Things are almost always weird. For instance, I'm supposed to be doing homework (photo research for the odious group web site assignment), and I just can't concentrate. I've heard people talk about experiementing with google...typing your name in or the name of someone you know, and see what comes up.

Tonight I tried it. I googled my sister's name (married). I have no idea why. I guess that I'm thinking about her because it's her husband's birthday this week. And I wonder what he's up to.

So I googled her name: Roxanne Fuchs. You know that's not a random name. In fact, it's quite unique. But not entirely unique, because it got some hits (I was in the image search thing). It turns out that there's a Roxanne Fuchs (same exact spelling) who does science fiction and fantasy art. That's where the similarities end. My sister was very far from being a fan of science fiction and fantasy art.

Here's the link, just for interest.

Now I have to get back to the e-grind.

This biscuit's been a little dry lately...so sorry to those of you who check in regularly. I've just been busy, busy, busy.

For instance, right now, I should be writing a cover letter for a job application, but instead, I'm drawn to blogging. Later, I should be writing the draft for my feature article. Instead, I'll be playing Hoyle word games.

No major news, except I went to the naturopath this week. My cholesterol levels are down (yay!). My liver enzyme levels are down (apparently yay! I have no idea what that means). But my weight isn't down, which is a "boo."

I'd like to be able to say that it isn't my fault, but it is. I just haven't had the time to commit to that part of the project. I haven't gone to the gym in weeks. I don't eat as regularly or as healthy as I should. Apparently the Subway chicken breast sandwiches are still crap. According to my sources, the evil Subway genius have devised a way to make a still intact-looking chicken breast into a processed meat. Who knew? I didn't, until I proudly told the naturopath that I was going to Subway for lunch. She would prefer that I go to Whole Foods and buy organic chicken breast. Well, so would I, but that's not going to happen. Happy, healthy chickens are expensive, so it's back to the crap for me.

I wonder how I'll explain that in two weeks when she wants to see me again? Oh right...I'm not a doctor. Therefore, I can't spend like one.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for my milkshake, I mean protein shake.

I feel like blogging, and so I shall.

Had to go to the doctor today. Unbelieveably, it's been 6 months since I started the life makeover project for alive. Believeably, I haven't noticed any changes except that my stomach is a little more happy and I don't have as many sleepy feelings in the afternoon. Nevertheless, I have to have closure on this thing, so I had to get some blood tests done.

My GP was away, so I decided to go to a clinic to get the referral. Naturopathic doctors can't make the referrals, only GPs can. The doctor at the clinic bitched me out. He apparenly doesn't believe in holistic medicine/health, and therefore doesn't believe that the government should pay for the tests. See how I said that...one sentence a few words long. That was so much shorter than the diatribe/screaming I was subjected to at the clinic. As soon as he spelled it out, I understood the situation and that he wasn't going to participate (as did my GP). I was fully prepared to leave quietly. But clinic doc just wouldn't have that. No, he had to follow me almost out of the office, lecturing me loudly. Whatever. It sounds like he needs to meditate and relax (NOT medicate and relax).

While waiting in my GP's office, I got the chance to study the wall o' children's art. At first glance it was the usual assortment of badly coloured-in pages from colouring books and crazily scrawled images, all signed, dated, and aged (as in "Ashelee, age 6. Note to parent: quit fucking up the way you spell your kids' names. It'll just mean a lifetime of correction by them..."yes, it's spelled Hrpwqwer, but it's pronounced "Bob". Besides, instead of wasting your time on coming up with an original name ("Neveah," anyone?), spend your time and energy on helping your kids become interesting, original, non-annoying people. That would be way cooler.

But back to the art on the wall. Because I didn't want to touch the magazines because sick people have touched them, I had nothing better to do but study the wall. And this proved to be very interesting. After a few minutes, I began to wonder if this apparently random collection of "art" wasn't random at all. First, I noticed that some child had cut a man out of black construction paper, and had used a white pencil crayon to draw in the features. Then, this child had "clothed" this man figure in elaborately patterned, colourful clothing...shirt and pants. The patterns were tribal, and my first impression was that it was African.

Right next to it, they had hung a crayoned page from a Barbie colouring book. I stared at this image for a minute, and realized that Barbie was posed very provocatively. She was kneeling on the beach, in a bathing suit (one piece...how gramma-ish). Her legs were swivelled 1/4 turn from the front, but her upper torso was facing the "viewer". Her ass was pushed out, as were her ample boobies. And she had a huge mane of blonde hair. All it needed was a wave crashing into her, and it would have been a Barbie front cover for Sports Illustrated.

I smiled at the juxtaposition, and wondered if this contrast of images had been purposefully put together. I looked to the left, and saw another pairing. Another child had drawn, in pencil, an elaborate Japanese-inspired scene. The characters were (what I think to be) traditionally Japanese, as I've seen in other illustrations. They appeared to be warriors brandishing weapons.

Right next to it, another child had drawn an image which I couldn't figure out at first. Then I realized that it was sort of a cross between Peter Pan (green hat and all), Tinker Bell (blonde girl), and some Japanese cartoons (super huge eyes). The artist had written "Disney Fairies" on the bottom, so I was right: it was apparently the hideous love child of Peter Pan and Tinkerbell.

At this point I will confess that I do like some of the Disney stuff (mostly the parks), and therefore I'm often compelled to defend the company. But this time, I just can't do it. There's no excuse. And now, I'm unhappily thinking of Robin Williams and Julia Roberts doing the nasty.

I think I'll skip dinner.

My cousins had an e-bitchfest concerning the weather. Through email, one complained about the weather here in BC. She lives in the nether-regions of Langley and works in New Westminster. Her commute is a bitch, even if the weather is good. When the weather is even slightly bad, her commute is nearly impossible.

My cousin who lives in Toronto trumped her with some photos taken near the lakeshore: