Somehow, I lucked out and saw the 8 Canadian minutes during the Olympics closing ceremonies. It was kinda meh. I was expecting great things. I don't know why, except that I'd heard that Cirque du Soleil was involved. That turned out to be a miscommunication (refer to the article for Diana's class if you don't know what that means). It started stereotypically, with today's white man expressing his guilt for screwing the native folks out of all the land hundreds of years ago. Will the penance ever end? So, yes, it started with representatives from first nations peoples inviting the world to come to Canada and "come play with us". The fact that this slogan is temporary was repeated many times over. It's temporariness is too bad...I don't mind it, and I'm pretty sure that I'm going to hate whatever pc bullshit they do come up with. Just like the logo. I liked the temporary logo better than this one. And don't call me racist, jnadiger. I just don't like it. I think that it looks like a mascot, not a logo for the Olympic games. Then some guy ski-dooed into the arena, did a headstand on the handlebars, and then proceeded to break the ice (nice metaphor) for ice fishing (annoying stereotype). This brought on some frenzied, ill-lit shenanigans which were vaguely associated with winter sports. Circus school kids (not Cirque du Soleil) built a life-sized, styrofoam logoman, Avril Lavigne (still shiny from the designer's house) semi-screeched some vapid new single. And then it was all over. Oh, wait, then they played some horribly, artlessly mashed-together commercial for the Vancouver/Whistler Winter Games. If this is any indication, I think that I'll be somewhere else in 2010. Probably hanging my head in shame, especially if it's a warm spring and there's no damn snow.

It's still snowing. Here's the proof.



















Isn't it Spring yet?

It's snowing. The flakes are teeny tiny, but it's snowing.

Jnadiger declared early in the week (I think even before his laptop betrayed him), that he would require a pub night after Thursday's Editing Fiasco. We, the accommodating (that's an appositive, folks), obliged without much argument. However, all the learning got to us, and we forgot that he was handily armed with his digital blackmailer. It was lame to forget. He had taken possibly hundreds of photos of the Prairie Queen only the day before (she of the mild protest, confusing us with her mild objections "No, no more" whilst constantly posing). What this means is that my only consolation while I sit here shivering with anticipation (name the movie reference) is that his laptop still might be hating him, and therefore the photos won't surface. The boy is resourceful, though, so that is a very small consolation. I can only hope that my neck isn't doing that weird thing like last time.

It seems that my last blog entry was too racy for some folks, hence the no comments. If that's the case, then I'll pack this entry with more appropriate topics: chocolate, puppies, and Transformers. Now discuss.

I offered to give maikopunk a ride partially home to her new apartment. Now that they have moved, I drive very nearly past their place every time I go to and from school. It seems like a decent thing to do. This was only the second time, and she took me up on my offer. I wonder if she will ride with me again in the future.

I know that she and her husband have a car, so she must understand these things. People like jnadiger, who doesn't drive (wtf?), don't understand that things happen. For instance, today, we couldn't get out of the underground parking lot at school. Technology let us down again! The scanny thingy apparently wasn't recognizing the electronic cards, so the gate wouldn't open. So we were stuck, like sheep, in a line of cars waiting to be let out. Of course, the parking lot guy wasn't around. He's usually sitting in his booth. But this time, like last time, he was MIA. I speculated that he was having his lunch break (@4pm). Maikopunk suggested that he was taking that lunch at Mugs and Jugs around the corner. While waiting patiently, we talked about stripper dollars (because we don't have much paper money any more), the skeeziness of the profession, and real estate. The topic changed when at least two people who drove up and parked behind us proceeded to get out of their cars and walk purposefully up to the car in the front of the line. I got the impression that those two folks thought that they had been put on the planet to straighten things out. Did they really think that the rest of us were that stupid that we'd sit there for 10 minutes thinking that the person in front was just really slow? It's like the people who approach a crowd at an elevator, and just have to press the button themselves because no-one in the crowd looks bright enough to think of hitting the button.

Anyhow, the guy eventually came rushing in (leaving a trail of stripper $ behind him). I was explaining to Maikopunk (who would have probably been at home by that time if she hadn't accepted the ride from me) that our wait might not be over even though the parking lot guy was there, when he surprised me by just opening the gate and letting us through. Not like last week, when the guy hand-cranked the gate opened and closed for every single car that drove through. Perhaps this guy was in a hurry to get back to the strippers.

Family thing last night. It took me a minute to figure out that there was no real occassion...no birthdays, anniversaries...nothing. The excuse they were using was that one cousin is leaving for her first business trip (to Boston of all places...have you seen the weather back east?). Others have gone on business trips before, so this wasn't that special of an occassion. Maybe they just wanted to do something social. Oh, and they all sat around talking about their wills. How fun!

But the conversation did take an interesting turn, and I can't remember how or why. What came around was my one cousin talking about her nightly ritual with her husband. They have been married about 30 years, had no kids, have good jobs, and two dogs. Let's just say that, as with the other married couples, they aren't exactly romantic. No expressions of affection are allowed in my family. Insults run rampant (in good humour), but lovey-talk is shunned.

Anyhow, the topic turned, and my cousin started talking about her nightly ritual. She said to me (with heavy undertones), that her husband goes to bed first every night. When she goes to bed, she reaches down and gives him a wedgie. At this point, he piped up with mock-indignation, "Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that." Yes, after 30 years, it's about time he set things straight. Of course, he was laughing. And she proceeded to explain herself. She said, "My theory is that when I'm gone, and the wedgies stop, he'll miss me." And I thought, "She's right. It's brilliant. It's classic psychology." And what's the bonus: In the meantime, she gets to vent all her frustrations with him by nightly cramming his underwear up his ass.

Well, I guess the message is to stick with whatever works. Or, if it's not broke, don't fix it (which in this case was his penis, which is why they didn't have kids. But they enjoy their lives and have made a good home to many lucky dogs, so, where's the problem?)

Here's my thought for the day. Prairie Queen has been online for about a week now. Why haven't we forced her to blog? I'm looking for a good resource for emoticons, and I'm sure she'll have daily updates. But seriously, we need some middle-of-the-country point of view to complete our blogiverse. Meladuck is representing the Maritimes (do they say "holla" over there?). There's too many West-Coasters. Now we need a prairie state of mind. Come on, jnadiger...you're the strong-arm when it comes to blogging. Make her do it.

(I'm typing anything so long as it keeps me from the theoretical research. That's some boring reading.)

It sounds like I missed another good debriefing after a week of PF hell. Once again, my haste to leave the scene has meant that I've missed out on a good time. To my defence (with the Canadian "c"), I was harbouring a hell of a headache after lugging around all the a/v equipment for our video shoot. And then after reading meladuck's blog, it sounds like it was all for nought, because there's no chance that we'll have either the most hilariously dysfunctional video, or the most politically incorrect.

It was fun while it lasted.

PS:I would have killed to have heard say "It was a love story". (notice my grammar-defiant period...I think that they should be outside the quotes) I'll just have to wait until Monday when we corner the Laureate to hear his take on how the four-hour long video went, and how they're going to squeeze it into 15 minutes.

Some people have complained, so here's the actual link for my Johari.

As for a blog entry, yesterday I said "big brown log" in class, and it was probably the smartest thing I said all day. Well, it was funny, even if it wasn't intended.

Well, angieeee sat down beside me and told me that I failed the Johari test. Apparently you're supposed to do one yourself, and then invite folks to put in their ideas of you. Scary thought. I've joined in because everybody's doing it, and I'm just a sheep.

Nothing else to report today, except our design instructor totally failed to understand my brilliance. That does not bode well...for him. Well, I totally caved to the pressure, especially after jnadiger blurted disparaging commentary upon seeing my pitiful conceptual offerings. What can I say? I wasn't so inspired by Joe's Pool Hall.

Later, in the "free-for-all" portion of the class, the same jnadiger pointedly suggested that I go over to join the fray that was an impromptu group meeting for our professional readiness class. I'll say that again...it's a professional readiness class. Professional. So, jokes about cocaine and whorish ways are probably not in the curriculum, and therefore they shouldn't be in our video. That said, I made it over there just in time to hear MyNameIsNotBarbra say "I wasn't really concerned about Melanie doing coke or looking like a whore." I'd say that I got there just in time. Meladuck was just winding up to counter the WallofSound's argument, and Hillarity was rolling her eyes on the sidelines (yes, I'm fully aware of how incorrect and funny that sounds). For someone who chose to skip out on the meeting for political reasons, MNINB did have a lot to say. The end result...we're going to do the video, not matter what. Oh, and I got to call someone a bitch and nobody even noticed.

Yay.

But right now, I'm getting a little high off the rubber cement fumes. It's crafts night, you know.

Everybody's doing it, so now do me.

Too tired today to blog. Stayed up late last night trying to make sense of the genre analysis. Didn't succeed.

I'm back from Seattle, and did some fairly unexciting things.

First, we stopped in Burlington, where we couldn't resist Krispy Kremes. It was interesting, though, because it appeared that everyone else could resist. That used to be a popular stop for 99% of the Canadians who travelled through that area. We didn't have a KK at home, and so it was novel to bring some back (or eat a bunch on the way down, or do both). It used to be quite busy. Every time we went there, there was a line and the sign was lit up, meaning that they were giving out fresh samples of the Original Glazed hot off the line. This time? The sign wasn't on, there were about 10 people in the store, and they were giving out samples of their chocolate glazed, but cut into bits and presented on toothpicks. Not quite the same feel.

However, that quick stop afforded us the opportunity to witness this unfortunate, misguided car paint job:

Dude who was driving was trying to act so cool, but, the car is pink, with brown and amber splotches. And that's just not cool.

We also stopped at the Prime Outlets mall near Tulalip. It's a big place; there's good selection, but the prices were meh. Bought a couple of cheap books, then we were on our way.

In Seattle, we parted ways. My friend was on her way to the Convention Center for the Northwest Flower and Garden Show. I wandered around the city for a few hours. First, I went to the market.


But it was crowded, and getting dark. I didn't even go into Sur la Table, which is an amazing kitchen store just up a sidestreet from the market.

From there, I went back to the city center, and stopped in at Westlake Center. My destination was a store called Dilettante Chocolates. I had been there before and had lunch, which was really good, hot chocolate (which was amazing...several types of real chocolate hot chocolate from which to choose). I was cursing the Krispy Kreme because I really wanted to try a piece of cake. But I resisted. Unfortunately, the monorail was closed for repairs, or I would have visited the Space Needle and its neighbours (including the Experience Music Project and the Sci-Fi Museum. Ever been, jnadiger? Or am I making an unfair assumption that you would be interested in Sci-Fi?) So I stayed in the city center, wandered around, started reading a new book (Little Children by Tom Perotta). He wrote Election (movie with Reese Witherspoon and Mathew Broderick, and I think Rushmore (movie with Bill Murray?). Anyhow, it was cheap.

When we met up again, we went to the University District on the way home for something to eat. We went to Johnny Rockets for an okay burger, and then went across the parking lot to Ben & Jerry's for some ice cream. I had New York Super Chunk Fudge, and it was good.

Then, we drove back home, crossing the border at 1:30 a.m. It wasn't the most exciting day, but it was better than genre analysis.

Sooooo, people of my blogoverse, did you like my heavy edit yesterday in Janis' class? Yes, it was my heavy edit which appeared on the overhead. Couldn't you tell? There were two dead giveaways. Come on, jnadiger. You should have picked up on one of the clues...the use of "therefore". I believe it was you who pointed out that I like to use that word. The article was sadly without the word, therefore, I had to insert one. Oh, maikopunk, please do not hate me for the heavy edit. It wasn't my fault. The devil made me do it. And for all of that effort and wasted ink, I was rewardly handsomely with a "good job" and basically the same mark I got on the first assignment.

To make up for it, here's a cute spring picture of the dog:

He's sitting outside, enjoying the sun.














And here's a picture of the cute little bunny that has moved in. I had to take the photo through a knothole in the fence so's not to scare the bunny away.

Today was "group work" day, which felt more like group therapy except we had all the dysfunction, but no therapist (unless you count the dog, or the wine).

It started innocently enough...She-Ra showed up at my house so I could drive the both of us into Vancouver to the gracious Hillarity's apartment so that we could meet and plan our video for our Professional Readiness class. For some reason, that title strikes me as being ironic, considering what we did today.

Don't get me wrong, some things were decided, and lots of stuff was discussed. And sometimes we stayed on topic. But it was difficult to do with all the distractions. As Meladuck mentioned in her always well-written and observant blog, there was a lot going on. Hillarity's collections were distracting, especially the box labelled Bones. No-one was brave enough to take a peek, but I know that we were all very interested. Princess Zoe Bernice Snortsalot was busy chasing her tail, which I still find disturbing and NO-ONE can convince me isn't a sign of puppy-insanity. And when she wasn't chasing her tail, she was either snorting around the apartment, shedding in meladuck's wine (the nerve) or perching upon my crotch with her stinky-bum. Wait for it; I'm sure that there are incriminating photos to follow.

And what did I take away from the meeting (which is what MyNameIsn'tBarbra always does when finishing a group session)? I can still hear her saying, in her doggy voice, "Come here and sit in momma's triangle!" I will probably hear that for the rest of my life. And what did Hillarity receive as a hostess gift? I believe that the word is "roach", as in the butt of a spliff, which wasn't there when I got there, but had been ground into Hillarity's grass matt (hmmmm, ironic) by the end of our session. Oh, and some lingering doggy stinky-bum smell.

I have been waiting to do this entry since Christmas. Anxiously. For some reason, I thought that I had to wait for the right time. And here it is, and now I don't even know how to begin. I'm nervous. I'm just typing words hoping that I'll find my way to say what I need to say.

Back to Christmas, I suppose. The last three Christmases have been extremely difficult for my family. Christmas used to be the best time of the year. It was the time when we got together to talk, laugh, eat, sing, and play music. When we were kids, it was a time of a little bit of torture. One of my cousins' husbands, the one who was actually cheating on her (why should she have been surprised...that's how she met him), who died in a firey car accident just outside of Vegas a few years ago, was instrumental in getting us kids (under 10 years old) to put on Christmas skits for the family. The torture was not only the actual performances, but also that we had to perform and then wait until midnight before we could open our presents. But it was all in good fun, I suppose, and we have some good memories and some awful photographs to prove it.

But as we got older, and none of us kids had any kids, the fun of Christmas disappeared. We got together. We ate and laughed, but the singing stopped. My uncle, who played the guitar, and my sister, who played the piano (much better than I ever did), were the ones who used to initiate it. Everyone got older, though, and the singing eventually stopped. We still got together to eat, talk, and laugh.

Three Christmases ago was the last "normal" Christmas. We got together and we ate. We didn't talk much, but there was a lot of non-verbal communication. Eyes darted around, looks were exchanged, and it was all because my sister was so ill. She had cancer, and the tumours had spread to her spine leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. Everyone knew that she was sick. She had been sick for five years. But no one knew or wanted to acknowledge the extent of her illness or the inevitable outcome until we got together for Christmas of 2002. She couldn't walk. She was clearly in pain. And she didn't look like herself. Everyone went home early.

She died three years ago on February 6, 2003. It was 4:30 a.m. in the morning, and we were all there. Her husband, who had stayed up all night, had just sat down to close his eyes for a couple of minutes. My mother and I were holding her hands. It was both terrible and wonderful at the same time. I knew that her suffering was over.

This past Christmas, when people were talking about holiday plans and asking about family traditions, I realized that I never talk about my sister. I avoid the subject of her altogether. And in doing so, I realized that by not talking about her death, I am also not talking about her life. And that is not fair. She deserves to be talked about. She was a good person who brought a lot of joy to other people. She gave me joy, and happiness, and sadness, and friendship. And I miss her.

Roxanne Darlene Klettke Fuchs
June 3, 1968 - February 6, 2003
























Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

“Remember”

Christina Rosetti

So, meladuck and jnadiger ducked out of school early yesterday. I think that meladuck was trying to tell me that, and perhaps say "see yah", at the end of our first class, but I was having such a cookie crave that I raced out of the class so I could stop by the cafeteria (which was out of the beloved cookies...all they had was oatmeal/raisin, and, ewwww) on the way to our last class of the week. There was a touching, Hallmark moment when I saw them leaving the building, and I thought that they were going to try to make it to the Bubble Tea place and back in between classes. "Poor fools," I thought, "they'll never make it. I was standing in line waiting for my reasonable substitute for a cookie--soy hot chocolate--, when they passed the window. I wondered out loud how they were going to make it to the next class. Our classmate, Hillarity, whom I've now got hooked on the soy hot chocolate (she can't have dairy), was waiting with me and she informed me that meladuck and jnadiger were actually leaving for a meeting. Oh, so bitter was the sorrow I felt for not properly saying "goodbye" to them for the weekend. My confused wave will have to suffice.

Meanwhile, they missed one hell of a editing derby. I don't know why she didn't learn from last time, but our instructor decided that another group edit activity was necessary. Once again, she saved it for the end of the class. But by that time, the full-time students had degenerated into such argumentative silliness that we devolved into arguing over the proper referencing style for a web site. Maikopunk and I, (and by the way...who let us sit together?) resorted to speaking song lyrics to each other from both Grease movies, speaking them in a conversational style, as if we were having a serious conversation. Yes, it was extremely silly, but no more so than the grammar arguments which were happening in the greater studental population of our class. I think that we scared the part-timers, who asked us what the hell was wrong with us, and backed off slowly into a protective huddle in the corner. I think that our actions have answered a question for them: they'll probably never switch to full-time. They're much too happy with their present state of mental health.

Anyone know what I've done to screw this up? I don't like the big blank space, although sometimes it is an appropriate depiction of what's going on in my brain. I'mm over the irony, and want to get it fixed.

Sometimes you're just in the right frame of mind to make connections of elements which were always there, but hadn't really made sense before.

In a recent entry, I revealed a deep resentment over the fact that my sister, when she was still really, really young (under 6 years old), got a pony as a birthday gift. Although my parents had a big yard at the time (3 acres), and there was enough room for the fat pony, it was still necessary to build a barn. After that, there was a lot of upkeep with the pony, especially when it did fun things like rip the siding off the house, eat the trees and plants which my parents wanted to keep, and left large "love bundles" in various places. The upshot? Apparently those love bundles were good for the garden.

From that entry, as pointed out by jnadiger, I have harboured deep resentment over the fact that I never received a monkey for my birthday. To me, it sounded like a fun thing to do, and not so outrageous considering all that had to be done to accommodate that large walking pile of dog food (and the glue stick The King of Print Futures was so desperately looking for today). But alas, I never got my monkey.

Let's stay in the time period (the past), but switch focus for a minute. Apparently my favourite colour was yellow when I was young. Or, according to my aunt, my favourite colour was "lellow". How, cute. I couldn't pronounce the letter "L". How ever more cute...my aunt still talks about it. I can't be sure, but I'd like to think that I've done something more memorable in the 30-odd years it's been since I was that age that we could give that little story a rest. But no.

So where does that get us in the present day? Nowhere, really, except the other day, I saw the ad for the new animated feature based on the Curious George character/books. And I looked at the ad, and I though: "Is that where I got the preference for yellow? Could I have, at a young age, made the connection between the Curious George books, The Man in the Yellow Hat, and the colour yellow?" I think the answer's yes. I always wondered why I decided that I wanted a monkey. And now, thanks to jnadiger pointing out my repressed rage based on pet envy, and the fortuitous event of the Curious George movie opening up soon, I think that I have found a missing piece of my jigsaw puzzle.

Or I could just be talking shit.

So my predicted death is a poisoning. (I removed the graphic because it was screwing up the layout, and it was bugging me). It's not so glamourous or exciting, except the implication is that someone would have to plan ahead to get rid of me. That's kind of exciting! So does anyone want to volunteer to be my official food-taster?