feel bad that I cheaped out on her grad gift. Oh well, maybe Cartier’s is still open…
Now, by the way, in my search to fill out a pretty small Chaplin library, I am seeking a copy of Robinson’s Chaplin: His Life and Art, and Lynn’s Charlie Chaplin and His Times, as well as the new Holy Grails of the collection: copies of the out-of-print Unknown Chaplin and The Gentleman Tramp on VHS or DVD. Now, fly my pretties and search the corners of the globe! Mu-wa-ha-ha-ha. Uh… sorry.
Also, I am pleased to see that hit counter rising, but I think we can do better.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Friday, July 29, 2005
In an Excited Tizzy … Over Canadian National Politics?
OK. I’m a dork. I have often admitted this. But, am I the only one excited about who may be named as Canada’s next Governor General? Sorry about such a long entry, but this is exciting stuff.
Not that I’m happy to see Adrienne Clarkson go. Despite spending problems, she’s been great. In fact, it’s been her presence, abilities and protection of arts and heritage programs that has made me excited about this matter.
For those who aren’t as up on this, the Governor General (or GG as it affectionately known) serves as the Queen’s representative in Canada. He or she is appointed by the PMO for a term of about five to nine years. Under the regulations, the GG must be bilingual and not be a current politician. This office is responsible for a great deal of diplomatic duties, for attending all sorts of official functions (such as state funerals and wreath laying ceremonies), controls certain awards, and has its own budget for the support of cultural activities. The GG also serves for the Queen at various things. Hence, a female seems symbolically best. However this is not required, and the names buzzing around to take over in September include the famous (infamous?) Joe Clark, as well as the current Lieutenant Governor of Ontario, James Bartleman. The buzz says that a Francophone is likely, and to the majority of Canadians, this automatically means Quebec, but this need not be so. The Maritimes have many Francophones, as well.
My vote? I think that having someone from the arts community is important, as this quarter is most likely to defend arts spending. Further, I would like to see someone from a different location in Canada (i.e. not Ontario), and would like someone who represents a minority, or who is from the recent immigrant experience. Thus, I have a small list of my votes for the new GG, in order of least to most preference.
10) William Shatner- Come on! This guy has to be on my list. He’s bilingual, from Quebec, is Jewish, and is about as beloved as you can get. Everyone loves this guy, with his warm humour and cheerful demeanor. Plus, we could call his office “The Bridge.” How great would it be to introduce him as, “The Governor General of Canada, Bill Shatner”? However, it could be argued he might cause some loss of respect from other nations, but, realistically, how much respect do they have for us anyway? In the end, this guy negotiated peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire- who else could have done that?
9) Leonard Cohen- Talented poet and singer. From Montreal, Leonard is bilingual. He also has a law degree, and has seen much of the world. He’s of a good, ripe age, and is more charismatic than any Canadian has the right to be. Also, how kick-ass would it be if our GG was so f’ing cool? Old, shaved bald and dressed in black? No one would mess with us.
8) Scott Thompson- Former Kids in the Hall founding member, and bright spot in Canadian entertainment. How many of us would pay to see a guy who does a great impersonation of the Queen actually represent her? Unfortunately, I’m not sure he speaks French, and we’d have to be careful to whence we sent him, as his life style is illegal in several of the countries he’d have to visit. Why should that stop us, though? We’ve already proven ourselves game in that area.
7) Gordon Pinsent- Wonderful actor from Newfoundland. This guy is part of what you think of as “Canada”, even if you don’t know his name. A fine man with a good sense of humour, a lovely voice and a long life of good experience. However, he really isn’t a political type, and may be looking towards a well-deserved rest after a lifetime of hard work.
6) Christopher Plummer- The star of Stratford and The Sound of Music. Bright, impressive, and educated, Mr. Plummer would be a GG to reckon with. The main problem (aside from his firm status as an old white guy), is that with that accent and his proper demeanor, he might cease to be seen as a representative of the Queen, and actually become her.
5) Jian Ghomeshi- Young, hip CBC personality and musician. OK, a long shot at best. However, Jian is young, of Iranian descent, and cool- he could make younger Canadians take note of the office. He’s attractive, fun, artsy and intelligent. Further, he is bilingual and has a degree in politics. In the end, he is the best of both worlds: Hip, but in no way lacking in substance. Of how many people can you say that? Plus, wouldn’t you love to see George Bush try to pronounce that name? Further, how about bragging that our GG used to be with Moxy Fruvous and that he has met Woody Allen? He is young, though, and may be best saved for forty years before he takes this position.
4) Karen Kain- One of Canada’s most famous prima ballerinas. Poised, fashionable, respected and socially responsible, she would be someone I could admire in the position. She would also be well regarded and personable in diplomatic events, and would fight for the arts. Unfortunately, I don’t know that she is bilingual.
3) Frank McKenna- Former Premiere of New Brunswick, Frank was a point of envy for people in other provinces. Seamlessly bilingual, he was a strong and deliberate leader who supported the needs and rights of his province with extreme diligence. He would be bright, capable and dedicated. However, he’s not nearly as poised or as charismatic as either Karen Kain or Adrienne Clarkson. Plus, he's currently the ambassador to the US, so who knows what odd politics he's developed.
2) Ed Broadbent- The most successful NDP leader in history, this guy would have been a great PM. And if he’d been a Liberal, he would have been. He’s bilingual, experienced, lovable, and kind. The problem with this choice is that he retired from politics due to his wife’s recent illness, and wouldn’t take the job even if it were offered. However, I still resolved to put him on the list to express my regret that he can’t stand for the office.
1) MY TOP CHOICE: Tom Jackson- One of Canada’s greatest performance artists, and elder statesman of sorts for my generation. Attractive, Native, talented and charismatic, Tom would be a prime representative for Canadians, who I would be proud to claim. Also, Tom has shown himself to be extremely socially responsible by his consistent and long-term leadership in his Huron Carole campaign/ concert series for Canada’s food banks. He has traveled across Canada again and again, and has a calm, beautiful presence. I was fortunate enough to see him in concert in 1995, and just being in the same room with him made me feel proud and happy. What a great thing to say about your GG. However, I have heard him speak French, but have no proof that he is completely bilingual, so I may be scuttled in my campaign. In any case, he remains my top choice.
I should also note a few honorable mentions. Alex Trebek, who speaks French, would be very intimidating for people like Bush (“This guy has all the answers!”). Or David Suzuki- every thing I know about the world came from him. Ian Hanomansing would be a lovely choice (and I mean lovely). Bruce Cockburn or Margaret Atwood might be an interesting choice, as well as Roberta Bondar. Also, Bob Rae, Roy Romanow, Rick Hanson, or Buffy St. Marie would be acceptable choices for me. Also, what about Tex MacDonald? For kicks, let’s nominate, oh… let’s say Tommy Chong.
Just, please, not Preston Manning, Wayne Gretzky (or his dad), or any one that the National Post favours. That’s all I ask.
The likelihood of anyone taking my vote for anything is very small, but I thought I’d weigh in. This is not just a great opportunity to get the best possible GG, but is also a chance to see what we each think about Canada and various Canadians of note. I urge everyone to make up a similar list- what Canadians do you think could represent this country? (If you can’t come up with ten, then I suggest you give up NBC and tune into CBC).
Give it a try, and let me know who you come up with- we’ll trade lists around, and make it like a mini pop-culture lesson for Canadians! Happy listing.
Not that I’m happy to see Adrienne Clarkson go. Despite spending problems, she’s been great. In fact, it’s been her presence, abilities and protection of arts and heritage programs that has made me excited about this matter.
For those who aren’t as up on this, the Governor General (or GG as it affectionately known) serves as the Queen’s representative in Canada. He or she is appointed by the PMO for a term of about five to nine years. Under the regulations, the GG must be bilingual and not be a current politician. This office is responsible for a great deal of diplomatic duties, for attending all sorts of official functions (such as state funerals and wreath laying ceremonies), controls certain awards, and has its own budget for the support of cultural activities. The GG also serves for the Queen at various things. Hence, a female seems symbolically best. However this is not required, and the names buzzing around to take over in September include the famous (infamous?) Joe Clark, as well as the current Lieutenant Governor of Ontario, James Bartleman. The buzz says that a Francophone is likely, and to the majority of Canadians, this automatically means Quebec, but this need not be so. The Maritimes have many Francophones, as well.
My vote? I think that having someone from the arts community is important, as this quarter is most likely to defend arts spending. Further, I would like to see someone from a different location in Canada (i.e. not Ontario), and would like someone who represents a minority, or who is from the recent immigrant experience. Thus, I have a small list of my votes for the new GG, in order of least to most preference.
10) William Shatner- Come on! This guy has to be on my list. He’s bilingual, from Quebec, is Jewish, and is about as beloved as you can get. Everyone loves this guy, with his warm humour and cheerful demeanor. Plus, we could call his office “The Bridge.” How great would it be to introduce him as, “The Governor General of Canada, Bill Shatner”? However, it could be argued he might cause some loss of respect from other nations, but, realistically, how much respect do they have for us anyway? In the end, this guy negotiated peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire- who else could have done that?
9) Leonard Cohen- Talented poet and singer. From Montreal, Leonard is bilingual. He also has a law degree, and has seen much of the world. He’s of a good, ripe age, and is more charismatic than any Canadian has the right to be. Also, how kick-ass would it be if our GG was so f’ing cool? Old, shaved bald and dressed in black? No one would mess with us.
8) Scott Thompson- Former Kids in the Hall founding member, and bright spot in Canadian entertainment. How many of us would pay to see a guy who does a great impersonation of the Queen actually represent her? Unfortunately, I’m not sure he speaks French, and we’d have to be careful to whence we sent him, as his life style is illegal in several of the countries he’d have to visit. Why should that stop us, though? We’ve already proven ourselves game in that area.
7) Gordon Pinsent- Wonderful actor from Newfoundland. This guy is part of what you think of as “Canada”, even if you don’t know his name. A fine man with a good sense of humour, a lovely voice and a long life of good experience. However, he really isn’t a political type, and may be looking towards a well-deserved rest after a lifetime of hard work.
6) Christopher Plummer- The star of Stratford and The Sound of Music. Bright, impressive, and educated, Mr. Plummer would be a GG to reckon with. The main problem (aside from his firm status as an old white guy), is that with that accent and his proper demeanor, he might cease to be seen as a representative of the Queen, and actually become her.
5) Jian Ghomeshi- Young, hip CBC personality and musician. OK, a long shot at best. However, Jian is young, of Iranian descent, and cool- he could make younger Canadians take note of the office. He’s attractive, fun, artsy and intelligent. Further, he is bilingual and has a degree in politics. In the end, he is the best of both worlds: Hip, but in no way lacking in substance. Of how many people can you say that? Plus, wouldn’t you love to see George Bush try to pronounce that name? Further, how about bragging that our GG used to be with Moxy Fruvous and that he has met Woody Allen? He is young, though, and may be best saved for forty years before he takes this position.
4) Karen Kain- One of Canada’s most famous prima ballerinas. Poised, fashionable, respected and socially responsible, she would be someone I could admire in the position. She would also be well regarded and personable in diplomatic events, and would fight for the arts. Unfortunately, I don’t know that she is bilingual.
3) Frank McKenna- Former Premiere of New Brunswick, Frank was a point of envy for people in other provinces. Seamlessly bilingual, he was a strong and deliberate leader who supported the needs and rights of his province with extreme diligence. He would be bright, capable and dedicated. However, he’s not nearly as poised or as charismatic as either Karen Kain or Adrienne Clarkson. Plus, he's currently the ambassador to the US, so who knows what odd politics he's developed.
2) Ed Broadbent- The most successful NDP leader in history, this guy would have been a great PM. And if he’d been a Liberal, he would have been. He’s bilingual, experienced, lovable, and kind. The problem with this choice is that he retired from politics due to his wife’s recent illness, and wouldn’t take the job even if it were offered. However, I still resolved to put him on the list to express my regret that he can’t stand for the office.
1) MY TOP CHOICE: Tom Jackson- One of Canada’s greatest performance artists, and elder statesman of sorts for my generation. Attractive, Native, talented and charismatic, Tom would be a prime representative for Canadians, who I would be proud to claim. Also, Tom has shown himself to be extremely socially responsible by his consistent and long-term leadership in his Huron Carole campaign/ concert series for Canada’s food banks. He has traveled across Canada again and again, and has a calm, beautiful presence. I was fortunate enough to see him in concert in 1995, and just being in the same room with him made me feel proud and happy. What a great thing to say about your GG. However, I have heard him speak French, but have no proof that he is completely bilingual, so I may be scuttled in my campaign. In any case, he remains my top choice.
I should also note a few honorable mentions. Alex Trebek, who speaks French, would be very intimidating for people like Bush (“This guy has all the answers!”). Or David Suzuki- every thing I know about the world came from him. Ian Hanomansing would be a lovely choice (and I mean lovely). Bruce Cockburn or Margaret Atwood might be an interesting choice, as well as Roberta Bondar. Also, Bob Rae, Roy Romanow, Rick Hanson, or Buffy St. Marie would be acceptable choices for me. Also, what about Tex MacDonald? For kicks, let’s nominate, oh… let’s say Tommy Chong.
Just, please, not Preston Manning, Wayne Gretzky (or his dad), or any one that the National Post favours. That’s all I ask.
The likelihood of anyone taking my vote for anything is very small, but I thought I’d weigh in. This is not just a great opportunity to get the best possible GG, but is also a chance to see what we each think about Canada and various Canadians of note. I urge everyone to make up a similar list- what Canadians do you think could represent this country? (If you can’t come up with ten, then I suggest you give up NBC and tune into CBC).
Give it a try, and let me know who you come up with- we’ll trade lists around, and make it like a mini pop-culture lesson for Canadians! Happy listing.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
A Dying Little Girl's Last Wish
I'm in mourning. My counter is gone. The fine people at Precision Counter lost my stats. I was nearing 200, and was feeling a flit of popularity denied me in my youth. Now it's all gone...
But it is a reminder from all things good not to be so wrapped up in such trivial and earthly matters. Popularity doesn't matter, only treasures in heaven.
That having been said, it's crap. I NEED HITS. Go. Email friends. I need that back up to 200! My self esteem depends on it. Tell them I have leukemia and it's my last wish. ANYTHING. Just please help. I'm so very lonely.
But it is a reminder from all things good not to be so wrapped up in such trivial and earthly matters. Popularity doesn't matter, only treasures in heaven.
That having been said, it's crap. I NEED HITS. Go. Email friends. I need that back up to 200! My self esteem depends on it. Tell them I have leukemia and it's my last wish. ANYTHING. Just please help. I'm so very lonely.
Bits ‘n’ Bobbins
Hi folks.
Am in campus today to do some research work for my old advisor. You know, for someone unable to find a job, I’m doing OK. Had a good time last night at an old friend’s house, trying to catch up on four years’ worth of news. We’ve been in Hamilton- he went to Peru… So we lost, I guess.
Crazy old Chinese man was singing to himself on the bus (in Chinese). Then the bus started to make a rattling-hum sound, so he started to make a “ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ” sound along with it. My guess? He’s not actually old, but is really only a 30-something grad student who has finally lost it.
Weather was so nice last night it was actually cold in my apartment this morning. YAY! I’m reading Woody Allen and Philosophy right now, which I bought with my $19 worth of book club credit at the Uni book store. UMMMMM, free book.
I’m sorry that I have been silent with everybody, but I am “nuts to wall” on a scholarship proposal for the Mennonites- they may give me money (and help me raise my tool shed- sorry, I couldn't help it)!!!
Well, that’s about it, except to say that I am well, and that I still can’t wait for the 20th. Maybe I mentioned that already???
Am in campus today to do some research work for my old advisor. You know, for someone unable to find a job, I’m doing OK. Had a good time last night at an old friend’s house, trying to catch up on four years’ worth of news. We’ve been in Hamilton- he went to Peru… So we lost, I guess.
Crazy old Chinese man was singing to himself on the bus (in Chinese). Then the bus started to make a rattling-hum sound, so he started to make a “ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ” sound along with it. My guess? He’s not actually old, but is really only a 30-something grad student who has finally lost it.
Weather was so nice last night it was actually cold in my apartment this morning. YAY! I’m reading Woody Allen and Philosophy right now, which I bought with my $19 worth of book club credit at the Uni book store. UMMMMM, free book.
I’m sorry that I have been silent with everybody, but I am “nuts to wall” on a scholarship proposal for the Mennonites- they may give me money (and help me raise my tool shed- sorry, I couldn't help it)!!!
Well, that’s about it, except to say that I am well, and that I still can’t wait for the 20th. Maybe I mentioned that already???
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Blizzard of Blog
Hi folks! Enjoy these new posts, to keep you up to date with all things Holly.
Signed 8” x 10” glossies may be purchased in the lobby.
Signed 8” x 10” glossies may be purchased in the lobby.
Sing Another Song, Boys
Monday, July 25, 2005
Tonight I spent about two hours painstakingly cleaning (with fancy isopropyl alcohol spray) each of my CD cases and packing the majority of them away. I left out only the essential (for right now) albums that I can’t possibly live without until the 21st of August. I am sitting now to update you, listening to Leonard Cohen, who, if I were pressed to choose, would have to be the centerpiece of my musical life. The voice, the words, the smooth yet gritty sexuality. Gosh, he really sends me.
I love Lennie so much that I endured counseling sessions for him. When I was about eleven, my beloved (but fretful)mother was worried my budding love for this poet was a sign of suicidal tendencies, so I had to wait it out until I was given the all clear. That’s how much I love this guy.
As I often speak of my music, but rarely give anything more than wishy-washy recommendations, I will let you in on what I (as of July 25, 2005) consider to be essential (in no particular order). You will agree that I was very strict with myself and did not overdo my temporary listening stack.
- The Turtles: 20 Greatest Hits
- Etta James: Love Songs
- The Klezmatics: Shteyt Oyf!
- “Weird Al” Yankovic: Running With Scissors; Bad Hair Day; Poodle Hat; The Food Album; Polka Party!
- Diana Ross and the Supremes: Millenium Collection
- Marilyn Manson: Lest We Forget (The Best of)
- Frank Zappa: Have I Offended Someone?
- DEVO: Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are DEVO!; Greatest Hits
- The Red Army Choir: Naxos Collection
- Dusty Springfield: Millenium Collection
- Mary Wells: Millenium Collection
- Petula Clark: Greatest Hits
- Carole King: Her Greatest Hits (Songs of Long Ago)
- Beckman/ Cernota: “Oh! That Cello”: The Music of Charles Chaplin
- Tom Waits: Bone Machine
- Leonard Cohen: I’m Your Man; Field Commander Cohen; Various Positions; Songs of Love and Hate; Songs From a Room
So, other than whatever CDs John decides to keep out (let’s hope that contains a fair amount of Type O Negative, Ozzy Osbourne, and Alice Cooper), this list is what I will be hearing for the next 26 days.
Oh, and incidentally, the music world sustained a loss this weekend. Myron Floren, “The Happy Norwegian”, who was the main accordionist for the Lawrence Welk show for about thirty years, died on Saturday. Too bad. However, now you can all take out the Happy Norwegian memorabilia you’ve been hoarding and post it on eBay.
Tonight I spent about two hours painstakingly cleaning (with fancy isopropyl alcohol spray) each of my CD cases and packing the majority of them away. I left out only the essential (for right now) albums that I can’t possibly live without until the 21st of August. I am sitting now to update you, listening to Leonard Cohen, who, if I were pressed to choose, would have to be the centerpiece of my musical life. The voice, the words, the smooth yet gritty sexuality. Gosh, he really sends me.
I love Lennie so much that I endured counseling sessions for him. When I was about eleven, my beloved (but fretful)mother was worried my budding love for this poet was a sign of suicidal tendencies, so I had to wait it out until I was given the all clear. That’s how much I love this guy.
As I often speak of my music, but rarely give anything more than wishy-washy recommendations, I will let you in on what I (as of July 25, 2005) consider to be essential (in no particular order). You will agree that I was very strict with myself and did not overdo my temporary listening stack.
- The Turtles: 20 Greatest Hits
- Etta James: Love Songs
- The Klezmatics: Shteyt Oyf!
- “Weird Al” Yankovic: Running With Scissors; Bad Hair Day; Poodle Hat; The Food Album; Polka Party!
- Diana Ross and the Supremes: Millenium Collection
- Marilyn Manson: Lest We Forget (The Best of)
- Frank Zappa: Have I Offended Someone?
- DEVO: Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are DEVO!; Greatest Hits
- The Red Army Choir: Naxos Collection
- Dusty Springfield: Millenium Collection
- Mary Wells: Millenium Collection
- Petula Clark: Greatest Hits
- Carole King: Her Greatest Hits (Songs of Long Ago)
- Beckman/ Cernota: “Oh! That Cello”: The Music of Charles Chaplin
- Tom Waits: Bone Machine
- Leonard Cohen: I’m Your Man; Field Commander Cohen; Various Positions; Songs of Love and Hate; Songs From a Room
So, other than whatever CDs John decides to keep out (let’s hope that contains a fair amount of Type O Negative, Ozzy Osbourne, and Alice Cooper), this list is what I will be hearing for the next 26 days.
Oh, and incidentally, the music world sustained a loss this weekend. Myron Floren, “The Happy Norwegian”, who was the main accordionist for the Lawrence Welk show for about thirty years, died on Saturday. Too bad. However, now you can all take out the Happy Norwegian memorabilia you’ve been hoarding and post it on eBay.
Never Gonna Watch Donnie Darko Again…
OK. It’s been almost an hour since the movie ended, and I’m still feeling a little strange. I was putting out the garbage, and I swear someone was watching me. It kinda felt like each flash of lightening brought them closer. I felt a weird pressure of foreboding that swelled and released- like time was breathing. Well, I’m not one to let weird feelings get the better of me. Besides, we skipped putting out the trash last week, so maybe it was just rotten rice fumes going to my head.
So I came inside, and I thought I heard whispers in the bedroom. Upon investigation, there were people walking down the street, and the window was open. Problem solved. Also, I’m battling nicotine withdrawal, so that is it- right?
Still shaky, I finally convinced myself that having all the lights on is wasteful, so I sat huddled in the light from the alcove in the living room. The cat refused to be supportive, and has been walking around howling and staring into the middle distance, as if ghosts surround us, and only he can see them. Will drop cat off at pound tomorrow. Maybe he can go live with a nice exorcist who is into this kind of thing.
I resolved to shake silly, pathetic freak-out from bizarre movie by sitting and watching something uncomplicated and comforting. So I put in City Lights (1931)- an absolute favourite. The computer was still on my Union notes, so I started to play a game of solitaire, still nervously attempting to chuckle off the chilled feelings.
However, this has not helped. Windows has turned against me- It gave me the same hand back to back. I could actually “predict” every card that came up! Now am seriously willied. Must lie down in brightly lit place with a cold cloth… John will be home in about an hour… Calm…
Never gonna watch Donnie Darko again.
So I came inside, and I thought I heard whispers in the bedroom. Upon investigation, there were people walking down the street, and the window was open. Problem solved. Also, I’m battling nicotine withdrawal, so that is it- right?
Still shaky, I finally convinced myself that having all the lights on is wasteful, so I sat huddled in the light from the alcove in the living room. The cat refused to be supportive, and has been walking around howling and staring into the middle distance, as if ghosts surround us, and only he can see them. Will drop cat off at pound tomorrow. Maybe he can go live with a nice exorcist who is into this kind of thing.
I resolved to shake silly, pathetic freak-out from bizarre movie by sitting and watching something uncomplicated and comforting. So I put in City Lights (1931)- an absolute favourite. The computer was still on my Union notes, so I started to play a game of solitaire, still nervously attempting to chuckle off the chilled feelings.
However, this has not helped. Windows has turned against me- It gave me the same hand back to back. I could actually “predict” every card that came up! Now am seriously willied. Must lie down in brightly lit place with a cold cloth… John will be home in about an hour… Calm…
Never gonna watch Donnie Darko again.
Absence Makes the Heart Grow Squishy
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Well, I am back after what seems like a very long silence. I have spent the last week packing and cleaning like a demon.
I can’t believe I ever complained about packing books… Junk is much worse. I removed about five garbage bags of old papers and letters from 1997 out of my bedroom. I have been paying close attention to this packing round. The last time, I just threw everything into boxes and let the movers carry it away. This time I carefully weeded all collections of crap. It is finally done, however, and I think we’re right on track with the project. Plus, it has been great fun unearthing the three years worth of “missing” stuff that I had thought I lost out of the hidden corners of every room. Also, I got to totally rip apart an old desk to toss it, so that was a wonderful act of constructive destruction. Great tension release.
Right now I am sitting in my empty bedroom, enjoying the solid, rain-soaked breeze from my front windows. I am listening to the ultra-cheesy golden oldie station (CKOC Hamilton, 1150 AM) and typing months’ worth of old Union minutes, preparing to leave that position. I am deep in guilt, having decided I am the worst parent alive. My cat was trying to climb on my keyboard, just trying to get a little love and attention. Pissed off, I grabbed a wad of discarded packing tape that somebody (“Not I, I assure you,” she said defensively) had left on the floor. I stuck it to his back, his least favourite thing. Now he has given up trying to sook me, and is currently hiding in the closet. That’ll learn him not to be sweet. Yup. I suck.
I called my mum tonight to let them know that (a) I found the presents I had bought them three years ago, and would be mailing them this week, and (b) we are still alive. My mum told me that my great aunt Thelma died yesterday. I tried to be sympathetic, but, not having any idea that I had a great aunt Thelma, I was at a loss. Needless to say, I will not be traveling back for the funeral. In the end, I decided it was not the time to tell her that John and I had decided to get married. Save that for a day without a recent bereavement.
What? You want exciting news? Umm, I fixed our dust buster, and now I have full dust busting capability. Does that count?
So, yeah, that’s about all going on right now. John and I are preparing to move, and I never leave the house unless absolutely necessary. Seeing the end to my exile in this town, I have chosen to limit my contact with it as much as humanly possible. Now that the weather has improved a bit, I often go out in search of coffee at about 6am, before the Hammies leave their dens, but I make sure I am firmly back within my walls before the throng hits the streets.
Oh- will the 20th never arrive?
Well, I am back after what seems like a very long silence. I have spent the last week packing and cleaning like a demon.
I can’t believe I ever complained about packing books… Junk is much worse. I removed about five garbage bags of old papers and letters from 1997 out of my bedroom. I have been paying close attention to this packing round. The last time, I just threw everything into boxes and let the movers carry it away. This time I carefully weeded all collections of crap. It is finally done, however, and I think we’re right on track with the project. Plus, it has been great fun unearthing the three years worth of “missing” stuff that I had thought I lost out of the hidden corners of every room. Also, I got to totally rip apart an old desk to toss it, so that was a wonderful act of constructive destruction. Great tension release.
Right now I am sitting in my empty bedroom, enjoying the solid, rain-soaked breeze from my front windows. I am listening to the ultra-cheesy golden oldie station (CKOC Hamilton, 1150 AM) and typing months’ worth of old Union minutes, preparing to leave that position. I am deep in guilt, having decided I am the worst parent alive. My cat was trying to climb on my keyboard, just trying to get a little love and attention. Pissed off, I grabbed a wad of discarded packing tape that somebody (“Not I, I assure you,” she said defensively) had left on the floor. I stuck it to his back, his least favourite thing. Now he has given up trying to sook me, and is currently hiding in the closet. That’ll learn him not to be sweet. Yup. I suck.
I called my mum tonight to let them know that (a) I found the presents I had bought them three years ago, and would be mailing them this week, and (b) we are still alive. My mum told me that my great aunt Thelma died yesterday. I tried to be sympathetic, but, not having any idea that I had a great aunt Thelma, I was at a loss. Needless to say, I will not be traveling back for the funeral. In the end, I decided it was not the time to tell her that John and I had decided to get married. Save that for a day without a recent bereavement.
What? You want exciting news? Umm, I fixed our dust buster, and now I have full dust busting capability. Does that count?
So, yeah, that’s about all going on right now. John and I are preparing to move, and I never leave the house unless absolutely necessary. Seeing the end to my exile in this town, I have chosen to limit my contact with it as much as humanly possible. Now that the weather has improved a bit, I often go out in search of coffee at about 6am, before the Hammies leave their dens, but I make sure I am firmly back within my walls before the throng hits the streets.
Oh- will the 20th never arrive?
I Lost it Like a Jackass, but Now it’s Back
(Saturday night, July 23)
YAY!!! I have found my engagement ring!
For those who have not heard this story, I will tell you how I have been in morbid dread that I took the token representing John’s love and LOST it three years ago. Sometime in September or October of 2002, I misplaced my small, diamond ring. I assumed it was somewhere in the apartment (probably in the bowels of my hideous sofa), but this was a bit of a theory. Tonight I proved part of the guess by restoring the thing to my finger. (Not in sofa, but in a small yeast tin that had fallen behind a bookshelf). Whew. I am not such a horrible human being, after all. Only partially.
So where did I get the thing in the first place? You may not be wondering, but I’ll fill you in anyway. One day, about a year after John and I had decided to marry someday, we were in Middle Sackville (a little bump on the Tantramar flats), and came upon a little antique (read: junk) shop. This shop was crammed to the rafters with row after row of old wagon wheels, curled kids books, musty cushions, old Coke signs, blunt hand tools from the 1800s, etc, etc. Absently, we sifted through some boxes of whatnots, and, hidden in the corner, was a diamond “Forever Ring” from around the turn of the last century. The kind of ring in that little flower pattern, with six small diamonds ringing a central one, mounted in a raised setting on a thin gold band. Small, but very pretty. They are called forever rings because, with some imagination, the pattern contains the shape of every letter in the word (thank you Antiques Road Show for that bit of info). In any case, I’m not sure what John paid for it, but it must have been fate. It was strange that we happened to look in there, odd that the guy had this, and miraculous that it fit my meat hook of a paw (that must have been one chunky Edwardian broad).
That was way back in the summer of 1998, and it stayed in a box until 2002, when I got the bright idea to start wearing it. Then, I lost it. Well, I never was too bright.
It was particularly interesting to find it again now, as John and I have decided to ACTUALLY TIE THE KNOT (after about eight years of engagement) in about a year or two. Waterloo is so pretty that we can easily see a nice small wedding taking place there, and I actually feel grown up enough to do this thing. On the bus ride home from Waterloo we made the big commitment. Now the ring turns up, as if by magic. It’s as if it was in occultation for our time in Hamilton, and has now returned to us for this (hopefully) happier era in our lives.
I hope all of you are well and happy. May each of you find something you thought you had lost- it’s a great feeling.
YAY!!! I have found my engagement ring!
For those who have not heard this story, I will tell you how I have been in morbid dread that I took the token representing John’s love and LOST it three years ago. Sometime in September or October of 2002, I misplaced my small, diamond ring. I assumed it was somewhere in the apartment (probably in the bowels of my hideous sofa), but this was a bit of a theory. Tonight I proved part of the guess by restoring the thing to my finger. (Not in sofa, but in a small yeast tin that had fallen behind a bookshelf). Whew. I am not such a horrible human being, after all. Only partially.
So where did I get the thing in the first place? You may not be wondering, but I’ll fill you in anyway. One day, about a year after John and I had decided to marry someday, we were in Middle Sackville (a little bump on the Tantramar flats), and came upon a little antique (read: junk) shop. This shop was crammed to the rafters with row after row of old wagon wheels, curled kids books, musty cushions, old Coke signs, blunt hand tools from the 1800s, etc, etc. Absently, we sifted through some boxes of whatnots, and, hidden in the corner, was a diamond “Forever Ring” from around the turn of the last century. The kind of ring in that little flower pattern, with six small diamonds ringing a central one, mounted in a raised setting on a thin gold band. Small, but very pretty. They are called forever rings because, with some imagination, the pattern contains the shape of every letter in the word (thank you Antiques Road Show for that bit of info). In any case, I’m not sure what John paid for it, but it must have been fate. It was strange that we happened to look in there, odd that the guy had this, and miraculous that it fit my meat hook of a paw (that must have been one chunky Edwardian broad).
That was way back in the summer of 1998, and it stayed in a box until 2002, when I got the bright idea to start wearing it. Then, I lost it. Well, I never was too bright.
It was particularly interesting to find it again now, as John and I have decided to ACTUALLY TIE THE KNOT (after about eight years of engagement) in about a year or two. Waterloo is so pretty that we can easily see a nice small wedding taking place there, and I actually feel grown up enough to do this thing. On the bus ride home from Waterloo we made the big commitment. Now the ring turns up, as if by magic. It’s as if it was in occultation for our time in Hamilton, and has now returned to us for this (hopefully) happier era in our lives.
I hope all of you are well and happy. May each of you find something you thought you had lost- it’s a great feeling.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Accio… Some Other Book!
I just finished the newest Harry Potter book, after 12 hours of diligent reading, and I have to say that I’m glad I didn’t pay full price for it. Maybe I enjoyed it about $26 worth ($6 less than the price I paid for it). I certainly didn’t enjoy it $41 worth. Thankfully, I have been only slightly ripped off.
I won’t say exactly why I didn’t like it over much, except to say that it contains about 400 pages of talking- ONLY talking. All I can say is that volume 7 better be so filled with bloodcurdling adventure that I can’t breath, or I’ll be pissed. (Actually, this book doesn't really make me care one way or another if another volume comes out, but I'm sure I'll read it when it comes out). It had better be as exciting as the price, plus $6. They owe me, now.
I won’t say exactly why I didn’t like it over much, except to say that it contains about 400 pages of talking- ONLY talking. All I can say is that volume 7 better be so filled with bloodcurdling adventure that I can’t breath, or I’ll be pissed. (Actually, this book doesn't really make me care one way or another if another volume comes out, but I'm sure I'll read it when it comes out). It had better be as exciting as the price, plus $6. They owe me, now.
Monday, July 18, 2005
2 Happee 2 B FunE
I’m taking a break from you for a while. I can only be entertaining when I have a wealth of vitriol. Misery loves company, but comedy loves misery. Meanwhile, I am in love and pleased with life, so I have nothing to vent over. Lest I make you, gentle reader, ill with my life, I will cease my posts for now. I may be silent until I am, again, bothered by the world, and upset over everything in general.
Knowing me, that won’t be too long.
Knowing me, that won’t be too long.
The Truth About Me and Rain
Saturday, July 16, 2005
It’s 7.30 am, and I’ve been up for about two and a half hours. Despite the fact that I went to bed only four and a half hours ago, I feel good. I was woken up in the best possible way… OK, maybe the second best possible way. Shortly after 5am, thunder shook my house, and a steady down pour pounded the roof of my attic apartment (a sound that is one of the true benefits of a third floor walk-up). For those of you in the area, you know how dry it’s been in Southern Ontario. My heart leapt with joy at the sound. “Pitty-Pat, Pitty-Pat”. Then “Sloosh”, as an inch-deep flow of water ran down the street in big currents. Gosh, what a sound! The air smelled like dust churned up by the rain fall, and soon my cat was poking me in the face with his nose (his usual “Help, There’s Noise From the Sky” routine). After making sure the flood wasn’t making its way through my open windows, I sat down by the fire escape door and had a smoke. I watched the rain as long as it lasted, and, when it had slowed to a drizzle, I made my way down to the corner to grab coffee and breakfast items. When John wakes up, he’s in for one of my surprise breakfast-in-bed feast. Lucky duck, or what?
The thing is, rain is like an old friend to me. I long for it, and when it comes (especially in sheets, without the lightening) I love to walk for hours and get absolutely drenched. I love to listen to it, to smell it, to touch it, and to watch it. I would rather have rain than any other form of weather. Mists, showers, drizzle, and sprinkles are nice, but give me the heavy, punishing kind that actually makes that hard “Pong” sound on your shoulders. Go out in the early rain, find a shop where you can get coffee and a newspaper, and then head off again. This is the best way to explore your environment. That is when we are most in tune with our senses. We are like beasts surveying our territory when we walk in the rain. The most alive we can be.
I grew up on the Nova Scotian shore of the Bay of Fundy, in a little hamlet called Margaretville. I was so fortunate in my place that, if I walked five minutes into my back yard, I would have drown in the bay. This meant that rain there wasn’t just a weather system. It was an art. Heavy, pounding, driving, wind-blown, ravishing rain, the kind that is so thick that all you can see is grey when you try to look through it. I used to walk the pier in the heaviest of storms, wrapped in a wool over coat, deeply dark in moonless midnight. Face up, I gathered the rain in my eye sockets. I still wonder at how many old people would have had heart attacks if they’d seen a lone, dark figure walk the wharf in a storm at midnight, along a coast with a long history of ship wrecks and ghosts.
I wish I could go back. It hardly ever rains here- it’s dry, bald, and soulless. However, this morning it rained hard enough to wake me up. A little piece of home, even here.
It’s 7.30 am, and I’ve been up for about two and a half hours. Despite the fact that I went to bed only four and a half hours ago, I feel good. I was woken up in the best possible way… OK, maybe the second best possible way. Shortly after 5am, thunder shook my house, and a steady down pour pounded the roof of my attic apartment (a sound that is one of the true benefits of a third floor walk-up). For those of you in the area, you know how dry it’s been in Southern Ontario. My heart leapt with joy at the sound. “Pitty-Pat, Pitty-Pat”. Then “Sloosh”, as an inch-deep flow of water ran down the street in big currents. Gosh, what a sound! The air smelled like dust churned up by the rain fall, and soon my cat was poking me in the face with his nose (his usual “Help, There’s Noise From the Sky” routine). After making sure the flood wasn’t making its way through my open windows, I sat down by the fire escape door and had a smoke. I watched the rain as long as it lasted, and, when it had slowed to a drizzle, I made my way down to the corner to grab coffee and breakfast items. When John wakes up, he’s in for one of my surprise breakfast-in-bed feast. Lucky duck, or what?
The thing is, rain is like an old friend to me. I long for it, and when it comes (especially in sheets, without the lightening) I love to walk for hours and get absolutely drenched. I love to listen to it, to smell it, to touch it, and to watch it. I would rather have rain than any other form of weather. Mists, showers, drizzle, and sprinkles are nice, but give me the heavy, punishing kind that actually makes that hard “Pong” sound on your shoulders. Go out in the early rain, find a shop where you can get coffee and a newspaper, and then head off again. This is the best way to explore your environment. That is when we are most in tune with our senses. We are like beasts surveying our territory when we walk in the rain. The most alive we can be.
I grew up on the Nova Scotian shore of the Bay of Fundy, in a little hamlet called Margaretville. I was so fortunate in my place that, if I walked five minutes into my back yard, I would have drown in the bay. This meant that rain there wasn’t just a weather system. It was an art. Heavy, pounding, driving, wind-blown, ravishing rain, the kind that is so thick that all you can see is grey when you try to look through it. I used to walk the pier in the heaviest of storms, wrapped in a wool over coat, deeply dark in moonless midnight. Face up, I gathered the rain in my eye sockets. I still wonder at how many old people would have had heart attacks if they’d seen a lone, dark figure walk the wharf in a storm at midnight, along a coast with a long history of ship wrecks and ghosts.
I wish I could go back. It hardly ever rains here- it’s dry, bald, and soulless. However, this morning it rained hard enough to wake me up. A little piece of home, even here.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Man, Have I Been a Good Girl
Well, you will note that I have a ton of little notes for you all (below), and I bet you’re thrilled. Today I went to Waterloo.
I don’t know what I did with my life, or the former, but whatever it was, it must have been good! Today I saw my mythical dream apartment- and it was better than I had hoped!
We left for Waterloo from McMaster at 8.45am this morning, and arrived at 10. Our friend Lisa, who was my roommate way back in my first year of university, was there to meet us at the Kitchener bus station. After a quick breakfast, we struck out. First to Laurier, which seems to have been hit pretty hard by the recent draught. Thus, the brown lawns didn’t really impress, but I at least managed to pick up a few el-cheapo mementoes for our near and dear. Then we walked for about twenty minutes (in blazing heat) to the apartment.
What a sight! Situated between two parks (which are more like forestry conservation areas), our building is isolated from any other building by a wall of tall fir trees. Our side of the building luckily faces these (as opposed to the parking lot). The lobby was subdued and brown, but clean and safe. The elevators were tidy, and had an amusing faux-leatherette look. When we got to our floor, we were greeted by an empty and quiet hall, and doors that are not only solid, but rimmed in brick! Inside, the place was like a mirage. The air conditioning is central (and very efficient), the lighting great, and the windows plentiful! Two bedrooms (one a perfect office), a large living room, and a dining room! We have oodles of closet/ storage space, with a walk-in closet in the master bedroom, and a PANTRY in the kitchen! Also a linen closet, serviceable balcony, and a front hallway- all musts for gracious living! It was freaking fantastic!
We didn’t go far around town, as it was bloody hot outside and oh so very cool inside. We did go to a nice Indian grocers to grab a dozen take-away samosas for our lunch (so, thus, a close-by service we will use often- three samosa for a buck????). When Lisa’s husband Todd got off work, we went to a lovely vegetarian restaurant (one of at least THREE such places in Waterloo- compare with downtown Hamilton’s NONE), called Jane Bond (www.janebond.ca, for your information). From thence, it was back to the bus station and home.
I must have been very good. Except for having Al’s song “Trash Day” stuck in my head all day, the heat, and an aggravating time trying to get to campus from the bus stop (through construction zones), it was a pretty flawless day.
Sorry, this posting was neither funny nor interesting (to anyone but me), but I had to spill it. Take a look at the other ones, you ingrates!
I don’t know what I did with my life, or the former, but whatever it was, it must have been good! Today I saw my mythical dream apartment- and it was better than I had hoped!
We left for Waterloo from McMaster at 8.45am this morning, and arrived at 10. Our friend Lisa, who was my roommate way back in my first year of university, was there to meet us at the Kitchener bus station. After a quick breakfast, we struck out. First to Laurier, which seems to have been hit pretty hard by the recent draught. Thus, the brown lawns didn’t really impress, but I at least managed to pick up a few el-cheapo mementoes for our near and dear. Then we walked for about twenty minutes (in blazing heat) to the apartment.
What a sight! Situated between two parks (which are more like forestry conservation areas), our building is isolated from any other building by a wall of tall fir trees. Our side of the building luckily faces these (as opposed to the parking lot). The lobby was subdued and brown, but clean and safe. The elevators were tidy, and had an amusing faux-leatherette look. When we got to our floor, we were greeted by an empty and quiet hall, and doors that are not only solid, but rimmed in brick! Inside, the place was like a mirage. The air conditioning is central (and very efficient), the lighting great, and the windows plentiful! Two bedrooms (one a perfect office), a large living room, and a dining room! We have oodles of closet/ storage space, with a walk-in closet in the master bedroom, and a PANTRY in the kitchen! Also a linen closet, serviceable balcony, and a front hallway- all musts for gracious living! It was freaking fantastic!
We didn’t go far around town, as it was bloody hot outside and oh so very cool inside. We did go to a nice Indian grocers to grab a dozen take-away samosas for our lunch (so, thus, a close-by service we will use often- three samosa for a buck????). When Lisa’s husband Todd got off work, we went to a lovely vegetarian restaurant (one of at least THREE such places in Waterloo- compare with downtown Hamilton’s NONE), called Jane Bond (www.janebond.ca, for your information). From thence, it was back to the bus station and home.
I must have been very good. Except for having Al’s song “Trash Day” stuck in my head all day, the heat, and an aggravating time trying to get to campus from the bus stop (through construction zones), it was a pretty flawless day.
Sorry, this posting was neither funny nor interesting (to anyone but me), but I had to spill it. Take a look at the other ones, you ingrates!
“Purple Monkey Dish Washer”
(Tuesday afternoon, July 12, 2005)
Today the Union folks are off to mediation.
(Wednesday night, July 13, 2005)
Last night/ this morning, the Local managed to strike a tentative agreement for Unit II- it looks like a strike has been averted. Check the Local website for further details!
Today the Union folks are off to mediation.
(Wednesday night, July 13, 2005)
Last night/ this morning, the Local managed to strike a tentative agreement for Unit II- it looks like a strike has been averted. Check the Local website for further details!
An Open Letter to the HSR:
Tuesday, 12 July, 2005.
Dear Hamilton Street Railway Company:
It’s hot. No, not just hot- cookies from the oven are hot. Soup is hot. Getting a hug from an obese Hungarian aunt is hot. Hamilton in July is matched only by, say, a Playboy Bunny doing her thing, lathered in pudding and plunked into the middle of Krakatoa during its active phase. (Or, for me, the sight of Weird Al churning butter.) Yeah, THAT hot.
So, my concerns revolve around the conspicuous lack of air conditioning, or even fans, on your buses. John and I have a theory that you do this so bums won’t be tempted to ride around all day. OK, I applaud your efforts to free up bus seats for the rest of us, and I’m sure Harper would LOVE your campaign to kill off the homeless. However, I am not political. What I am is HOT. Do I have to start wishing a slew of elderly would croak on your buses so the law FORCES you to help us all out? I’ll do it if I have to.
However, the windows do let in some air, so maybe we aren’t likely to die. Nevertheless, there is something else infinitely worse about July heat in a closed bus in Hamilton…
HAMILTONIANS STINK! I won’t dance around the issue. We’re getting about 50 different body odors blending around us in one massive, smog-conveyed, retched cloud. It’s like walking into the front half of Eaton’s, through the old-lady-perfume-aisles. Only, instead of old ladies, I have to delicately sniff the “Versatility” and “White Diamonds” of winos and bums on their way home, with all of us trapped in A HEATED TIN CAN WITH NO AIR.
So, please, for the sake of those of us not born in this part of the world (and thus those who have escaped the self-same nasal-ectomy that allows Hamiltonians to disregard their own smell), at least put in fans. We’re dying.
Thank you for your kind attention to this matter.
Signed,
A Loyal Customer Who is Just Trying to Survive Until I Leave This Dump.
Dear Hamilton Street Railway Company:
It’s hot. No, not just hot- cookies from the oven are hot. Soup is hot. Getting a hug from an obese Hungarian aunt is hot. Hamilton in July is matched only by, say, a Playboy Bunny doing her thing, lathered in pudding and plunked into the middle of Krakatoa during its active phase. (Or, for me, the sight of Weird Al churning butter.) Yeah, THAT hot.
So, my concerns revolve around the conspicuous lack of air conditioning, or even fans, on your buses. John and I have a theory that you do this so bums won’t be tempted to ride around all day. OK, I applaud your efforts to free up bus seats for the rest of us, and I’m sure Harper would LOVE your campaign to kill off the homeless. However, I am not political. What I am is HOT. Do I have to start wishing a slew of elderly would croak on your buses so the law FORCES you to help us all out? I’ll do it if I have to.
However, the windows do let in some air, so maybe we aren’t likely to die. Nevertheless, there is something else infinitely worse about July heat in a closed bus in Hamilton…
HAMILTONIANS STINK! I won’t dance around the issue. We’re getting about 50 different body odors blending around us in one massive, smog-conveyed, retched cloud. It’s like walking into the front half of Eaton’s, through the old-lady-perfume-aisles. Only, instead of old ladies, I have to delicately sniff the “Versatility” and “White Diamonds” of winos and bums on their way home, with all of us trapped in A HEATED TIN CAN WITH NO AIR.
So, please, for the sake of those of us not born in this part of the world (and thus those who have escaped the self-same nasal-ectomy that allows Hamiltonians to disregard their own smell), at least put in fans. We’re dying.
Thank you for your kind attention to this matter.
Signed,
A Loyal Customer Who is Just Trying to Survive Until I Leave This Dump.
Zappa, Man, Like, You Know
Wow. I think I may be turning a corner away from my DEVO phase. Now I have entered Zappa land. This is most likely due to the fact that I have dehydrated to the point of massive intoxication, accompanied by the VERY LITTLE sleep I managed to get last night. Given the fact that I don’t use anything but coffee, this is about as close as I can get to appreciating the stuff at its own level.
Now, expand your mind to picture a Poodle Hat and Frank Zappa marathon, and you can picture my day.
There’s always time for DEVO later.
Now, expand your mind to picture a Poodle Hat and Frank Zappa marathon, and you can picture my day.
There’s always time for DEVO later.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Q: Are we not Men?
Here are the latest posts, a little un-fresh (but then, aren’t we all in this weather?)
Am proctoring an exam this morning for a course on death… I feel I could ace a lab on it this morning. Stayed up and read the entire first book of the His Dark Materials trilogy last night (thanks, Catherine!)
A: We are DEVO!
Am proctoring an exam this morning for a course on death… I feel I could ace a lab on it this morning. Stayed up and read the entire first book of the His Dark Materials trilogy last night (thanks, Catherine!)
A: We are DEVO!
Live Long and Prosper (and please do use the airbrush).
Since we were all talking about dreams last night, I thought I’d share my most recent.
So, I dreamt that I had become a big name in Jewish studies. I had Neusner on speed dial, and Eli Weisel actually knew my name. I had lunch with all the coolest celebs, like Woody Allen, Al, and even Shatner. I was on the top of the world, ma.
Then I was meeting with my publishers, talking with the art director of my latest soon-to-be-best-seller. (My life’s ambition is to see copies of my books in the sale-bins at Chapters). It was a posh office, real professional like. Like the sets from Big. But I was a little hungry and bored, so I wasn’t paying all that much attention to the whole thing. Eventually, they started talking about how they wanted to do something “different” and “edgy” with my dust jacket photo. Alright, I thought, probably one of those stupid, pixilated, “I-shot-this-picture-myself-while-lying-on-my-back” photos. Fine- I’m already an ass, so what would it hurt? I signed the release.
The next day, I found out what they had in mind. I almost had a heart attack- they had hired Leonard Nimoy to take my picture… in the nude!
Then I woke up when HE screamed. (OK, so I made the punch line up, but the rest was real enough. I really don’t remember what woke me up, and this way it sounds better.)
So, OK, no more dulse before bed, I promise.
So, I dreamt that I had become a big name in Jewish studies. I had Neusner on speed dial, and Eli Weisel actually knew my name. I had lunch with all the coolest celebs, like Woody Allen, Al, and even Shatner. I was on the top of the world, ma.
Then I was meeting with my publishers, talking with the art director of my latest soon-to-be-best-seller. (My life’s ambition is to see copies of my books in the sale-bins at Chapters). It was a posh office, real professional like. Like the sets from Big. But I was a little hungry and bored, so I wasn’t paying all that much attention to the whole thing. Eventually, they started talking about how they wanted to do something “different” and “edgy” with my dust jacket photo. Alright, I thought, probably one of those stupid, pixilated, “I-shot-this-picture-myself-while-lying-on-my-back” photos. Fine- I’m already an ass, so what would it hurt? I signed the release.
The next day, I found out what they had in mind. I almost had a heart attack- they had hired Leonard Nimoy to take my picture… in the nude!
Then I woke up when HE screamed. (OK, so I made the punch line up, but the rest was real enough. I really don’t remember what woke me up, and this way it sounds better.)
So, OK, no more dulse before bed, I promise.
Hot Time in the Shitty (City)
(Monday, July 11, 2005)
Well, today I saw a cardinal faint. No, not the kind that lives in the Vatican- A BIRD! He sat on my fire escape, looking at me pleadingly with his pained black eyes, and his mouth gaping for want of water. Then, unexpectedly, he huddled down and his little head dropped. I wasn’t sure if he was dead or what, but then he perked all of a sudden, stumbled to his feet and flew into the trees. I’m not sure what it was, but he really did seem to faint!
OK. I’m overweight and from a colder climate than here. I make sense when I hate the heat. That bird does not. I think the definition of “too hot” is when the wildlife loses its sense because of the weather!
I knew I was in trouble when, upon waking this morning, I found myself stuck to my pillow. It’s gotten worse since. There is a major heat advisory in Ontario today, with the humidex expected to reach 46 degrees this afternoon. After hearing the warning, I was forced to call into the Union office and say, regretfully, that I couldn’t see my way there today. I have to be on campus tomorrow to proctor an exam, so that means I have to protect myself from migraines today. Thus, all plans for the day have been cancelled, due to the heat.
(Unfortunately, Wednesday is predicted to be the peak of the heat wave- the day I have to walk around Waterloo for 8 hours. Uh, yeah… Maybe we can have a tour of Lisa’s air conditioned apartment and cable package…)
My main problems here is that I have to mail something via the post office today, and I don’t wanna go out there! Further, my living room is killer-hot, with my poor little fan only able to blow out the same hot air coming in from the window, while my bedroom is somewhat cooler. However, I can’t just go sit in my bedroom, as I may fall asleep!
Oy.
Oh well, I am still better off than is my cat. Again, I plead for suggestions: What do you do for your pets in this weather? My cat is the perfect weight for his size, so it’s not obesity that bothers him. We keep plenty of water out, and put ice in it every day. We even try my dad’s old trick- it’s called “vacation in the fridge.” That is (and don’t get excited because it really isn’t dangerous), we put the cat in the fridge or freezer for a couple seconds. The good thing about this is, he can eat and play for about 15 minutes after these “vacations”. Then, however, he goes back to his furry-potato-impression on my floor. Any suggestions would be appreciated.
Oh, and does anyone know how to perform CPR on birds? Just in case, you see.
Well, today I saw a cardinal faint. No, not the kind that lives in the Vatican- A BIRD! He sat on my fire escape, looking at me pleadingly with his pained black eyes, and his mouth gaping for want of water. Then, unexpectedly, he huddled down and his little head dropped. I wasn’t sure if he was dead or what, but then he perked all of a sudden, stumbled to his feet and flew into the trees. I’m not sure what it was, but he really did seem to faint!
OK. I’m overweight and from a colder climate than here. I make sense when I hate the heat. That bird does not. I think the definition of “too hot” is when the wildlife loses its sense because of the weather!
I knew I was in trouble when, upon waking this morning, I found myself stuck to my pillow. It’s gotten worse since. There is a major heat advisory in Ontario today, with the humidex expected to reach 46 degrees this afternoon. After hearing the warning, I was forced to call into the Union office and say, regretfully, that I couldn’t see my way there today. I have to be on campus tomorrow to proctor an exam, so that means I have to protect myself from migraines today. Thus, all plans for the day have been cancelled, due to the heat.
(Unfortunately, Wednesday is predicted to be the peak of the heat wave- the day I have to walk around Waterloo for 8 hours. Uh, yeah… Maybe we can have a tour of Lisa’s air conditioned apartment and cable package…)
My main problems here is that I have to mail something via the post office today, and I don’t wanna go out there! Further, my living room is killer-hot, with my poor little fan only able to blow out the same hot air coming in from the window, while my bedroom is somewhat cooler. However, I can’t just go sit in my bedroom, as I may fall asleep!
Oy.
Oh well, I am still better off than is my cat. Again, I plead for suggestions: What do you do for your pets in this weather? My cat is the perfect weight for his size, so it’s not obesity that bothers him. We keep plenty of water out, and put ice in it every day. We even try my dad’s old trick- it’s called “vacation in the fridge.” That is (and don’t get excited because it really isn’t dangerous), we put the cat in the fridge or freezer for a couple seconds. The good thing about this is, he can eat and play for about 15 minutes after these “vacations”. Then, however, he goes back to his furry-potato-impression on my floor. Any suggestions would be appreciated.
Oh, and does anyone know how to perform CPR on birds? Just in case, you see.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Hot off the Presses!
After a couple days healing from what appears to have been a case of sun poisoning, I am back and better than ever! Actually, they say we've been having a heat wave now for a couple days, but I think I missed it.
Anyway, enjoy the following updates! (And yes, I did notice that one or two of them are out of order- bear with me, will ya? I had sun stroke!)
Anyway, enjoy the following updates! (And yes, I did notice that one or two of them are out of order- bear with me, will ya? I had sun stroke!)
Like Hannibal Crossing the Alps…
(Sunday, July 10, 2005)
Like Hannibal? No, correction. Strike that, go back. Actually, Hannibal had it easy. He at least had elephants!
We also have a shit-load of books, not soldiers (who can move themselves- a crucial difference).
So I’m up to my pits in junk, and I’m running out of boxes, every orifice in my head is leaking from dust and dander, and I think I’ve got a hernia. The apartment looks like the final scenes from Citizen Kane, my entire grocery budget goes to masking tape, and I’ve started to have wet dreams about inexhaustible sources of nice, firm, square boxes. Yes, it is indeed packing season.
This is what packing and moving does to us. Students are the new nomads, and, consequently, we spend about three months out every second year with two thoughts in our heads:
1. I wonder if they’d miss that box.
And:
2. If I’d become a banker like my grandmother wanted, I’d be firmly established in a two-bedroom condo in east Winnipeg by now.
As it is, I’m dying from packer’s-lung, I think I may have packed my cat in with the reference books, and I can’t find any of the remote controls. Oh, the joys of it all!
Don’t get me wrong; I am happy to be moving. We have a good apartment in a nice, clean, new city (that’s NOT Hamilton). Plus, all of my friends are leaving here, anyhow, so what do I have to stay for? However, nonetheless, I’m thinking of chucking it all, and turning Buddhist for the move (a stick, a bowl and a cloak- that’s all I need, right?). Alternatively, I could engage all the Persian soldiers I can find to help make this move. Which do you suggest?
If Santa Claus can get helpers for cookies (running on the same fairy-land economic system that allows a tooth to cost a buck), why can’t I??
Like Hannibal? No, correction. Strike that, go back. Actually, Hannibal had it easy. He at least had elephants!
We also have a shit-load of books, not soldiers (who can move themselves- a crucial difference).
So I’m up to my pits in junk, and I’m running out of boxes, every orifice in my head is leaking from dust and dander, and I think I’ve got a hernia. The apartment looks like the final scenes from Citizen Kane, my entire grocery budget goes to masking tape, and I’ve started to have wet dreams about inexhaustible sources of nice, firm, square boxes. Yes, it is indeed packing season.
This is what packing and moving does to us. Students are the new nomads, and, consequently, we spend about three months out every second year with two thoughts in our heads:
1. I wonder if they’d miss that box.
And:
2. If I’d become a banker like my grandmother wanted, I’d be firmly established in a two-bedroom condo in east Winnipeg by now.
As it is, I’m dying from packer’s-lung, I think I may have packed my cat in with the reference books, and I can’t find any of the remote controls. Oh, the joys of it all!
Don’t get me wrong; I am happy to be moving. We have a good apartment in a nice, clean, new city (that’s NOT Hamilton). Plus, all of my friends are leaving here, anyhow, so what do I have to stay for? However, nonetheless, I’m thinking of chucking it all, and turning Buddhist for the move (a stick, a bowl and a cloak- that’s all I need, right?). Alternatively, I could engage all the Persian soldiers I can find to help make this move. Which do you suggest?
If Santa Claus can get helpers for cookies (running on the same fairy-land economic system that allows a tooth to cost a buck), why can’t I??
Klezmorim and Candleholders
Saturday night:
So here I sit, polishing my Sabbath candleholders, and listening to one of my all-time favorite bands: The Klezmatics.
If you haven’t heard these guys, do try. The way they interpret traditional klezmer for modern ears is astounding, keeping all of the joy and serpentine sway of old European tunes, but fusing it with modern Israeli sounds and contemporary themes. The music bends- this is hard to explain if you aren’t familiar with klezmer, but it’s like the music goes around corners and through winding paths to reach your ears. In a way, the music reminds me of the Jews themselves- they too came through twisting avenues to come to this point, and they too tread that line between modernity and tradition.
Right now the song “I Ain’t Afraid” is playing from their 2002 Shteyt Oyf! (Rise Up!) album. Blending the traditional sound of their lead singer’s voice with some swinging jazz syncopation, the music fairly lifts me. It “sends me” in old coffee-house-speak, I guess.
“I ain’t afraid of your (Shaddai)/ I ain’t afraid of your Allah/ I ain’t afraid of your Jesus/ I’m afraid of what you do in the name of your G-d.”
Yes, I suppose this is simplistic, but in the face of recent events, maybe we need some simple affirmations of courage over fear and hate. Sort of like whistling when you pass a cemetery. Of course, in reality that’s what we all do- we spend our whole lives whistling past a great cemetery. The Klezmatics help me pass it- give them a try.
So here I sit, polishing my Sabbath candleholders, and listening to one of my all-time favorite bands: The Klezmatics.
If you haven’t heard these guys, do try. The way they interpret traditional klezmer for modern ears is astounding, keeping all of the joy and serpentine sway of old European tunes, but fusing it with modern Israeli sounds and contemporary themes. The music bends- this is hard to explain if you aren’t familiar with klezmer, but it’s like the music goes around corners and through winding paths to reach your ears. In a way, the music reminds me of the Jews themselves- they too came through twisting avenues to come to this point, and they too tread that line between modernity and tradition.
Right now the song “I Ain’t Afraid” is playing from their 2002 Shteyt Oyf! (Rise Up!) album. Blending the traditional sound of their lead singer’s voice with some swinging jazz syncopation, the music fairly lifts me. It “sends me” in old coffee-house-speak, I guess.
“I ain’t afraid of your (Shaddai)/ I ain’t afraid of your Allah/ I ain’t afraid of your Jesus/ I’m afraid of what you do in the name of your G-d.”
Yes, I suppose this is simplistic, but in the face of recent events, maybe we need some simple affirmations of courage over fear and hate. Sort of like whistling when you pass a cemetery. Of course, in reality that’s what we all do- we spend our whole lives whistling past a great cemetery. The Klezmatics help me pass it- give them a try.
So it’s Come to this…
(Friday, 8 July 2005)
All of you know that I have no shame. So far on this blog, I have left quasi-suicide-notes, a declaration of love for a professional accordion player, a statement of intent to apply for welfare, and pleas for books. However, this is personal.
I need help, and lots of it.
So the move looks something like this. On the 4th and 5th of August, John’s dad comes here all the way from the Island to drive the majority of our stuff to Waterloo. That leaves me less than a month to finish packing, but I may be able to manage that. We have those two days to move an apartment FULL of books. (If any of you have seen our apartment, you know this. For others, picture Fort Knox, but with paperbacks, dictionaries and encyclopedias instead of gold bricks). So, OK, all this is doable, I think.
However, we can’t afford to leave Hamilton in person that early, so we will be staying until after the fifteenth. On the fifteenth I get my last pay from the Union, John will have finished his two-week notice (and collected his last two paychecks), and I’ll have finished my last issue of the Union newsletter. This means that between the 5th and the 20th we live in an empty apartment, eat out of cans and sleep on an air mattress. This is not bad, as it gives me time to clean before we move without having to trip over boxes, so I’m happy.
However, this leaves us with one problem: How to get ourselves, a suitcase, one laptop, two houseplants and a cat to Waterloo without John’s dad? If it were just me, I’d take a bus, however the cat may be an issue. We still have to negotiate this with Canada Couch bus lines. The plants, whom I have hand raised for over ten years, may be a loss.
So, I have come to you all with hat (or cat) in hand. I need help! The following lacks are pressing, so let me know what you suggest:
1. We are short a dozen boxes! If anyone has extras, please send them over!
2. Help carrying said boxes to moving truck on the 4th and/or 5th, as John’s dad doesn’t feel up to the three flights of stairs. Water and pop-cycles on us!
3. A ride to Waterloo on the 20th or 21st (or similar date according to your schedule). For this we will pay for gas and meals, and treat you to a tour of Amish country.
So, there it is. I’m not too proud to beg. We can walk and bus all our lives except for once or twice every three or four years when we move. It’s time to mobilize the friends that I’ve either neglected or treated like crap for years. I’m depending on you. Please help me reform by helping me move!
That’s my plea. Help me. I’m getting old before my time here.
All of you know that I have no shame. So far on this blog, I have left quasi-suicide-notes, a declaration of love for a professional accordion player, a statement of intent to apply for welfare, and pleas for books. However, this is personal.
I need help, and lots of it.
So the move looks something like this. On the 4th and 5th of August, John’s dad comes here all the way from the Island to drive the majority of our stuff to Waterloo. That leaves me less than a month to finish packing, but I may be able to manage that. We have those two days to move an apartment FULL of books. (If any of you have seen our apartment, you know this. For others, picture Fort Knox, but with paperbacks, dictionaries and encyclopedias instead of gold bricks). So, OK, all this is doable, I think.
However, we can’t afford to leave Hamilton in person that early, so we will be staying until after the fifteenth. On the fifteenth I get my last pay from the Union, John will have finished his two-week notice (and collected his last two paychecks), and I’ll have finished my last issue of the Union newsletter. This means that between the 5th and the 20th we live in an empty apartment, eat out of cans and sleep on an air mattress. This is not bad, as it gives me time to clean before we move without having to trip over boxes, so I’m happy.
However, this leaves us with one problem: How to get ourselves, a suitcase, one laptop, two houseplants and a cat to Waterloo without John’s dad? If it were just me, I’d take a bus, however the cat may be an issue. We still have to negotiate this with Canada Couch bus lines. The plants, whom I have hand raised for over ten years, may be a loss.
So, I have come to you all with hat (or cat) in hand. I need help! The following lacks are pressing, so let me know what you suggest:
1. We are short a dozen boxes! If anyone has extras, please send them over!
2. Help carrying said boxes to moving truck on the 4th and/or 5th, as John’s dad doesn’t feel up to the three flights of stairs. Water and pop-cycles on us!
3. A ride to Waterloo on the 20th or 21st (or similar date according to your schedule). For this we will pay for gas and meals, and treat you to a tour of Amish country.
So, there it is. I’m not too proud to beg. We can walk and bus all our lives except for once or twice every three or four years when we move. It’s time to mobilize the friends that I’ve either neglected or treated like crap for years. I’m depending on you. Please help me reform by helping me move!
That’s my plea. Help me. I’m getting old before my time here.
“Twenty Minute (Hour… Day… Year…) [Packing] Work Out”
OK, Ladies! Ready?
And it’s down to get the books.
Take a deep breath!
Blow off the three years’ worth of dust and cat hair.
Stretch and place books in box.
Repeat FIVE BILLION TIMES.
Feel better?
And it’s down to get the books.
Take a deep breath!
Blow off the three years’ worth of dust and cat hair.
Stretch and place books in box.
Repeat FIVE BILLION TIMES.
Feel better?
Life Goes On
Thursday, July 7, 2005.
I had a lovely evening last night. After the Union meeting, Catherine came back to our place where we all squatted among the boxes and had a good long chat about nothing and everything. Theses, school, weather, current events, the city, entertainments, friends, future plans, life stories, health, home, parents, etc., etc. It was really great. It was one of those evenings that only people who grew up in East Coast kitchens can really dig. All that was missing was the home brew (tea, that is) and the stove! I feel invigorated.
Tonight I have started something new. I know that I have to pack, and in only a couple of months I will be back in school and working on my PhD (YIKES!). Still, something, (I don’t know what) has begun to pour from me. A new novel? A screenplay? A series of short stories? I have no clue. All I know is that it streams from me like sweat or my own shadow. I can’t stop it, and it flows out even when I’m not prepared for it. It’s not even written in my usual narration. It’s like the other side of my brain, the one I don’t use very often, has staged a coup and taken over the command center. The story, already born in that part of my head, demands full attention and comes out through my fingers, and even I am surprised by what it looks like.
I love it when I get like this, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.
I had a lovely evening last night. After the Union meeting, Catherine came back to our place where we all squatted among the boxes and had a good long chat about nothing and everything. Theses, school, weather, current events, the city, entertainments, friends, future plans, life stories, health, home, parents, etc., etc. It was really great. It was one of those evenings that only people who grew up in East Coast kitchens can really dig. All that was missing was the home brew (tea, that is) and the stove! I feel invigorated.
Tonight I have started something new. I know that I have to pack, and in only a couple of months I will be back in school and working on my PhD (YIKES!). Still, something, (I don’t know what) has begun to pour from me. A new novel? A screenplay? A series of short stories? I have no clue. All I know is that it streams from me like sweat or my own shadow. I can’t stop it, and it flows out even when I’m not prepared for it. It’s not even written in my usual narration. It’s like the other side of my brain, the one I don’t use very often, has staged a coup and taken over the command center. The story, already born in that part of my head, demands full attention and comes out through my fingers, and even I am surprised by what it looks like.
I love it when I get like this, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
A-Strikin' We Will Go...
Spent the afternoon picketing McMaster University campus today. Aside from a bad case of sun overdose, it went well as possible, considering. This is not the Big Show yet, but a little taste for the administration. We may actually walk on the 18th, though.
To those who have never been on strike before, I can say nothing as I have never done so before, either. However, the demonstrations are creepy. To strike against your university is something akin to divorcing your parents. It feels wrong and uncomfortable, but the Mother Ship must have done something awful to have deserved it. This one has, so at least we have that on our side. Still, it's rather crappy.
On a personal note, I am well and actually very happy. Ran into an old friend yesterday, one that we didn't even know was living here (I love those kind of things), and I'm feeling pretty good. The heat is not nice, exactly, but the humidity isn't too bad and it's cool at night. At least it isn't a tropical storm!
Spatulas Rule!
To those who have never been on strike before, I can say nothing as I have never done so before, either. However, the demonstrations are creepy. To strike against your university is something akin to divorcing your parents. It feels wrong and uncomfortable, but the Mother Ship must have done something awful to have deserved it. This one has, so at least we have that on our side. Still, it's rather crappy.
On a personal note, I am well and actually very happy. Ran into an old friend yesterday, one that we didn't even know was living here (I love those kind of things), and I'm feeling pretty good. The heat is not nice, exactly, but the humidity isn't too bad and it's cool at night. At least it isn't a tropical storm!
Spatulas Rule!
Monday, July 04, 2005
Uh, CRAP!
I've been waiting here, in front of the computer, waiting for Union newsletter submissions, sending virtual spatulas out and picking at my fingernail. I bent back one of my super-human-length nails while packing the other day, so decided I needed to cut them all off. It's not that I want long fingernails, but they grow at such a rate that I can't keep up with the buggers!
So, while sitting here, I noticed two things:
1. My blog's link list is horrendously long. Oh well, I'm gonna keep adding until they kick me off. Anything for my readers! (Plus, as I have no home comp, I need to store my links here).
2. I have a crush on Weird Al that may actually be reversing my right to consider myself post-pubescent. There's just something about a man who can really handle an accordion...
*SIGH* Well, I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one night.
So, while sitting here, I noticed two things:
1. My blog's link list is horrendously long. Oh well, I'm gonna keep adding until they kick me off. Anything for my readers! (Plus, as I have no home comp, I need to store my links here).
2. I have a crush on Weird Al that may actually be reversing my right to consider myself post-pubescent. There's just something about a man who can really handle an accordion...
*SIGH* Well, I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one night.
Meeting My Waterloo- And it Ain't Bad
Hi All! After a long absence I am back. Did you miss me? Awwwwww. Thanks.
Well, how I spent my week. Let's see... I wrote the below updates, but was foiled at every attempt to post them. This has prompted John and I to actually get internet at home next fall. Far out, huh?
Well, I should start out with a "Happy (belated) Canada Day" to all, and a "Happy 4th of July" to our Southern Cousins! I spent my Canada safely indoors, listening to Stompin' Tom albums- the way G-d intended Canada Day to be celebrated. Ever since, however, I have been glued to DEVO and "Weird Al", so I don't know what that means. In any case, Hamilton celebrates Canada Day by getting horribly ripped and trying to kill everything with firecrackers, so I stayed home with my golf club in hand and protected my roof from sudden flames!
Since then I have been listing to a ton of music, as I am packing and every time I come across a CD I haven't heard in a while I would put it one while dusting and trying to cram three years' worth of junk into our scanty box supply. Also, I have had to get through a pile of research I borrowed from the public library, as I couldn't renew them any more. Not too bad, though, as my "research" consisted of Crossing Delancey, The Jazz Singer (1926 AND 1980!), etc. MOVIES! Gosh, I love my work!
So, it seems that our apartment is firm, and we are trying to get out there to actually see it. We had plans for this week, but I forgot about a Union thing, so now it will be next week. However, we have memorized the map, so that's a start. We are very close to groceries, which is essential for vegetarians who do not want to look like a Marilyn Manson groupie (i.e. white with black sockets), and reasonably close to everything else, including the "Amish Paradise" of St. Jacob's!!
We're in heaven.
Had a panic attack on Saturday night. I kept freaking out that something was going to bite me in the ass to make up for the good fortune we've had- maybe a drunk driver coming out of no-where or a bureaucratic melt down over the student loans. However, upon investigation, I am inclined to blame this on 8 straight hours of DEVO ("Are we not men? We are DEVO!), no food and millions of gallons of coffee. I jumped all night.
I hope all is well all of you, as well. The heat is coming back, so take care. Also, if any can, it would be nice to see all of our members at the CUPE 3906 GMM on Wednesday night, at 5.30pm, in the Div College. Refreshments to follow.
Now that my shilling is done, I'll sign off. Gotta send a million emails out with MY NEW ADDRESS!!!! NOT IN HAMILTON!!!! Very V.G.
Well, how I spent my week. Let's see... I wrote the below updates, but was foiled at every attempt to post them. This has prompted John and I to actually get internet at home next fall. Far out, huh?
Well, I should start out with a "Happy (belated) Canada Day" to all, and a "Happy 4th of July" to our Southern Cousins! I spent my Canada safely indoors, listening to Stompin' Tom albums- the way G-d intended Canada Day to be celebrated. Ever since, however, I have been glued to DEVO and "Weird Al", so I don't know what that means. In any case, Hamilton celebrates Canada Day by getting horribly ripped and trying to kill everything with firecrackers, so I stayed home with my golf club in hand and protected my roof from sudden flames!
Since then I have been listing to a ton of music, as I am packing and every time I come across a CD I haven't heard in a while I would put it one while dusting and trying to cram three years' worth of junk into our scanty box supply. Also, I have had to get through a pile of research I borrowed from the public library, as I couldn't renew them any more. Not too bad, though, as my "research" consisted of Crossing Delancey, The Jazz Singer (1926 AND 1980!), etc. MOVIES! Gosh, I love my work!
So, it seems that our apartment is firm, and we are trying to get out there to actually see it. We had plans for this week, but I forgot about a Union thing, so now it will be next week. However, we have memorized the map, so that's a start. We are very close to groceries, which is essential for vegetarians who do not want to look like a Marilyn Manson groupie (i.e. white with black sockets), and reasonably close to everything else, including the "Amish Paradise" of St. Jacob's!!
We're in heaven.
Had a panic attack on Saturday night. I kept freaking out that something was going to bite me in the ass to make up for the good fortune we've had- maybe a drunk driver coming out of no-where or a bureaucratic melt down over the student loans. However, upon investigation, I am inclined to blame this on 8 straight hours of DEVO ("Are we not men? We are DEVO!), no food and millions of gallons of coffee. I jumped all night.
I hope all is well all of you, as well. The heat is coming back, so take care. Also, if any can, it would be nice to see all of our members at the CUPE 3906 GMM on Wednesday night, at 5.30pm, in the Div College. Refreshments to follow.
Now that my shilling is done, I'll sign off. Gotta send a million emails out with MY NEW ADDRESS!!!! NOT IN HAMILTON!!!! Very V.G.
Everything is Coming Up Holly!
Thursday, June 30,2005
It seems as if the curse of Hamilton is lifting. John and I have received confirmation that we have the apartment we wanted, a real dream flat. It’s two bedrooms, on the fourth floor of a nine-floor building, with a balcony and hard wood floors. What a dream! It’s even on a street that runs between two parks, is in walking distance from seven shopping areas, only twenty minutes’ walk from campus and only an hour’s walk to the country. We’re in heaven!
Yes, it seems the whole world is turning around to my way, again, and I’m floating. Packing is going fine, and we now have a direct address in mind so it is far less tedious. I can’t wait to get to Laurier and start my degree, and I can’t wait to explore a new city.
Felix, our feline ward, went home today, and though we miss him we are happy to have only our one, small cat left to worry about. The heat is breaking a little, it seems, but Fritz still minds the humidity. If anyone has any tips to cool a cat, please let me know. We spent our last hours with our little friend, and, low and behold, one of my favorite Star Trek episodes was on (“Genesis”), so maybe there really IS something to all that luck hog wash I spouted up there.
By the way, for your edification, Sir Wilfrid Laurier was the eighth Prime Minister of Canada, and ruled from 1896 to 1911. I figure I ought to know that kind of stuff, now that I’m going to his university!
It seems as if the curse of Hamilton is lifting. John and I have received confirmation that we have the apartment we wanted, a real dream flat. It’s two bedrooms, on the fourth floor of a nine-floor building, with a balcony and hard wood floors. What a dream! It’s even on a street that runs between two parks, is in walking distance from seven shopping areas, only twenty minutes’ walk from campus and only an hour’s walk to the country. We’re in heaven!
Yes, it seems the whole world is turning around to my way, again, and I’m floating. Packing is going fine, and we now have a direct address in mind so it is far less tedious. I can’t wait to get to Laurier and start my degree, and I can’t wait to explore a new city.
Felix, our feline ward, went home today, and though we miss him we are happy to have only our one, small cat left to worry about. The heat is breaking a little, it seems, but Fritz still minds the humidity. If anyone has any tips to cool a cat, please let me know. We spent our last hours with our little friend, and, low and behold, one of my favorite Star Trek episodes was on (“Genesis”), so maybe there really IS something to all that luck hog wash I spouted up there.
By the way, for your edification, Sir Wilfrid Laurier was the eighth Prime Minister of Canada, and ruled from 1896 to 1911. I figure I ought to know that kind of stuff, now that I’m going to his university!
Adventures in Cat Sitting, and Other Diversions
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
I am sitting in the living room of my attic apartment with sweat pouring down my face like I imagine pork juice rolling off a slowly rotating ham. It hit 41 today, and that’s only a start of things to come, as it is only June. It’s official- we’re in hell.
However, you all know how I feel about the weather, so I won’t linger too long there. There are a couple of balls in the air right now, so I have not been too conscientious about updating, so perhaps I should catch you up.
In the news today, our parliament passed the same sex marriage bill! Who said that a bunch of fifty-something suits couldn’t see the future?
My friend, Mike, who went into the hospital with some serious illness that no one was talking about, has been released, though he is still very unwell. The illness? An ulcer hemorrhaged and knocked him out for a couple days. Bad, but could have been worse.
Our Union is still speeding towards a strike, and the Part Time Instructors (professors without tenure, engaged per term) at McMaster may walk for the right to some job security as early as July 20th. Great. (And if anyone from the Union exec is reading this, get off and go write your piece for my freaking newsletter- I assign deadlines for a reason!)
I am finally sorting out the problems in my student loan paper work. I tried to be good and apply, paper-less and early, online, only to have the final authorization form gobbled up by a Yahoo “pop-up-blocker”. It has taken me two weeks to solve this little snafu, and I think I may actually be safe from the student loan monsters. However, I still have nightmares in which giant share-ware “bells and whistles” jump up and eat my dissertation, and then I die. What do you think that means?
This morning I received news about the apartment for which we have applied. The company’s policy is that, as we are students, we are required to have two “adult” co-signers. I tried to explain that, at nearly thirty, this was a little unnecessary and fairly demeaning. However, they stuck to their guns, and I spent about an hour trading fax numbers and negotiating how this will work. At first they wanted one parent to sign for each of us, but my parents live about 45 minutes’ drive from a fax machine (stuck in beautiful, but isolated, rural Nova Scotia), at which they can only send- not receive. I would have to ExpressPost the form to them and have them fax it to me, and then I’d fax it to the company. Oh- did I mention they needed it by Thursday morning? Yeah, so my mum was pretty much out. In the end, I haggled everybody down to each of John’s parents signing- one for each John and I. The company agreed to fax the form directly to PEI (where his folks live), and then John’s mum faxed it back to the company. Extraordinarily convenient, yes? I didn’t even have to leave the house, while when this whole thing started I was planing on having to trek to campus and playing “Name That Fax” for about six hours! John’s mum called us at 7pm to tell us the deed was done! Nice.
And speaking of “trek” (good segue, hmm?), John and I have been baby sitting the cat of the sister of my old thesis advisor, who lives down stairs from me (clear?). So, every day we stomp down stairs at least twice to spend an hour or so with this lovely, fat, horrendously orange tabby named Felix (picture Garfield, not illustrated or, even worse, CGI). This is pretty nice, as that flat is ten times cooler than our attic paradise. We’ve been taking our cat, Fritz, down there to play with Felix and catch his breath. He’s been finding our apartment far too warm, as he lies about on his back, whimpering. So, as we sit down there in the heavenly breeze-and-ceiling-fan atmosphere, we take advantage of her TV and watch old episodes of Star Trek: TNG. Gosh, if I could picture a wonderful afterlife… You see, we got rid of the cable about a year ago, as an unwanted expense, and the only things I miss are news and Star Trek! (The horrible story behind this is that, after we canceled the cable, it was actually cut off THE DAY OF 2004 FEDERAL ELECTION! I died!) So that is how I spend my days this week.
Finally, how I spend my evenings. My evenings are designated for what I like to call my “Water Chores.” I spend about an hour every evening in the kitchen keeping this place hydrated. I fill my “Brita” about a hundred times. I fill the two jugs with fresh water. The water that was left unused from today in the jugs, I use to make fresh ice for tomorrow, and the old ice I put in the ice tub for use in the cat’s water, our drinks, and on foreheads. I fill all 16 water bottles we drink during the day, and make sure the “guest water” is fresh, filtered, and cold. I do this at night, as water pumps use electricity and these days all major appliances are best used after 8pm to avoid brown-outs. Further, too many wonderful Ontarians are out washing their *&#$@! cars during the day, so best leave the water for that wonderful use. Or for that ass across from me who hoses down his DRIVEWAY every day. Gee, nothing like ignoring conservation requests from the government.
In a final note, I do invite anyone who hasn’t already, to follow the “I heart Catherine” link on my sidebar to a great blog belonging to a dear friend of mine- it’s particularly funny this week. Also, Catherine is working diligently on her thesis right now, so I can’t bother her. Thus, I say “hello” to her, in case she actually takes the time to check this thing. The 51-miz-ouse salute goes to her!
I am sitting in the living room of my attic apartment with sweat pouring down my face like I imagine pork juice rolling off a slowly rotating ham. It hit 41 today, and that’s only a start of things to come, as it is only June. It’s official- we’re in hell.
However, you all know how I feel about the weather, so I won’t linger too long there. There are a couple of balls in the air right now, so I have not been too conscientious about updating, so perhaps I should catch you up.
In the news today, our parliament passed the same sex marriage bill! Who said that a bunch of fifty-something suits couldn’t see the future?
My friend, Mike, who went into the hospital with some serious illness that no one was talking about, has been released, though he is still very unwell. The illness? An ulcer hemorrhaged and knocked him out for a couple days. Bad, but could have been worse.
Our Union is still speeding towards a strike, and the Part Time Instructors (professors without tenure, engaged per term) at McMaster may walk for the right to some job security as early as July 20th. Great. (And if anyone from the Union exec is reading this, get off and go write your piece for my freaking newsletter- I assign deadlines for a reason!)
I am finally sorting out the problems in my student loan paper work. I tried to be good and apply, paper-less and early, online, only to have the final authorization form gobbled up by a Yahoo “pop-up-blocker”. It has taken me two weeks to solve this little snafu, and I think I may actually be safe from the student loan monsters. However, I still have nightmares in which giant share-ware “bells and whistles” jump up and eat my dissertation, and then I die. What do you think that means?
This morning I received news about the apartment for which we have applied. The company’s policy is that, as we are students, we are required to have two “adult” co-signers. I tried to explain that, at nearly thirty, this was a little unnecessary and fairly demeaning. However, they stuck to their guns, and I spent about an hour trading fax numbers and negotiating how this will work. At first they wanted one parent to sign for each of us, but my parents live about 45 minutes’ drive from a fax machine (stuck in beautiful, but isolated, rural Nova Scotia), at which they can only send- not receive. I would have to ExpressPost the form to them and have them fax it to me, and then I’d fax it to the company. Oh- did I mention they needed it by Thursday morning? Yeah, so my mum was pretty much out. In the end, I haggled everybody down to each of John’s parents signing- one for each John and I. The company agreed to fax the form directly to PEI (where his folks live), and then John’s mum faxed it back to the company. Extraordinarily convenient, yes? I didn’t even have to leave the house, while when this whole thing started I was planing on having to trek to campus and playing “Name That Fax” for about six hours! John’s mum called us at 7pm to tell us the deed was done! Nice.
And speaking of “trek” (good segue, hmm?), John and I have been baby sitting the cat of the sister of my old thesis advisor, who lives down stairs from me (clear?). So, every day we stomp down stairs at least twice to spend an hour or so with this lovely, fat, horrendously orange tabby named Felix (picture Garfield, not illustrated or, even worse, CGI). This is pretty nice, as that flat is ten times cooler than our attic paradise. We’ve been taking our cat, Fritz, down there to play with Felix and catch his breath. He’s been finding our apartment far too warm, as he lies about on his back, whimpering. So, as we sit down there in the heavenly breeze-and-ceiling-fan atmosphere, we take advantage of her TV and watch old episodes of Star Trek: TNG. Gosh, if I could picture a wonderful afterlife… You see, we got rid of the cable about a year ago, as an unwanted expense, and the only things I miss are news and Star Trek! (The horrible story behind this is that, after we canceled the cable, it was actually cut off THE DAY OF 2004 FEDERAL ELECTION! I died!) So that is how I spend my days this week.
Finally, how I spend my evenings. My evenings are designated for what I like to call my “Water Chores.” I spend about an hour every evening in the kitchen keeping this place hydrated. I fill my “Brita” about a hundred times. I fill the two jugs with fresh water. The water that was left unused from today in the jugs, I use to make fresh ice for tomorrow, and the old ice I put in the ice tub for use in the cat’s water, our drinks, and on foreheads. I fill all 16 water bottles we drink during the day, and make sure the “guest water” is fresh, filtered, and cold. I do this at night, as water pumps use electricity and these days all major appliances are best used after 8pm to avoid brown-outs. Further, too many wonderful Ontarians are out washing their *&#$@! cars during the day, so best leave the water for that wonderful use. Or for that ass across from me who hoses down his DRIVEWAY every day. Gee, nothing like ignoring conservation requests from the government.
In a final note, I do invite anyone who hasn’t already, to follow the “I heart Catherine” link on my sidebar to a great blog belonging to a dear friend of mine- it’s particularly funny this week. Also, Catherine is working diligently on her thesis right now, so I can’t bother her. Thus, I say “hello” to her, in case she actually takes the time to check this thing. The 51-miz-ouse salute goes to her!
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