Okay, people. A new blog topic.

Today, a conversation in class with meladuck steered us toward a forgotten topic. But it lead me to telling her about how my cousin summarized my family's unspoken philosophy of how to treat each other: Demean them before they demean you. He had brought this up during a family dinner at which there were a few outsides. That context inspired this blog topic: What was the most important thing you've learned from your family.

I've already stated mine, although things like "swim like your life depends on it" (a lesson learned after my dad and his brother drove my sister and I out into the middle of some lake and then shoved us overboard...don't panic, we had lifejackets on) and "you're never too far away from a corkscrew" (handily exemplified by my sister, who managed to open a bottle of wine using the hanging basket hook which she had removed from the ceiling of the condo they rented in Hawaii) can be added to the list.

Meladuck offered one from her father. It's something to do with cutlery, but I can't remember it and I don't want to get it wrong. So people, add your valuable life lessons here. We will be SO prepared for our practicums.

Oh, the blogging is infrequent for all of the classmates. Even the classmates have stopped commenting back and forth. These are signs that Spring is in the air, and that the school shit has hit the fan. We have to endure one more week, and then we'll be released into the chaos and uncertainty of our practicums. I feel ready, don't you?

I'm afraid for the bunny named Truffles. Seen here in an early photo, just after she was first spotted in the yard.


We haven't seen her for a week, and this has us worried. She isn't responding to the kibble sound nor to the smell of the carrots. She isn't hopping out from under the cars whenever we are trying to go somewhere. She just isn't around. There are several reasons why she might not be here:
1) She has gone back home to her family. That would be a good thing.
2) Someone else, hopefully a good family, has taken her in.
3) Someone picked her up and took her to the SPCA to protect her from the wildlife and to get her adopted (hopefully to a good family).
4) She is hiding because she is pregnant. It is Spring, you know (and the buds are green, or vice-versa...whatever, Wegnerd).
5) Someone accidentally hit her. It is a busy street with all of the parents dropping their kids off at school and picking them up.
6) Someone's ridiculous, unnecessarily large and predatory dog snuffed her out when they let the dog out to shit along the school fence (and not bother to clean it up...mighty neighbourly).
7) A coyote got it.

All of these are morbid, I know. But I came up with a worse one.

8) Maybe someone caught it and ate it. It was named Truffles, you know.
9)Or maybe someone caught her and made a warm bit of clothing out of it, or a lucky charm.

I don't know. I just hope for the best for the little thing. Her coat was shabby, but she was a little sweetie. And by that I don't mean that she tasted sweet. You're all sicker than I am.

You know, my long-term memory sucks. So does my short-term memory, but that isn't pissing me off right now. No, my long-term memory is pissing me off because I had a great, bizarre dream last night and I neglected to wake myself up to write it down. I was going to share it with you all as part of the bizarre dream blog. But I can't, because I don't remember what it was about. For some reason, I think that Egypt was involved. We will probably never know.

Sticking with that same line of thought, the other reason why I'm hating my long-term memory is because while I was driving to school today, there was nothing on the radio. I had to keep switching stations in the vain hope to find something decent to listen to. When I did decide to settle on something, it was an "oldie" from the days of my youth. Incredibly, as I was listening, I realized that I had totally misunderstood one line of the lyrics. It totally made sense, and it made me smile. I couldn't wait to get to school and share this totally useless epiphany with such fellow schlockmeisters as maikopunk and meladuck. However, slamming the car door apparently cleared my memory, and for the life of me, I can't remember the damn song. It's really disappointing because it was such a crappy, '80's piece of crap.

To console myself, I finally was able to install Adobe CS 2 onto my computer. It's about a month too late for this semester (which is partly why I bought it), but I'm sure that I'll be able to put it into good use. If anything, I can brush up on the software skills. I was a little embarassed today that when Vince was talking to My Name Is Not Barbara about people's roles in our PF group, MNINB said that no-one has really stood out for graphic design. I'd like to protest and say that I haven't really had the chance yet. Just you wait. I'll show her. I'LL SHOW THEM ALL (by being completely skilled and artistic).

I have to blog the irony.

The "Classmate Who Shall Not Be Barbara" has told us several times that she used to work in the food service industry. I've worked off and on (and probably back on this summer) in the food service industry, and the one thing that I've noticed is that people who have or who do work in the food service industry are either the best restaurant customers or the worst. It usually depends on how damaged they are after having worked in the industry and how much hate they still harbour.

I sometimes go with Not Barbara to get coffee on our breaks, and I've noticed that she's not really the rude kind of former food service worker, but she's indifferent. And I try to let those things go, but yesterday I couldn't. Don't get all excited. There was no reprimanding. I just inserted the "thank you" which was missing. It was one of those "my conversation is more important than acknowledging your existence" kind of things that really irks me. Like people who can't get off their cell phones. Anyhow, Not Barbara was talking, so I thanked Kelly, who knows us both so well that when she sees us, she just asks "The usual?" It's a small thing. But I figure that if she knows me well enough to know my regular drink, then I know her enough to acknowledge that she exists.

I know that I'm not making her day by thanking her, but I think that not thanking her (or acknowledging her) could ruin the day for her. Perhaps I think too much.

We'll see what Diana says about that.

A letter to the mother of the dysfunctional child who ruined my afternoon doggy walk...

Dear White Trash Mother,

Who am I to judge you? We live in the same neighbourhood, but obviously, we live in different worlds.

I had come home from meeting the Prairie Queen at school for a semi-productive, somewhat focused discussion and planning session for our upcoming assignment. It must have been a pretty good session because we managed to inspire only one judgemental eyebrow-raise from the Disgruntled, Displaced Brit. Although we encountered the usual spazzy unfocused-ness, we managed to work through the joint scattered mental states to formulate something of a plan, which was more than we had hoped to achieve.

On the way home, I stopped for a peruse at Chapters and a Starbuck's bev of which, I am happy to say, I am over. I think that I've finally trained myself off the frappucinos. Hooray...maybe I've finally shaken the grip of the sugar addiction.

With that happy realization, I went home and decided to take the sweet puppy on a second, bonus walk. Who could resist this face?
So I picked up my non-iPod MP3 player (my techno-inferiority just reared its ugly head), and wrestled the overly happy pup into his leash for a sunny afternoon walk.

We had made our way around the neighbourhood and got to your street, White Trash Mother. I should have known to steer clear, but the persuasively cute dog wanted to check out your street. He hadn't covered it this morning, so naturally, it had to be covered this afternoon. But I could see you, your white trash boyfriend/husband/babydaddy/father just a few houses up the street, playing with your todler in the front yard of the house in which you rent a basement suite (I'm making a sweeping generalization/assumption here, so sue me).

Instead of heeding my inner warning signals, I decided that because I had my MP3 player on, I could ignore any dysfunctional interaction I might overhear between you and the guy. But by the time I got up to your little family, your todler missed the ball you all were tossing around, and it rolled down the slope of the yard. His legs were too little for him to keep up as he chased the ball down the slope and under your boyfriend's crappy old pickup. Your kid stopped on the sidewalk right in front of me and started to screech so loudly and with such force that he nearly knocked himself off his own feet. My pitifil MP3 player was no match to his lung-power (obviously he's had practice), and his screech ripped through my head like a gunshot. Predictably, you gave me the weary smile of the exasperated mother. I did not return the look. You see, from where I was, I could see the tiny little gold ring that pierced your todler's ear. That told me that you cared enough to get his ear pierced, but not enough to teach him what reasonable behaviour is. I can imagine what he's like in a restaurant when he doesn't get his chicken nuggets right away, or he can't get Coke instead of Pepsi, or you won't buy him the stupid cheap little toy that he wants.

I cringed at the familiarity of the situation. I cringed at what the future holds for your pierced, piercing screamer. And I cringed for world.

And then my dog shat in the yard, and I didn't bother to pick it up. You and your boyfriend were too busy crawling around trying to reach the ball under his pickup...you didn't notice. And it made me feel just a little better.

But who am I kidding? I'll probably go back tomorrow and pick up the dog shit, because that's the way my mother raised me. Stupid conscience.

I don't work in an office, but sometimes Dilbert really speaks to me.

I started the semester by proclaiming that Word is my bitch. I'll change that to "Word is a bitch". I don't know what I did to piss it off, but it was being impossibly difficult for a non-entity. The semi-big assignment was due today, and it kept freaking out and shutting down. My sentiments are shared by a classmate, who also incurred the wrath of Word. During our second class, we talked to another classmate who has also had many problems with Word in the last few days, and it reminded me that there was some rumour out a few months back about some virus or worm that was snaking its way through the internet. The point of this one was to attack word processing programs, especially Word. I really, really hope that it isn't that, because that would suck. What sucks even more is that I don't know how to investigate it.

Here's the latest doggy photo. I dare you to say that he isn't cute. I DARE YOU.

Oh, my god. This stupid Word tech writing manual is going to kill me. Or me it. It is going so slowly, partly because I don't really care. It will be a miracle if I get it done. I have to get the writing done tonight and tomorrow if I'm going to be able to format and do screenshots for Thursday's deadline. And I'm already crapping out for the writing tonight. The old brain is shutting down, going into "wake me when something interesting comes along" mode.

Well, at least I know that I'm not alone.

Perhaps we should try suggesting to June that 3 sections is a more appropriate number than 5...

I want to have a happier post. And doing this f-ing organizational culture analysis essay has made my brain kinda sproing. It reminded me of a certain someone and her almost cop-out last semester.

So here's a bunny, minus the pancake.

Yes, I skipped Xine's party last night. It wasn't meant as a slight or anything like that. Notice that I chose the word "skipped". The thing is this...I have a deep, dysfunctional social phobia about meeting people in groups. This is why I've often skipped out on things. And last night, things got out of my control, and by the time I was parked in the parkade, I had worked myself up into a bit of a panic. So I left.

It seems stupid to be writing about it, but it happens all the time. I'm especially freaked in restaurants and at parties. I don't know why. I suppose there's probably some deep, dark moment from my past that triggers the panic. (This is by no means a way to point finger, by the way.) Even though I am that nice, the offer to give Sara and Melanie and James rides to Xine's party was also a way to ensure that I wouldn't go alone. But when Sara cancelled, and James and Melanie phoned to say that they were running late, that gave me an out. If I had gone over right away, I probably would have followed through. But instead, I went to London Drugs (where I couldn't find any reasonably-priced RAM dammit), and then I got a burrito from Taco del Mar. By the time I was driving over to Xine's, I was already well on my way to talking myself out of it. By the time I was in the parking lot, I was pretty much sure that I wasn't going to go in. I parked, wondered if I was in the right parking lot, and then just told myself that it would be easier to go home rather than worry about parking in the wrong parking lot and getting towed or ticketed.

It's lame, I know. Be patient.

And I'm really disappointed, too, because I really wanted to see the three extra sinks!

It had started snowing lightly when the dog and I left for the morning inspection of the neighbourhood. By the time we were about a third of the way along the route, it was snowing quite heavily. We ran into one of his doggy friends, Kobie (an Australian Cattle dog aka as a blue-heeler), and his mommy, Linda. Kobie and Sunny are fairweather friends; they're so happy to see each other that they run across the park (me dangling behind Sunny on the other end of his leash) to say "hi". However, the excitement usually lasts for about a minute and then they both want to carry on with their obsessions...Sunny wants to check out the rest of the neighbourhood, and Kobie wants his mommy to throw the damn ball.

This morning, Linda (Kobie's mommy) was a little upset. The snow was falling harder, and she said that when she had first got to the park, she could still see the houses on the hill in the distance. She had been thinking about a family that she knows who lives over there who had just lost their 8-year old daughter this past Sunday. She had gotten ill on Sunday...had quickly developed a fever, a rash all over her body, and her lips had turned blue. They rushed her to Children's Hospital where she died half an hour later.

In addition to the sadness of the death of the young girl, Linda was upset because she and her own children had been in contact with the girl on Sunday. Linda has a daycare in her home, and she was worried about the health of her children, and the children and babies in her care. She phoned the right people (I don't know who), and got in touch with the community nurse assigned to the school (Chimney Hill Elementary), and was told, after she explained her situation, that what happened to that girl was "of no concern to the public". Really? I would think that given the situation and the mystery of the cause of the little girl's death, that it would be of great concern to the general public, especially the general publich which had been in contact with her. But the snippy nurse basically told Linda to piss off. Linda didn't see it that way. She was relieved that there was no concern. Perhaps I'm being alarmist, but I don't interpret it that way. Then, this same nurse called her back 10 minutes later to apologize because she had no grounds to tell Linda that there was nothing to be concerned about. To clarify, she said that there's nothing at this time to be concerned about yet. So, in other words, she was just covering her ass. Nice.

Now tonight, my aunt who is an SEA (special education assistant) was talking to my mom. She had talked to another SEA at Chimney Hill Elementary and had heard from her that the girl had died from inflammation of the heart and brain, but they (the doctors) still don't know what caused it. Linda had told me that an autopsy had already been done, but nothing was concluded from it. She said that "they" were going to look at the littler girl's brain. Now is anyone concerned?

I guess that I'm telling this story because I saw something on the morning news last week that really pissed me off. One of the broadcasters was asking a doctor/expert about when sick kids should stay home from school. The doctor was giving all kinds of good advice which amounted to "if the kid has a fever, better keep them home. If they're coughing, sneezing, oozing...make them go to school." I thought, "great, that's just what all these people need to hear...permission to force their sick kids on everyone else." I've heard all the arguments: "I don't have any germs." "I'm not contagious." "It's just allergies." That's all bullshit, and by the way, keep your oozing, coughing, sneezing face away from me, cover your face when you cough/sneeze, and WASH YOUR DAMN HANDS!

Thank you for listening.

Enjoy the snow.

Usually, I get hungry when I watch the Food Network. The shows are almost always interesting...they visit interesting places with different kinds of foods. And some of the theme shows are interesting. "Food Unwrapped" is always reliable for disclosing interesting information about common foods. But tonight...not so much. I tuned in, and they were showing how "taquitos" are made. Here's the nutshell: some machine shits out the filling, and then the wrapper is wrapped around the brown/red log. Voila! Taquito.

I think I'll pass.

So here's the thing. Some of you know that I was late to class yesterday because of an emergency. My mother had looked out a window and saw a guy crouched in among some bushes, clearly hiding (oxymoron), and looking through the fence, watching something up the street. I kept an eye on him (and took his photo) while my mother talked to the police. The police came, I saw them chat for like 2 seconds with the guy, and then they went to leave. It turned out that he was a plain-clothes cop, and he was watching a stolen car up the street. He apologized for not telling us...he hadn't thought that anyone was home. Thanks. Your secret is safe with us.

When I talked to my parents later in the day, it turns out that wasn't the last of the police incidents. The guy in the back yard was later relieved by another guy, and that guy ended up running off a couple of hours later. He was picked up by some other cops and they sped off. We can only assume that they were chasing the car thieves.

But apparently not long after that was over, there was a hit-and-run accident just in front of the school which is next door. The driver of the hitting vehicle took off. She was clever. It sounds likely that she walked through the subdivision across the street, and found a lady who was just coming home. Accident-driver asked the good samaritan if she could drive her to Skytrain because her boyfriend was beating her up. The good samaritan, shocked at the story and the amount of blood (because hit-and-run driver injured herself while she was running into the other car), took the "victim" to Skytrain. When the samaritan got back home, the police were canvassing the neighbourhood for the suspect. At that point, the good samaritan (or would it be samaritress?) figured out what happened, and told the police. We have no idea if the frazzled bloody blonde (possibly not her natural colour) with the tattooed chest was picked up on Skytrain, but I have a feeling that she blended in and has since disappeared.

Now, don't think that's the end of it! Because while the police were taking statements for the accident in front of the school, someone who was turning out of the subdivision across the street from us ran into a guy who was walking his two dogs. So one of the cops ran the hundred feet or so to the scene of the new accident to check things out. It sounds like the dog-walker was okay. He managed to give the car which had hit him a good kick just as it was bearing down on him and his dogs. Thankfully, though, it sounds like both he and his dogs are okay.

Let me clarify: this is the most police action I've seen on this street in 30 years. It's usually a quiet-ish neighbourhood. There's a lot of car traffic, but besides that, it's basically very quiet. That said, my parents stayed home yesterday. Apparently it didn't seem worth the risk to go to Safeway to get milk.

Wimps.

Continuing on with the theme of "when crap turns to classic", I was thinking about tv from my youth. This lead to another scary thought: where will I be when shows such as Three's Company and Too Close For Comfort become "classic tv", and what will be my physical reaction?

Speaking of which, where are all the "stars" of Too Close For Comfort. I know where at least one of them is, sort of (Ted Knight is dead). But where are those two creepy-looking girls (spawn of Children of the Damned). And whatever happened to JM J. Bullock, he of the personal identity crisis ("There is no 'I' in JM), and one of the first closetted gay folks on a sitcom? Is he somewhere, out there, struggling through community theatre, longing for the old days when C-list celebs like himself still had a safe tv haven in the once hugely-popular genre of game shows such as Match Game and Password?

So blog people, who are the other forgotten (perhaps closetted) stars of tv yesteryear? And who will we see in a few years, embarassing themselves on the new-age replacement for those old game shows, the so-called "reality" shows such as Surreal World and Celebrity Fat Camp?

Tell me. I want to know.

I am so old.

I had to go to Douglas College today. As I was walking through the hall, I walked past a group of girls who were sitting on the floor, "studying". They were talking about movies, and one said "that's my favourite movie from when I was a kid." I kept walking. Someone else said something, and then the first speaker said something about how it might just be her favourite movie because she thinks that Ben Stiller is funny.

There are two problems. First, Ben Stiller is not funny. Second, his film career is fairly short...and I've been an adult for its entirety.

I am so old.

Yesterday was a lovely day. I sprinted up Burnaby Mountain to pick up my Adobe Creative Suite 2 Premium (Student License) software and made it in good time. The software was there. I had remembered my invoice. I signed a couple things, which resulted in me spending $315 in ten minutes ($313 for the software, $2 for parking). Not only that, I remembered how to get from SFU to Douglas College without consulting a map. I got to DC in time for a ghetto slice and some reading in before class.

When I got home, however, and tried to install the software, the warm, happy feeling left me. I thought that I'd checked everything out, but when I tried to install the software, I got this nasty message: "CS needs 384mb of RAM to operate. Please install more RAM and get back to us." That was weird, because I had checked it all out. So I checked it again, and no, my system apparently has the required RAM. I tried to do some stuff to make the computer feel better, but it didn't. It just kept refusing the software. So now what? Do I have to buy more stupid RAM? I just bought more RAM a year or so ago. These fucking computers are worse than cars...they're obsolete faster than you can reboot your harddrive.

Oh, well. It might be better to wait. I have a shitload of homework to do, and it was very likely that I'd get caught up in photoshopping some photos instead of (finally) reading my theoretical resources (damn you, Diana) or something.