miserable little biscuit whore

2008-11-12T18:52:00.000-08:00

Sunrise, Sunset

It has been brought to my attention that my few blog readers might be anxious to hear about my tropical vacation. I'm sorry that I've been neglecting you. It turns out that I'm pretty lazy after a vacation. Can't get back into the discipline (ha, ha) of writing about myself every few days.

I kept a vacation journal. Nothing special. A few notes about memorable moments (and some harsh words of self-reprimandation after the sunburn), and that's about it. I promise that I'll make an effort to blog a summary of the whole tropical 7 days (plus a few fairly nice days in Toronto). Hopefully, I'll get my crap together by the end of this weekend.

To tide you over (thanks for the pun-age), here's two views from our hotel balcony: a sunrise (well, what amounted to a sunrise for us...because we were never up that early) and a sunset.

2008-10-03T19:45:00.000-07:00

Hi, I'm unfortunately named

A former co-worker and I kept an informal list of unfortunate names. I ran across a doozy the other day at work. This poor woman, located somewhere in the US of A, has the last name "Kochsmier". I'm not crazy, am I? That's a really bad last name.

2008-09-27T20:55:00.000-07:00

Are we related?

I received a strange email today. But the story started a few days ago.

I wanted to find something about myself, quickly, so I googled my name. That search provided a link for this book, written by a Russ Klettke. It took me a minute to realize that it was not the Russ that I know. I have been meaning to email about it, but hadn’t had the time.

Then I got an email today from the very same Russ Klettke. He found me via my “professional” blog. He wrote:
Are we related? I too am a writer – for businesses, more or less a recovering PR flack with one published book on nutrition. There aren’t that many of us Klettkes out there. Our tribe is based in Niagara Falls, N.Y., descendants of my great grandfather Rev. Wilhelm Klettke, who emigrated from Warsaw in the 1870s before becoming a Lutheran minister here. I think he had a brother, also in the U.S., but they didn’t seem to keep in touch with each other (religious issues, perhaps – we hear the brother was a Jehovah’s Witness).

My dad's family is very not religious, so I have no idea if we're related or not. But the last name is not so popular, so perhaps we are. I have emailed some relatives to see what they know. As I said in my email to this guy, this could be interesting...

2008-09-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

Mountained

I'm still too tired and sore from trying to save myself from Rita. She tried to lead me, and my friend Anner-Marie, through the clouds and into another dimension this weekend when we went hiking, in the fog, against my inner voice, on Mt. Baker. Here are some photos.

You get the idea.

2008-09-06T10:21:00.000-07:00

Week-old Crumble

Last weekend, my uncle stopped by with a large pineapple for my mother. She likes fresh pineapple. He buys them at Costco. It doesn't exactly follow the rules of the 100 Mile Diet, but we do what we can. Besides, we have found that the Costco pineapples are delicious.

Because the pineapple was so large, I decided to make a crumble. We had some ripe rhubarb in the garden. There is a bag of frozen strawberries in the deep freeze waiting to be whizzed up into a protein shake. It was a cool day, perfect for baking.

I had never made a crumble before, so I found a recipe. My mother mocked me. "It's crumble, not rocket science." So I cast the recipe aside, and assembled my gingered pineapple, rhubarb, and strawberry crumble with slivered almonds and nutmeg in the crumble. It was delicious, especially warm with ice cream.

2008-08-19T21:32:00.000-07:00

Downsized

There was a flurry of activity today at the Olde Honey Well. I mentioned it to my supervisor, who quickly and quiety told me that "they" were whacking people today. Yikes! That's not a good way to start the day. We had noticed some guys who looked like suits milling around the front door. That happens all the time, though.

So as soon as I heard that, I wanted to know what was going on. I was assured that it wasn't going to affect our department. Later, I realized why. Tech writers don't cost much. Engineers are expensive, especially those who are middle-management. Five of them got axed, plus the only in-house salesperson. (She has a special story of her own. Her boss called her last Friday, and told her to meet him at the airport today. He's located somewhere in the US. So she met him at the airport. He fired her while he was on a layover. In fact, he probably altered his itinerary so he could fly here and fire her. Such a special guy!)

The problem is that these engineers had been there for a long time, are wicked smart, and are generally nice guys. They're engineers, so they're kind of weird. But harmless and helpful. In other words, this sucks and shall continue to such while the rest of us scramble to fill in the gaps. Nice.

But the best part is that they did do the "you're fired, pack your things, and then you're out of here" scenario. Except there was one, slightly funny aspect to it. The person who was escorting the firees out the back door (of the warehouse, so nobody could witness the walks of shame), is the lovely office manager. She is small (under 5 feet), slim, and older. She's fun, terribly nice, and sings in a Gospel choir. She is certainly not a burly security guard. Maybe they picked her because of her caring, kind, and generally jovial demeanor. She did her best to make it less traumatic for those who were fired. Kinda like being fired by your grandma.

I wish the best for those who were fired and for those who were left behind. A-cow was on edge all day. Annoying!

2008-08-18T19:16:00.000-07:00

Animal Farm

I have been gently reprimanded for not updating my blog. I'm interpreting that as a good thing; it means that people are reading and are interested. This time, I was told that someone had looked for a specific entry about a specific topic: llamas. So here is the post-dated entry.

On Sunday, August 10th, I joined Xine, Melanie, Len, and Rochelle at a llama farm owned by a co-worker of Melanie. It was the annual llamarama, where you could tour the farm, eat delicious (and surprising...who knew that was included) food, and pick up some llama beans for your garden. If I had known, I would have come prepared. There was no way that I was going to fill up my trunk.

But I did have my camera. I had thought that far ahead. So instead of llama beans, I brought home a bunch of llama photos.

That's a cute little fella right there. Here is a photo of his dashing daddy, Tiva. A-cow has fallen in love with him (and I'm not going to get into that, although I will say that she has a lot of cats, and she's single). Whenever she gets wound up, which is very frequently, I tell her to look at the llama. It calms her down. Well, he calms her down.

Xine spotted him first, though.

Here's one that will blow your mind...a photo of Rochelle watching Melanie take a photo of Len and the llama (hey, that sounds like a children's book).

There were a couple of dogs. One was active; one was inactive. The active one's name is Gypsy. She tortured her cow for a while and then sat next to/in a tree.

The inactive one, whose name I can't remember, stayed on the porch for most of the day, near the food.

Xine and I cut out early to hop the quaint Albion Ferry. She was going to Krause's Farm for blueberries. I was going home. It turned out that that route was shorter and faster than the route I had taken in the morning. Oh well, I took the scenic round trip.

2008-08-11T19:58:00.000-07:00

Advertising

On the back of a crappy old pickup I was driving behind today:
"Single German seeking single, young Asian woman." [I put the comma in there.]

Hmmmm, let me think. Would a hot, young Asian woman (or any woman for that matter) be attracted by a painted-on advertisement on a beat up old pickup. I'm thinking no.

Good luck, Single German.

2008-08-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

Complaint Dept

I think that I have previously written about how I cannot stand the new co-worker. (By the way..."new" is used loosely here...she has been there for about four months now.) If I haven't, then I'll summarize: she's a loud know-it-all who has never once thought that we won't want to hear her opinion. She never hesitates to butt in and speak on behalf of our department. She's always there to answer questions not asked of her. And she stubbornly continues to loudly mispronounce our supervisor's name while she shouts across our four desks. (Keep in mind that she was the one who found and introduced us to our company-/world-wide instant messenging system. But she still yells across the room.) I haven't corrected her. She calls me her "work buddy". Fuck off.

We had our mid-year performance reviews this past week. For some weird reason, A-cow (the nickname I've given her...which is short for annoying-co-worker) had her meeting with Caroline before I did. Later that afternoon, we took our daily walk. (I started this tradition before I realized that she annoys the hell out of me.) During that walk, she asked me if I would mind being mentored by her, because Caroline had asked her to.

Wtf?!?!?!?

I couldn't answer that question truthfully ("I would rather be slowly eaten alive by those pedicure fish"). So instead, I acknowledged that I lack the interpersonal skills required by the job, and suggested that perhaps she could help me with that.

In reality, my biggest problem is that I can't think quickly and defend myself.

Why didn't Caroline check with me first?

2008-07-27T19:50:00.000-07:00

New Heights

Went yesterday to the mountain we can see in the distance to the south east. It is my cousins' distant neighbour. They can see Mt. Baker from almost every room in their house and their back deck. I can't believe that I've lived here my whole life and this is the first time I've been there. We weren't expecting snow, but we got it. I'm tired and sunburnt (I know, I know), so I'm going to flake out and just post some photos. Enjoy.

I will post more photos tomorrow (or whenever I get around to it).

2008-07-25T20:10:00.000-07:00

Dog Days

New neighbours moved in next door. We thought that this was a good thing because we heard from one of the previous renters (in a house that had been divided into 4 units), that the new owners were kicking everyone out because they wanted to live there.

Ahhhh, we though. Relief from all the comings and goings; relief from all the cars; relief.

Well, not so much. It is one family (as far as we can tell) that has moved in. And they have only three cars, which is the same number as we have (so we can't complain). The problem is their poor dog.

While I'm typing, it is howling. And I'm not complaining about the howling. I'd be howling too. They leave it chained to the boat trailer (small boat) all day. It sleeps in the sun, laying on the gravel. Whenever a car drives up, it jumps up, hopeful that someone has come home. We never see anyone interact with it. Sometimes, it knocks over it's water dish. Sometimes, it gets tangled up in the trailer hitch.

The first time it started howling was when it knocked over its water bucket. It would pick it up, and toss it around in the air, trying to get someone's attention. When that didn't work, it would bark. We looked just before the sun went down, and the poor thing was still out there with its tipped over water bucket.

I'm trying to write a snappy article for the magazine. It's about keeping unwanted mail out of your mailbox. To start the article, I wrote about dogs overwhelmed with their shredding duties because of all the junk mail. If only that was the dog-next-door's biggest problem.

We have reported them to the SPCA. I hope that they do something.

2008-06-30T18:34:00.000-07:00

High

Yesterday wasn't the best day to go hiking. This was especially the case because I haven't been hiking for years. And even then, the most strenuous hike I had tackled was Dog Mountain at Seymour. It's nothing like the Grouse Grind. There are lots of ups-and-downs, but in the end, you've barely changed elevation.

That's what we were looking for from yesterday's hike. Not much of a change, but something interesting to look at. What happened, though, was that we didn't look too closely at the map. We took a wrong turn, and ended up going to High Knoll in Minnekhada Regional Park. It's a nice park in Coquitlam. There's a marsh with deep-voiced bullfrogs. There's an old hunting lodge that has been refurbished and can be rented for weddings and other occasions.

Look at some photos. The light-coloured part on the top right side of the mound is where I was standing for the first photo. In the bottom photo, I was standing on the path on the right side, about a third of the way up that side of the photo, in between the two bodies of water, to take the photo of the mound.

2008-06-28T09:04:00.000-07:00

Draw the Line

Just came back from the doggy walk. It is hot out there. The thermometer on our front porch says that it's already 20C. I could feel the heat. It was almost tangible, like I was carrying something on my back. When we got back home, the poor dog's tongue was almost dragging on the ground.

It's his own fault, really. He's in charge when we're on the walk. I figure that it's his one moment of freedom (sort of), except that he's dragging this large thing at the other end of the leash. I can safely say that I'm not as enthusiastic about the walk as he is.

The route changes every day. We go wherever his nose takes us. Today, we started by cutting through the park that's next door to the school next door. We had walked part way up the street when I saw a beat-up van parked in the middle of the street, directly between two cars parks on either side, blocking any traffic that might come along this early in the morning. I realized that the van had stopped to talk to someone on the street. This person had walked out to one of the yards on the far side of the street, and was talking to the van's driver. Because the pedestrian was on the far side of the van, I couldn't see anything but his head. I was just thinking about how inconsiderate this was, when the van pulled away and the pedestrian turned to walk back to his house.

I envy people who are so self-confident that they can parade around in public nearly naked. Even if I didn't have the man-boobs, there is no way that you would see me without a shirt off, unless I was swimming. (You can thank me for this later.) I'm just not a shirt-off kind of guy. But the pedestrian was. There was not a shy bone in his scrawny body. He walked back up his driveway, smoking purposefully, with his greasy hair slicked back and his Spongebob boxers smirking at me. I've never liked Spongebob.

Later on the walk, after we had taken the grand tour of the neighbourhood, we were walking (thank god) down the long hill back to our house. This is when I really noticed the heat, because my back was to the still-rising sun. I was just thinking about how hot I was and noticing how much Sunny's tongue was dragging, when I saw a jogger coming towards us. He was wearing a black fleece jacket zipped up to his chin and a toque.

What?

Why would anyone be wearing that on an already too-hot day? As he gaspingly passed, I purposefully said "good morning" loudly to him. He choked out a "hi". He looked like he was struggling, and this awoke the snotty voice in my head that always starts yapping whenever I hear of someone who has found themselves in a crisis situation after skiing out of bounds, hiking off the trail, or jumping somewhere unwisely. Today, this voice was talking to the jogger. It said "buddy, you're on your own if you collapse". It's called Darwinism, and although it's a bitch, it certainly helps to sort things out.

Edited to add: I don't want to be misunderstood. If someone's in trouble, I'll certainly help. But when people are stubbornly, persistently being stupid (ie. jogging in a black fleece jacket zipped up to the chin), then I don't feel the need to step in and save them from themselves. It's better to just let natural selection do the sorting.

2008-06-27T21:28:00.000-07:00

Did you find everything you were looking for?

That question is usually asked when you are buying something. I didn't hear it today. And do you want to know why? Because I couldn't find anything. I went to buy cds today (I know, I'm olde-fashioned and an enemy of the planet). I was prepared to buy many. But I couldn't find any of the ones I was looking for. And I just realized that because I wasn't buying any, I couldn't complain about the ones I couldn't find.

I went to three stores. One was in the mall (HMV), and looked pretty much unchanged. After I went there, I went to FutureShop and then Best Buy. Both have changed noticeably. Their cd section, and even the dvd sections, have shrunk and moved. Is this because people are file-sharing? Or is it because nobody could find what they were looking for in the stores, and were therefore forced to shop online? It's a chicken-and-egg kind of thing, really.

And what can we do as wannabe-consumers? Just now, I thought to myself that I probably should have gone up to someone and told them how disappointed that I couldn't find anything. Yes. How crazy would I have looked if I had marched myself up to one of the till-girls and said "I came to your store prepared to spend a lot of money on cds. But I could find nothing. NOTHING. So I am taking my business elsewhere. Good day"?

They would have taken my photo on the security cameras, and posted it at all the doors with a label underneath: Disgruntled...approach with caution.

So I left, cd-less.

2008-06-25T19:52:00.000-07:00

Tummy Ache

I'm enjoying fresh strawberry shortcake while typing this. The strawberries were furnished by the famous Krause Brothers; the cake (more like a biscuit), was endorsed by Denny Boyd (it was his mother's recipe).

Sorry about the half-eaten shortcake. I couldn't wait to take the photo.

2008-06-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

Funereal

Last night, Rita and I went to see Corteo, the Cirque du Soleil show that is in town. This had started out as a solitary venture. It hadn't occured to me that anyone else would want to spend the money. And I had decided at the last minute to go. I was going to go see a matinee and then meet Rita for dinner. Instead, she said that she'd like to see the show. So we got last minute seats for the 5pm Sunday night show.

We almost didn't make it in time, and C du S is particularly stodgy about latecomers. They usually punish the tardy by making them wait until the opening/first act is over, which can be up to a 15 minute wait. So I was rushing, trying to take shortcuts, trying to avoid possible delays.

Without realizing it, the route I took was the same road through New Westminster on which my cousin died a couple of weekends ago in a motorcycle accident. It didn't occur to me until we were nearly at the scene of the accident. I didn't know my cousin. There was a rift in the family before we were born. So we grew up separately, even though we were only a few months apart.

I was looking forward to the show; I thought it would be uplifting. Which it was. But ironically, the theme of the show is a funeral: "A clown pictures his own funeral taking place in a carnival atmosphere, watched over by quietly caring angels". It is beautiful; it is strange; it is musical; it is athletic; it is frightening; it is joyous; it is sad; it is silly; it is surreal. It is transporting.

And it was very accurately skewered on The Simpsons.

2008-06-19T19:17:00.000-07:00

High Rollin'

So I've been sort of reprimanded (again) for the blogging dry spell. I go through these periods where I blog every day. Then I lose interest. But I only lose interest in my own life. I'm still reading other people's blogs. You know who you are.

Today, I met the delightfully worldy Josie and the sickly Meladuck at the educational Magazines West day of seminars. Last year, Meladuck and I freeloaded a day of seminars after enduring a few months of volunteer hell. Meladuck had called on me for support in coping with one particularly bitter event organizer. The mental scars are still healing. We tried to make ourselves feel better by absconding with as many gratuitous copies of magazines as we could carry. They are still in a pile on my desk, unread.

Ironically, or perhaps insightfully, this year's seminars are meeting at the River Rock Casino and Resort. Feeling lucky? Wanna have a career in magazines? You might as well place a bet, roll the dice, and sell your soul. Oh, yeah. The drinks are free.

I felt lucky. I managed to arrive early. I hadn't had a stroke in traffic. Things were looking up. But I had some time to kill, so I hit the slot machines. The first machine, which seemed to call out to me, was called "Barking Bucks". It features a family, including a son named "Rob" and a dog. Perfect. I fed it my $20, and after a few rounds, I won $70. Not bad. I'm up $50. I still had some time to kill, so I switched to another machine. I fed it another $20, and won $40. I quickly did the math. I was ahead $70, which means that I had more than paid for the afternoon seminars.

It was seminar time, so I left. Our favourite grammarian (for whom we have theoretically have formed a Fran Club), spoke brilliantly about grammar traps and myths, and about how the English language changes. She was funny and informative. Meladuck was excited. Frances had given her some ammunition for work.

I ate 4 delicious River Rock biscotti, and then Meladuck and I dove into the left over tiramisu. After one spoonful, we talked about bringing the bowl back to the table. We were only half joking.

When the seminars were over, I walked with Meladuck and Josie back to the parkade. We talked some more, and then parted ways. I decided to use the washroom before diving into the traffic jam that was surely between me and home. I couldn't resist stopping by the Barking Bucks machine one last time. I fed it a $20. I pushed some buttons, and I won another $102. Knowing that I had just made $150 over the last few hours, and knowing that I could easily lose it again, I decided to brave the traffic, take my winnings, and leave.

The traffic was very light. I got home quickly with my heavy wallet. In all, it was a pretty good Thursday.

2008-04-28T21:31:00.000-07:00

Frightened

I just banged my knee again on my desk. You would think that I would learn how not to bang my knee. But I haven't. It has been happening all weekend. It's frightening the dog. It's happeneing because there have been some changes around here.

A few weeks ago, I scored (SCORE!) a nifty piece of office furniture which my co-workers call a credenza. I have no idea if that's the proper name for it. My gut instinct is that isn't the proper name. That's not just me being superior (I am a writer, you know). To me, credenza sounds like a dance, an energetic, elegant dance. This bulky, blocky piece of furniture just doesn't seem like a credenza. It doesn't seem like a dance. It's immovable (or nearly). It's a stance.

But it's in the corner of our "den" now, waiting to be filled with important papers, my extra cds, and various other office accoutrements. (By the way, I'm supposed to be finishing my income taxes right now, but I just can't face it. So instead, I decided to check in on my friends' blogs, and just read Meladuck's superior week-in-review.) We had to shift the furniture around to get the credenza to fit. The desk got shifted down the wall. You wouldn't think that moving the desk no more than a foot would make that much of a difference. But it does. I keep knocking my knee on it. The noise is quite loud. It's frightening the poor dog, who is quiveringly afraid of fireworks. Any little bang gets him shivering.

He's pretty gun-shy these days. He's very jumpy. The parents are spending too much time together. Neither one is even close to being happy. It has almost come to a contest between the two of them...which one is worse off. There's no denying it. They're both in rough shape. Neither of them are cured of their cancers (I just typoed "cursed" for "cured"...Freudian slip?). The best either can hope for (or the worst), is some sort of reprive. But as a former friend (as of the moment I read her email) just told me, we're all terminally ill. We're all going to die. Nice. I guess that I'd better just suck it up and carry on.

But most of us (especially this friend), haven't been bombarded with so much in the last few years. I have been sucking it up and carrying on. But it's getting harder. My mother has developed pains in her head/ear which she thought was an earache/pimple. She has also been struggling with pronouncing words. And she has been sleeping a lot. I'm very scared.

2008-04-05T12:08:00.000-07:00

Classics

I don't know if it makes me less Canadian or what, but I've never read Anne of Green Gables. My elementary school put on a well-meaninged production of it way back in the day, and perhaps I figured that it was enough that I sat through the play.

The interest in AoGG has risen to a fever pitch in the last few years, undoubtably energized by other countries' fascination in this truly Canadian story. I don't know if it's still true, but a few years ago, Japanese couples were coming to Canada to have a truly AoGG wedding. But that isn't the depth of international interest.

In this morning's Vancouver Sun, there is an article about the answer a British journalist got when he asked one of Canada's international literary superstars, Margaret Atwood. When asked about how she thought Anne's story would/should end, Ms. Atwood replied "She would have ended up a disease-ridden prostitute".

Awesome. That might explain the green hair.

2008-03-30T20:13:00.001-07:00

Milestones

According to the calendar on the wall, and my supervisor at work, I have been in their employ for about 7 months now. Just after I started working there, my supervisor had to start the "yearly review" process. She must have been either overly optimistic that I would stay or overly assured that her persuasory would work (she had had a series of employees leave after being there for only a few months...she kept telling me this over and over again before asking if I was happy and all that), because she started the yearly review process for me long before my 3-month probationary period was over.

Last week, she gave me the performance review. She apologized that my numbers were so middling. I couldn't hold it against her. She had to judge me after knowing me for only a few weeks. In fact, I must say that she was rather generous considering that fact. The bottom line is that I got a raise. Again, she apologized because it was so little. I didn't have the nerve to tell her that this was the first job I'd ever worked where my supervisor somewhat sponataneously gave me a raise. In fact, I'm still just glad to be working. The raise is just a bonus (pun intended).

Now, see, that introduces the new problem. If I had been telling you that story in person, I would have certainly chuckled after saying "The raise is just a bonus (pun intende)." Lately, I've felt the need to provide my own laugh track, which is lame. I've become a chuckler. According to my own rules, I must hate myself. And I don't.

2008-03-26T19:10:00.000-07:00

The story ends in an unexpected way
(don't worry...my dad is okay)

Yesterday afternoon, my mother phoned my cel phone. She has done that several times this week. Each time, I've answered and heard her talking to my dad in the background. "He must be in a meeting..." Apparently, she has no patience. I usually answer on the third ring. Or maybe she doesn't really want to talk to me, and my assumption about her patience is tragically incorrect. It doesn't matter. She has phoned several times this week while I was at work. One of the times, she was phoning to tell me that Purdy's hadn't yet marked down their Easter chocolate. Tragedy.

Yesterday afternoon, she phoned to tell me that my dad had had chest/side/back pains earlier in the day. They had gone to their gp, who miracuously (sp?) had an opening. They had rushed down to make the appointment. The doctor had seen him and ordered a few tests. She was phoning to let me know that they might be stuck at the hospital getting tested, would I be able to let out the dog, who was due to pee (like clockwork) at 4:30. He, the dog, is well-trained in only that one area: peeing. Everything else is an adorable free-for-all.

They arrived soon after I let the dog out, which made for a very happy dog. He likes greeting people, especially people he knows. And if it's the people who feed him, that's even better. He peed quickly.

As soon as my dad got into the house, he decided to go back out and get his prescriptions filled. He obligingly took the cell phone with him even though he always "forgets". If he doesn't have the phone with him, my mother can't phone him and extend his errands. I'm not saying that he does it on purpose, but it does seem mighty convenient.

When he got back from Save-On, he said that the strangest thing had happened. He was just getting back into the car when the cell rang. He answered, and the woman on the other end said "You just phoned 911." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. He said that he hadn't. He was already slightly angry because, once again, his doctor had prescribed a new medication that isn't covered by their medical plan. This happens too often, and both of my parents are retired. They're paying for their own medical, so it would be really nice if the doctor stuck with what is covered. So when he got this phone call, he was probably already a little upset. Then someone phones him and says that he phoned 911. "Don't give me any attitude" the woman on the other end said, "I want some information." Thinking that this was a scam, he said again that he hadn't phoned her, told her that she wasn't getting any info, and hung up. I think that's a reasonable thing to do considering the circumstances.

He came home and told the story. We all agreed that it sounded like a scam.

Two hours later, when I looked out front and saw the two police cars pull up across the street, I had completely forgotten this incident (or my brain had checked out for the evening). Knowing that the front gate was locked, and seeing that they had walked across the road and were trying to figure out how to open it, I went downstairs and told my dad. I figured that they would find a way in if they really wanted to get in. But he had to go find out, so he went out into the cold and rain to find out what they wanted.

I went upstairs to tell my mother and to pick up my digital recorder just in case. You never know. There have been some tasings. By the time I got back downstairs, he was headed back to the house and the cops pulled away. He came in to get the keys to the gate locks, unlocked the gates, and came back with a cop. I could tell that my dad was really agitated. Great. So the cop came in and started explaining that they got the call from dispatch that there was a 911 call from the cell phone and that they have to come and investigate. My dad started again explaining that he hadn't made the call. The cop cut him off and said that the phone call had been made, "that was a fact". So I said that we couldn't understand how that would happen while he was in the line at Save-On, with the phone in his pocket. How could he have accidentally dialed 9+1+1+Send? I understand that they have to follow up on the 911 call, but I still don't understand how the call got placed. I wondered if there was a mistake. The cop argued with me. I still don't understand how the call could have been made. I went through the phone book on the cell phone. 911 isn't in it. And it's an old phone. It doesn't have the "press and hold a button and it will dial" kind of feature.

Anyhow, there was arguing back and forth, and the cop gave us his card and told us to follow up with "dispatch" today to find out what happened. He took my dad's driver's license, wrote some stuff down, and left.

After he had left, my dad told us that when he was outside talking to the cops, he had told the cops that he hadn't dialled the phone. The cops had argued that the call had been made and that they had to follow up. He was talking to them over the fence and they threatened to cuff him and arrest him if he continued to be difficult. He then told them that he'd let them in so they could check, but he had to go back to the house to get a key. They didn't want him to leave. Again, he was being difficult. Which, he probably was, because he didn't make the damn call in the first place.

We still don't know what happened. The 911 operator called him on the cell, which means that the cell was "hung up". If he had accidentally made the call to 911, wouldn't it still be connected? I will admit (though he won't) that my dad probably should have just let the cops in when they came here to check things out. I totally understand that that is "procedure". But I still want to figure out how it happened in the first place? Did my dad accidentally dial the phone? Did the old phone somehow spontaeously dial 911? Did the 911 operator misdial and reach my parent's cell phone instead of the original caller? We hope to find out. I do NOT want this to happen again.

2008-03-17T20:34:00.000-07:00

Luck of the Irish, sort of

Today is St. Patrick's Day, right? It was when I checked my calendar this morning. But according to McDonald's, St. Patrick's Day happened some time last week. It depends on which McDonald's you go to.

You see, they have this yearly special menu item in honour of St. Patrick's Day. It's called the Shamrock Shake. It's minty. It's green. It's cool. And it's available for a limited time only. You would think that limited time would include the holiday in which the shake was made and named, but it doesn't. Nope. That's not guaranteed. Each store orders in some of the shake mix. But they don't want to get stuck with the leftovers (how would that happen...people would magically...like leprechauns...stop buying them after St. Patrick's Day), so they order only a little. When they run out, your luck runs out, too.

"Sorry!?!" The vacuous little till-jockey shrugs at you. "They were available for a limited time." Apparently McDonald's has a different calendar than the rest of us.

2008-03-12T21:20:00.000-07:00

Couch Potato Without Pity

I confess to watching too much tv.

But what I've just realized is that most of the tv I watch isn't because I'm inherently interested in the show itself. Mostly, I'm interested to read about the shows on one of my favourite websites, Television Without Pity, a website borne out of a group of friends whose need to keep up with the shiteous teen-angst "reality" of the former Dawson's Creek was so great that they started the habit of recapping the episodes for each other in case someone had to skip a week.

Over a short period of time, this website grew to employ (yes, they employ, and pay) at least 70 (due to all the tv watching, my attention span is short and I couldn't count any more) recappers who cover about 60 tv shows. And when they cover those tv shows, they don't pull any punches. As their motto says: "Spare the snark, spoil the networks." And that is why I love the website.

One day, I aspire to be as witty, intelligent, knowledgeable, and insightful as some of the writers on TWoP. I will include a short example (because the website threatens to sue). The writer refers to Colonel KLC, who is the "country" girl on the current incarnation of American Idol. It had me laughing/crying at work today when I was sneaking peeks at it.

Colonel KLC tells us a bunch of nothing and looks very pretty and has heard of the Beatles. She'll be singing a countrified version of "Eight Days A Week," which she calls a "risk" six times in a row. If there is any justice in this world, this is going to be the most amazingly sucky thing in the world. Like I actually started bouncing on the couch when she said that, because I think Kristy Lee has a pretty good shot at being Sanjaya, honestly, because she sucks so bad that it could be incredible. She just needs to commit to sucking and so far she hasn't really done that. This could be her night to suck really bad, though. Let's see. There are like twenty violins going, and she's seriously squatty, and the song is like incredibly fast, like they sped up the real song on the Chipmunk machine. WOW! This is totally awful! This is so great! I can't believe how shitty this is! Her eyes are full of terror and it's like the song is going faster and faster and faster and the monkey's chasing the weasel and it's...she has no idea. Just none. This is so great, she makes all manner of spooky weird faces and then yodels. Yodels! I love this show! She's so fucking awful, it is great!

Randy's like, "You sounded shitty and inbred, and yet came off fake even though you are both, in reality." Paula tells her she prefers barbiturates to the violently methamphetamine nature of her performance, and says she knew where she was going with it, but that it was a grandiose failure. Simon tells her it was of the Devil and that she sounded bravely like Dolly Parton on helium, and calls it "ghastly country fair." The Colonel's all, "I liked it!" Whatever, freak, go vote for yourself. Ryan asks how Simon can tell her to be country, stay country, and then bash her for it, and Simon's like, "But it fucking sucked, though." And Ryan asks Paula if Simon's advice was crappy, and Simon tells him to fuck off, and Ryan says that the day Simon becomes the host of the show he can do whatever the hell he wants, but until then, he can double fuck off. Paula says that KLC is safe because she has a big fan base, and Kristy thanks her for this value-free fact as though she just said something nice. Which she didn't, she said something mean, which is that KLC's fans are stupid and will vote for her no matter how bad she sucks. But I mean, how do you survive if you're KLC without being able to turn frowns upside down like that? She just made lemonade out of Paula! Delicious metalemonade!

Click here to see the whole critique of Tuesday night's Beatles episode of American Idol.

2008-03-05T19:33:00.000-08:00

Not Much

Just wanted to remind you to: Laugh.

2008-03-04T21:18:00.000-08:00

Naked

Once you get settled into a job, you get accustomed to the people around you, sort of...skip back to my entry on January 11 titled "Holy Crap". I'm still annoyed by the food noises around me. I wonder if I make annoying food noises?

But those people who don't stand out by annoying you usually fade into the background. They become their functions, especially when you have no first-hand contact with them. If they're in another part of the office, out of your sight, they don't amount to much. You know them by what they can do for you or for what they want you to do for them. Beyond that, they're wallpaper.

A co-worker stepped out from the wallpaper today. She's one of the few who got the surreptitious invite from the deserter to come visit him in England if we're "ever in the neighbourhood". (Aside: Is that really an invite?) So I knew her as part of the inner circle of invitees, those people deemed cool or human enough to be invited. I found some comfort in in that invitation because I was so new to the office. Of course, I sat right next to the deserter, so by default, I was on his radar. However, we shared a similar disdain for some of our more enthusiastic co-workers, so there was more to the friendship than proximity.

Jenn distinguished herself from the masses today with her version of the inclusive email. Titled "Jenn's dance show", she selected a few folks to invite to her dance groups' upcoming performance. Immediately, I was conflicted: "dance shows" can be a swirling masse of embarassment (I'm reminded of the line from the tv show 3rd Rock from the Sun, when Sally invites Dick to see her ballet performance because her teacher says that she dances like a drunk bear. Being from outer space, she doesn't realize that this isn't a compliment.), and I don't usually enjoy participating in swirling masses of embarassment, especially when I'm in the first row and can't avoid eye contact or hide my embarassment.

However, I clicked on the link out of curiousity and politeness. Besides, I read the email further, and noted a warning that there could be nudity. It turns out that she dances with Kokoro Dance, a famous and perhaps infamous (depending how you feel about nudity + art) local dance company.

Immediately, I was unreasonably excited. Not because of the notion of nudity, but because I had learned something secret about a co-worker. I was also excited to know that I know someone who is so brave to not only dance naked, but that I know someone who has the self-confidence and personal fortitude to invite co-workers to come see her dance naked (and not for tips, which would be awkward).

This incident made me realize 2 things about myself: 1) I'm still very lazy (she maintains a full-time job and she dances), and 2) I'm not that interesting. I need to get up off my ass and be active, and I have to pick up a hobby.

Whether or not I keep my clothes on for either is up in the air for now.

So, any suggestions?

2008-02-26T18:41:00.000-08:00

Firings, Hirings, and Swedish Cinnamon Buns

Today was an interesting day, sprinkled liberally with highs and lows, iced lightly with goodness.

It started off with a quick trip to The Magazine. Knowing that I had free time in the morning, I contacted the e-i-c a few weeks ago to say that I might drop by. She said that she would be glad to see me. When I drove off in the morning, I was excited to be going to see the editorial department.

When I got there, I found out that not only was the e-i-c not there (strange, I had told her in advance that I was going to be there...maybe she forgot...my fault for not emailing a reminder), but few people I knew were there. In fact, the second-in-command editor was "no longer with the magazine". One person from the editorial department was in, and she told me more about this "shocking news". Then another editor showed up, and told me more. The firing was abrupt, surprising, and most probably demeaning. Poor Susan had been escorted out of the building, clutching her Chicago Manual of Style and CanOx dictionary for comfort.

This was the second firing of the week of people who I respect and admire (and consider far more skilled than me...yikes!). I saw Xine (the other poor unfortunate soul) mid-day when we met at school to inspire/frighten the up-and-comers for their portfolio show. We were asked to flaunt and explain ourselves. Somewhat stupidly, the instructor asked us to be candid about the portfolio show. After checking that he did indeed want us to be candid, we spilled the truth: Nobody gets a job from the portfolio show. It's just a love-in for friends and family. We told the newbies that we spent too much time and money on these impractical portfolios, and that we won't be using them for job applications. After dispelling more wisdom (ie we wasted far too much time and money on something that we won't be using again) and shattering the myths (ie it's not about getting jobs), we had duly crushed their spirits and frightened them into silence. The questions ended. The Vignator vacated, and we stood around and talked. At that time, I found out that one of this year's interns had been hired full-time by The Magazine. She assured me that that was completely unrelated to Susan's firing. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

In-between these two events, I managed to slip in a quick visit to IKEA. I bought a cheap pillow, a plastic desk pad, and cinnamon buns. The guy in line in front of me was buying a light bulb; the people in line behind me were buying many unnecessarily big plastic packages of screws. IKEA may be Swedish for common sense, but I don't think that it's Swedish for "green" (although if you mix blue and yellow, you get green...but I digress).

At the end of the day, I had heard both good and bad news, seen people I had missed, missed some people I had wanted to see, and had made another installment in Pillowquest 2008:The Search for the Perfect Pillow.

2008-02-14T19:22:00.000-08:00

Chocolate

I thought that I had today's entry all figured out. Then I talked to my parents, and that all changed.

Yes, today is Valentine's Day, the most Hallmark-y, chocolate-y, flowery day of them all (except for Mother's Day, and Easter...never mind). I was going to write about the fateful day a few years ago when I had a chocolate eating contest with a classmate, and I ended up on the floor of a Vietnamese restaurant, writing in pain with a headache and stomach. The inevitable puking helped only a bit. I haven't been for Vietnamese food since.

However, instead, I'll write about the most romantic gesture my dad has attempted in years. He stopped trying because it didn't matter what he did, it wasn't right. So he gave up. But this year, he stuck his neck out, and bought chocolates, which is so symbolic.

There was only one problem. He bought these chocolates while he was doing some errands. He went to a proper store (Purdy's). But he also stopped off somewhere else while he was out.

He came home with chocolates and a new toilet seat.

Now that's love.

2008-02-05T19:36:00.001-08:00

Anniversary

It is time for my yearly posting in memory of my sister. This time, in light of the harshly critical emails I've been receiving from one particularly friend (who is incredibly sympathetic for my sister's husband, and who also thinks that I really need to go into counselling), I've decided to do the "healthy" thing and post a photo of my sister and her husband instead of finding one that shows only her. In this way, I can show that I'm supporting him, too.

This one was taken at one of their friend's houses during a renovation party. Roxanne looks happy (and yes, she is slightly mocking Allan, so it's even better). They were quite young when it was taken.

Five years have passed since she died, and my family is still facing health crises. We have no idea what my mother's prognosis is at this point; we do know that my dad's cancer is in remission for now. It's scary. Even one of the dogs died of cancer.

I have nothing else to say except to encourage each and every one of you to do all you can to stay healthy.

2008-01-28T18:38:00.000-08:00

Sheep...regular or decaf?

I'm not a ground-breaking consumer. I confess to following some trends and falling into some lines. One line I fall into regularly is at Starbucks. What can I say? It's a block away from where I work, and the baristas (my own personal Spice Girls) give me what I want, what I really, really want.

However, because it is so close, I have become somewhat paranoid about going so regularly. No, it has nothing to do with health. I know that it's bad for me. But I try to choose well, opting for soy hot chocolates for my hot beverage, and mocha frappucino lights for my cold beverage. I know that these will add up to some sort of collective badness, but in the meantime, I'm enjoying their yummy goodness.

I have another favourite coffee place, one that rewards their customers for their frequent visits. You get a stamp card, fill it up, and they give you a freebie. It's a good system, except that the card illustrates your weakness...you have a visual record of how many times you've caved in to your personal demon/temptation. This could be counter-productive, but most people can't pass up a free...I mean good, thing.

Starbucks doesn't use this gimmick. They know that they've got us hooked. But they do have some sort of gimmick: the customer survey. Twice now, since I've been working at this new job and going to Starbucks daily, I've received an extra-printout on my receipt, a request for me to fill out a customer satisfaction survey. The carrot they dangle is the monthly draw for $1,000. All you have to do is fill out the survey and you're entered.

This seemed like a good deal. In the end, if you're lucky enough, you could win a bunch of cash. And all you have to do is answer a few questions. I was sailing through them until I hit the question: "How many times have you visited a Starbucks in the last month?"

I did the math. It wasn't difficult, but the truth was hard. For the last few months, I've been to the Starbucks, on average, 20 times a month. Now I'm sure that's probably a modest number. I know that my supervisor can go twice in a day (and have a venti non-fat latte...with a straw. I know what the straw is for. Do you?). But still, it was shocking. I couldn't believe that I was that much of a consumer-sheep,

So how bad have they got me hooked?

When I saw that the prize for participating in the survey is $1,000, I immediately thought "that would buy a lot of frappucinos." Someone must save me from myself.

2008-01-24T19:00:00.000-08:00

What's in a name?

Since childhood, I have hated my names, first and middle. They are both so common and so boring. My sister had interesting names. My mother had chosen them just so they couldn't be shortened and cheapened. Then The Police came out with that song. And when she went to nursing school, her friends shortened it to Roxy. So much for my mother's fine plan. She was outsmarted by a bunch of drunk nurses dressed as puppies (NOTE: That isn't a reference to any kinky sex thing. Each year's class of "probies", for initiation week or whatever you want to call it, were made to dress up like an animal that starts with a "p". Thank god it wasn't porcupines: someone could have gotten hurt.)

Names fascinate me. I think that they influence a person's character. And I'm also interested to hear what kinds of combinations get put together. For females, Lynn (or a variation thereof) seems to be popular for middle names. I have no idea what it is for males. Anyhow, I'm off track.

I find names interesting. I went to school with a Warren Beatty. Perhaps his parents were film buffs. I always wondered if his parents knew that if he turned out kinda ugly, he would be in for a world of hurt. I also went to school with a Tom Collins (parents=alcoholics). And then there was this one kid whose name was Jeffrey Jeffries. I couldn't get over that. Who in their right might would name their kid like some sort of palindrome (begins and ends the same)? The only answer: really mean, twisted parents.

So when I started the new job, I scanned the phone list to help myself become better acquainted with my co-workers. My eyes immediately landed on "Corky McCorkindale" and thought "seriously, what the hell is that?" I didn't want to believe that anyone could intentionally name their kid something so obnoxious. Immediately, I thought that of kid on that tv show. You know the show. It exploited the actor's condition for ratings AND taught a heart-warming life lesson each week. How uplifting [interrobang]

It has been months since I saw this name on the phone list. He doesn't work in the office. He is an outside sales rep (so he isn't like his tv alter-ego). Finally, the other day, I got the nerve to ask about the name. So I asked “What’s the deal with his name? I hope it’s a nickname.” Both of my co-workers looked a little stunned. Perhaps I had said the unspeakable thing? Perhaps I pointed out that the Emperor’s was really naked. After a pause, someone did answer. Corky is his nickname; his real name is Ian. If I were him, despite the association with that tv show, I’d stick with Corky.

2008-01-18T19:21:00.000-08:00

The Lesser Evil

You know what's sad? It's not the iminent disappearance of apostrophes (although that is NOT good news). It's that I'm blogging because I'm avoiding something else. I should be writing articles for that magazine, but I'm not yet motivated (the deadline is next weekend...plenty of time). I've already poked around the internet for the daily news about those lousy celebs. I checked out all the cute puppies and kitties on cuteoverload.com. And I've checked out everyone else's blogs (James must be really sick...I hope that he gets well soon). I have no more excuses for not writing my articles, except that now I'm blogging instead.

This isn't the way it's supposed to be. Blogging (or "blobbing", which is how I keep typing it) should reflect the quirky dynamism of a person's life. Perhaps that's my problem. I hang around engineers all day, who talk nothing but engineerese.

Now there's something I can blog about.

I was stuck in yet another meeting the other day with a room full of engineers. Don't ask me what kind of engineers. I don't know. They're all the same...too occupied with the minutiae of cameras and recording devices. They worry about focus, depth of field, sharpness, brightness, and colour. They argue about spacing and placement and regulations and materials. they argue about timelines. And I drift off, because it's all really fucking boring. This past week, my mind drifted to a strange place.

These engineers come from everywhere, usually places in Europe and Asia. It's a wonder they can understand each other, but I guess that engineerese is universal. The European ones are from countries that end in "~ia". I have no idea which Asian countries are represented. But they're all characters.

While they were arguing about millimetres, I looked around the room, picturing them all as Muppets. Some were easier to picture than others. There's a squat, square man with a heavy accent, bushy curved eyebrows, and a quick sense of humour. There's an annoyingly polite Asian guy ("correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe that I am...") who wears huge cargo pants with pockets which are stuffed full of something (he looks kind of sumo-ish, with his heavy, bowed legs). There's a short, balding ornery Scottish guy who's always ready with a scathing judgement and harsh self-criticism (and who cannot pass a box of Timbits). There's the rabbity little Italian, transplanted from a small town in northern BC, who is loud and completely politcally incorrect.

I was mentally remaking them out of foam, fake fur, and googly eyes when the most intense engineer turned his icy focus onto me: "And how are the manuals and carton coming?" This is the moment in which I always get myself into trouble. They lull me into a stupor with all of their techno-talk, and then they abruptly change their focus onto me. It's like getting woken up by someone throwing cold water at you...shocking, confusing, and makes you have to pee a little. At the first of these kinds of meetings, I embarassed myself by lying. It wasn't until I was back at my desk that I realized that I had given a status report ("they're almost done") on something that didn't exist.

Now I'm more careful with my answers.

(See, now this is where I go so wrong. I have no idea how to end this. I'll publish it now and maybe find an ending later.)

2008-01-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

Holy Crap

That's not just a comment about the past holiday season. I just checked in and realized how long ago it was that I last blogged. I hadn't realized that it had been so long, but a friend kindly reminded me that it had been a while. And even though I've been too lazy to update my blog, I've been thankful that everyone else has been posting somewhat regularly. I've enjoyed keeping up with your lives, and I realize that it's totally unfair to not keep you updated on mine. Besides, the hijinks and hilarity that I experience every day should not be kept from anyone.

Truthfully, I had been half-heartedly thinking of starting up again. I was falling for the New Year folly of starting things anew. We all know that those things almost never work out. I agree with meladuck: I don't do resolutions (that reminds me...one of the engineers at work today told a really corny joke about computer monitors and New Year's resolutions...it was bad).

But I can't ignore that it's the beginning of the year. This is especially true because we have to do goal-setting for work. I hate that kind of exercise, especially when "your salary increase depends on it". It's like writing a cover letter for a job application. You know what they want to hear, and you give it to them. It's an empty, pointless (except for the $) exercise.

That being said, I have to make some up. I had decided almost immediately that my first goal (even though they have to measurable, etc), was to start the year with a new attitude. But I already gave up on that on the first day everyone was back from Christmas (yes, I said it) holidays. It took one thing to get me back to my same, old miserableness. And what broke me was something that I cannot ignore: food noises.

Every morning, my tech-writing co-worker has yogurt as a mid-morning snack. While the yogurt container is still full, it's fine. But whe's he's finishing it he does the most annoying thing. He's one of those people who do the rapid, little scrapes. Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape. What the f**K is wrong with your spoon that you have to scrape the plastic container so much? Is it too big for the individual portion yogurt? Does it have holes? Is gravity defeating both the yogurt and you? What the F**K?

Now, see, this is my blog problem. I get so far, and then I don't know how to neatly tie everything together and sum it up. Maybe I won't. Maybe that's why I stopped blogging. I put too much pressure on myself that all my posts be brilliant, and that put blogger's block on me. I've now decided to make that one of my goals (who cares if it isn't work-related). No more pressure, and no more bloggers block.

Ahhhhhh, the freedom. It's delicious.

2007-11-10T11:33:00.000-08:00

I have an addition to the list of things that I've learned:

Apparently some people, adults, have no idea how to use a washroom. To be more specific, some people cannot operate the faucets and/or keep water in a sink. For short people such as myself, this is not merely an annoyance. I have to reach for the paper towels and soap (I'm sure that's something else some people don't know how to use), and I'm always leaning into sinkpuddles, soaking my shirt and/or pants. When this happens, I often wonder if people think that I'm incontinent. It looks like I've peed myself. And I haven't. Really.

2007-11-06T19:37:00.000-08:00

Anniversary

I've been at the new job almost three months now. I know this because the computer keeps asking me to change my password, and when I mentioned it, someone said "You must be coming up to your three months."

It seems like an appropriate time to summarize my learnings:
1) Even though you hand things to people, they will lose them. The probability of this increases exponentially with the non-replacedness of the item. For instance, I spent half an afternoon highlighting the changes in a document for one of the project managers. The next day, he stopped by my desk to ask if I'd given it to him. My co-worker smirked at my devastation. Bastard.

2) No matter what, there will always be changes. Always.

3) Everyone in my department must have at least two monitors (and one must be an LCD flatscreen) so we can multitask. That multitasking can include answering personal emails, shopping for real estate, reading foreign papers online, and downloading movie previews.

4) There's an excellent language tool called wordweb, which can be used as a dictionary, thesaurus, and pronunciation guide. Today, my coworkers entertained themselves by making the software electronically read, in that robotic Microsoft reader voice, all kinds of semi-perverse words. But they used their headphones, so all I could hear was their laughing.

That's about it.

2007-10-29T20:15:00.000-07:00

Abomination

I took the cute dog for an after-work walk tonight, and on our route, we passed a house which was hanging out their Christmas lights. What the hell? Hallowe'en hasn't even come and gone, and people are already decorating their houses for The Season.

But who am I to complain or judge? I drove to Tacoma on the weekend to go shopping. We ended up at a Holiday Gift Fair similar to the Circle Craft Fair except that it was decidedly more low-brow. These were definitely crafters selling their wares, not artisans, such as you find at Circle Craft. Amongst the crafters were sprinkled an odd assortment of salesfolk, including one guy with a suspiciously heavy Southern drawl who was selling The Next Best Wire Cutter, an internet service provider, and a smattering of charlatans that you would usually find in the Showmart building at the PNE (if there was still a building). You know the ones with the microphones attached to their faces who are shilling chamois, super mops, and glass and jewelry cleaners.

The oddest booth had a fairly large crowd around it. All I could see were old movie photos on the wall, and I thought that someone was selling memorabilia. They were, in a way. They were selling autographs by one of the child stars from It's a Wonderful Life: Karolyn Grimes. It was too weird for me. That, and all the kettle corn. Damn, those people love to pay $8 for a bag of popped corn.

On the way back, we stopped at my favourite place, the University District. All the good stores are still there, and it looks like Lululemon is opening soon. They're making the world their own, downward doggy style.

2007-10-24T21:42:00.000-07:00

Last week, I stopped into Future Shop (grrrr, I hate) to look for music. I found something (Amos Lee...quite excellent), and went to purchase. There was a girl at the counter. She was buying a fair-sized flat-screen monitor. She was also wearing pyjama bottoms, and they were dirty and worn out on the ass. She was wearing slippers. She was wearing a fleecy. And her hair was greasy and stringy.

It made me think: who is better off? Whenever I go out, even if it's to the mall, I worry that some part of my clothing is dirty, or my zipper is undone, or my jeans are too short (making me look more nerdish) or that my hair is looking really thin (which makes me look like I'm in denial of my baldedness, about which I DON'T want to talk), etc. You get the point. I worry about my appearance in public. And then there's Greasy Girl, who apparently didn't care about her appearance, but desperately needed a new monitor.

I have to say that I've never been that desperate for anything to be parading around in my dirty pyjamas. But you know what, I really admired her for her "who-gives-a-shit" attitude. But that was about all that I admired about her, cause she looked naaaaaaaaaasty.

2007-10-16T21:26:00.000-07:00

I'm writing an article about the recent warning by Health Canada about cough syrups and kids. I’m tired, I’m stuck, and I just want to get it done. I have to think of a title and some subheads. So far, the only idea that I’m really satisfied with (on a very juvenile level), is calling the article “Suck on this”. It would be only sort of funny.

That reminds me of something from work today. My co-worker was telling me that he finally got some fairly thorough feedback on a User Guide from some SMEs. But it was only fairly thorough. As a joke and a test, in one of the diagram callouts he wrote something like “press the unfortunately named ______ button”, and nobody caught it. On some level, this gave him pleasure. But it also scared him a bit wondering what would happen if he forgot to change it back.

This reminded me of my near-miss moment. Over the last few days, I’ve been testing a digital video recorder. This unit allows users to name the cameras that are hooked up to it. Being a 7-year old boy at heart, I named my cameras “Poo”, “Ass”, “Boo”, and “Pee”. I almost forgot to change them back before taking about 50 screen shots. If I hadn't changed those names, they could have made it to the final document, been printed and distributed to the general public.

But why should I worry? Nobody reads those things anyhow. Well, that's what everyone says.

2007-10-11T22:17:00.000-07:00

The new posts are coming quickly and furiously (maybe that's just my demeanor). In an extremely ironic moment at work today, I was faced with a situation which was close in theme to those described on a website the ever-watchful meladuck told me about.

One of the project managers with whom I work came over (stealthily...he needs a bell around his neck) to my cubicle and asked me, quietly, about an email I had sent earlier in the day. This email was a follow-up on an URGENT project (in his world) whose urgency had apparently dwindled. He had bugged me to finish updating a user guide by the end of September, which I almost accomplished. However, I didn't get it finished until the beginning of October, which was officially just one day late (if you don't count the weekend).

I had wondered why I hadn't received any feedback, so I sent him an email earlier this week asking him if he'd had a chance to look over the document. He crept into my cubicle this afternoon to ask if I had sent it to him. I assured him that I had. He asked if I had emailed it to him or given him a hard copy. Surprising myself, I was able to provide all the details: before I handed it over to him, he had asked me to highlight all of the new parts (so he didn't have to strain his weary mind by reading all 90+ pages). I hadn't written the original draft, so I didn't know what was new. So I had to find an earlier version, read/scan through the whole document, and highlight the new bits. It took a few hours, but I had done it, and handed it over to him.

And then he lost it.

I was surprised that I didn't lose it. I kept my composure, and happily encouraged him to look again because it would save me several hours if he found it. He agreed to have another look in his office, and turned away.

He wasn't 10 feet away when my co-worker turned to me and whisper/yelled "You've got to be fucking kidding me! He lost the document, and he wants you to clean up after him."

I was proud that I had been able to back myself up (and even identify the project/product the project manager was talking about). It was a very special moment. It was almost as if I knew what I was doing.

And then I hooked up the new dvr and it screamed. Well, we can't always be winning.

2007-10-09T18:20:00.001-07:00

I'm sorry that I haven't blogged in a while. I've been too busy and lazy.

And this one's going to be short.

Wondering how my job is going? I'll tell you: I drooled on myself today.

Any questions?

2007-09-22T19:48:00.000-07:00

It's Saturday night, and I'm blogging and researching for an article. My life is so full.

So I thought that I'd share the misery that is reflected in my daily work correspondence. Episodes such as the following email exchange rile my inner Wegnerd, and it's all I can do to retain my composure and perservere through the business-speak and overinflated language. Oh, and it's also tough to keep myself from bitchslapping people with a dictionary and a syntax guide.

Read and enjoy your own confusion. Nothing has been changed or omitted to protect the ignorant.

The other guy starts: "Please issue to Wing Chan for records in Agile and Corey N and David B so they can communicate to Hitron."

Me: "I just need to clarify. Do you want me to send this to Wing Chan so he can put it in Agile, or do you want me to put it in Agile and then forward to Wing Chan?"

The Other Guy: "Have the final been issued to our supplier already. You can work thru Agile record keeping with Wing."

Me (to myself): What the fuck does that mean? Is that a question, a statement, or a demand? Have I gone crazy? Have I suddenly lost my power to comprehend? How do I respond to this? Why couldn't he have just answered the question? Why am I here? Is this a test?

I think that I'll just go home and deal with this tomorrow.

When I talked to him the next day, he admitted that he often writes emails too quickly and omits words. He then proceeded to not answer the question and tell me a bunch of things I didn't need to know.

This exchange proves that you can earn a master's degree, and yet still not master the art of communication.

2007-09-17T19:56:00.000-07:00

I'm a spaz

At least at "work" I am. That is the first official reference to my new job as work. This doesn't mean that I have settled in and feel like one of the gang. Not yet. I'm still the new guy, and I'm sure that I'm still the odd new guy.

Because I'm a spaz. It's just my nature, especially when I start something new. I'm on edge. My nerves are raw. My senses are heightened. All of this manifests in quirkiness and clumsiness.

I jump, visibly, when I run into people unexpectedly, especially at corners and when entering the washroom. So I approach these potential embarassment zones cautiously, slowly, which probably makes me look like a freak. I open the bathroom door a crack and look in. Casual observers, of which I'm sure there are many (because my surreptitious bathroom entry probably draws a lot of attention), probably think I'm a freak. I can't argue. If I run into someone who is leaving the washroom, I jump a couple of feet into the air. Freaky!

And I'm clumsy. As I've written before, there are too many purveyors of tasty frozen blended coffee beverages in the vicinity, so I usually get one when I go for my lunch time walk. (Who am I kidding? The beverage negates the walk. But it's my delusion, and I like it.) When I'm finished, I take the empty drink container to the coffee room, where I rinse it out before throwing it away. I know...the eco-horror! The reason why I rinse it out is because I don't want dirty garbage going into the garbage. And the reason why I take it to the lunch room is because I figure that that garbage gets thrown out more often than the garbage can at my desk. Therefore, less dirty stinky garbage.

However, last week, when I was doing my compulsive good duty and rinsing out my drink, the straw gleefully leapt out of the cup and swirled down the drain. Even though it was in dream-like (or nightmarish) slow motion, I could not catch it before it was gone. After a few seconds of "shit, shit, shit" thinking, I realized that I had no choice but to fess up. So I went to the office manager, who followed me back with her extra-long tweezers and a positive attitude. When we looked under the sink and saw that the downpipe was over a foot long, we realized that I was screwed. She made the executive decision that the straw could stay because this was the coffee room sink, and that only liquids enter the drain. Unsure of the decision, but relieved that I had confessed, I went back to my desk.

The next day, the Roto-Rooter guy stopped by. I didn't see him come upstairs, but I also couldn't deny that his visit was mighty timely. No one asked me to foot the bill.

So if you want to know how the job is going, the answer is: I'm a spaz, but perhaps a lucky one.

2007-09-08T09:50:00.000-07:00

I need a good moodle. But unlike some people, I'm not even that organized. But I am pack-ratty. There are at least three desks (one is a drafting table...so much square footage to cover!), a dining room table, and various other flat surfaces covered with my precious ephemera. My biggest downfall is newspaper clippings. I barely have time to read the papers, so I flip weekly (not weakly) through the gathered pile and clip out anything that interests me. Then I put those in another pile, which I will someday read/scan, and sort into stuff for the magazine, stuff for me, and stuff for the recycling bin. It's MY system, and I like it.

My mother complains about my pile (to my dad and not to me), saying that it is a fire hazard. So is the stack of Christmas Wish Books she saved from the day my sister was born until the day both of us realized that there is no Santa. I won't divulge how old I was. I was old enough but not too old.

Anyhow, I've completed week #4 at the New Job. I guess it's about time I stop calling it new. I'm settling in, I guess. By the end of this week, I almost felt like I knew what I was doing AND that I was being productive. So it's almost like I'm earning the money they're giving me. Almost. I still can't believe that I'm getting paid to do this. I think my disbelief is connected to all the years I worked crappy restaurant jobs. You work damn hard, long and late hours, for a mere pittance without pity. Instead, people usually treat you like crap. But not at the (new) job. People are mostly respectful, kind, and nice. Fun? Not so much (still). But nice.

Today is my dog day of late summer. Just me and the dog and some quality time. The poor little guy, who is still recovering from his surgery over a month ago, is doing well. He limps a little if he wants to run. But there's nearly no sign of the injury if he walks. But that doesn't mean that he won't work my sympathy nerve whenever he can. I swear that he has given me the "oh, it's you...whatsyername" look several times. So today, it's just me and him. His routine hasn't changed. He's sleeping. But he's sleeping next to me. And that's okay.

2007-08-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

My posts have become very few. Even though my job is close by, and my commute is nearly non-existent, I seem to have little time to devote to the computer. But I am getting out and doing more. I was fortunate enough to be able to join Rochelle, her boyfriend Serge, Sara, Josie, and Shirley for Rochelle's surprise birthday picnic at Stanley Park yesterday. What started out as a fairly dreary, rainy day actually perked up quite a bit by the time of the picnic. The clouds parted. The cruise ships set off on their journeys to Alaska. And the commercial ships sat just outside English Bay waiting to come in. We enjoyed snacks from Choices (via Sara), delicious tofu lettuce wraps by Shirley, and then pigged out on Josie's home-made tira misu. It was v. good for a first try. I didn't get a photo of the food or of the suicidal seagull with food issues, but I did get some nice photos of the scenery before my battery died.

2007-08-14T19:07:00.000-07:00

Tyrants and temptations

Well, this is my first post after starting the new job. There are good and bad things to share.

First, the tyrants want something like 8 or 8.5 hours out of my day. I'm not accustomed to that kind of demand on my time, and it's taking some getting adjustments. Luckily, the office is just over 10 kilometres away from home, which means that I have the best commute ever. So I can't complain at all. This is especially true because the people there are really nice, and for the past two days, I've been paid for sitting in a chair and reading. Mind you, the reading wasn't all too thrilling. I read the style guide and the Framemaker book. It was all I could do to stay awake, especially when the sun shone through my window this afternoon. Yes, my desk is on a window, but the view isn't all that great...the truck route to the border. They can't ever see me if I do the horn honk signal.

And the temptations are too many, in the form of lunch choices. In the next block there is a strip-mall kind of thingy that has a Starbucks, Tim Horton's, Subway, Taco del Mar, and Boston Pizza. There's also a Price Smart (boo Jimmy Pattison), in case I get tired of the others. And the best part is that my favourite coffee place, The Wired Monk, is just a few blocks up the hill. It's a short, easy drive to get my favourite frozen blended coffee beverages and sandwiches.

The highlight today was the Caroline, the woman who hired me, was back from her long weekend. She had gone fishing in Salmon Arm with her family. From the conversations I've overheard all over the office, it sounds like everyone has been away recently. I like that kind of trend. And Caroline has started her countdown...9 days...until she jets off to Italy, where she's touring around for a week before she catches a 10-day Mediterranean cruise. Someone else just came back from Hong Kong; another just came back from New York. It sounds like they encourage travel. I don't mind that at all.

So the short version of the last two days is: so far, so good. But the holiday is over. I got my login and password today for the computer, so now I have to do some real work. Stay tuned for more

2007-08-08T14:11:00.000-07:00

The difference a day can make

Today, finally, after many, many cancellations, Sunny the dog got to go to the groomers. The poor little guy has suffered so many injuries that we've had to cancel his appointments a few times. He had gotten really hairy, which wasn't too comfortable in this hot-ish weather (where the hell is summer?).

Anyhow, here are before and after photos. Just because he's cute.

2007-07-31T17:28:00.000-07:00

There is a rumour going around that I might be gainfully employed. It turns out to be true. The job, which was one that our illustrious Maureen sent out, is not glamourous. It's a tech writing job. But the company seems to be amazing, the people seem nice, and the office is only 10 minutes away from my house. I could ride a bike, if I had a bike.

Thank you to everyone who listened through my whining and who read my cover letters. You're the best.

Now I guess that I have to change the name of my blog...

2007-07-23T10:24:00.000-07:00

I often go to amazon.com to read reviews about things I like, just to see what other people are thinking. I enjoyed the final Harry Potter book, but had some minor issues with it. So I turned to amazon.com to see what other people thought.

When I do this, I'm usually most interested in the 1 and 2 star reviews. I'm curious to see what people consider to be so wrong about a thing. I found this guy (I'll assume), and his crazy reviews. For example, the first line of his review for HP and the Deathly Hallows goes a little something like this:
It seems that before I launch into this review should tell you that I know some satanic, malign cutthroats who contend they once overheard Joanne Rowling say, "I want to reap a harvest of death when you least expect it".

But did you like the book?

For a laugh, I read the review for the dvd of that movie 300. Crazy Reviewer has written...
Although I generally believe that the less said about 300 the better, I do feel obligated to say a few things about 300's self-aggrandizing disquisitions. To organize my discussion, I suggest that we take one step back in the causal chain and embark on a new path towards change.

Whatever happened to the thumbs up/thumbs down system?

2007-07-20T17:45:00.000-07:00

If I was more techno-savvy, I could post a video from one of my favourite Britcoms, Black Books. But I'm feeble, so instead I will post the url for the video called Bernard's Letter. It's a letter written in response to a publisher's rejection letter. I hope that for none of us, it comes to this. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JU4S2BIqoHY

2007-07-18T18:12:00.000-07:00

I waited until today, the rainiest day in several weeks, to hoodwink Rita into being my personal photographer for the day. Against my better judgement, I agreed to be featured on the Contributor's page for the December issue of alive. This involves providing a photo, which is no easy feat. If I know that I'm being photographed, I'm usually able to pull off some kind of pained expression. If it's at all bright or sunny outside, then that expression usually has an undertone of anger (because the brightness causes me to squint). Nevertheless, we fearlessly embarked on the photoshoot, starting in Tynehead, a park in my neighbourhood.

I have to say that Rita admirably took on the role of photographer, suggesting different places and faces for photos. At one point, she got me to walk out on the slippery rocks in the salmon spawning creek (ie. environmentally protected) in the park. Most of the photos turned out a little blurry due to the slippery footing. However, she did manage to capture this stellar shot which I'm very tempted to use:

I look like I'm taking a (stubborn) crap into the water.

Thanks Rita, I owe you one. I really mean it.

2007-07-16T17:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was good, although it started a little bad, sort of.

I had promised my mother that I would take her to the annual Critter Care Wildlife Society open house. We have gone the last few years, and she has really enjoyed it. In spite of the new animal stink (babies can be little poop machines), I enjoy it, too. The open house is quite the affair. On Saturday, they had over 2,000 people visit the site. During the open house, volunteers take the public on a tour of the facility, affording we-the-people the rare (once a year) chance to glimpse all the unfortunate little critters. This year, we saw many raccoons, a young beaver (never mind, you perves), young skunks (a little stinky), opossums, three fawns, and a young coyote. There were also three bear cubs, but they keep them away from the public.

To raise money, CCWS sells tix to raffles, sells stuff, and outright asks for money. Some time while we were there, and sometime while we were filling out raffle tix, my mother put down her glasses case. Considering these were her new glasses, and it was The Best Case Ever, we had to go back. This little detour made me late-ish for the rest of the day.

But it was okay, because the rest of the group that was meeting at The Grunt gallery to see friend Hillary's art show was late, too. It was nice to see everyone again, especially in the context of Hillary's art. We were all in such a good mood that we couldn't be brought down by Bruce, the Cairn Terrier, who was still in a mood because his mommy had been away for a while in Italy.

After the Grunt, Josie, Sara, Rochelle, and I went to The Whip for a delicious dinner. I had the Blackened Chicken Sandwich with Yam Fries. It was nothing to rival JNads' Las Vegas fare, but it was good enough for me. Feeling nearly full, Rochelle, Sara, and I went up Main Street to Bellagio Gelato for a scoop. The conversation strayed only slightly onto the topic of former classmates; we grumbled about only a couple of them. That was a new high (or low, depending on how you look at it) for us.

2007-07-13T13:13:00.000-07:00

So here's a funny story that turns out to be not so funny.

While taking half-hearted stabs at gaining employment, I've been making up projects to keep myself busy. One of these projects is an elaborate personal timeline of my life since graduation from high school. As I had written in previous posts, it's my 20 year reunion next year, and that got me to thinking "what the hell have I been doing?" Also, I was inspired by the disastrous interview with VBOT during which they asked me what I've been doing since 1998, and I couldn't tell them. Shameful.

For this timeline, I'm documenting education, work, vacations, and family medical history (because that has really affected my timeline in recent years). Doing this has been cathartic, instructive, and kind of depressing. And I'm still not finished doing 1988-1998.

But I ran into a problem which I couldn't quite figure out. I have been using past resumes and time markers such as graduations and holidays to navigate through my past. For instance, I knew that when I got my Bachelor's Degree from SFU and diploma from Kwantlen, I took vacations to Florida. I also knew that I went to California between those vacations to Florida. However, when I placed these vacations on my timeline, things didn't add up. There wasn't enough of a break between my educational experiences (I finished SFU in the summer semester and then started at Kwantlen in the fall semester).

Confused, I searched my memory for clues. I knew that the Canucks were playing in the Stanley Cup finals while we were in Disneyland; we watched the final game on a really big screen at Universal Studios. According to wikipedia, the Canucks were in the playoffs in 1994. I also knew that the Indiana Jones ride was under construction while we were there. According to my internet resources, the Indiana Jones ride opened in 2005. Both of these clues indicated that the California trip was in 1994. But that was weird because I was sure that I finished school in 1994.

Apparently not. I dug out my degree from SFU, which is dated 1993. Terrific. This means that I've had a glaring, significant error on my resume since I don't know when. I wonder what else I have wrong on my resume. I'd better check how I spelled my name.

Funny? NO. This all doesn't speak well of my copyediting and proofreading skills.

2007-07-04T16:23:00.001-07:00

Dog day afternoon.

So it sounds like the surgery went well and the happy no-lucky puppy is on the road to recovery. He'll be back home tomorrow to start to start 2 months of a house arrest sentence stricter than Paris Hilton had to suffer. He’s not aloud to run and jump and lick himself. Actually, that sounds a lot like Paris Hilton’s house arrest.

My cousin sent a lovely, well-meaning email in which she advised that when Sunny the dog comes home from the vet tomorrow, he will need some pampering. I wrote back that I'm already carrying him up and down the street to visit his favourite trees and other pee spots. What more could he want from me? I guess we'll see.

2007-07-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

The dog has been to the vet. The vet says that the dog has "totally blown his cruciate ligament." The cruciate ligament holds the thigh bone and shin bones together so they don't grind. The cruciate ligament is being repaired by the vet. The vet says that Sunny will have to stay over night. After that, he will not be allowed to run freely for two months, which means that he will need to be on a leash at all times. He won't be allowed to jump on and off the furniture (including the beds. We won't sleep for two months because the dog always jumps on and off our beds during the night.

Calgon, take me away.

Seriously.

2007-07-01T19:05:00.000-07:00

Happy Canada Day!

It feels so weird to be saying that. To me, and I think to many others, Canada Day is such a non-holiday. I guess it's because it is inevitably compared to the Fourth of July. As Canadians, we're not as patriotic (or narrow-minded) as our neighbours to the south. I'd like to think that we're quietly patriotic. I'm not even sure of that.

However, I am sure that the dog hurt his leg today. That's fun. He was just running around the yard, excited because some kids were climbing the school fence right outside our yard. He always gets excited when people are on in the school yard. It's an extension of his territory, and therefore it is his to keep safe. Anyhow, this time he forgot to keep himself safe, and turned too sharply and hurt his leg somehow. We think/hope that he just pulled a muscle or something. He doesn't seem at all put out about it. There's no crying. He's doing all the normal stuff except putting weight on it.

But poor little guy. He's off duty for now.

2007-06-28T18:15:00.000-07:00

There's not much going on with me lately, but I wanted to send a message out to everyone who is going away this long weekend. Have fun and play safe.

2007-06-25T12:04:00.000-07:00

Yummy! We made strawberry jam yesterday. We weren't as ambitious as Maikopunk, who picked her own berries on the way back from Summerland. Our only effort for securing the strawberries was to drive out to Krause Berry Farm and buy a box. It's an interesting little place. They've built themselves quite a little berry empire. There's a stand where you can get all kinds of baked goods, fresh fruit smoothies, and other berry-related refreshments. Check it out if you're looking for local berries and have some time to kill.

2007-06-23T21:02:00.000-07:00

Question: What can ruin a perfectly good day?

Answer: Taking transit.

Last Thursday was the first of the two-day long Magazines West festival of learning and schmoozing. Thanks to Melanie's urgings to join her in volunteering for the Western Magazine Awards (I soon found out that her motive was for self-preservation), I was able to attend, gratis, many of the seminars/workshops. They were held in a room with almost too much view in the Vancouver Renaissance hotel. And even though the door was distractingly noisy, we managed to absord some of the information which was being lobbed at our heads.

Thursday's seminars included tips to develop a one-year growth plan, a disappointingly rudimentary editing workshop (which was attended by some PF-ers and some folks from alive...it was good to see them), and a workshop on creating your editorial vision. We couldn't get into the Keynote address luncheon, so we walked done Hastings to find this fancy new chocolate shop, which has at least 30 different chocolate bars, delicious chocolate drinks (hot and cold, with organic peppermint), and fondue! We blew our budgets on cold drinks, and had to slum at Tim Hortons for sustenance before returning to the evening seminar.

When 5pm rolled around, I was safely in a good mood. I had seen some good friends (unexpectedly ran into someone I had worked with a couple of years ago), learned some good stuff, and had spent too much on a delicious chocolate drink.

Then I had to hop back on Skytrain in the middle of rush hour to get home. What ruined the day for me wasn't the crowdedness, the smells, or the white trash mothers. What ruined the day for me was the worry that while in that crowded car, inundated by the horrible smells and horrible children, that I might have caught whatever was causing that woman to calmly and quietly spew grossness into the battered paper cup she had with her for just that purpose. She did it all the way from Waterfront Station to the other end of the line in Surrey. There was nothing I could do but hold back the vomit, hold my breath, and hope that I wasn't breathing in her germiness while I waited for the crowd to thin so I can creep away from her.

I wonder if her name was Mary?

2007-06-17T19:19:00.000-07:00

The most observant readers of my blog will have noticed that I changed the format. I had felt for a couple of weeks that that groovy, dark blue layout with the multi-coloured dots was making my eyes do bad things. My eyes were freaking out every time I was looking at my blog. I figured that the colours were a little too dazzling for me, and probably for you, too.

So I decided to change the template to something more plain and perhaps more reader-friendly. The ever-observant Josie immediately saw the change, and sent a witty comment my way.

But my eye-saving change brought an unforeseen and unwanted side-effect: I lost all my comments. I think that I was using haloscan for the commentary, but even with Xine's help, I still haven't been able to resintall. I hope, one day, to retrieve everyone's witty comments. Truly, I would be nothing without them.

And now, a few days after I changed the format and lost all my comments, I realize that my eye problems may have had nothing to do with the template. Last Friday turned from bad to worse when I suffered a sudden onset migraine while volunteering with Meladuck at the Western Magazine Awards headquarters. I had driven in to Vancouver, and was therefore stranded while my eyes did wondrous things that prevented me from getting behind the steering wheel.

It seemed like the room was filled with spinning fans in the periphery of my vision. There was no way that I could even think of getting into my car to drive the 45-60 minute (not minuet) drive home. I had to sit on Sherry's couch and wait for the swirling to subside. When it did, my headache was increasing, as was my nausea. I bid a swift adieu, and bolted. Still hoping to cash in on the "let's go to Starbucks" conversation that we'd had earlier in the day, Meladuck followed me out the door. I felt so bad when I told her that I had to skip the Starbucks this time around. The thought of piling sugar and caffeine on top of my headache made me ill. I just hopped into my car and sped off.

I almost made it home without incident. But the nausea climaxed ironically at the turnoff for alive's spiteful offices. So I found myself puking into a handy plastic bag just down the road from the place that had so meanly inflated my ego, and then stuck it with a giant pin. Don't think that I wasn't tempted to deposit my spillage on their doorstep. However, I was still far from home and still nauseous. I kept my plastic bag just in case.

I'm glad that I did. After waiting a tortuous amount of time to get onto the Patullo Bridge, I almost made it home before the nausea hit again. I ended up asking a lot of that handy little plastic bag after contributing more spillage.

Even though I didn't think I'd ever make it home, I did. I grabbed a couple of pills, and went to bed. I slept for 10 hours.

This is another tale that can be added to my short story collection, so aptly titled Secretions by the ever-observant Josie. I'll get to writing that once the nausea has passed.

2007-06-09T19:47:00.000-07:00

Here's a link to an awesome photo essay by Time magazine called "What the World Eats." The writers/photographers visited families around the world, and took photos of their weeks' food supply. It's simply brilliant and informative.

2007-06-09T19:15:00.000-07:00

Huzzah!

Sometimes it takes a rainy day to put your life in order. Due to the oppressive, unrelenting weather, I spent the afternoon on the computer, searching through my storage cds. I was looking for a particular project from my past which I want to revisit. It was one that was never finished. Once finished, though, it will be a stellar example of many of my skills, especially editing and design.

This particular project is a rewrite of an article that appeared approximately 20 years in an issue of Science magazine. As per our lessons of the last two years, this article demonstrated a keen interest in and understanding of the subject matter by the writer. However, the poor girl needed to be smited heavily by the mighty red pen of the editor. The article is a horrendous mash of fake-your-way-to-the-top writing. The writer used all the big, overblown words and all the convoluted structures that indicate that she wasn't too comfortable in her role as writer. I will correct all that. And I'll make the layout interesting, too.

But I digress. While poking around on this cd, I found a whole cache of projects which I'd thought I had lost forever. I had been certain, until this discovery, that they had been saved on another cd...the one with which I have had so much trouble. Whenever I try to open it, either at home or at the library, the cd jams the machines, and I have to take drastic measures to get the computer to stop and let go. I still don't know what is on that cd. But I do know that it wasn't hiding the documents I was looking for. So yay!

But then again, boo, for all the found distractions.

2007-06-07T12:51:00.001-07:00

One more thing...here's a link to the concert Sara and I went to about a month ago. Click there if you like Ron Sexsmith, Sara Slean, Veda Hille, or that french guy. Also, click there if you like Gordon Lightfoot, Joni Mitchell, or Buffy Ste. Marie.

2007-06-07T11:23:00.000-07:00

I was googling myself today (yes, I know that sounds dirty), and I found this: http://forums.dogphoria.com/forums/post/59.aspx. It's the first time I've been linked. Yay for me.

2007-06-06T18:29:00.000-07:00

I had this moment today, after I missed going to the graduation ceremony (sorry to everyone who went), that I was totally anxious about missing Wegnerd and her class. I had this horrible, sinking feeling that I was forgetting all I'd learned from her, and that I was wasting time by not learning more from her. What is wrong with me?

2007-06-04T19:09:00.000-07:00

I mowed the lawn quickly this morning, running around the yard, pushing the lawnmower like one of those too fit parents who push their kids in jogging strollers. I was trying to beat the rain, which I did.

When I got back inside, I went to my room to get stuff for my shower. I was sweaty, rainy, and smelly of grass and gas (not mine). As I usually do, I flicked on the tv while getting my stuff. It was 11am. I always wonder who’s on Ellen (not literally, although anything could happen, and that would certainly make for “good tv”).

The sound came on first, and I couldn’t recognize the voices. As the picture came in, I realized that I was on channel 47, and I was hearing and seeing the indominitable Mrs. Garrett. In her shrill voice, she was sassing back to Mr. Drummond in the way that only indominatable redheads can sass back to their employers. She sassed, “I don’t do boys.” He reacted with typical, D-list, sitcom actor skill. (Oh, my god. I just found out that Conrad Bain, the actor who "portrayed" Mr. Drummond, was born in Alberta. Yikes! Another fine Canadian export to Hollywood.)

I reeled from the double and triple entendres of that phrase. It made me wonder about naivete. I used to watch Diff’rent Strokes (oh, the entendres…and what’s with that apostrophe, maikopunk?) when it was first on tv. I don’t remember it being at all racy (except, you know, the plotline about a rich white guy adopting to Afro-American kids from the ghetto…and we all know how well that social experiment turned out: Arnold; Willis; Bitchface/Kinberly). So I had to think to myself, which was more naïve…me or the ‘80s? I’ll leave it to you, my e-friends, to decide.

2007-06-01T11:13:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I did it, but I decided to search FaceBook for groups/people connected to my elementary school and high school. Although there were a lot of groups for my elementary school, none looked familiar. But when I searched for my high school, I found one group of myv very own: a group for my graduating class.

It's a small group of only 8 people. Considering that we had over 160 people in my graduating class, that's a small amount. But they're trying to get it to grow because IT'S OUR FREAKING 20 YEAR REUNION NEXT YEAR!

I was not emotionally prepared for this shocking bit of news. I was just innocently (I thought) nosing around through the internet. Now I'm in a state of deep panic. I'm so unsuccessful.

I feel compelled to run out and get published. In a big way, not in the tiny, thrifty way I've been published in a certain magazine. Yes, it's nice to see your name in print. But it's even nicer to get paid hugely for it. I realize that I shouldn't complain. Please don't berate me for my whinging.

But now that I think about it, I realize that I didn't get a phone call for the 10 year reunion until the weekend before it was happening. Obviously, I wasn't high on anyone's list of priorities. Maybe they will forget me this time around, too. That would be okay. I don't really want to see anyone. Besides, I don't really understand the concept of a reunion, anyhow. Don't people who want to stay in contact stay in contact?

2007-05-30T18:36:00.000-07:00

People...couples, families...who dress alike have always deeply disturbed/annoyed me. It's just another way of showing THE WORLD to whom one is attached. Except with less bodily fluids. (On that note, we encountered another lovely young couple whose love was so great that they couldn't stop pawing each other and swapping spit in our local coffee hangout. It almost put me off my panini. Almost.)

When I see those couples, usually American, who dress alike, I always wonder if it was a conscious decision on their part, or if they've just been around each other for so long that they've just about become one. It's like the people who look like their dogs. Or the other way around. You know what I mean.

As I was ferrying my mother around today on her errands, while my dad lay in bed feverish and anemic (we found that out later), I observed an older couple. We had taken the dog for a ride in the car up to the Safeway. But I realized that it was too hot for him to wait in the car (and for me too), so I decided to take him for a stroll in the shade of the building. While we were waiting (impatiently) by the "out" door, this older coupled approached from the parking lot.

What struck me was not the fact that they were dressed alike. They weren't wearing matching running shoes, t-shirts, or hats. In fact, the man was wearing, just barely, a button up shirt, unbuttoned, exposing his horrific middle-aged man gut and manboobs. I looked to see what his wife looked like. If that had been my parents, my mother's embarassment would have been obvious, especially because she would have been visibly admonishing my dad and telling him to do up his shirt. But this guy's wife was oblivious. She was walking beside him like nothing was wrong. And that's when it hit me...as I looked back and forth between the two of them: they were physically pretty much the same person. They had the same gut, and their boobs were just about the same size.

I don't know if it was the heat, or my considerable intellect, but my inner dialogue switched to the topic of this couple. What makes it somewhat acceptable (yet thoroughly distasteful) that this guy can flash his gut and manboobs to the innocent public while his wife can't? His were either the same size or possibly bigger than hers. And which is more offensive? It is more natural, in some ways, for the women to have the boobies. Wouldn't that mean that his are more taboo, and therefore should be hidden?

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I wish that I had a neat little way of wrapping this up. Perhaps I'll suggest that that guy should have wrapped his up.

2007-05-29T19:45:00.000-07:00

I envy some people (especially Meladuck and Maikopunk), and their seemingly effortless way of gathering moments from their day, the ability to reflect and assimilate those moments, and their ability to learn from them. As much as I try, I cannot do that.

My one main stumbling block is my memory. At the best of times, it's spotty. And lately, I've been blessed with spending too much time with my parents, especially my mother. She has this annoying habit of talking a lot (I have proof...her elementary school report card describes this tendency, and the trouble it has caused, in detail) because she thinks that everything she has to say is important, and because she often forgets what she has said just a few minutes ago. My patience has long ago expired. Her talking distracts me in a bad way. Any tidbit I have picked up during the day is usually lost from me by the time I have the chance to sit down and write. For instance, I had something I really wanted to write about tonight, but it's gone.

So, my dear role models, what do you suggest I do? What is it that you do? Do you have little notebooks into which you scribble cryptic yet meaningful notes? I'm eager to get your advice, because I do believe that I'm missing out on a lot. I think. I can't really remember.

But on a brighter note...I wore sandals today (no socks...shame on all of you who wear socks with your sandals). It was deliciously warm today. My toes were happy.

2007-05-27T22:28:00.000-07:00

While roaming the HMV in the mall, looking for either new music or old music, I heard a pretty good song playing in the background. But I was still looking for the few ever-elusive cds that I have been chasing for a while. Finally, I found one of them: Prince's Sign O' the Times". The price? Over $40! I remember this record (because it was in vinyl form back then) from my youth. And even though I had played it a lot, I couldn't remember half the songs listed. So I decided to leave it there, come home, and listen to the samples on amazon.com before I decided to buy it.

But the songs in the background remained really good, so I decided to investigate. Being as clever as I am, I discovered that the singer of the pretty good songs was James Morrison, someone I'd never heard of. I went to the shelf, and found that his cd was less than $10. Normally, I'd run away from something like that. I'd tell myself that there is a reason why his cd was so cheap...probably because it's crap. However, now that I reflect on this logic, I realize that it's very faulty. I have plenty of cds for which I paid a hefty, full price, which totally sucked. I decided to take a chance.

It turned out to be a good roll of the dice. I really like the cd, especially the title cut. As I was walking the dog this morning, I was able to reflect on the words. They apply to all of us: "I'm not lost; not lost, just undiscovered. And when we're alone we are all the same as each other."

See you all tomorrow night at the coffee kvetch. I have a shiny, unhappy story to share.

2007-05-14T22:04:00.000-07:00

Sorry to you all for not making the coffee kvetch tonight. As I told Xine, I went to Mission/Harrison today for various reasons, including getting my mother a late Mother's Day present and to see the sand sculptures. I will post about that tomorrow after I get the photos off my camera.

Even before that field trip, today was a good day. My dad went to the oncologist this morning and was told that there was "significant shrinkage." Men don't usually like to hear that phrase, but in this case that was a good thing to hear. It means that the chemo is working really well. The doctor went added that they can "safely say that the cancer has gone into remission." This doesn't mean that it's gone away entirely, but that the symptoms have been subsided. That's a good thing.

2007-05-07T21:44:00.000-07:00

It's so easy...you can do it with your eyes closed

The biggest lesson I've learned lately is how to be able to laugh about most things, especially things that happen to you. This is why I am, in this post, drawing attention to this instead of shying away from it.

Normally, I'd cringe at the thought of having thousands (who am I kidding...maybe a dozen...if I'm lucky) of people looking at me in a t-shirt and shorts. But such is the suffering one must endure to be a writer.

If you had asked me any time in the past if, in the future, I'd be giving out exercise tips, I would have asked you if you were high. But there it is...me giving exercise advice. And by the looks of it, the exercises I'm advocating are sooooo easy that you can do them with your eyes closed. The truth is that the bucolic scene you can see in the window behind me is sunrise, and that I'm very, very tired.

Oh, and the other truth is that there is a dominant gene in the family, which is passed through the generations, which gives us the ability to blink at precisely the time the photo is taken. It's not a glamourous ability. None of us will be saving the cheerleader or the world. But it's ours. That, and crooked fingers.

2007-05-04T19:42:00.000-07:00

I like doughnuts.

Today, Rita and I decided to meet for a healthy walk. We had started a semi-regular routine of walking to train for the Sun Run. But since the run, we've both kind of let that routine slip. Or more precisely, after we were both let go from that place, we've let that routine slip because we met with co-workers after work to walk in the park across the street.

So we decided to meet today, and go to Crescent Beach for a walk to, up-and-down, and then back from the 1,001 Steps.

I've lived here all my life and have heard a lot about the 1,001 Steps. It has always been a popular hangout for the teens. It's secluded, and apparently kids would meet there, start a bonfire, and drink. Sounds like fun! My friends went there a few times. I've never been. Rita goes to Crescent Beach a lot, especially to walk the dog.

We met at the most convenient place...Tim Horton's...and then Rita drove to the beach. Today was a lovely day; the sky was full of fluffy clouds and the sun was shining. It was very picturesque, which is why I was so annoyed that I didn't have my camera with me. That, and all the bald eagles and baby bald eagles we saw. Stupid camera. Anyhow, we walked to the steps, hiked up them (which didn't take as long as I had expected) and back down, and then walked further around the point. That's where we saw the bald eagles. Then we walked back on the sand, our steps popping seaweed on rocks, trying to find the dryest route back to the car. There were so many sea critters in the shallow water. We saw the bluest sea star. It was very pleasant.

Then we drove back to Tim Horton's. I fought the almost overwhelming impulse to buy an icecap, but I did give in and buy some Timbits. They're so yummy.

2007-05-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

On Guard

This post is a companion piece to the Prairie Queen's post of April 16th. What can I say...I'm slow.

If I recall correctly, it was a lovely day. I started by getting up too early to join the some of the alive crowd for the Vancouver Sun Run, an annual shamefest that I'd never participated in before. Once again, I had been misled by the folks at alive; I had understood that it was a mandatory event for everyone, especially we, the lucky makeover guinea pigs. I had heard that there was to be a group photo. There was no way I could get out of it.

So I put on my happy face, my team t-shirt, and went. And it was really kinda fun. We waited too long to start, shivering in the shadows of the tall Vancouver buildings. We saw all kinds of people, including a guy wearing a watermelon on his head, bunny ears, and clown shoes. We later (proudly) passed him. We also saw James' mom, Josie, who waved and then scurried away. I had completely forgotten about that until right now. Hey James...we saw your mom.

After starting an hour late, and after walking for half an hour before crossing the start line (where my personal trainer, Kerry, was one of 6 - 8 cheerleaders dancing to th e wigged band way up on the tall podium), Rita, Josie, and I finally started. No sooner had we crosse the start line, and one of them wanted to use the potty. They held out until half way through, when we stopped in Stanley Park for a pee stop. Eschewing the port-a-potties (yes, I used "eschew"), we decided to check out the Park's facilities. The women's washroom was open, and there was a line. The men's was closed, so the men used the facility's wall for a quick whiz. An excellent plan, but not for me. Instead, I sat on a bench, clenched, watching the boats in the harbour. It was quite peaceful, except for the bloated bladder.

We finished with a respectable time, and then parted ways. I'd coerced Josie to give me a ride to UBC. She was looking for an excuse to avoid her kids (bad mother!!!). Seriously, her kids had been working her last patient nerve, so she needed a little break. We stopped at Liberty Bakery for a quick snack, and then she drove me out to UBC.

I was meeting Sara for the Great Canadian Song Book concert at the Chan Centre, featuring Ron Sexsmith, Sara Slean, Veda Hille (whose step-daughter goes to school with one of Josie's sons...she knows EVERYBODY), and some French guy. All performers were good (except the French guy, whose awkwardness and bad singing forced me to close my eyes...which resulted in a quick nap). But for me, the stunner was Ms. Hille. She had to work with some crazy arrangements, and she rose to and above the occasion. I have one of her cds. I'll have to check it out again.

After the concert, Sara and I decided to take a bus back into the city and go to Sophie's for dinner. Sara had never been, but had heard good things from Good Christine at school. I've been several times, and I do like Sophie's chicken burger with satay sauce. Yum. We walked to UBC's bus loop (yes, I was taking transit...which made the day even more special). While waiting for our bus to come, I caught site of this crazy guy in the distance behind Sara. He was stabbing a telephone pole with a sword. We were next to the pool, so I guess that there was some sort of gym nearby where this guy had been fencing. That made sense. But still, it was funny to see some guy sneak up on a tree and stab at it a few times.

At Sophie's, Sara and I shared a chocolate shake (not Lady and the Tramp style, just split into two glasses). We both had burgers...Sara's a burger kind of girl. I was shocked when she didn't finish her meal. It had been several hours since she had eaten, and I've seen this girl eat a burrito an hour or two after having lunch. I think that the food was good...I ate mine.

The funniest thing happened while we were at Sophie's. Some guy must have lost something in the crack between the bench seat and the wall. We looked over, and he had found a sword...this one double-bladed, not a single, thing spike like the fencing sword...and was using it to poke down between the wall and the bench seat. I have no idea where he found the sword, but it made the day into a 2-sword day. Weird.

Then, we went out and waited at the bus stop, where we saw that guy looking for his keys with his tongue, shoved down his girlfriend's throat. Sara escorted me to the Skytrain station, and I went home to Surrey.

Sara thanked me for letting her know about the concert. I must thank her for convincing me to go. I'm a bit of a social-phobic, and the thought of going to a concert alone (her seat was on another floor), really wasn't the ideal situation. I almost didn't go. But I did, and I had a great time.

Sorry, this was a big one again.

2007-04-27T19:22:00.000-07:00

The Happiest Place on Earth?

Having learned so much about professionalism and readiness during the last 2 years, I'm still on hiatus from the job search. I figure that I'm due one more weekend of nothingness (except taxes), before I start on the odious task of finding work. Besides, it's been raining for forty days and forty nights, and I lack the energy for doing anything other than logging in screen time. Recent research tells me that's why Canadian kids are obese; I'm no argument to the contrary.

So here I am, lounging in my office chair in front of the computer, watching a dvd I bought at Christmas but never had time to watch. It's a tacky, silly, nostalgic thing...a limited edition release if Disney memorabilia released in the Walt Disney Treasures series. Perfectly suiting my interest in Disneyland, this dvd set, called "Your Host Walt Disney" features several of the Disneyland television episodes. I like these dvds because they show the history and the inside scoop of the place.

But more importantly, these dvds also recall a time when everyone was happily suppressed, when a knowing smile and nod between Mousketeers apparently spoke volumes. Watching these dvds today, that same glance means so much more. When they pull faces at each other or for the camera ("mugging" is the term, I think), it's almost as if they are mocking each other. "See you in obscurity ," one smirks to the other. "Catch you never," grins the other.

Back in 1957, when the particular episode I just watched was filmed for Disneyland's Fourth anniversary, the key players were multi-talented show kids who grew into obscurity. This isn't much different than the kids of the most recent incarnation, except there seems to be a higher percentage of kids who failed to launch the show biz careers their parents probably wanted so much for them. Of the ones I could pick out in the crowd (sadly, even though they all wore shirts with their names, only a few stood out), only Annette Funicello is memorable. The only other recognizable cast member was BobbyBurgess, whose great height and stilted, caluculated dancing made him stand out from the crowd. As an adult, he had a tacky career as lead dancer on The Lawrence Welk Show. Each week, he tapped his way into viewers' hearts, while his frozen showbiz smile and natural ability with "jazz hands" never betrayed his disappointment in having to share the stage with acts such as The Blenders and The Hotsy Totsy Boys. I can't imagine his disappointment in knowing that he once danced with Frankie's girl, but then he had to spend his life dodging those effing bubbles. While he's high-kicking, he's probably imagining kicking the ass of that peanut butter bitch Annette.

And funnily enough, the devil spawn that resulted from the most recent incarnation have grown to be today's mega stars (Britney, Xtina, Justin, and Ryan), and the not-so-mega stars (JC and Keri). Apparently the formula still works: grab some marginally talented kids, grow them up quick, make them immitate popular culture, and put it on tv. That's entertainment. And it's not at all damaging. Ryan seems to be the most well-adjusted, and that's probably because no one know he was on The Mickey Mouse Club. Britney and Xtina turned into showbiz whores, and both Britney and Keri had hair issues. And Justin is just lame.

But not as lame as the original crew. During this anniversary special, the kids banded together and forced Uncle Walt to listen to their proposal for a Wizard of Oz movie. The premise is that the kids are worried about their futures beyond their Mousketeer stardom (smirk), so they want to produce, write, choreograph, costume design their version of the story of Oz. The pretentious crew of future has-beens have even decided to add new characters! Brilliant, except for the cheese-factor that figures into the whole production. It's quite ironic coming from the House of Mouse. Their version of Oz has a jazz soundtrack (yay, jazz hands), which is just wrong. The television show's ending, which draws a "suffering cats" from Uncle Walt (presumably a comment on the kids' shrill singing...none of the boys have yet reached puberty), sees the kids prance up a giant cake, clutching sparklers. It's cheese-tacular, and I kind of love it.

I can't wait to see the next episode.

Edited April 28:

This morning, the soundtrack for the daily doggy walk was exclusively The Beautiful South. In the queue was a song I don't ever remember hearing, but the lyrics fit in eerily with this post:

The world is turning Disney and there's nothing you can do.
You're trying to walk like giants,
But you're wearing Pluto's shoes.

While researching those lyrics, I stumbled across a news article that, sadly, The Beautiful South has broken up due to artistic similarities. And yet Britney's still around.

2007-04-16T15:05:00.000-07:00

The good news and the bad news

Hey, I just figured out how to do titles. That's the good news.

Hey, I just didn't get hired for a job. That's the bad news. Terry-Lynn just called to let me know that some beeyotch who was the editorial coordinator for Flare magazine just moved to the West Coast, and got THE job. I'm so bummed. I haven't talked to Rita yet, but I imagine she's upset, too.

And i really wanted to write about the good day I had yesterday with Sara. It'll have to wait until the funk is over.

2007-04-11T09:24:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, my family celebrated a little known holiday: Purdy's Tuesday (aka Chocolate Tuesday). This very special holiday follows Easter Monday, and marks the conclusion of Easter celebrations.

The ceremony is very simple. Get up early, skip showering if you've slept in (or if you think that you'll need to use the BO buffer-zone tactic), go to the mall before the stores open, line up outside of Purdy's. When the doors open, elbow other "celebrants" who might block your path to the good stuff. Pick up as much stuff as you can, purchase, and then rejoice at all the half-price chocolate you've managed to score. Yesterday, my mother managed to score a 90 (she spent $90, and got $180 worth of chocolate). She was rather shocked at being out-bought. She said that a young guy who had been sitting on the floor outside the store, reading a book, spent $200 (meaning that he got $400 worth of chocolate). Now that's how you celebrate Purdy's Tuesday.

By the way...don't ask me in a few weeks how my diet is going. It won't be going well.

Happy Easter!

2007-04-11T09:24:00.000-07:00

2007-04-03T13:14:00.000-07:00

My stress level is at an all-time high for the last two years. On the McCoy scale (you may have to scroll down), I'd say it's between Level 3 (bowel-emptying fear) and Level 4 (unhinged sweaty barking nutwad). The stress is affecting my dreams. We had to present the "final" versions of our portfolios yesterday. I spent all of Sunday evening/night pulling something together. That night, I dreamed that after all my hard work, when I went to present my portfolio in class, all of my lovely samples and explanations had been replaced with pages from a supermarket flyer. They were all perfectly centred on the page, but completely wrong. Maybe it's a hint.

And then, yesterday morning, I woke to snow. Well, not exactly. They were talking about snow on the morning radio and tv news, but it hadn't started. By the time I was walking the dog, the snow had begun and was already sticking. During the walk, I was thinking how awesome it was that it was snowing. There was no way I could skip out today. I had to finish the portfolio show booklet with Maureen, and I doubted that John V. would accept the weather as an excuse for not showing up. I was worried because the last time it snowed, I had to leave my car at school and take tranist home (Scary!!!). That little occasion wasn't that bad. The lovely maikopunk and her hubby hosted me for a while. I almost made friends with her fat dog. Almost.

But I should look at the snow more positively. It gave me the opportunity to take a few minutes and do nothing but take photos before going to school. Usually, I rush around like a crazy person at the last minute. This time, I wandered around the yard taking these photos. Please note the pathetic spring flowers covered with snow:

2007-03-25T21:34:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-03-16T15:23:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-03-06T15:00:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-03-02T10:00:00.000-08:00

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:

2007-02-24T10:19:00.000-08:00

It has been so long since I last posted, and my memory is so unreliable that I won't be able to recover what I've lost. The best I can do is an update from last week.

Monday night/Tuesday morning: I got up early to go to the gym, and discovered a flat tire on my car. Excellent. It was so flat. I had apparently picked up a nail somewhere. So I had to remove the wheel and get my dad to drive me to the tire place, where they patched the tire for free (because I had bought the tires there). The guy behind the desk was cranky. He was going to charge me ($25). When we asked if I had to pay even though I had bought the tires there, he snarked back "Well, I can't read minds! How was I supposed to know you'd bought the tires here!" I don't know. Maybe you should recognize your product and maybe ask.

Wednesday: Because I'm at school, my parents must phone me and leave a frantic message. "Something's wrong with Sunny (the dog, not my cousin, who has the same name and, well...that's uncomfortable)." So I phoned them back to find out what was going on. See, the backstory to this is that the Sunny (the dog) was sick last week. While I was in Seattle on Friday, my mother phoned me: "Where are you?", she asked with a bit of panic in her voice. "Um, in Seattle, like I told you," I answered, thinking that it was about 8pm...surely she couldn't have just noticed that I'd been gone all day. "Well, I know that, " (okay, so she's not crazy or suffering from Alzheimer's) but I was just wondering if you were close by. Sunny's been sick all day. I think that he misses you." Wow, long-distance guilt...and on my dime. Thanks, mom. Love you, too.

So when this happened on Wednesday, I thought that he was throwing up again (sorry for the brutal reality). No, this time it was something different. I got to hear the details after they had returned from the vet. "Sunny was walking funny, so we looked him over and saw that his privates were swollen. So we rushed him to the vet." Great, I'm thinking, that's like the fourth time in the last week. But this time, when they talked to the vet, he had an answer. He asked them "Do you know what time of year it is?" Of course, they had no idea. "You know," he said, "it's Spring." Still no clue. "The female dogs are in heat." At this point, I clued in...he was sporting tiny dog wood. But not the parents. The poor doctor had to spell it out for them in detail. "Sunny's probably catching some sniffs of the female dogs and is excited." Then they got it. Thank god.

When I told my friend this story, she asked if my parents have one of those frequent customer cards for the vet. Come in for 5 visits and get the 6th one free.

Thursday: "Work" day at alive. There, I got bombarded with requests and duties. And because I'm there once a week, and because I'm still doing this stupid makeover thing, there's a lot of catching up to do. I'm considering printing up a t-shirt: "I'm still fat and I'm pissed about it. That's how I'm doing." But they all mean well, so I shouldn't complain.

I had a good conversation with the Director of Marketing. I found out that she often posts controversial comments in the discussion forum just to see if she can get people interested. In fact, she posted one really contentious comment which I actually had a mini meeting about with Terry-Lynn and Susan to see how they thought I should handle it. After hearing of this tactic, I immediately thought of this crazy lady I saw on a talk show years ago. She was proclaiming the health benefits of drinking your own urine. She then shot down a glass of her own pee, shocking the host into incredulous silence. I sent D of M an email asking what she thought...should I post a comment on that topic? She double-dared me. So, yay...I finally figured out how to have some fun with that.

And I invite you all to do the same. D of M said that she has posted about crazy fad diets (lemon juice and maple syrup) just to see what kinds of responses she gets. Fun!

Also on Thursday, I was reminded that the final installment for the life makeover series was due the previous week (whooops!), and at the same time, they asked me to write another article. Hmmmm, I don't even have time for the original assignment. What are the chances I'll be able to do the extra one? Then again, it's money.

Friday: After being confronted by my own stupidity (if you're going to school to work on a project, you should probably bring the stuff you need to work on the project), I spent an enjoyable evening listening at the Pearls reading night. My classmates were awesome. The others kind of stank up the joint. Army dude: you really lost me. Retired guy: your voice is not suited for readings...it's mind-numbing. Girl who won the award: a little too much with the clever references. The rest I can't remember. The popcorn twists were good.

And that was my week. When I started this post, it was snowing. It has now (thankfully) stopped.

2007-02-13T10:29:00.000-08:00

I could blog about the ayurvedic svedana (no, that's not a typo) from last night. Here's a hint: she oiled me, she steamed me, and then she beat the crap out of me with a brush. It was...different.

Instead, I'm going to share an email conversation that transpired between me and a classmate. He shall remain nameless, but I'm certain that everyone will know who it is.

The conversation started because Kathleen, another classmate, has apparently broken her arm. I emailed classmate #1 (hereby referred to as "classmate") to let him know. Each email consisted of a single word/line response.

Me: Apparently Kathleen has broken (or shattered) her arm and is in the hospital waiting for surgery.

Classmate:
Jesus.

Me:
I had no idea that you are a religious-type person.

Classmate:
I'm not, but Kathleen is. I was just surprised that Jesus broke her arm.

That, my friends, is comedy.

2007-02-10T13:41:00.000-08:00

(This post was from yesterday. I thought that I had posted it, but I had apparently hit "save as draft instead. What does that say about me, that I can't tell the difference between 3 words and 1 word? Maybe that I won't be a good proofreader.)

I'm a miserable, miserable, petty, miserable person.

Today, my dad was feeling pretty good, so we thought that we'd take him out for breakfast...his favourite meal of the day. He's one of those folks who like fried eggs, fried sausages, fried potatoes, and if he could have it, fried toast. Thankfully, we aren't in Great Britain, where translucent, bacon-fat fried crispy bread is a breakfast staple.

So because my mother had a coupon (they rule my parent's lives...they wouldn't know what to eat or buy without them), we went to De Dutch. We had to wait, which is unusual because it's Saturday. And while we were waiting, we were sequestered with a family of incompetent dad, invisible older son (think 8 years old), and extremely visible and audible younger son. Oh, and the overly eager uncle. These kids were coughing and hacking all over the place, which almost always puts me off my food. Therefore, I was pissed because I really wanted a pancake.

Then, we got sat next to them. Great. We had ringside seats to view the younger kid's outbreaks. He reminded me of Stephanie Weir's "Dot" character on Mad TV. The only difference was that the dad did not give a shit what the kid was doing. Cutlery was flying. The kid was screeching (and he was safely old enough to be able to "use his words"). And after he got his breakfast, icing sugar and bits of pancake were flying, too. The older boy quietly at his toast. Poor kid is going to grow up so dysfunctional.

The worst part was that I couldn't even look away from this scene because dead center in front of me was a nauseating young couple. I knew that they were going to piss me off when I saw that they hadn't sat across from each other (like normal people do in anything but the most romantic, darkly lit, private, expensive, exotic restaurants), but sat next to each other FACING ME. It was almost as if they had read my mind and were mocking me. I had to choke down my delicious pancake while trying to ignore them feeding each other (GAG!) and using each other as human vacuums/groomers, kissing morsels off each other's faces (FUCK OFF RIGHT NOW!).

And despite their efforts (because I'm certain that they caught on that they were bugging me and started doing it more just to piss me off), I held it together, choked down my pancake, and made it home without getting sick. So who's the better person now?

2007-02-07T21:56:00.000-08:00

It's dangerous to give maikopunk a ride home from school. Even though the ride lasts for just a few minutes, she does her best to earn her "EvilXine" nickname. Twice, recently, she has hypothesized about a certain classmates possible proclivity (it's a word...look it up) for nudity. I'm not sure if maiko's goal is to force me off the road, but she's nearly succeeded both times this topic has been discussed. Today's discussion led me to ponder if 'certain classmate' has written a story called "Saddle Sores". OUCH!

All this talk, inside and outside the car, in the hallways, in the washrooms, in the workroom and computer labs, has led me to believe that we are getting closer and closer to the breaking point. Something or someone is going to give, and there will be a PRFU shakedown like no other, and our happy little group will fraction off into separate groups.

I have no need to worry. I like my little group of evil-doers. And besides, we've devised a little game to pass the time.

BINGO!

2007-02-06T23:08:00.000-08:00

I wasn't going to do this again this year, but I can't not.

Today is the day that, four years ago, my sister died of skin cancer. She was too young and died needlessly.

I've added a few photos this year. The first one was taken during our first trip to Disneyland. I believe that we were on the Storybookland Boats (or something like that).

The second two were taken, well, 14 years ago, when we went to Walt Disney World with a friend. The photo on the left was taken on the riverboat; the photo on the right was taken on the

gondola. We were wearing awesome sunglasses (and I had hair).

I don't know if we were wearing sunscreen in any of these photos. Please make sure that you do.

Roxanne Darlene Klettke Fuchs

June 3, 1968 - February 6, 2003

2007-01-31T18:49:00.000-08:00

I was briefly hit by a cosmic wtf this afternoon.

Earlier this week, I had queried/suggested to the illustrious editor-in-chief at alive magazine that the Barenaked Ladies would be in town this week. I thought that the magazine should interview them because I had heard that the Ladies were trying to be eco-friendly during this tour.

In an interview on The Hour with George Stroumboulopoulous (I have no idea how to spell his name), Steven Page and Ed Robertson had described how they were going green this time around. They're using biodiesel in their buses; they're using wind-generated electricty to offset their power use; and they're using biodegradeable stuff backstage (ie "plastic" cups made from a corn product). They also talked about how they're switching to releasing their music digitally on flash drives, to help reduce the amount of waste on the planet.

All of this sounded like a good angle for the magazine. They want to target a younger demographic. Yes, the BNL aren't exactly what the kids are listening to today on their fancy ear/music machines, they are still younger than a lot of the recent cover models (ie Robert Bateman). I thought this was a good idea (maybe not for me to do, but still...a good idea).

So today, this afternoon, I received a phone call from the e-i-c asking for a favour: the magazine had secured an interview that had to be done tomorrow afternoon. I nearly drove off the road. This is it, I thought to myself. Be prepared to take the leap and say "yes".

The e-i-c continued: "It's with that local baseball player who was recently named MVP or something. I can't remember his name, but you know who I mean."

All I could think of was "baseball...I don't know anything about baseball." I agreed to do it. I can't believe this, but I have to cram for the interview. And the worst part...I have to cancel my shift begging for pennies at school. Damn!

PS: It's Justin Morneau. If anyone has any hints, please send them my way.

2007-01-30T11:12:00.000-08:00

As a result of my deep techno-savviness, I've managed to completely fuck up my username/password combo for our school's website. It started yesterday when I received a "your password grace period is over...go see the geeks and get reinstated" message when I tried to sign in before class. I dutifully trudged up the stairs to their lair, where I successfully chose a new password (cleverly one digit away from my previous password).

When I went to class, I was able to login only one time. After that, I couldn't remember the password, and kept screwing it up. I tried so many different combinations that they finally e-suspended my account.

So I now have to go back to the geeks and admit my stupidity. Terrific.

2007-01-29T19:25:00.000-08:00

The professional readiness class we're taking this semester, the last in a series of four, isn't accomplishing what I think it's meant to accomplish. Instead of feeling ready for fearlessly foisting myself into the worlds of writing and editing, I'm feeling completely unprepared and quite nervous. In a few months, the safety net for school will be ripped from underneath us; we'll be flying and/or crashing on our own.

Therefore, these next few months are crucial. We need to prepare ourselves for the "real world". This professional readiness class is supposed to be covering all our concerns. But instead, our classmates usually get stuck in some useless vortex of obsession. Today, they got fixated on furniture. And from what I heard, I've realized that I'm completely unprepared.

My desk is all wrong. It doesn't instill in me feelings of professionalism or dread. It's just there. Sometimes I sit at it. Sometimes I use it to store books. But it doesn't do anyting for me. Maybe I have the wrong kind? Perhaps I should take a photo and bring it to class. Maybe it's the reason why I sometimes have writer's blocks.

Or it could be the lamp. It's totally non-regulation. It was a gift, and therefore it must have bad writing karma. Perhaps it's in the wrong spot. Should I even bring up the topic of feng shui?

And I didn't even ask anyone if I could buy a file cabinet. It never occured to me that I could buy the wrong one and that all my writing efforts would be totally useless. Maybe it's totally negating all the info I store in there. Maybe it has a portal which sends all my ideas to the same place where the missing socks go.

I know that my chair is all wrong. My back tells me that it is. Maybe I'm using the wrong pencils and pens? Maybe they're blocking all my cleverness. Maybe it's the fact that I recycle paper (ie write on the blank side); this might cause confusion.

Then again, there is a saying about people blaming the tools instead of their skills. It's kind of famous, and kind of cliched, but maybe for a good reason. It doesn't matter what you use to write, people. What matters is that you write.

So quit your whining.

2007-01-26T19:46:00.000-08:00

Okay...

So the post about yearbooks went well. I thought everyone would have a disastrous/funny yearbook photo story to tell, but apparently not. I'm the only loser who had a dumbbell fall on the bridge of his nose the day before photos were taken. Whatever.

Maybe this post will be more interesting. A friend sent an interesting web site my way. She knows that I'm interested in both design and snarkiness, so she thought that I'd be interested in Design Observer. She was correct, but not for the reason she thought.

The posts she pointed out to me were "Quinessence" (she said that the comments are funny); "On Scrapbooking" (because I don't get it); and "What they don't teach you in design school". She may be right. I may be interested in those entries.

However, the one that caught my eye was the one called "Word Made Flesh" which is about sentence diagramming. I hadn't heard of this concept until I took PF, and now, suddenly, here it is again. It's just crazy how these things can creep up on you. Creepy.

I'd diagram that but I'm not smart enough.

2007-01-23T22:47:00.000-08:00

Meladuck's brilliant post about yearbook revenge and Rich Little inspired me to ask for submissions: Tell us your funny yearbook story. You know you have one.

Mine involves a bookshelf, an unfortunately-placed heavy object, and the bridge of my nose. Details to follow after everyone else shares.

2007-01-23T22:30:00.000-08:00

Brought my dad home from the hospital today. We weren't too thrilled with bringing him home. He's still not 100%, and frankly, my mother and I are nervous to have him home. He still has "issues" that need to be resolved. He's acting like he's well, but he isn't. He's probably glad to be out of the hospital, though. Those places really aren't that conducive to health.

On the way there, I drove her around to do errands. She figures that she's going to be stuck at home with him for the next few days, keeping an eye on him. She had to go to Safeway (she was out of coffee!). I don't mind...there's usually a Starbuck's treat in it for me. What can I say? I can be bought cheaply with either a frozen blended coffee beverage or a soy hot chocolate.

In the coffee aisle, when scanning the shelves for the decaf, I noticed that someone had helpfully written a note on the shelf tag: "Why don't you buy hazelnut coffee?" I thought that this was a brilliant way to ask for something desperately needed. It was written on the (gag) Irish cream-flavoured coffee.

I wish we could write little notes to store employees about what we want. Why couldn't it be that easy? Of course, everywhere I went, I'd ask for a monkey.

2007-01-21T14:05:00.000-08:00

I feel like I should post (and not a forced-upon-me school post), but I have no idea what to post about. Sure, I could bitch and complain more, but I've realized over the last few days that that is my mother's way of being, so I'm going to try my best not to be that way. Bitching and complaining isn't the complete picture. She's also really bossy. But I'll have to stop that line of thinking before I become what I'm trying to avoid.

Unfortunately, that leaves me topic-less. This reflects my homebound-ness for the weekend. It was supposed to be a catch-up weekend. So far, all I've managed to do is write out what I hope is most of my due dates for the semester. They're on my giant, four-month calendar, hopefully intimidating me into action with the sheer volume. So far...nothing. I'm immune.

But I have so much to do. There's the school work. There's the work work (monthly duties, writing assignments, posting to the discussion forum). Then there's the workout work (figure out some sort of schedule for going to the gym, figure out how to work in the training for the Sun Run, which I am walking). It feels like too much. It may be too much. We'll see.

I haven't even been keeping up with local and worldy news. Then again, those are things to avoid...I'm very likely to slip into a rant about the lack of personal responsibility (wounded/stranded hiker on Seymour, dead back-country camping couple, and that kid from Coquitlam who decided to go camping in the snow without telling anyone), or about the state of our healthcare system, or about the possible tearing down of the stadium (what a waste! Cities in Europe have public toilets that are older and more treasured). So I won't.

Instead, I'll give you the link to a website which comments and shares bad websites (in terms of design): http://www.webpagesthatsuck.com/

Have a little fun.

2007-01-17T22:16:00.000-08:00

On second thought, I will post.

I was late to class today (shouldn't have come to school at all). Knowing that it would be stupid to stop in to June's class for 15 minutes, I decided to visit Maureen and pick up my assignments from last semester.

Proud of my magazine design, I decided to show it off to Josie, who had expressed interest last semester. She was especially curious to see what I was able to put together after all of the computer hassels I encountered (or brought on myself...opinions vary depending on who you talk to).

This all went down in the work room, where, due to the format of our midday class, people were strolling in and out of quite frequently. One classmate came in and saw that I had my magazine sitting there. She asked if I had picked it up today, which I told her that I had. Her curiosity took over, and she asked if she could see it. Proudly, I said yes and handed it over. I can't remember how the conversation went exactly, but she commented about how I had extra time to finish it. I defended myself saying that my computer fucked up and that it wasn't my fault. She countered with (and I don't quote here, but paraphrase) "Well, we were told at the beginning that we were responsible for backing up our work and that computer problems weren't going to be accepted as excuses."

I was stunned. I knew that I had fucked up with the computer thing. I had worked for 12 hours that day, and shut off the computer forgetting to back up. It was a freak thing. I was tired. It was nearly 1 am. And I forgot. I'm an honest and hardworking person, and I made sure that when I was granted an extension, I didn't work on the project any longer that I would have if I had worked all weekend on it.

The nastiness of the comment stung me. And although I am a very forgiving person, I'm not sure if I can ever forgive this moment. If the situation were reversed, I wouldn't be this way to this classmate. I know that she, like me, has a very solid work ethic, and that any missed deadline would not be the result of laziness or procrastination. It would be an honest and freaky mistake. I would have thought that she would think the same of my situation, but apparently not.

I think that I learned my biggest lesson on professionalism this semester: sometimes professionalism can get in the way of friendships, logic, and decency.

Now I have to ask, and please be honest: Did it bother any of you that I got to hand in my magazine a few days later than everyone else?

2007-01-17T21:58:00.000-08:00

Day 2 of lazy blogs. I could write about the asshole in the hospital parking lot this morning. But I won't.

Instead, I'll post some more photos of frozen fields and hockey players, and a couple of Mt. Baker. Enjoy!

2007-01-15T19:32:00.000-08:00

Oh dear god, we got the news that we have to do a blog for school. I wonder if we can challenge that part of the class? Seriously. Could we just show June our blog and say, "See, I can do it. Now leave me alone for a month." I think I'm on to something here.

I'm going to post photos again for this entry. Why? Because I think that they're pretty.

These photos are from the Bose farm in Cloverdale. My mom grew up in Cloverdale with the Boses (one of which grew up to be Mayor Bob Bose, a respected retired mayor). This is the first time I can remember it being so cold out that the ponds have frozen hard enough for skating. While I was out yesterday, I happened to drive past the farm and saw all the families skating and playing hockey.

There were quite a few games going on. And there were dogs everywhere. The one photo shows the barn on the hill, with yet another pond below it. Usually these fields are filled with cows, and in the fall, with a corn maze. It's nice to see them being enjoyed in the middle of winter.

I took quite a few photos of these skaters. For now, I'll bore you with these few. Look for more photos tomorrow.

2007-01-14T20:59:00.000-08:00

Still not in the mood to be too deep. But I am in the mood for sharing.

First, my dear classmate, she who cannot be stopped from knitting, gave me a lovely gift when I camped out on her couch (well, Don owns it too) when the snow was too much for my car. It's a lovely gift. I hope that I do it justice. Here are two photos:

I'm thinking that I need to lose the glasses. I've had them for several years now, and I do believe that the self-delusionment (that they make me look smart) is over.

This fashion statement came in quite handy when I was walking from Evil's and MarriedtoEvil's apartment. It was cold out. The snow continued to fall. The cars continued to line up.

As I was walking down Columbia Street on my way to the Skytrain station, some guy in an SUV honked his horn and called over to me. "Can you see what's going on," he asked me. I looked at him, incredulous (mmmmmmm, big word...delicious). Traffic was backed up in both directions as far as I could see. It had been that way all afternoon. It would be that way all night. I looked back at him, and said "traffic's backed up." "Yeah," he said, "but is there an accident?"

What an idiot. Of course there were accidents. Everywhere.

I just laughed and walked away with my chick pea curry and my fancy new hat, secure in my superiority of being on foot. Thank you, Evil and MarriedtoEvil. You're lovely hosts.

2007-01-13T13:13:00.000-08:00

Once again, this isn't going to be a deep, philosophical post. But as a bonus, it will also not be a rant. What will it be, you ask? Eh, not much. Maybe just a bunch of photos. However, I hate doing photos (they never are placed the way I'd like, so you'll have to be patient).

First, a few photos from Christmas. You'll notice a theme (think "dog").

Then there's the obligatory "snow dog" photos.

And some lovely scenery...

And, you have a blog post. I hope this keeps you all happy for a while.

Have a great weekend.

2007-01-09T18:59:00.000-08:00

I am apparently on a ranting roll.

Although this happened on Sunday, I'm going to bring it up because I still haven't gotten over it.

My dad is going for surgery next week, so we're doing a lot of family things together while we can and while he's up and around. He'll be recovering for about 6 weeks, so that means that my parents won't be going anywhere for a while. Also, my mom wants to stock up on all kinds of treats. So this meant a trip to West Vancouver. Just before Christmas, I went to the naturopathic doctor for a supplement refill. While there, I stopped by a pie bakery I had a) seen and thought looked good, and b) read about, which confirmed its goodness. I'm a good boy (shut up) and bought a suck-up pie for my parents. It was lemon buttermilk with mixed berries. Delicious. By the way...the place is called Savary Island Pie Company. Check it out.

However, my mother was more impressed with the muffins I had bought there. Even since tasting their muffin-y goodness, she was planning/scheming how to get to West Van for another round of muffins. As it happened, I had to get muffins for the editorial meeting at the magazine, so I decided to go with them. Our plan was to go there, stop by the Tomahawk for breakfast, then wander around for a while before heading home and rescuing the dog. He can't go for more than 4 hours without my mother feeling super guilty, and scared that he might have an "accident". They've had him for about 6 years...he's never had an accident. In fact, when he's been sick, he's begged to be let out of the yard. I guess that he doesn't like to mess it up with puke. He doesn't poop in the yard, either.

My this has wandered into a weird tangent. Back to the rant.

From the Pie Company, I bought a dozen muffins (in two boxes), plus a brownie. As I was leaving, two women were walking towards the door to come in. So I swung out and around the door, holding it open with one hand while balancing my baked goodies on my other hand (those years of restaurant jobs paid off, somewhat). The women walked in right past me, didn't make eye contact, didn't thank me for holding the door. One was deep into an important conversation with her cell phone. The other one was scanning the room for tables. Granted, space was at a premium, and therefore people had to act fast to get a seat. But, seriously, what's wrong with a "thank you". I wasn't being sexist (I do realize that women can open doors for themselves). I was trying to not be rude and let the door slam obviously in their faces. In return, I got rudeness.

I called after them "You're WELCOME!" in my most sunny, passive-aggressive way. They still ignored me.

Amazingly, this didn't annoy me too much. We had a lovely day, ate too much at breakfast, looked at some of the old sights (my parents haven't been to North/West Van in years), and managed to rescue the dog before his bladder let go.

But later, when I thought about the incident, I became infuriated. Who did those women think they were? As far as I know, the Queen isn't visiting West Van. Even better, I don't work for the bakery (and therefore become invisible to some snotty people). How do people become so self-involved that doors open for them and they don't even question or notice how or why? Are they that special that doors automatically open for them wherever they go? What they need is for a door to close in their faces, then they'd notice the ones that are opened for them.

2007-01-07T18:32:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, in my long re-introduction to the blogging world, I made the statement that nothing happened over Christmas. While that's mostly true (and therefore sad), I did manage to get out and do some things.

Most notably (and again, sad), I went to see The Polar Express in mind-wrenching 3-D IMAX, SURROUND SOUND overbearingness. Those of you who recall the triumphant, epic poem called "Dizzy" which was shared with everyone during Personal Therapy class last summer might be thinking...what was he thinking? He gets dizzy if he rolls his eyes (methinks I'm in for a dizzy semester)! How could he ever consider going to a movie so technologically advanced, so state-of-the-art, so certain to induce vomiting?

Well, I had nothing else to do. So I popped in a Gravol, and went.

It turned out to be not so bad. The movie itself was cute. Visually, it was stunning (not nauseatingly), and very close to the original art. I'm a big fan of Mr. Vans Allsburg...he specializes in black and white pencil drawings...an art form we colourblind can appreciate. The computer animation technology was a little annoying, just not quite natural, which was distracting.

You know what was also distracting? The teenage/young adult assholes who sat behind us mocking the cloying sentimentality in some foreign language. It's funny...you don't need to understand what a person is saying to understand all the mocking nuances. And, some of you might know that I do enjoy me some mocking nuances. But seriously...if you're watching a children's movie, especially a Christmas children's movie, then there's going to be some heavy, ridiculous sentimentality. Assume that when you enter the theatre and move on from there. You're not being clever or witty when you point out the obvious.

Something else you may be thinking is obvious is the fact that all of this might smell like hypocrisy? Yes, I will admit that, in my giddy youth, I did, occasionally, (I can't stress that enough) mock the movie I was watching, commenting loudly enough for all of the other movie patrons around me to hear. But I chose to voice my opinion only when I felt ripped off, watching a supposedly scary movie which turned out to be merely stupid instead. (Child's Play 2, anyone?)

Where am I going with all this? I don't know. But I can safely say what I didn't do this Christmas: puke.