Sweet Nothings

A Thriller.

2012-01-12T13:20:00.001-04:00

The Woman in Black is a play I saw in London in 2002. It scared the tar out of me. It was great to see a horror story played out live on stage. It featured 2 actors and was incredibly well done.

I see they've made a movie of it, starring none other than Mr. Radcliffe, who, after impressing people after HP on Broadway, seems to be going the right way to not be shackled to one character. Good - I'm glad, because he seems to be a genuine talent, and very funny, too. Well, funny, anyway.

Well, Woman in Black seems to be opening in early February here in Canada, and while I'm not usually one for scary movies, I think I'll have to take it in. I wish Sparklin' D and I still lived in the same city... Not that she'd go see ol' Danny Radcliffe in a movie with me...

Hunx.

2012-01-10T22:11:00.009-04:00

I like to think of myself as somewhat enlightened. Sophisticated, maybe? Maybe not, but enlightened works. I assume most people consider themselves enlightened, too. I doubt most people would straight-up consider themselves dim-witted without comparing his- or herself to someone else.

Anyhow, I've said it before on this interminable missive that I'm uncomfortable describing a man as "hot." It's demeaning, and, because I have self-esteem issues regarding my own looks, I would like to pay the opposite gender the courtesy I hope it would pay me by not reducing a man to superficial blah blah blah, you get the point.

I think I'll start using the term "hunk." It's old-timey and therefore somewhat harmless, and maybe doesn't put quite so fine a point on it.

Kate Beaton's rendering of two hunks. My birthday's coming up. Just sayin'.

Sigh. I've been thinking about this subject again because I've given myself some sort of proto-bedsores and already put myself behind in my courses because I've spent the last few days tearing through the entire (albeit truncated) series Firefly and its feature film. Yeah. About 12.5 hours.

That's not cool.

I mean, it's not cool for several reasons. Reason the First: I am a grown-up and I should be able to say, "That's enough. You have things to do." Reason the Second: when the phrase "pressure ulcers" comes into one's mind it should be enough of a clue that one had sat on one's ass long enough. Reason the Third (and this is the most true-to-the-meaning of "cool" of all the reasons): I should not be so into sci-fi*.

This all comes around to me once again talking about hunks. The new hunk in my life? Oh, Mr. Fillion, of course. He's just fantastic. I have to watch more of this man. (It's a little too early to include him in the illustrious Husband List. I have to do my sue diligence and start watching Castle.) Mal Reynolds was a great character and I love the bittersweetness of never getting to really see him again. Wheadon et al. were just starting to tell the story and we were just getting to see what the hell was up with River.

And then it was cancelled. Bleh.

Happily, I didn't watch it when it was actually on the air - I guess I was in grad school and sans TV. The cancellation may have been traumatic.

Then, today, this little exchange-du-hunque went on on Twitter, and I lost my mind for the timing of it all.

Nathan Fillion

Watching #Community. Haven't laughed out loud this much since (fill in blank).

Joel McHale

Dear @NathanFillion, the cast would like to say thank you & that they love Castle, Serenity, Firefly, your big hands, dreamy face, & body.

Anyhow, please, friends and random strangers, don't judge me for my susceptibility to hunks. Higher reason doesn't have anything to do with this. Look lovingly at your steady partner as you enjoy a meal together and say, boy, I'm so glad I'm grown up and don't let my mind wander to the broad shoulders and strong arms and I am a contributing member of society.

Wait - maybe normal healthy people think about hunks all the time, but just don't discuss them. That would be nice, if that were true.

It's probably more likely that I have some sort of endocrine imbalance.

*I was chatting with S today, and she said something about how awesome Wil Wheaton is but how funny it is that when he was on TNG everyone hated him. I told her he was the reason I started watching! Hey, I was in the early throes of puberty and I thought he was cute and it was cool that there could be such a young, clever character on a show. But I digress. Sorry that a discussion about hunks ends with Wil Wheaton. Some (not necessarily me) might consider that a buzzkill. Let's never speak of this again.

Come On, Sorel!

2012-01-05T14:20:00.000-04:00

I know Sorel shoes are better known for their quality and functionality than aesthetics, but when they name a boot after me, you think they'd consult.

They're pretty cool, I guess... Well, no. I don't like them. Or, at least, I don't think they look like something I could pull off. I don't tuck my jeans into my boots, so all that business going on above the ankle would be lost.

Well, it's my bad luck. Camper? Your turn.

University Semester #29 (Or Whatever The Hell It's Up To By Now).

2012-01-04T16:43:00.001-04:00

A new year, and a new semester of school. I'm still trying to get into a Speech-Langauge Pathology program, but I'm now applying in the States, and for a Master's prep program called a Post-Baccalaureate year. It's for people who don't have an SLP background to get all the brainy goodness of a 4-year SLP (or, more accurately, Communication Sciences and Disorders) undergrad in one year. I think I'll be in Massachusetts next fall, if all goes to plan.

I guess that means I'll have to learn how to spell Massachusetts without looking it up.

So, these coming months will be applications and researching hoops about how to get into Yankee-Doodle-Dandy-Land as a student, and so on and so on... In the meantime, I'm still in a couple of courses that will hopefully make applications pretty sexy for when I do apply for the MA portion of this odyssey.

I'm tacking on another psych this semester. That's Psych 102. Yup, like 101, but two-ier.

I really wish I could take the second half of Astronomy this semester, but, while I killed in the first half (89%, yo!), I can't risk tanking in the second half for a course I don't need. (I only need one physics course to study SLP in the States.) It sucks, too, because Saturn was behind the Sun last semester but will be visible this semester, and UPEI has a 40cm telescope. Ballin'. I wanna see Saturn! Wah!

Ugh. I don't like the turn that last paragraph took. Still, I'm going to leave it because it tickles me.

This morning I had my first class of this semester's Linguistics course. The prof said unless we'd taken Differential Calculus, this will be the hardest class we ever take. This probably isn't hyperbole, because Linguistics is a fascinating but extremely precise science, and most of the people in the class are English majors who read shit and write about other shit they read and it's all pretty subjective. (I was an English minor, so I know these things.) The prof is a Newfoundland firecracker and doesn't suffer fools. I love her.

Right. I should do some reading. I'm also in a course through Athabasca. It's called Psychology as a Natural Science, and it's reviewing a lot of stuff from Psych 101 so far. Fine by me. [shrug]

2012 Resolution.

2012-01-02T15:52:00.000-04:00

I want to work on being less of an asshole bully. Making someone feel small is just cheap and sad and I do it too often.

I'm especially dickish to my mother. Living at home puts me in close personal contact with her little tics, like the way she easily gets worked up and agitated, but then denies it angrily when it is suggested she chill. Sigh. Right. Back to me.

Anyhow, can I please just not indulge it, or react, or poke the bear and respond in a way that I might respond to a stranger? Actually, maybe that's not a good plan, because I don't suffer those reactions from the general public, so maybe I should be more patient with the public, too*.

This just happened: I asked Mum whose coat the broken zipper pull on the kitchen window sill belong to. She said, Dad's coat, but then came over to the window and started to get worked up because she couldn't see it. (It was behind a small bottle; I could still see it.) I said something like, "Why do you have to see it? You obviously know which zipper pull I'm talking about." She got pissed off, shifted 4 inches to the right and saw it, and then got POed because I didn't just point to it. She suggested that there could be two broken zipper pulls on the sill and she might be referring to the wrong one.

So, this irrational anger and stretch of statistics is something I clearly felt I had to be a dick about it. Why couldn't I have just nudged aside the bottle or pointed to it? No, I saw a moment where I had a weird, sad, advantage, and I didn't relinquish it, but had to get some mileage out of it. What a dick.

I want to be a little more adult and quicker at recognizing when I'm falling down the dickhead rabbithole and pulling myself out of that nosedive.

My insecurities should not leave my little brainpan, and I have to remember that making people feel small only makes me feel smaller.

And, if anyone wants to comment on this, can you leave suggestions on how to apologize about being a dick without going into my full psychological profile?

*Actually, I think I proved that I am the fucking Heavyweight Champion of the World of Patience with the general public after working the 2 weeks of the BOGO sale for next summer's Charlottetown Festival. People of PEI: please do your research about what show you want to see, when you want to see it, and what the prices are, so I don't feel like I'm making you take out a mortgage to see high-calibre live musical with seats that cost no more than $71. Compare if you dare. (Dancap, Mirvish.)

Cabinet Shuffle.

2011-11-30T00:03:00.009-04:00

It is 100% terrible that this is my first post of the month. It'll be my last, too, I suppose, unless I am utterly taken by inspiration in the next 24 hours.

I just want to put a new idea in print. I've been thinking...

For some time, my Husband List has been in no particular order excepting The Clooney, who trumped all others.

I didn't think I'd see the day that this might change, but quite moved.

The unembroidered fact is, if I was asked to choose between Clooney and Schwartman today, I think the long and short of it would come down to Schwartzman.

There are some family complications (a wife, a child, Nic Cage, etc), but for style and wit, I can't get past it - I've gotta follow my gut that Schwartzman is edging out Clooney. (And Clooney's no slouch in either department.)

This has all been percolating since I recently finished watching the third season of HBO's Bored to Death, a hilarious dark comedy about an ineffectual writer who becomes a freelance gumshoe to a) live out fantasies and b) to try to fill his coffers. I highly recommend this show if you think your comedy sensibilities lean toward the black. (Like Grosse Pointe Blank? M*A*S*H? You might like Bored to Death.)

In this season, it didn't hurt that early on, Schwartzman dresses like an airline pilot, fires a gun and rocks a brand new Mad Men haircut. Hey - I don't always like admitting primal stuff, but yes, his firing a gun makes the highlight reel for season three for me.

If an honoured HL Member Schwartzman isn't enough for you, you'll find Galifianakis and Danson rounding out the regular cast.

Soon: I'll discuss the situation with Community, it being put on hiatus, and me counseling NBC to remove its ass from its butt. (Actually, I get it, but I still think it's weak and should be reconsidered.)

Auntie Fern!

2011-10-26T19:10:00.000-03:00

So, I'm Auntie Fern again. But, leave it to my sister to make it more complicated than it needs to be. Wait... maybe she made it less complicated.

Well, she had an incredibly short labour this morning. So short, in fact, that there was no way there was enough time to get her to the hospital, and paramedics delivered my new niece on the bathroom floor.

Well, it seems everyone is good, but they're going to keep them both overnight at the hospital just in case. So, in December, I'll go see little Rilla (7lbs2) in Ottawa and help my sister bring both her girls home for Christmas.

I Saw Jupiter Last Week.

2011-10-24T13:44:00.001-03:00

I'm sure a lot of people saw Jupiter last week. It's in the East sky right now, high and bright. It looks like "any other star."

I'm taking an Astronomy class right now, to fulfill the physics requirement to study Speech-Language Pathology in America. There's quite a bit of math involved, which worried me, but like statistics, the math is a necessary evil; a method of description.

UPEI has an observatory high atop the Memorial Building. It houses a 40cm telescope, which is about a foot-and-a-third across, for you empirical folks.

The first night of class, we went up and looked at the Moon. It was wonderful. With that kind of magnification, you can really see depth in the shadows that the sun casts over craters. Also, something that I didn't predict: it is moving at an incredible pace! It only took about a minute for it to traverse the sky covered by the telescope, so the tech constantly had to reposition it for us. I guess if you think about it, if the Moon only takes up 1/2 a degree in the sky and it travels about 180 degrees in a night, that's a lot of distance to put behind you in one night.

Well, Jupiter was perfectly positioned last week, with four of its largest moons visible. I was seeing what Galileo saw when he pointed his telescope to the sky. They were clear and bright and distinct. I tried to see them later that night with a pair of binoculars, but I didn't have enough power.

What really struck me was the beautiful bands of colour on the planet. It reminded me of a polished sandstone ball (pictured left). It was amazing to see that kind of detail, and kind of weird to think of it as anything but a solid. It is hard to imagine a planet so large it has dozens of moons, rings, and enough density to put out its own radiation, but it's only a swirling ball of gas. This week we're learning more about comparisons between Terrestrial planets (like Earth) and Jovian planets (like Jupiter). There's meant to be rain tomorrow night, so the sight of Jupiter will have to hold me over for a while. I think it will.

Another One For The List.

2011-10-18T23:27:00.002-03:00

So, Zachary Quinto recently came out of the closet. He held off for a long time to prove a point about actor's sexual orientation and the roles they play, but decided there were more good reasons to be a role model than an enigma. Good on him, trying to make people have conversations deeper than idle gossip.

Anyhow, him being gay doesn't change the fact that I still want to do him. It only changes the probability that he would want to do me. (Who says I'm anything but optimistic?)

Thanks to B. Lefebvre for the link & think.

Hola, Mormons!

2011-10-15T17:30:00.002-03:00

I've been studying pretty hard today. I finished my Astronomy homework early this morning, then I did a Psychology jag, and now I'm poring over my GRE prep book.

I was about 30 minutes into a practice math test when the doorbell rang. Mormons!

I love when Mormon missionaries come to the door. We chatted for some time, and I let them fill in some gaps in my knowledge of their faith, shook their hands and sent them on their way. It was a little naughty, because it distracted me for about a half-hour from my books.

Walking back to the dining room table, where I have stacks of books and ever-growing heaps of spent scrap paper, I thought about Elder Bowen, who told be he would return to Wyoming after his journey and study mechanical engineering. I told him to learn how to write a good paper, because, as a grad student, a lot of the papers I marked written by engineers lacked a certain amount of communicative skill. (Yes, I'm being kind.) I told him to take a composition course, because he was exceptional at communicating verbally and should cultivate that on paper.

Walking back to the table, I thought, "Why didn't I tell him to get an elective in Comparative Religions?" I said the phrase in my head: "Take a great course in Hinduism, or pagan religions, or pilgrimage!"

Pilgrimage. Damn. Why didn't I ever think of Mormon missionary journeys as a pilgrimage? A pilgrimage where a specific destination wasn't specified? That could have been a killer chapter in my Master's thesis.

Finding new facets of my thesis has happened many times in the last 6 years. I suppose we never stop learning. Thinking of all there is to learn out there, I have moments of, "Oh, darn, why didn't I pursue my PhD?" But then I tell myself that I would be studying a much narrower field of knowledge. I would have only been comparing, say, Graceland to Medjugorje, or graveyard pilgrimages to Ephesus, and maybe not been comparing broad selections of pilgrimages (and Pilgrimages) with broad theories of those journeys.

AND: I'd probably still be just as jobless.

Right. Back to the books. This was a nice distraction. I'll let you know how the GRE goes.

PS: I'm pretty proud that I didn't mention The Book of Mormon, which I desperately want to see, or this.

As If I Have Moths.

2011-10-04T16:27:00.000-03:00

Feeling the first chills of the season, I got into my boxes of sweaters that I have recently moved back from Ontario. They were all crushed and musty, so I put them all through the wash. It was only then that I found that three of them had been eaten by moths.

Moths were a problem I had up in Toronto. They absolutely destroyed a winter coat of mine, and, like an idiot, I ignored the blonde flies that were on the wall of my Toronto room. They didn't bite and they weren't drawn to the light in my computer, so I ignored them.

Now, back on PEI with holey sweaters, when I saw those same gd flies again and finally cottoned on to the fact that these phenomena may be connected.

Late on Sunday night, I thought, "Oh. I have a box of yarn in my closet. One hundred per cent wool yarn." I flipped over a small nylon bag holding knitting notions, and yes, I saw cocoon tunnels, squirming larvae, and holey skeins of yarn.

I lost 2 skeins of an alpaca/wool blend for socks, another couple pure wool DK from MacAusland's for mitts, and about 6 hours of sleep.

I was pissed because I saw the flies and didn't make the connections, and that I waited so long to check. Also, the thought of flies procreating in my closet and letting their babies feed on my woolens sicked me right out. I'm POed about the waste of money (even though I tend to be a bit of a bargain hunter) and also POed about the loss of potential in the yarn.

Then I thought, "Oh, no!" I remembered my Turkish rug. My Turkish rug I bought in Turkey. It's a small thing, only a little floor mat, but it's hand-tied wool. It cost me quite a bit, although it took about an hour of haggling with two savvy Turks and about 3 tulip glasses of apple tea to get that price. I went down first thing Monday and looked in the storage area. I opened the box and saw cocoons, droppings, and still live larvae.

On recommendation of the interwebs, I cooked the lot of it (well, not the sweaters - the damage was done on those) at 175 Fahrenheit for half an hour. It didn't smell as bad as I thought it would.

The squirmies stopped squirming, but now I have to brush over everything and see how chewed things are. For the yarn, it means checking for damage by balling skeins, re-balling balls; for the sweaters, it means some mending and a shabby chic winter [shudder]; and the rug may be a lost cause - I have to wait until the dry cleaners give me their prognosis. Still, worn rugs have a charm, right? Don't they gain the value the more worn they are? Can I extend "worn" to "threadbare" and profit? =sigh=

8/365.

2011-09-23T00:11:00.002-03:00

It's been two months since Amy Winehouse died. I'm surprised by how my mourning isn't over. It catches me off guard and I slow... down... for a moment.

I won't say anything that hasn't been already said, but I think this may be the first celebrity death that has affected me so deeply. Michael Jackson came and went. I was fourteen years old and didn't understand how important Cobain was when he died. The only musician's death I might think of who would make me so profoundly sad is John Lennon, and I was a toddler.

I suppose I also don't have to re-iterate that there are much bigger problems in the world right now. I have some perspective, but I'm trying to wallow right now and it feels good; it's cathartic.

"Amy, Amy, Amy/Outro" is from Winehouse's first LP, Frank. It wasn't until her second album (where she embraced a great Motown sound), Back to Black, she really rose to fame, but all the signs of a mature jazz vocalist were there on Frank. That muted trumpet and the sexuality of this song is a perfect example of Winehouse's mix of old and new - the woman was unafraid of putting in simple terms how a man can turn on a woman.

7/365.

2011-09-03T10:29:00.000-03:00

My tenure as a resident of England happily coincided with the release of Travis' hit album The Man Who. It was one of the first albums I bought in the UK, and it is fantastic. It has four huge songs, including "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?"

I would wake up at 5am to get to work for 6am, and the top 40 radio would play its limited number of hits of the day. Happily, "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?" was at the top of the charts for some time and I got to hear it several times a week.

Catchy and sweet, "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?" reminds me of Coldplay in its mellow rockiness, probably owing to Fran Healy's clean vocals.

I hadn't seen the video before I looked it up to embed in this post. I'm sorry I hadn't. I have a real thing for men who wear kilts casually. I have to research Speech-Language Pathology programs in Scotland, clearly...

JCrew In Canada.

2011-08-26T19:31:00.001-03:00

So, with the opening of the first Canadian JCrew store, JCrew launched a Canadian site, and, much to my glee, a flat $9.95 shipping rate. That's pretty sweet.

Much to my chagrin, there was a hike in prices. In some cases, a huge hike. Like, for example, a skirt that was $118 on the US site was $144 (USD) on the Canadian site.

Because of the backlash, uproar, furor, etc., JCrew has backtracked and dropped the "duty" part of the pricing, but they're still as much as 15% higher than the US site. Not as bad, I guess, especially combined with the shipping rate.

#firstworldproblems

6/356.

2011-08-07T08:31:00.002-03:00

Oh, John Legend. Do it again and again.

John Legend has a knack for going 180° from one track to another. One song can be the sweetest love song and the next a filthy philanderer's exhortation. Actually, I should say the songs swing 120°, because they can easily swing from love to filth to lofty gospel.

I had a hard time choosing a song. I might have to revisit Mr. Legend at a later date.

This song is a choice from the killer album Legend recorded with the Roots Crew. It's a long track, but put it on in the background and let it play. This is a cover of a Bill Withers track. I am, almost universally, disappointed by covers, but I think this song benefits from the unparalleled backing band and Legend's vocals (not to disparage Withers').

"I Can't Write Left Handed"

I also have to throw a shout-out to randy Yenni, my long lost roommate, who introduced me to the man('s music).

Making It Up As I Go.

2011-07-28T19:05:00.004-03:00

As if I weren't thoroughly ensconced in Nerd Culture, this past winter, I decided to educate myself as to the ways of the last living Timelord.

I am now all caught up on the new series of Doctor Who, and am in that excruciating break before this season resumes in September.*

Please start watching it. I will watch it with you!

I'll serve popcorn! And tea! And fish fingers and custard!

I won't go too far into this fantastic show, but I will say I ran around for hours trying to figure out how to procure a discontinued colour of nail polish that the most recent companion wore in an episode this season. At least I wasn't alone. (I found a dusty bottle in a Mongolian manicure salon in Toronto.) The stories find their ways into my everyday, an experience not new to most nerdy nerlingers.

(Thank you, Whatyawant for the pic - nice work!)

*Correction: it starts up again August 27th, at least on BBC America.

5/365.

2011-07-27T14:24:00.002-03:00

High quality. Clever. Geeky. Beardy.

Jonathan Coulton.

Coulton was the man who quit his soul-sucking code monkey job (while his wife was pregnant with their first child, might I add) and challenged himself to write, record, and release a song a week for 52 weeks. He succeeded, and called the 4-album compilation "Thing a Week." Some songs are hittier than missier but the good ones are oh so good.

He leans on geek culture, from video games to zombies, and from robot wars to bacteria. On top of that subject matter, he's a fantastic writer who uses clever lyrics and complex (certainly complex for pop, anyway,) music, backed up with his ex-Whiffenpoof pipes.

He writes his silly songs, but also writes sweet songs about his family and, in the case of today's choice, the dark realities of life in the suburbs.

I've seen Coulton play live twice now, and I hope to see him again soon. He usually tours with Paul and Storm, a nerdy and talented duo with killer harmonies. If you get a chance, drop the ca. $30 in order to see a wall of nerds singing along to the theme song of the first Portal, of course, penned by Coulton.

Sad Days.

2011-07-23T19:47:00.002-03:00

I reeled for a moment when I heard that Amy Winehouse had died. It took my breath away. I can't say I'm surprised; I did fear this would happen. A lot of us did. (And to be fair, it's early yet - I haven't heard if this was drug- or mental health-related. It may not have been.)

This is a day after the nightmare stories started pouring in from Norway. I spent quite a bit of time this morning reading about that terror, my over-developed empathetic instinct making me well up time and time again.

I got home, sad on top of sad (on my sister's birthday, no less) and my brother-in-law cited someone on Facebook, saying, "a day after massacres in Norway, all everyone's talking about is Amy Winehouse," and the like. Schnarr, schnarr.

This is a bullshit, hater thing to say. Making someone feel guilty over their grief is a horrible thing to do. Grief is not rational - it's a natural reaction to a personal loss. Because I feel sad because a huge musical talent is dead doesn't make it less sad that a madman went on a spree in Scandinavia.

Maybe it's an apples and oranges situation, or maybe it's simply not. I don't want to think about it right now.

4/365.

2011-07-22T11:02:00.000-03:00

I don't care. I like it.

Ke$ha (and yes, I hate writing her GD name that way) may be a vapid club tramp, but damn, she has put out some catchy music in the last couple of years. Plus, using Van der Beek as a prop in a video is always killer in my books.

I kinda liked "Tik Tok" because of that catchiness, but it was because of this kick-ass ASL interpretation that I really fell hard.

Anachronism Submissions?

2011-07-20T22:16:00.003-03:00

I recently completed a long solo road trip and at the top of every hour I would pause my ipod to listen to the CBC news on Radio One. Hour by hour, I got the updates on the whole phone-hacking debacle in the UK. When I heard that News of the World was shut, I uttered a little, "woah," to myself.

Ruminating on the closure made me think of the Beatles, of course. If you remember back to Abbey Road and the wicked side-B medley of shorter songs, "Polythene Pam" is an up-tempo song about a kinky girl in kinky garb. "She's the kind of a girl that makes the News of the World," John tells us. Not anymore, Pam - you'll have to settle for being a Sunshine Girl.

It also made me think of another Beatles' lyric rendered outdated by, well, the passage of time. "Back in the USSR" is riddled with anachronisms now. No, people still play balalaikas, but Ukraine and Georgia are now independent countries, and, of course, the USSR is no more, no thanks to Ukraine and Georgia... Pfft!

Can we think of anymore? Other than references to names like Messrs Wilson and Heath and so on?

At least "Her Majesty" is still current!

3/365.

2011-07-19T11:08:00.002-03:00

My best memories of Adele are lying lazily on the floor of my good friend T's family summer cottage on a lake in Ontario while the album 19 plays. This year, her aptly-titled 21 was released and it continues to awe me. She said in interviews that the American South inspired a lot of arrangements on this newest album, and today's choice for 3/365 is a great example of what she does with that influence.

"Rumour Has It" has so much going for it: powerful, dead-on vocals that navigate intricate intervals; hand claps with a brutal drum beat; dense, harmonized backup singers; and an out-of-nowhere haunting bridge, complete with "we're not worthy" acrobatics. (Every time I hear the bridge, I'm still not sure that I like it because of the incongruous loss of that driving beat, but when it connects back to the song with cascading piano and a capella backup vocals, I'm back on board.)

Listen to Adele and you'll thank me.

2/365.

2011-07-17T06:51:00.001-03:00

I suspect songs that I will discuss in this series will be intimately attached to my ukulele. I played Joel Plaskett's "Through and Through and Through" with a friend at my uke jam last summer, and it was a highlight of my time with the group.

This song plays like a stripped-down rocker. An almost-acoustic version of a much shreddier song.

The line, "You're a wrecking ball in a summer dress" is genius, genius, genius. We all want to write lyrics like that. Plaskett has an amazing ability to elicit breathless "oh, my!" moments from his lyrics, and instils a healthy dose of playfulness.

I also love Plaskett's use of his backup singers. These ladies are headliners in their own rights, and you can hear in their voices that they match Plaskett very well - that is, they don't sound like all the other singers out there. I love that he uses these ladies a lot on this entire triple album, and a lot of the time, they sing in unison, a very unique choice for two female backup artists.

A friend once suggested that Plaskett doesn't have a very good singing voice. She said it sounded like he was straining to sing higher than he should. I think that's just the quality of his voice. He's got amazing tonality, or whatever is the proper terminology for one who is able to sing in tune. Even the sweetest songs sorta sound like screamin' rockers; "Natural Disaster," for example.

1/365.

2011-07-15T18:16:00.007-03:00

Shall I introduce a series? Sure.

I want to discuss music. Songs. Mostly pop, probably.

My sister says she doesn't really listen to music, and when she does, she sticks to the 80s. I rarely stop listening to music. (I must admit that my music listening has dropped drastically since moving to PEI from Toronto. In TO, I could easily spend 2-3 hours a day walking or on transit with time and ear-holes to fill, but on PEI one rarely walks for anything but exercise, unless you live downtown.)

Anyhow, I just think there's too much good music to stop listening. I'm not bloodthirsty for new music. I'm happy to hear the same old gems over and over.

Hence my choice for 1/365: "Wings of a Dove" by Madness, parenthetically titled (A Celebratory Song). How can you go wrong with a parenthetical title like that?

"Look up at the rooftops, when you're walking 'round/Don't think for a moment of looking down," while steel pans pling away? Choirs? Yes, please.

Why can't more bands today use steel pans?

Madness was a killer band that found success in the early 80s. They had a lot of personnel, a lot of back-beats and brass. I love their extreme musicality which can be almost forgotten behind their flippin' cheeriness. I encourage you to explore their catalogue. You will recognize at least two of their big hits: Our House, and One Step Beyond.

In my fantasy ukulele orchestra, we come up with a wicked arrangement of Wings of a Dove to shock the pants off our stadiums full of fans.

Spinning A Yarn.

2011-07-06T21:43:00.003-03:00

My mother, with whom I once again live, told me I wasn't allowed to go to MacAusland's Woolen Mill in Bloomfield, PEI, because every time I go I bring back $60 worth of yarn and barely get through a quarter of it.

Now, to be fair, that is 100% true. I have enough MacAusland's DK in a gorgeous heathered purple to do a sweater and the skeins aren't even balled off yet.

Unfortunately, my mother may poop her pants when she sees the dimensions of the box of yarn I'm going to be getting out of storage next week. It has about 10 skeins of MacAusland's DK, about a dozen factory-made regular worsted, a couple of skeins of sock yarn (a weight which is both embarrassingly and tantalizingly called "fingering"), and lots of beautiful samples that I inherited from a professional knitter friend. The box is about 3'x2'x2' and heavy, and I'm in deep trouble.

It is enough yarn to do about 20 pairs of mitts and 3 sets of knit dolls of every character in The Sound the Music. Including Rolf and the Mother Superior.

Happily, I can throw her small bunker of quilting cotton back in her face if she gets too tsk-y.

Sleeping Under The Stars.

2011-05-29T22:15:00.006-03:00

I pick Ryan Reynolds.

Har har. No, really.

Through a long and somewhat boring series of events, I find myself sleeping on a futon in our sunroom, which used to be our storage room.

I don't have a door, but I don't really care. I have the option to move into a now-empty room, but we started using it for storing packed boxes and sorting out yet-to-be-packed ones, and besides, I really don't care. I've been living from pillar to post for almost a year now, so what's another two weeks?

It's not much of a sacrifice, really. The best part is that three walls of my room are windows facing East, South, and West, and I'm at eye level with a beautiful 4-story maple.

I open opposite windows and at night the most delicious crisp spring breeze blows through. I love listening to the rain and watching the lightning. I feel like I'm camping, but without all the bullshit that goes with camping!

I know now, as I slowly design my own straw bale home in my head, that I'd love to have windows all 'round in my bedroom. It's terrible, thermally, but if I'm careful about size and placement, I could enjoy North Shore breezes all the time in my sustainable home! (In my South-facing windows, of course!)

Affixation.

2011-05-08T17:17:00.007-03:00

Cards on the table: I like stamps. I don't collect them or anything, but I like the design of stamps. The Canadian stamp museum can be found within the walls of the National Museum of Civilization in Gatineau, and that is where I spend the bulk of my time when I visit that institution.

I've been working a few hours a week at a friend's accounting business (she does peoples' taxes - it's a busy time of year) and one of my favourite duties is buying stamps. Because we send out a lot of differently-weighted parcels, I need lots of small-denomination stamps. Happily, Canada Post has a fantastic line of low-value stamps called "Beneficial Insects." It features beautiful insects with multi-penny denominations, the values of which are listed with a stylish overhang the edge of the stamp.

There is also a line of stamps (which borders on saccharine) which features baby animals. It bothers me a little that the animals are not named on the individual stamps, let alone given a genus species, but forget it! Look! Baby geese! Awww!

Here are some other of my favourites: a commemoration of the Terra Nova National Park's centennial (my grandfather worked there!), the homemade beauty and simplicity of Mary Pratt's photorealism (right), and this real stunner from this year (above).

I give this praise so I can chastise, too.

Canada Post came out with commemorative stamp for the recent royal wedding, and, I'm sorry, Canada Post, but it is a true fail. It is a failure to do something really interesting. Something stylish and innovative. A beautiful line drawing, or an abstract, or something that relates back to Canada. Nope. It's a cut-and-paste, phoned-in effort, with two press-release photos of the engagement announcement. Perhaps they didn't have enough time to commission something good. Perhaps they blew their design budget on some beautiful portraits last year. (I know, that should be in the praise section of this rant, shouldn't it?)

Maybe they just shouldn't have commemorated this event at all if they couldn't put their backs into it. I suppose there's some precedent: look at the lacklustre celebration of the Girl Guides' centennial and the marginally better Scouts' 100.

Either way, this maybe this isn't the best platform to send along this disappointment for a missed opportunity, but there 'tis.

It Takes Time To Build.

2011-05-03T11:11:00.003-03:00

I figured I should let folks know that I went oh-for-three on grad school applications this year. I finally got the rejection letter from Dalhousie last week. The letter from U of Toronto came two weeks earlier, and the email (!) from McGill came earlier - in March.

Of course, I'm disappointed. I really want to start this part of my life, so now I have to wait until I'm 34 to get into this program - if I get in at all. I regret not thinking of Speech-Language Pathology earlier, like when I was in undergrad. In the 1990s. Christ.

So, I am really not interested in living and schooling in America, but they have a lot of programs and I've been told it's not as competitive (my rejection letter from U of T told me they had over 340 applicants for 45 seats). I'm also looking into New Zealand and the UK. I've been told that Canada has good reciprocity with Oz, NZ, and the UK for schooling and working across borders. I'd prefer to go to NZ or the UK over America - any day, and all will probably put me sufficiently in debt, but it'd be worth it.

Now that I've focused on something, I just want it to start. It's frustrating that I can't just start doing something I know I could do well.

Finally. Something To Celebrate.

2011-04-19T16:10:00.003-03:00

So, after a couple of long weeks (rejection from U of T, putting in 2 mos. notice on shelter in Toronto, screwing the pooch to the max on my stats final), M and my new Irish roommate, R, and I are going to take in Caplansky's community Passover Seder tonight. I'm pretty stoked because I know very little about the practice of Judaism.

The owner of Caplansky's, Zane Caplansky, wanted to host a community Seder not just for Jews who were away from their families, but anyone in the community who wanted to join in. (Listen to an interview here.) He says it'll be a little bit truncated from a regular family Seder, which sounds good to me, because from what I hear, they can become epic events.

M and I are big fans of Caplansky's deli. We like to integrate it into our catch-up sessions every couple of weeks. We're especially fond of the staple medium-fat smoked-meat sandwiches, M enjoys the latkes, and we're both truly devoted to the sour cherry pies that Zane gets from Wanda's Pie in the Sky shop in Kensington Market. Once, when the deli had run out, the blessed man went out to get one so we could enjoy our slices.

Although we enjoy our sammies, I will, once in a while, stray to other parts of the menu. I had a nice BBQ brisket sammy once, and another time, some smoked meat hash. I've had their matzoh ball soup more than once, but I've yet to partake in some pea soup. Apparently the fries are very good there, too.

I feel that since it looks like leaving TO is imminent, I want to get to Caplansky's every week and try lots of stuff off their menu. Like, for example, the Leaning Tower of Caplansky, or their liver and onions, or trout. They've recently rebooted their menu, so I want to explore while I can. It's an essential part of my Toronto experience.

Deep Breaths.

2011-03-29T21:51:00.000-03:00

I just saw on Twitter (yeah, I'm on Twitter - deal) that flippin' Stephen Fry is in flippin' Toronto!

I have to think about what I'd say to him if we shared an elevator.

Shall I lead with, "You're the sole sitting member of the Gay Council on my Husband List!"?

Stick 'Em Up.

2011-03-28T09:41:00.002-03:00

Hm. I like a good heist farce. This might be interesting.

I like Keanu. I think he's better than people give him credit for. He just has a very distinctive style.

Excerpt.

2011-03-26T14:25:00.003-03:00

This is a paragraph from the psychology paper I'm working on. I know, it's a little reflexive, but eff it. It was too good to turn down.

"I did not control for equal gender balance. Although the instructions for the testing did not dictate gender requirements, I would have liked to have had more balance, especially in the younger age bracket. It only brought into sharp focus what I already knew: I do not know enough young men with whom I would like to spend time alone in a quiet room."

21st-Century Stalker.

2011-03-25T08:53:00.006-03:00

I've been listening to Craig Ferguson's autobiography on audiobook. Himself is the reader, and it's great to hear it in his accent.

In the chapter about his first experience in America when he was about 15 years old, in passing, he mentioned that the visit pre-dated the internet, so the world was much bigger and he felt like he might as well have been going to the moon. America was a truly exotic place.

I have a stack of travel books. Brazil, Spain, Ireland... Why do I buy them? Maybe it's something tangible to hold on to - like I get to touch a place I've never been and may never go. Why do I buy these books at all? I can spend time on the internet and learn all I want to know about these places. And now, instead of schlepping them with me on my journeys, I could buy an e-reader and load them into it - from the internet. Still, instead of watching videos and reading endless travelogues from Random Q. Public's blog, wouldn't it be better if I picked up some tips from a book and went and experienced the place for myself?

Last night, I thought in passing, "I wonder if the house that Craig grew up in is on Google Streetview?" He told us the exact address in the gloomy Glasgow satellite town of Cumbernauld, and even described it: third-last row-house on the street.

There it was, the address clearly marked next to the front door. It really didn't look all that bad, but Streetview did have the good sense to visit on a sunny day.

Looking at that home (that looked like scores and scores of others in the town), I felt slightly creepy, like a weird decades-off voyeur. I felt like I shouldn't be able to look at it so casually. I found myself thinking about the family of six who lived there in the 1960s and 70s. He told us about playing in the attic with his siblings, so I found my gaze drifting to the roof of the house. I pictured the scene that went on when he was dropped off by the local police chief after he was found bloodied and bruised in a ditch having blacked out after his first drinking experience. He told us about the screaming match his mother had with the mother of the other boy with whom he had gotten drunk, much to the entertainment of the neighbourhood, and there it was! I could see the neighbourhood!

It made the autobiography less of a story and much more non-fiction, which, of course, it already was.

When I was a girl, if I had a crush on a boy, I would look up his phone number in the directory. That's all I really could do. I couldn't "friend" him on FB, or Google him*, or stalk him via Streetview. What did I do with my time? I read and drew and teased my sister.

I've been thinking about the internet lately, and my dependence on it. I've emailed passwords and PIN codes to myself. I don't write down phone numbers and addresses anymore, because Google has them for me. I take whole university courses via the internet, and do all my banking on-line. I kinda don't like it, but what choice do I have? I can sure cut down on my time on-line. I think what I'll try to institute is a "no screens before bed" goal, where I'll read in bed like I used to.

Well, this post went off the rails a little... Here: I'll bring it back.

*Although really, what kind of web presence is an 12-year old going to have? Did he study SEO?

Jesus. Can I Catch A Break?

2011-03-15T18:04:00.005-03:00

I did really crap on a physiology test yesterday. The physiol. tests are nightmarish - 30 minutes to do 20 multiple choice questions which are carefully written to boggle the mind and be absolutely as similar as possible.

How would a hypophysectomized rat's blood plasma concentrations be affected?
a) increase in T3, increase in T4, and increase in TRH
b) decrease in T3, increase in T4, and TRH stay the same
c) increase in T3, decrease in T4, and TRH stay the same
d) increase in T3, increase in T4, and decrease in TRH
e) decrease in T3, decrease in T4, and TRH stay the same

Or something like this. (I really don't think this was a specific question - I really hope I don't get in trouble for printing it...)

Anyhow, once again in my stressed out, pants-browning state, I effed myself over. Wait to hear about this!

Can I please just start clean, go back a few days and take a big honkin' deep breath?

Pulse racing, blood pressure spiking, I was tearing through my on-line test yesterday and I saw the timer nearing 20 minutes, so I submitted the test. I submitted it!

At 20 minutes!!!

I have 30! Effing 30 minutes to complete and submit it!

I just realized this now, a full 24 hours after I wrote the GD test.

I got an effing 55% on the GD test, and that when when I only used 2/3 of my allotted time. I could have brought that up by another 20% if I'd gone back over my notes and double checked my work, but I didn't think I had time to.

I really want to go have a good cry right now. How can I continue to be so careless and stupid when I'm just trying to do my best?

I've clearly spread myself too thin. I think I have to tell the TDSB that I can only volunteer once a week. Two whole mornings a week while I'm taking 4 courses is killing me.

That's right - I'm blaming the kids. Well, no... I'm blaming myself for taking on too many kids. I can't juggle all that's coming at me.

Join.

2011-03-10T13:09:00.004-04:00

Can people please get on board with "Community"? It is the smartest, darkest, most challenging sitcom on the air today. It reminds me a lot of "M*A*S*H", and I don't draw that comparison lightly, because I have a deep and enduring respect for that show and how it used both broad and subtle humour with a cast of complex, real characters.

"Community" doesn't spoon-feed slapstick and one-liners. There are no pauses for canned laughter. Huge jokes are tossed away without being used in promos, but can be endlessly quoted by devout fans. Characters are carefully drawn with real depth. The actors are perfectly cast with genius comic timing and acting chops.

I'll stop now. I'm gushing.

PS: In response to Tony's comment (see below), I'm surprised by how few people know about this show, too. It's on NBC, it's in its Thursday night line-up, it's got freakin' Chevy Chase, for heaven's sake, and a group of multi-talented actors. I'm afraid the lack of promotion translates as lack of confidence on NBC's part. A third season has not yet been confirmed, so we fans are on tenterhooks. You might think I'm being over-dramatic, but I've been hurt before. ("Arrested Development", anyone?)

I'm going to continue gushing, while I'm on a roll: I see "Community" to be paired with "The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson" and their Bizarro answers, "Two and a Half Men," and "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno." Neither C nor Ferguson go for the lowest-common denominator that assumes their audiences are idiots who want to be spoon-fed the same fart jokes and sexual innuendo. You get the real feeling that these shows are run by dedicated comedy nerds who are willing to play with their respective forms. It's not always easy - it's not always fun, but "M*A*S*H" wasn't always fun, either. At one point, Abed even compares Jeff to Hawkeye, but reminds him that it's not always martinis and flings with nurses, but triage and meatball surgery and misdirected shells. There are dark moments on "Community" between the hi-jinks, too.

I might do a happy little character breakdown for "Community" in the near future. As March ends, I'll have one more course finished, so I may have a little more time to blog about my new favourite show.

You Spin Me Round.

2011-03-06T00:05:00.005-04:00

I'm going to take a moment of your time to talk about revolving doors.

If, 130 years ago, Herr Bockhacker of Berlin had the epiphany to invent a draftless door because it was a good sense to keep the out-of-doors isolated from the indoors, why is this not a common goal for us today, the more modern (and not just money-conscious but also) energy-conscious citizens of the world?

After the tragedy at the Cocoanut Grove in 1942, planners were far more conscious about not just energy savings, but also emergency traffic flow, so now, in most places, it is illegal to not pair revolving doors with a requisite number of regularly-hinged doors as well. This offers most patrons a choice.

Choosing the revolving doors maintains what is basically an airlock. Just as an airlock in a submarine or a shuttle bay, it travails to keep two atmospheres apart. In the winter, it keeps in the warm, and in the summer, it keeps in the cool. It's the same reason you wouldn't leave a window open when you're cranking the heat or AC in your own home.

Also, you might notice that sometimes when you use a regular hinged door, it's difficult to pull it open or it might be slow to close on its own - this is because the two atmospheres are fighting with one another to equalize two pressures through that breach. Once the door closes again, the building's environmental controls have to redouble their efforts to reclaim the balance they once had. (Want more? Read about chimney effect, which can be designed into sustainable houses as a low-tech cooling device.)

The upshot is: if you have a choice between a regular door and a revolving door, please always choose the spinny route.

Oscars 2011 Post-mortem.

2011-02-28T09:09:00.002-04:00

I didn't watch them.

Found Money.

2011-02-18T16:59:00.009-04:00

Springtime is a strange and subtle time in the Sweet clan. It's the time of year my father would go on walks. This might not sound so strange, but my father's not much of a walker. He's a jogger. My father would go for walks in the springtime, because springtime was when the snowbanks melted and the pennies appeared after months of being entombed in ice. Beer bottles also appeared in ditches.

Even here in Toronto, where we're enjoying a little bit of a thaw, I've picked up 11 cents in the last couple of days.

The downside to all this is the actual most common material to be revealed by melting snowbanks: dog shit. Tonnes of it! Lazy asshole dog owners! Don't you know that's where my pennies belong?

I love the thrill of finding money. I recently used the contents of a piggy bank to buy a Hawaiian ukulele, so I know a thing or two about spare change adding up!

I hope to never be burdened with making the choice involved with finding a lot of money - like over fifty bucks - something that might have been bound for someone's rent or something.

I've twice hit the mother lode, and neither were in Canadian currency! Neither time was in the winter, either. Two years ago, the union of sanitation workers in Toronto went on strike and my neighbourhood (like everyone's neighbourhood in Toronto the Good) was piled high with litter, tumbling up and down the main streets and collecting near drains. I was walking through my corner of the city and saw a crumpled American $20 bill! (I know, the exchange these days makes this less impressive than it used to...) Its colours blended in with all the other mute-coloured rubbish! And I was just about to go to Chicago for a friend's wedding! Yee-haw, garbage strike! Totally worth it!*

About 10 years ago, when I was working in a cinema in Kent, England, I was going through the many-times daily task of cleaning out a theatre after a screening and under a seat I found a £20 note! Say whaaaaat!!! At the time, that was almost worth a bag of fifty bright shiny loonies! I asked one of my co-workers what I should do with it, and he answered, "put it in your sock." I did.

So, while I don't expect to find foldin' money every time I cast my gaze to the ground, hope springs eternal. And I'm po'.

As for returnable bottles, I don't quite take after my father as virulently. My mother did ask me this fall why there was a huge empty bottle of cheap whiskey in the back of her minivan, and I told her I found it in the UPEI parking lot by the dorms and just couldn't leave it. 50 cents, whole, in my pocket, or a nuisance, shattered, by the KCI - easy choice. This was one of the times my mother shook her head and said, "You are so much like your father." See?

*No it wasn't. It was gross.

How [R] You?

2011-01-27T17:24:00.006-04:00

In my Statistics for Linguistics class, I have to learn how to use a new computer program called [R]. It's not terribly intuitive and I was having a hard time with my first homework assignment, so, in an attempt to seem proactive, I went to my professor's first office hour to ask for her help. I left feeling distinctly unhelped and humiliated. It was not a great first impression, not only for her, but probably also for me.

Anyhow, I struggled though and even though I didn't do it all properly, I flubbed my way through the first homework and handed it in.

Last week, my professor was ill so the TA taught the class: the whole class was a primer on the program! Dreamy! Well, I feel so much better about it now. I don't know if the prof intended to spend that whole time going over [R], but I really liked how the TA taught us. He showed us how he uses [R] and helped us through where the guide was particularly opaque. I feel much better about it now.

Fun fact*: When I saw the title of the required text (see link above), I got all excited that our class was going to be so specific to our dialect of English that the book had to include the rhotic /r/ in its title.

*Wait... not "fun." Disappointing... that's the word. Oh! And nerdy. Disappointing and nerdy.

Recurring Nightmare.

2011-01-26T08:17:00.002-04:00

Get ready to share my terror.

One of my classes is online through Athabasca. For the tests, we have an hour-and-a-half to do 25 multiple choice questions and two essay questions. Good timing, actually - I budget about half an hour on each essay. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

No. I make it difficult, difficult, lemon difficult.

Because I'm afraid of submitting an unfinished answer by mistake, I write the essay questions out in Word and then cut-and-paste them into the Athabasca fields. Last weekend, with 8 minutes left on the clock, I highlighted the text and instead of cutting, I hit paste by mistake, replacing what I had just written with the first essay I wrote. I scrambled together a taciturn essay which was less my style and more what you'd hear out of a Speak & Spell.

Last night I sat down to write another test, and with 7 (!) minutes on the clock this time, I did the same bleedin' thing!!! I crapped out another replacement essay, but unlike the last one that just had facts and no style, this one was simply shitty. I submitted it with a note for the TA, explaining what happened, although I suspect that since it happened twice in one week, he might think something is fishy. I would. (Damn on-line courses!)

Anyhow, this morning, in the light of day, I didn't think of something: why didn't I just hit the undo button? I was writing in Word, for Pete's sake! Word is a cozy little nest for me - I've been using it quite deftly for over a decade. Why the hell didn't I think about the undo button? I suspect it was the blood pressure spike, me being unable to see through the wordcloud of expletives I created, or the fraction-of-a-second panic attack I had.

Sigh.

I wrote this whole thing in the Blogger field.

Back In The 416.

2011-01-07T13:18:00.002-04:00

So long, 902.

Bah on moving in the winter.

Bah on me having secreted my towels in the deepest, darkest box in our storage room.

Bah on cat hair.

Hurrah hurrah on seeing good friends again.

Hurrah hurrah on T coming to fetch me at Pearson in stupid weather.

Hurrah hurrah on Caplansky's!

Getting Ready To Move.

2010-12-31T21:22:00.000-04:00

I move back to Toronto in another week. I'm having mixed feelings, as one might expect. It's always difficult for me to leave Prince Edward Island. It really is very lovely here, even in the "off-season." Some people find it too small, but I think I'd be pretty happy living here.

I've mentioned it before, but there's nothing that compares to the smell of this Island. Maybe there's a smack of salt in the air, or more pasture-to-lung capacity ratio, I don't know. I know that when I smell manure, I don't turn up my nose, but I think of UPEI. See, UPEI's campus is adjacent to the Atlantic Veterinary College, and when the wind is just right, you can smell the barns. It doesn't smell bad. It smells like home.

I knew moving home to PEI for four months would be dangerous. This island is addictive. To say it has charm might seem demeaning, but there is palpable charm here. People still look out the window when they hear a siren go by.

Sometimes, though, the Island drives me crazy. Church communities are still very strong, so it is sometimes frustrating. Also, the Island has only become what might be by any stretch of the imagination "diverse" in the last decade, so you'll hear comments that you'd never hear anywhere else.

There's very little anonymity here. Not being able to feel alone is sometimes an asset, and sometimes drives me absolutely batty. Here, I am still introduced as my father's daughter. It makes it difficult to be your own person sometimes. Happily, my father enjoys a good reputation on the Island, so I can use that to my advantage, too, if I want to.

Still, Toronto beckons for now. If I don't get into U of T this fall, it'll be difficult for me to justify staying for the summer, unless I get a job. Loving my friends who live in the Big Smoke and loving to play ukulele in a big, happy uke community are not good enough reasons for me to flush money down the toilet every month. Not really, you know? Well, who knows what 2011 will hold. Hopefully schooling, and hopefully in Toronto.

Big thanks to Thea C. for the beautiful PEI pics.

Culture & Heritage.

2010-12-25T14:07:00.004-04:00

I hope I have established a new Christmas Eve tradition for myself.

Last night was the first annual Christmas Eve viewing of Hot Tub Time Machine.

While it is flawed, it is also very funny. It is not, of course, a Christmas movie, but it's wintry and festive and there's a lot of cocaine. Come on.

AND: you get to witness the delayed awesomeness of Crispin Glover getting dismembered. Awesome.

Thar She Blows.

2010-12-23T11:57:00.003-04:00

PEI has been buffeted by a wicked nor'easter for the last three days. There are some places on the North Shore that have lost over 10 feet off the shoreline, and many bridges are now impassible because they've been so undermined.

I live across the Hillsborough River from the Charlottetown, and traversing the bridge in my mother's minivan, I felt a bit like a bobbling cork. The water was so rough, the riverbed churned the whole body of water into a rusty mess, with frothy whitecaps jostling to fight their way under the narrow gap under the bridge.

Even now, at 6pm, the wind in howling. I am going to visit a friend tonight, and once again I'm going to be soaked to the skin again. On the way in to the hospital this afternoon (to volunteer, ne t'enquiete pas), I had to walk at a 45 degree angle to the wind and rain. My umbrella even collapsed. Bah.

Well, it's meant to snow in the next couple of days, not quite in time for Christmas, but I don't really care. We're meant to get 15cm on the 27th, so at least there'll be a little bit of winter here before I go back to TO.

I just hope this storm ends soon. I live on a glorified sandbar, so we can't take too much of this. Thank goodness it's not below freezing, or there would be a huge mess.

Thanks, Matisyahu!

2010-12-07T10:44:00.002-04:00

Finally, a truly catchy Hanukkah song!

Happy Hanukkah to my chosen friends!

Elegance.

2010-11-27T10:55:00.004-04:00

This is one of the most spellbinding bits of video I've seen.

Welcome To The 20th Century, Prince Edward Island!

2010-11-26T14:16:00.008-04:00

Wow. The Legislature of Prince Edward Island has voted to allow year-round Sunday shopping.

Sunday shopping. This has been debated about for decades. Literally decades.

It was said that year-round Sunday shopping is unfair to small business owners. They'd have to pay workers for another day, or lose business to their competitors who were open on Sunday.

Don't think for a minute it's out of consideration for the small business owner. It is maybe one percent about the small business owner. The small business owner is a scapegoat, or, more bluntly, an excuse.

For years, Sunday shopping has been allowed in the summer when the godless heathens come to throw their shekels at the golden calf of relaxation, but only up until the end of Christmas, 'cause clearly that's what Jesus would do: buy little Jimmy a $100 plastic Transformers toy and a synthetic fleece housecoat.

This is the centuries-old Sunday-is-a-day-of-rest crap that makes Prince Edward Island the smallest but staunchest Bible Belt in Canada. I don't care who says it's somewhere in the Prairies. It's not. It's here. Here, in the one of the last provinces to legalize gay marriage (and still saw a gay couple almost murdered last month when their home was set on fire). The power of the voting public who also happen to be backward, ignorant hicks should not be underestimated here at home (not just south of the 49th).

The upside is, churches bind together small communities and there's something romantic these days about a parish connection, isn't there?

Well, we now have year-round Sunday shopping. Take that, Holy See!
(Just 'cause it's pretty. And Fabricville will be open on Sundays in March now.)

Portmanteaux.

2010-11-23T10:21:00.005-04:00

Just a little light-hearted note, since it seems all I want to write about these days is deeply divisive:

I love portmanteaux. A portmanteau is a word made up of two words crammed together. Really common examples are "smog" and "workaholic."

I like the ones that are like "smog" the most - the ones which blend together seamlessly because they share one sound. I was proud of myself a few days ago when I dubbed the rash on my neck my "neckzema." Ah... wordplay releases endorphins. That feels good.

While I love the idea of Movember and applaud its purpose (and facial hair), it is not a good portmanteau. Moustache begins with "must" sound and November's beginning rhymes with "cove," so it's not great, unless you just say that the blend is just the very first sound of moustache, and then it's just a weak blend.

(Anyhow, that's been sticking in my craw for the last 3 weeks.)

Right. Off to statistics class. Off to crunch numbers. Imaginary, imprecise numbers.

A Few Words About Civic Duty.

2010-11-08T10:29:00.004-04:00

We're coming up on Remembrance Day, a big day in my books. It breaks my heart every year.

I'm afraid, though, that the day is more likely to be seen as a "day off." People may forget that we're excused from work and school to pay a tribute. A whole day off doesn't come easy in Canada. We have very few state holidays, and how many can you name that aren't centred around the Christian calender? It is clearly for an important reason.

I encourage you to find your local cenotaph which is hosting a ceremony on Thursday and go to the services. If it's hard, good - it's not meant to be easy. It might not be convenient or make you feel good to mourn with your country, but it's important to do so. In person. Don't sleep the morning away. Put on your coat, your poppy, and take part in a unique way to show your patriotism.

Hot Downward Dog.

2010-11-04T15:14:00.001-03:00

I've been trying out hot yoga this month. There is a studio in town that offers a $40 month-long unlimited package for new clients. Since each session is $16, I'll have saved money if I go three times, so why not? I must have to give it that many tries before I can really know if I like it or not anyway.

Well, hot yoga is the freshest brand of hippie hell. It's also awesome. I'm pretty torn about it. The yoga itself is pretty elementary, but doing it in a room set to 32 celsius.

Within one minute, sweat is pouring off me. My pigtails are dripping, my eyes are stinging with salt, and there's no grip left in my sweaty palms.

If you have to ask if this is a picture of me, you don't know me very well.

In my first session I had to step out of the room for a while because I felt like if I didn't I might pass out. I was down in child's pose and couldn't get a decent breath of air, even if I turned my head. It felt like I was breathing in and out of a shoebox. Really, I was probably just shorting out my body's ability to maintain homeostasis because the air in the room was likely nearing body temperature.

I'm not sure if it's as good as a workout as people might think. I suspect we think it's a good workout because of all the sweating, and usually, sweating means good activity, but it's there somewhat artificially.

I don't buy all the "sweat out your toxins" stuff. I'm pretty sure sweat is just water and some salts and some other trace minerals.

This isn't to say it's not beneficial at all. It is a good activity, yoga, and being all warm and cozy and sweaty isn't exactly unpleasant, but I don't see the heat as essential. It's a good novelty, I think.

I've had a cold the last few days so I haven't been back in over a week. I want to be able to take a good deep breath without coughing before I head back into that workout.

Frost On The Pumpkins.

2010-10-27T10:14:00.002-03:00

I went out to the front porch today to get the paper and lingered just to take in the beautiful morning. The title of this post is not very true-to-life. It's unusually warm here this morning, but the air still has a damp chill to it. It felt... Scottish. You know: that kind of rising cold damp that gets into your bones.

Every fall the maple by the hedge we share with our good neighbours the MacDonalds bursts into the most surprisingly bright orange. We've caught people taking pictures of it! Today, a gust of wind blew through that tree and I got to watch a shower of those leaves fly over the yard. The burning bush is also alight. It keeps its leaves much longer, and its colour is magnified because it's right next to the glossy green of the holly bush.

The Town is installing town water, so the street is just healing up from all the digging. It meant that when I arrived home there were gashes of bright red clay on the margins of my street. They've since all been covered over with new sods.

Roadworks are a major problem on PEI. Our asphalt shifts and heaves every spring. The Island doesn't have much bedrock to speak of. It's mostly sandstone, which is basically just compressed sand. That means that it's easily broken and shifted by water that freezes down in the cracks. So, in the spring when all the ice melts, the ground is closer to sand than stone and it dances around under the roadworks, dragging it around with it. Potholes are so common, we don't even blink here. In fact, PEIslanders laugh when we drive off the Island and we encounter a bump sign on a road. Usually, we can barely feel it!

Right. I'm off topic. Maybe I never had one.

The Island is wonderful in the fall. Sure, the cold wind whips over the hill that UPEI is sat on something wicked, but it's all worth it. Too bad the tourists don't stay to see this.

Bold Move.

2010-10-15T13:00:00.004-03:00

Kids, I've been thinking about my Husband List (tm).

Ages ago, and with some wise councel, I decided that there's nothing wrong with including gay men on my List. After all, I'm missing the point if I don't understand that it's not the specific men on my list that I wish to marry, but rather their collective features of wit, skill, personal compatibility, and, risking shallowness, attractiveness.

So, what I decided was: I can allow myself one gay member of my HL. For years now the sitting member of the Gay Council on my Husband List has been Neil Patrick Harris.

I've been doing some soul searching about this. NPH is fantastic. Fabulous, one might say. He is incredibly talented, funny, well-spoken, and an attractive young man, if you like that buffed and waxed sort. Plus, he does magic.

Still, for a long-term relationship, I don't think "toothsome" would get through to my old age. Mentally formidable would. I think I'd rather sit down with Stephen Fry and eschew the chance to perfect ballroom routines with Neil.

Stephen Fry makes me want to write more. And write better. Be more thoughtful and artful with words.

Maybe NPH will have to take a back seat until I change my mind again (which I inevitably will).

Last year, when Craig Ferguson decided to experiment with the format of regular late-night talk shows, he invited Fry to be his one guest for the evening, absolutely without an audience. It was a little like Charlie Rose, and a little like Tom Snyder in the '90s. It was also genius. Someone's kindly posted it on YouTube.

All this, and I'm not even mentioning Fry & Laurie.

Still, the video below that I happened upon this summer, proved to me that eloquence still exists in our world.

The Intelligence² Debate - Stephen Fry (Unedited)
Uploaded by Xrunner17. - Classic TV and last night's shows, online.

Clever!

2010-10-13T19:24:00.004-03:00

I'm in the market for a new iPod, and there's a nifty new generation out there that I've got my eye on.I have an old Nano. I got it for my birthday in 2007. It's almost 4 years old and it is a little creaky. It's a 2GB, which today is laughable. My toothbrush has more memory than that.

The new Nano is as much as $189 for 16GB! Say whaaaa? I'm sure my folks paid about that for my Flinstones model I've been using for three sets of earphones now.

I went on the Apple website to see what the poop was on these new ones. Once you select a colour (crazy kids!), the next page you see asks you what you want engraved on your brand-spankin' new iPod. Careful, it warns you in small print: double-check your spelling! Engraved iPods can't be returned!

Ahhh. Well played, Apple. Respect.

Up the chances that your customers will void return eligibility by making a vanity option free.

Nice.

What would I have engraved? "Thug Life"? Is that your guess? Yeah, you're probably right.

Anyhow, since my old iPod is creaky but still works, I'm in no place to drop $200 on a new gadget. Even if I were gainfully employed, it's not in my nature.

Don't Force It.

2010-10-09T16:12:00.002-03:00

Is anyone else over Glee?

I think last week's Britney Spears debacle was the nail in the coffin. Now I'm watching some superficial quick-and-tidy debate about spirituality and the hot guy who used to have a Mohawk is now singing "Only the Good Die Young" as some sort of argument that Judaism is "right?" I'm thoroughly exhausted by this quirky show, and it came on so quickly, I don't know why I didn't see it coming.

And I flipping love "Only the Good Die Young." And it is a great fit for the guy who knocked up the president of the Wait Until Marriage 'Cause God Sez So Club, but shoehorned into a debate over faith? Hm. I don't think so. It's a little too pat.

Now the atheist Curt's father is in a coma. I shudder to predict that the steadfast atheist is going to suddenly jump on the Jesus Train. I hope he sticks to it. (That being said, teenage faith is sometimes a fickle fellow.)

Finally, just to assure you all that it's not the roiling atheist in me getting her back up about this one ham-fisted episode of Glee, let me return once again to my lip-synching peeve. I am utterly at a loss as to why why WHY lip-synchers touch their tongues to their upper lip, outside their mouths, for the sound "l." It looks awful, it feels unnatural, and looks like ridiculous grandstanding.

Wow. Now she's singing Yentl.

Mercy.

2010-10-06T08:38:00.003-03:00

Where has this video been all my life?

Maybe NBC would have never let Conan do something like this...

I'm a little concerned that we in Eastern Canada aren't going to be able to see Conan's new show on TBS. I think I'll have to rely on downloading it in torrents. UPDATE: The Comedy Network will carry Conan's show starting in November. Rawk.

And, might I add, that I am thrilled Conan is keeping the beard. Is this news to anyone at all?

Radio 2, I Love You.

2010-10-05T09:04:00.003-03:00

Growing up, CBC Radio 2 was the lamest of all radio channels. It played classical music almost exclusively, and the only time I tuned in was if it happened to be Saturday morning and I really had a hankerin' for Vinyl Cafe.

A couple of years ago, there was a much-ballyhooed format change at Radio 2. Well, not a total format change, a la that of WKRP mythology.

It still plays classical through most of the day, but the big difference was the morning show and the afternoon/evening drive program. They program a mix of music like I've never heard. It's like there's no genre, but the only qualifier is that is has to be good. I've heard Shad to mambo to Cee Lo to Amy Winehouse and Mark Ronson and then to Arcade Fire in one set.

This morning while I was in the shower, they played Joel Plaskett's "Through & Through & Through," a song that you don't hear enough on the radio. Bob Mackowycz, the morning host, said that if Tom Petty was from Nova Scotia, he would be called Joel Plaskett, and then described him as "a heartbreaker in a lobster bib." Come on! Who doesn't fall in love with a host who says things like that?

If that's not convincing enough, they've got Rich Terfry on the Radio 2 Drive show in the afternoons. He's just returning from a tour under his stage name, Buck 65. He was a radio host back in Nova Scotia, and is great.

I don't know if it's the hosts who are responsible for the programming of these shows, but the music mix is exceptional. Kudos.

Starry. Starry Night.

2010-10-03T13:15:00.001-03:00

I got home to my folks' place last night at about midnight.

I stepped out of the car and looked up to see the Little Dipper, clear as I've ever seen it.

I know I wouldn't ever be able to say that about my place in Toronto.

Kidding.

2010-09-22T18:31:00.003-03:00

I'm totally kidding. You're a ruralist for thinking all we do is go cow tipping.

Now go hop on a streetcar to your big city orgy, you hipster.

Naughty Blogger.

2010-09-19T22:47:00.006-03:00

I haven't posted since I moved home. Naughty me.

It seems like a lot has gone on since I got here, three and a half weeks ago. Here's what's in my immediate future:

In the early morning I have to put on multiple loads of laundry and hope everything is dry by a) my phonetics class at 3pm, or b) work at the Confederation Centre box office at 5pm.

While my first load of darks is agitating, I have to march through the Island dew to the shed and remove dead mice from the newly-baited traps I set yesterday. There are sure to be at least one. I hope they held up well under that sprung arm of death. I hate mopping up mice.

So, briefly, here's the scoop on SCHOOL: I wasn't able to get my pre-recs waived for Developmental Psychology, so I had to register at Athabasca, which is fine, I guess, but I'm not keen on taking more distance courses. In the meantime, I am in Phonetics (with a friend, happily), and Statistics, which I've already taken, but I expect a challenge because of the professor's teaching style. (Am I being too cryptic? I'm just trying to be charitable.)

WORK: I've been poached by the Box Office (BO Brigade) from the Front of House department at the Confed. It's a little weird and I had some pangs of being a traitor, but really, it's not better or worse, it's just very different. I like that we spend most of our shifts sitting down since my feet are so bad, but we don't get too see the shows. It's only going to be busy until Hairspray closes.

VOLUNTEERING: Phew. What a struggle. So, the gig I lined up here on the Island turned out to have about an hour a week available. They deal primarily with pre-school kids. Anyhow, I have a lot more time than that to give, so I was disappointed. I called the school board, which is restructuring and in a period of flux (read: chaos), and also the hospital, and eventually landed 2 hours a week in the Speech-Language Department. It's a big help and very interesting to see the hospital side of things - lots of stroke patients, so it's much more focused on swallowing and less on communication (although that is certainly a part of the rehabilitation).

FAM: My Mum and Dad are in Newfoundland right now, hence the mousetrap duties. Before they left, my sister was here with her husband and uncommonly cute daughter. My sister was really sick when she was here, which blows.

WEDDINGS: In my first week home, I attended 2 weddings in 5 days. One had more guests but was loosey-goosey, and the other was more intimate and traditional. It's hard to have a small wedding on PEI, so I was so honoured to be invited to the latter. It's so nice to see people matched up. I played my uke and sang a song at the first wedding. It was lieu of a reading, mentioned in an earlier post. I didn't make too much of a mess of it, but but was I nervous. It was someone's wedding, after all.

Off to bed - laundry and mouse disposal in the morning.

Te-ra, Corktown.

2010-08-26T13:47:00.002-03:00

Last night was my last uke jam before going home to PEI for 4 months. People are so sweet to me. At the jam, I'm at the List Mistress (or Listress), so I do the stage management for the bigger nights, and just let the MC know who is playing next on the smaller nights. Through this, I've met a lot of the regulars at the jam, and I guess I've become a bit of a fixture, because they were super awesome to me last night.

A big group of them got up and sang a Mark Haines song to me. The song was called "On My Way" and it was all about moving home to Prince Edward Island!

Another one, Margaret Mulligan, made a print for me of a uke player, all framed and lovely!

Well, I got lots of hugs and a request to play. Happily, I have been rehearsing a song, because instead of reading at the wedding that I mentioned 2-3 posts ago, I'm now singing and accompanying myself. Sure, why not, said the groom, who is a maniac and adventuresome and I love it. So many people micromanage their weddings, then this guy comes along. He doesn't even know what song I'm performing! He didn't ask!!! I joked it would be this:

I wish.

Night Moves.

2010-08-23T02:52:00.005-03:00

The city smells like a basement apartment tonight. Way too damp and sickly sweet.

I'm always surprised how few kooks are out at 1am on a Monday morning.

A Short Exchange:

Dude in bandanna crossing Queen West to get to me: "Do you have a couple of quarters I have bum off you?"

Me, lying, waiting at a streetcar stop: "Sorry, no. All I have is a [streetcar] token."

[Streetcar approaches, less than a block away.]

Dude i.b.c.Q.W.t.g.t.m., almost ready to pass but heads back towards me: "Oh! You have a token? Can I get it off you?"

Me, finding this ridiculously transparent: "Sweetheart, no. I need it."

Follicular Fortnight.

2010-08-14T21:19:00.003-03:00

One of my greasy spoon buddies (yeah, I have a greasy spoon posse) told me about Jon Stewart's goatee before I got a chance to see it myself.

I got out of the habit of watching the Daily Show and the Colbert Report. It all happened when I when I went back to school in May. I thought I'd ease into a nocturnal life, sleeping late, and taking my news the way most undergrads do: from the hallowed halls of Comedy Central.

Anyhow, when one of my favourite boys decided not to callously cull his facial hair and I missed its unveiling, I was most disappointed with myself.

And now it's gone now, Jon's goatee. (Or, more properly, people, it was a Van Dyke - it had a mustache.) Two weeks. Two thin weeks and 8 short episodes, Jon was in his beard period.

Now, briefly, and hopefully not stepping on the toes of a future post pontificating on the values of beards, I will say this:

I am generally of the school of "Go Big or Go Home" when it comes to beards. Shaving parts of a beard is basically being half-assed clean-shaven, in my books.

Still, for someone who emulates an news anchor in looks if not in content, I like Stewart's chutzpah at returning from vacation with some extra hair. [No, I didn't purposely use a Yiddish word because it's Stewart - I just use that word. Broaden your vocabularies, y'all. Nu.]

Facial hair is verboten [yeah, now some German - chew on that!] for these be-suited men, as verboten as it is for politicians to wear full beards. When Letterman and Conan wore beards in solidarity with striking writers, it made news. As well it should have - Conan's was a crimson blaze of glory - and I'm very pleased he grew it back for his unemployment/road show earlier this year. In fact, last month when Craig Ferguson wore sneakers and later just a tee-shirt under his blazer, he intimated that it was a bit of a coup.

Well, farewell, Jon Stewart's Van Dyke. We hardly knew ye. You stood for something bigger than yourself - you railed against the status quo, if only for a while. I salute you.

Stay tuned for my treatise on why beards are good 'n stuff.

The Come-Down.

2010-08-08T12:37:00.006-03:00

I am finished. Finished of school for the summer.

I wrote my Physiology final yesterday morning, after not much sleep and not enough studying.

I don't really know how well I did. It's so hard to say, since it was multiple choice and they do their best to confuse you (or test your intimate knowledge, whatever).

There was one question, for example, that asked us to identify the correct statement about the placenta. I quickly was able to cross out three of the options (e.g.: "the placenta allows a direct connection between the mother's and the fetus' blood"), but I was left with two that might have been ok. One of them was, "the placenta begins to produce estrogen and progesterone 6 weeks after implantation." Now, I remembered that this (disgusting) organ starts to produce hormones at about 6 weeks, but I couldn't remember which ones. This is where they get you: it sounds right, but what if the actual hormones are estrogen and any other of the billions of hormones in the human body?

Anyhow, I followed my gut and chose that one anyway, hoping those were the hormones, and after looking it up, I was right!

Unfortunately, I only remember approximately 2 other questions from the 87-question exam, so I can't look any more of them up.

I walked away from the exam, sat behind Convocation Hall and called home. I told my mother I felt like having a cry - not because I was upset, but I needed an outlet for all my nerves. I was shaky during the exam itself from all the adrenaline (a catecholemine, produced in the medulla of the adrenal gland, of course).

Another annoying fact I picked up in this epic class is, heightened levels of cortisol, a hormone released while stressed, impairs your immune system. Since I've been jacked up on cortisol for a couple of weeks now, I expect to get a cold any second now.

The courtyard where I studied for hours and hours. Two hours.

My back and neck are really sore from being bent over a desk and from schlepping my books back and forth from campus for weeks. I am going to spend the next week recovering mentally and physically, relaxing with my uke and reading Scott Pilgrim (joiner alert!). Then I have to pack up my stuff for storage and get home to PEI for four months.

All I know is: our bodies are amazing. Amazing and disgusting.

Suggestions?

2010-07-31T18:45:00.003-03:00

I've been asked to do a reading at a friend's wedding this summer.

Oh, and I have to select the reading. Yeah.

I'm totally up for this, but it's a bit of a challenge. We Sweets are not "wedding people," so I don't have a catalog of romantic verses (Biblical or otherwise) on hand.

Another problem is, I haven't even met the bride and I haven't seen my friend, the groom, in about 5 years. I know (at least the last time I talked to him) that he was very religious (Christian), so I assume he still is, and I assume she is, too.

Still, it's going to be an outdoor wedding, I think. The groom is very "outdoorsy" (no doubt what he would put on an on-line dating profile if he hadn't already snagged a wife).

The reading does not have to be from the Bible. Poems and prose are game, too.

No cussin'. No smut. (I know, I know... no juicy stuff from Song of Songs.)

Help?

"Up North."

2010-07-18T09:51:00.003-03:00

Earlier this week my good friend T invited me up to his family's cottage. I packed up my ukulele and my textbooks and took off.

It really is nice to get out of the city. Although I don't have to leave the house a lot these days, the heat is getting really oppressive. It's been a couple of weeks now that we've had highs of high-20s/low 30s with insane humidexes. Our house is fairly cool, thanks mostly to an enormous maple tree out back that partially shades us. Still, when the thermostat reaches around 27 and my brain starts to cook, I cave and put on the AC.

Well, it was nice for a couple of days to be on a lake with the breeze and be able to go for a dip. I even got a little bit of a sunburn. This shouldn't be a total shock to anyone who knows me and my lilywhite ass, but it might be surprising since I usually have a slow IV drip of SPF 60.

I guess I didn't have to take my vitamin D tablets that day.

So, I have one more week before my next Physiology exam. It's on the respiratory and renal systems. Both are very interesting, but I will eat my hat if I have to know the solute filtration rate of a kid with a speech impediment. "So, I hear you have a lateral lisp, there, Timmy. If you can just pee in this cup, we can start your session!" Most of the other systems I can see connections, and of course renal heath is inextricably linked to overall health, but in my selfish SLP-prep mind, it's hard to make connections.

Off to start my day. Happy summer, everyone!

Hot And Bothered.

2010-07-08T11:51:00.000-03:00

Current Weather Updated: Thursday, July 8, 2010, 10:00 EDT - Pearson Airport

30°C

A few clouds

Feels Like: 41
Wind: SW 11km/h
Sunrise: 5:45
Sunset: 21:01

Relative Humidity: 66%
Pressure: 101.64 kPa
Visibility: 24.0 km
Ceiling: unlimited

Christ on a cracker. When will this heat let up? I guess not for another week, save Friday when some rain is going to drop the temperature to a frigid 25°.

I have put on the air conditioning, which I hate for many reasons. I was feeling woozy and I have a lot of Physiology lectures to get through today, so I thought I'd treat myself.

Last night we didn't put on the air conditioning, and I was a delirious, hallucinating mess. When I went to bed at 12:30am, the temperature outdoors in 29°. I woke up sticky, drugged, and with my head at the foot of the bed. Normally, I'd call that the results of a good night out. Not this morning.

Last summer was very mild. Comfortable, even. The only other time I've experienced heat like this was the summer of 2005 when I was trapped in Sodom. Sodom? No... that's not what it was called... Hamilton! It was called Hamilton. That summer, I went to see War of the Worlds just to sit in air conditioning for two hours. War of the Worlds! And it was worth it!

Ok, back to the Respiratory System.

Sweet Nothings: Now In 3D!

2010-07-07T12:35:00.001-03:00

Just kidding. The only way this could be in 3D was if it were in Braille.

Is 3D such a big stinkin' deal? There seems to have been a lot of movies have been delayed this year to make them into 3D. That is, they weren't originally filmed in 3D and required a legion of code monkeys to toil in a dark programming dungeon to draw relief out of 2D.

I saw Avatar in 3D. It was a cool effect. I heard an interview (possibly with Cameron himself) talking about how old 3D was really extreme and uncomfortable. I remember this was true, when, as a child, I saw a 3D movie and it made me feel ill. The newer 3D is more subtle and you don't notice it as much, just like we don't overthink being able to see depth in real life.

Still (and I know I risk sounding like an old codger), do we need it?

I think the point of a movie is to be told a story. Yes, of course the visuals are important in filmmaking, but the advent of films didn't bury the novel, did it?

Apparently film studios see 3D as some sort of panacea for their income woes. They can charge theatres more to screen their films and the theatres pass on that cost to us.

Do I want to see The Green Hornet? Yes. Do I care if it's in 3D? Yes, I do, because if I have a choice between paying $6 at the cheap theatre or $16 at some Flick Colosseum, sure's shootin' I'm gonna save $10. I will purposefully avoid the 3D version. Even if I had the extra money, I don't think I'd see that as good value.

(The Green Hornet, by the way, was meant to be released this summer but the studio, in its infinite wisdom gave the release date to Grown Ups, which looks abysmal. And if you had a choice for a "summer blockbuster" between an action flick with lots of 'splosions or a comedy full of actors past their sell-by date, which better fits the bill? Then the GH was meant to be released for Christmas, but it's been delayed again into 2011 to - you guessed it - make it into 3D!)

Happy Canada Day.

2010-07-01T15:55:00.005-03:00

I've been sitting out on our sunny deck, brewing some Vitamin D and studying for my upcoming Physiology exam. (Yes, another one - they're every 3 weeks.)

Somewhere in my neighbourhood there's a live reggae band playing. They moved from "Stir It Up" into a cheery version of "O Canada."

I find myself reveling in this Canada Day. Enjoying the sun and breeze, sitting in Little India while listening to an island band play rasta "O Canada." That's pretty darn Canadian.

I love it here.

What A Week...

2010-06-27T14:02:00.005-03:00

Damn. Has it only been 7 days since I wrote last?

Three major things:
1) Stats is done
2) New uke
3) Toronto's on fire

1) I wrote my Stats final. It was as difficult as I as I expected, but I can't really say I aced it or bombed it. I just have to wait until the final grades are released. I'm a little nervous, but I did really well on my midterm, so it buys me some leeway.

2) I bought myself a new ukulele. It's a little different than the standard soprano I was budgeting for - a factory second of a longneck soprano became available, so for a little extra dosh I have a soprano-bodied uke with a concert-length neck, i.e. more frets. That's great, since I'm getting better all the time, and I'm able to play up the neck quite a bit now. With my standard soprano, though, my hand get mashed up against the body of the uke at even a barred B (on the 6th fret).

Anyhow, I'm really wound up about it. It should arrive this week. I am so pleased with myself to have saved for over a year. It's very satisfying.

It was cool talking to the guy in Hawaii. He had the greatest accent. It's very soft, and sounds a little like a Canadian native accent, but more Pacific, if that's an adjective. And he pronounced it "oo-koo-lay-lay" and "ook" instead of "you-ka-lay-lee" and "youk." I asked him to forgive my mainlander pronunciation, but I'd sound like a poser if I said it his way. I think he liked me.

3) The G20 is underway here in Toronto, and what an effing shitstorm it is. It's so gutting to see the damage these scumbags are doing. (I'm surprising myself with feelings of "my city!") I hate that most times the media lump all the marching people together as "protesters." The legit protesters aren't running around smashing stores, lighting fires, digging up cobblestones to throw at police, and scaring regular Torontonians.

I was at a friend's condo at College and Yonge for the US-Ghana World Cup match, but we didn't watch any of the game. I was with three journalists (one being the oft-mentioned friend M), two of which work for the CBC. One had itchy feet and said he had to get out into it. He took a camera and his phone and headed down Yonge. He called a few minutes later to say a mob was storming up Yonge, and they'd laid waste to Yonge and Dundas Square. We looked out the balcony and heard them before we saw them.

Here's what I heard: it sounded like a thwang of an arrow being released from a bow, but deeper, louder. I thought maybe they were throwing stuff at streetcar cables, because it sounded like a deep resonance of a tight cable being struck with a hammer. But there are no streetcar cables on Yonge. I had no idea what it was. Then the shattering started. It sounded like dozens of story-tall storefront windows were being destroyed. That's exactly what it was.

Then I put it together - the thwang was the sound of a huge pane of glass being struck but not yet breaking. It was the glass buckling and recoiling, and punching out a burst of sound energy. It was so menacing and ominous.

The mob of black-clad assholes came into view a moment later. They surged into the usually-busy intersection and targeted a Starbucks that was on the north-west corner. People were still inside when they smashed the windows. I suspect they went in and smashed from the inside because there were suddenly chairs and a table being used to smash the glass. I even saw one prick throw something at Fran's window. "Not Fran's!" said M. (Fran's is a Toronto landmark - Glenn Gould ate there early every morning.)

They continued west to Queen's Park and were out of view, but that's where the police all headed, and where the mounted units were. People were worried because four major hospitals are very close to there, including SickKids.

So, my friend on the street called in every few minutes to fill us in, my other friend would tweet what he was telling us, CBC would pick up what she was tweeting and broadcast it! I guess they're a reliable source, being employees. M and I would describe what we were seeing out the window and she would monitor the computer.

We saw a coach pull up and c. 50 police in riot gear get out and stand in formation. We saw panicked crowds running east. We saw a Canadian Blood Services van idling for a long time, as if poised for a triage centre.

The TTC was not running, so I got a cab home after things seemed to calm down. The thing is, we were quite north in the city, so we didn't expect to see what we saw. Yes, College and Yonge is still downtown, but relatively north, really, especially considering where the G20 convention is actually taking place - way down on Front Street.

I'm nervous more shit'll go down today, but I live way over in Little India, quite east. I'm not nervous for myself, but for others and for the city.

The Last Hurrah.

2010-06-20T14:35:00.004-03:00

My Stats final is Wednesday. I'm having a hard time focussing. I have 3 full days to study, but I have a very ominous feeling that I'm royally boned.

My study partner and I had a very fruitless day yesterday. It felt like we were just going around in circles.

I wish they were these circles:Thanks to Liam for the heads-up on this one!

Surreal Uke Night.

2010-06-18T11:30:00.007-03:00

Imagine you were in some sort of cello club and Yo Yo Ma casually walked in the door. Or if at your rec soccer league, David Beckham showed up to dribble for a bit.

It was a normal night at our ukulele jam. We'd all just played a song together and one of the organizers was talking about Arlo Guthrie, and he looked to the door and said, "I think we have a special guest." I only saw a woman, so I thought it was a friend of his or something, but then a man walked in with a yellow fibreglass uke case.

It was effing Jake Shimabukuro, who is a virtuoso ukulele player. He is widely considered the world's best uke player. He plays with a clockwork precision and heartfelt passion.

He said he was in town for a(n apparently pseudo-) Ted Talk and a couple of our members invited him to stop by. Bold!

But it was so so so surreal. It was like we were all collectively tripping, mass-hallucinating Shimabukuro in front of us.

He spoke to us about playing and music and some theory, and he played three or four songs for us, including his arrangement of George Harrison's "As My Guitar Gently Weeps," the song he's most famous for on YouTube.

Here's the thing: Shimabukuro plays his uke like a virtuoso would play a classical guitar. I'm not aspiring to play as well as him, or his style, but by god can I appreciate it. In the meantime, I'm going to keep pounding out Nick Gilder.

My good friend Sunny nearly shat her pants when she saw him. The only thing I can think of that's analogous with Jake showing up for me is if Elton John wandered in off the street to sing with us. She got him to sign her Ohana - her primary uke. I gasped when I saw it - the black pen on the beautiful blonde wood - but she told me she has always said that Shimabukuro would be the only one she'd let sign that uke.

I also got my shitty uke signed. It only lights a fire under me to retire it sooner. I wrote Koaloha again today. Hopefully I'll speak to the guy tonight and have a new uke on its way next week.

New Uke.

2010-06-16T17:15:00.004-03:00

I have been saving my toonies for over a year now with the goal of buying a new uke.

They've really added up! Now I find myself shopping for a ukulele, which is a little overwhelming because of all the choice and options.

I got it in my head that I wanted a Koaloha, which is widely renowned to be a top-of-the-line uke. They're made in Hawaii, have a beautiful stylized sound hole, use beautiful wood (the traditional Koa), and have a reputation of sounding like butter.
The problem is, the standard soprano, which is the size I want, costs about twice as much as I have saved. Bah.

So, I'm faced with the quandary: do I get a darn good uke with the money I do have (probably a Kala or a Ohana), or wait for another year and buy the one I really want?

Well, my friends at my ukulele jam have come through again! One of them wrote to Koaloha about "factory seconds." They are perfectly fine instruments, but have some sort of superficial flaw, like a bubble in the finish, or a misaligned wood grain. I had heard about these creatures, but was timid about asking. I felt like I would be begging for a fine uke at a discount, as if I was pulling the wool over their eyes.

Of course, seconds are a totally symbiotic relationship. Koaloha gets some money for a complete instrument, and I get a slightly flawed instrument at a discount!

So, hopefully soon I'm going to get a call from Brian in Honolulu and we can talk about a new uke!

I should say: Duke is good. Well, not really. Duke was good enough. Duke (my present uke, a Hilo soprano), is actually kinda shitty. It was good enough to learn on, but now that I've improved and heard how good a quality uke can sound. Duke's sound is not good. It sounds like a shoebox with 4 rubber bands strung around it. The nut is too high, so the lower frets are out of tune. It's some sort of shitty plywood/glue amalgam, which resonates like a Birkenstock. I'm really ready to move on, and saving for over a year gives such a great feeling of delayed satisfaction.

Thanks, Marianne.

2010-06-15T19:07:00.001-03:00

Lovely Mare saw how shitty my day was on Monday and treated me to a movie. It was very nice of her, and it actually did make me feel a lot better. (And the movie holds up on second viewing.)

Physiology!

2010-06-14T18:42:00.004-03:00

Well, I wasn't wrong.

I was boned. So, I have to shift gears for the rest of the summer.

Here's my plan: I am now enrolled in a 2-credit, 4 month Physiology class and a 1-credit, 2 month Statistics class. I need to take the second half of Stats for my application, which is due in January.

I am managing to pull off a B- in my Stats class, with no small help from a classmate, but I am doing embarrassingly poorly in my Physiology class.

I wrote my second of four tests today and got a 50%. As if.

So, instead of just managing to do "OK" in two classes that are difficult for me, I'm going to not take Stats next semester and concentrate on bringing up my Physiology marks.

This means I have to do one more class this fall, and since it's a second half of a class, it might not be offered. Well, fine. Then I put on my SLP application that I'm enrolled in the January session and will send then grades when I'm done. That's what all the whipper-snapper undergrads do.

All I know is, summer courses are for the birds. They're so intensive, and I am so far out of my comfort zone. It was too much to take on.

Well, I have to go hit Stats now, so I understand what the hell is going on in class tomorrow night. Here's hoping...

Holly, Damn You.

2010-06-12T23:38:00.003-03:00

I have to study, and then I tried to spend "a few minutes" playing with my blog template!

Expect more changes to come - for example, I did lose all my links, which makes me unhappy.

But come on... what kind of luck do I have to find a raw sugar background photo for my blog called "Sweet Nothings?"

Subterranean Homesick Blues.

2010-06-12T21:56:00.004-03:00

One of my housemates is moving to Yarmouth for the summer, and she's hosting her big going away party tonight.

I'm currently exiled at T's empty apartment, studying for what will surely be an abysmal showing on my next Physiology test.

Last time my roommates threw a party, it went until almost 4am (and, from the sounds of it, mostly right over the ducts that rattle in my basement bedroom's ceiling), so, being a cranky old codger, I left. I really have to be able to cram tomorrow, so I need to be able to sleep tonight.

And yes, I do mean cram, not study. Dividing my time between Statistics and Physiology was unwise. I should taken one or the other, or paired one with a Social Sciences credit that I'd be more comfortable with, or taken neither and become a longshoreman.

There is no way one should do a complete survey of the human body in 13 weeks. Yes, it is a survey, but it's the human body! The beautiful, complex-yet-simple, makes-men-consider-the-existence-of-higher-beings human body!

This exam is on the Adrenal System, Neurophysiology, and about a third of the course's material on the Cardiovascular system. Yup.

Ironically, I'm boned.

I only got a 60% on my first exam in this class, which is below what used to be my set academic goals of at least a 70%, and well below my current "Rah Rah, Let's Get Into Grad School" goal of 80%.

Well, I have tomorrow to really cram. I'm going to sit here until T's kind roommate comes home and takes back her keys. I hope something sticks. All I remember right now is there are actually something called the Funny Channels in the heart. And they're named that because the scientists thought they were funny! How am I expected to memorize shit about action potentials when I know these things? I would rather these people be very serious about this stuff.

Still, if I had free rein to name stuff in the body, I'd let myself have some fun. No long BS acronyms for me! Ugh... I got to get back to the long BS acronyms. Later.

Girl Girl Girl Girl Girl Girl Not Girl.

2010-06-11T22:45:00.003-03:00

Elizabeth has broken the streak. She had a baby boy, Lucas, this week. Congratulations!

Well, that's it: no more preggers friends. They's all done popped.

New Husband List Member?

2010-06-10T18:51:00.001-03:00

I've been thinking about adding Jay Baruchel to my patented Husband List.

There are many criteria for becoming a member of the List. Modesty prevents me from going into too much detail, but take it from me: he fulfills them.

Plus, as a bonus, there's a guy in my Stats class that reminds me of him, and now when I see one or the other, I have happy, warm fuzzies.

What do people think of this? Before you answer, make sure you've seen at least one of the following:
a) Undeclared
b) The Trotsky
c) Tropic Thunder

with recommended but not required materials:
a) Real Time
b) She's Out of My League
c) Knocked Up

Attention Charlottetown Readers!

2010-06-07T07:34:00.008-03:00

From June 14th to June 20th, "The Trotsky" is playing at City Cinema. I highly recommend this movie, and, let's face it: there is a real possibility that you'll never get a chance to see it, at least not without a fight.

Don't go into it with a "it's just a Canadian movie" attitude. I don't think there's any need. It's very good. The rating is good on IMDB, but Rotten Tomatoes is not as favourable as I'd like it to be, but it could have something to do with only gathering six reviews. Also: seeing The Trotsky might be the only time in cinema history that a Lada is a punchline, which is bit of a reversal of fortune, since in real life it's rare that a Lada is not a punchline.

For you mainlanders, City Cinema is Charlottetown's art-house theatre. It screens all the indie and foreign films that would probably never screen at the only other Charlottetown theatre - one of the Empire multiplex chain. It's got one screen and 81 (new!) seats and shows two movies a night. It has a competitive membership program and a loyal population of movie-goers. Besides that, it became a regular outing for the Confederation Centre box officers (i.e. B.O. Brigade), and I enjoyed tagging along from time to time.

Bye-the-bye: what is the gentilic for Charlottetown? Charlottetowner? Ugh. That's dreadful. Charlottetownian? I hope it's weird like Haligonian or Glaswegian. I vote for Charlottain.

Finally: have people seen this? It's a 2-minute Adidas ad, re-working the Cantina scene from A New Hope, doctoring it to insert people into the scene in a way that Lucas dreams he could have for those awful "remastered" editions. Besides the seamlessness of the insertion of, say, Daft Punk, Beckham, and Snoop Dog (?), it's really not very good. "Celebrate Originality"? Come on, Adidas. How can you not see the lameness of capitalizing on the institution of Star Wars, a movie that is over 3 decades old, while claiming to celebrate originality? How about calling flippin' OK Go? They make hella good videos with a 200th of the budget because they use their imaginations!

I am utterly baffled, though, as to why Jay Baruchel was involved in this undertaking. An Adidas ad? Really? Does this have something to do with him being in a new, huge Nic Cage movie? Was he tied to some contract to do it? Was it for "the buzz"? That doesn't seem like him...

Ok, I'll close. I could furrow my brow and raise my shoulders about this for quite some time.

GO see The Trotsky!

Hormoan System.

2010-06-06T13:10:00.003-03:00

My Physiology class is on-line. Every week, 4 new video lectures become available, and the previous 4 disappear. A quarter of the screen is a video of my professor, another quarter is a list of what slides we have to get through, and the other half is the slides themselves. They scroll by like on PowerPoint, on cue with the progress of the lecture.

It's a good set-up, and it keeps you pretty on track. You can't fall behind, or the lectures will disappear.

Well, in the odyssey of super-fun learning that is my life these days, we're deeply mired in the Endocrine System right now. There are a lot of acronyms and cycles to juggle, but it's cool to learn about insulin and adrenalin et al.

Today, I started wading through the hormones of reproduction.

So, I find myself sitting inside on a rainy June day, carefully inspecting a testicle, trying to memorize its exact anatomy.

Sigh. If only my future career and weren't at stake and if only it weren't dissected.

Me, Too!

2010-06-02T00:39:00.002-03:00

I so desperately want to be part of a group like this!

Anyone know of 10 other ukulele players (and one bass player) with similar musical tastes and talent who wants to play with me?

Dear Friends Who Might Think I'm Ignoring/Avoiding You.

2010-05-31T18:57:00.004-03:00

I'm not ignoring, but I've never really known the kind of brain drain that I'm undergoing right now.

Both Statistics and Physiology are owning my ass, and I can't find a lot of spare time.

I am avoiding phone calls, since they are dangerous and can make time fly by. I can't let that happen these days. Quick little emails might be your best bet if you're hoping to contact me.

BUT: Holly deserves a mention because she recently successfully defended her PhD dissertation, and handed in the final copy today. It was a lot of work, and we're all so pleased and proud! Congratulations!

In the meantime, if anyone can tell me (in a way I can understand) how
P(A|B) can equal both P(A) and P(A and B)/P(B), but they are not the same bleedin' thing, that would be flippin' great.

Quick Note.

2010-05-28T01:01:00.006-03:00

Of the six children born to people I know in the last c.2 months, all six have been girls.

Wanna know what makes me super excited?

Because of my Statistics class, I know how to figure out the chances of this!!!*

find: Probability (P) that next 6 children born to friends (or sisters) are girls.

P(next 6 are girls)

where P(girl)=.49 (i.e 49% of births are girls)

P(A1)(A2)(A3)...(An)=

P(girl1)(girl2)(girl3)(girl4)(girl5)(girl6)=

P(.49)(.49)(.49)(.49)(.49)(.49)=0.0138

Holy crap! The chances are almost %1.5!

Anyhow, welcome Svea, Tessa, Lily, Julia, and new this week, Ruby and Alexis. I will be making your mothers nervous in no time.

*aka factorial, factorial, factorial.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

2010-05-25T14:29:00.003-03:00

I don't know why I'm surprised. When things get too big they have a hard time functioning. Look at poor Saint Bernards and Irish Wolfhounds. They're too big and die earlier than smaller, more efficient dogs.

Anyhow, U of T is the biggest uni. in the country. It has as many students as Charlottetown has residents.

It also has a truly embarrassing online student interface system. I am taking 2 classes with U of T, one, live, in person, in a real classroom with a sentient prof in front of me, and another on-line, through U of T's School of Continuing Studies.

I have 2 different passwords for the 2 separate student pages that look exactly the same, except there is ONE link on each page for ONE class. Why in the name of all that is holy wouldn't I have the same Portal with both my classes listed? I have to exit my entire web browser in order to log in to the other one.

If they're going to use the excuse that one of my classes is through the School of Continuing Studies, that's utter bullshit. It's humiliating that a school as big and as rich as U of T can't consolidate its student portal.

There, University of Toronto: you can suck it.

T.O. B&E.

2010-05-21T00:38:00.007-03:00

I got back from running an errand Wednesday to find the side door of the house kicked in. We figure there was a 45 minute window of opportunity for someone to have done that. At about noon.

One laptop was taken, multiple hundreds in cash that my roommate was raising for the Canadian Cancer Society, and, inexplicably, a bottle of daiquiri mix. Losing the Cancer money stung the most. She had organized yard sales and collected most of that money in loonies and toonies.

We were pretty shaken. Knowing a stranger was in your home when you weren't there is eerie. We're fine now, but we're pretty on edge about noises and triple-checking if doors are locked.

The property management company came by later that day to fix the door. Well, the door expert was on vacation, so another minion came and barricaded our door in the same method I would employ if preparing for a zombie invasion.
I like it. It's a rustic arts-and-crafts pre-apocalyptic reckoning of a conventional door. It's all the rage in Brooklyn, too.

If anyone wants to help my roommate get that donation back up to its original status for her Relay for Life team, here's the link, and any donations over $20 are eligible for a tax receipt.

Mercy.

2010-05-19T09:35:00.009-03:00

Ok, so it's actually worse than I thought. The schoolwork is very time-consuming. Well, maybe I'm a little slow on the uptake.

I think the major problem is my Physiology class. Instead of 3 lectures a week, there are 4, so the first quiz, which is on Monday has 12 lectures on it, not 9. I am currently watching lecture 6. SO, I have 7 lectures to get through by Monday. Oh, and do all the CD-Rom labs, and do the mock quizzes, AND study! I hope I have time to see MacGruber!

Actually, the problem isn't the quantity of the lectures - it's the content. I thought we were going to be talking about muscles and bones 'n' shit, but it's really a chemistry class. I'm (meant to be) learning about net charges of cells and membrane potentials and polarization of this and that. It's much more micro than I thought it would be. I hope we get to the macro stuff soon and this first slog is a good foundation. I just hope I can retain it long enough to make it useful later on. Like on the exam.

Quick note: my best break/treat last weekend (besides visiting with my Confed girlies) was seeing The Trotsky. It was very good. I laughed a lot, and often long after everyone else was done laughing. Yeah, that's how I roll.
Back to the books...

Oh, Dear.

2010-05-09T17:02:00.003-03:00

I'm a student again. This might be news to some of you. I've decided, though, that I would like to study Speech-Language Pathology, and this requires me to take some pre-requisite courses this summer and fall; to even qualify I need them. And I need to get high grades, too - it's really competitive to get in to SLP. For example, last year there were over 260 applicants to the U of T program, and there are only 45 seats.

So, this summer I'm studying full time. I'm taking 4 credits, 2 each in Statistics and Physiology. I was dreading stats but kinda looking forward to physiology. Well, I've just finished my first physiol. lecture, which is all on-line. I have a lot of catching up to do. I have the pre-recs to get into this course, but it was all a while ago.

My first stats lecture is on Tuesday night. Phew. Thank goodness B is leaving soon. It would be difficult to study as much as I need to if there was someone fun in the house. Oh! I should post about why he's here. That's next.

Rolling With The Times.

2010-05-07T12:38:00.000-03:00

I have to hand it to the firm handling the advertising for Brita Water Filters. They are masters at re-marketing themselves.

Not long ago, I posted my bother at Brita telling us that drinking water straight from the tap was tantamount to lapping from the toilet.

Now, they've hitched their wagon to the "green" angle, saying that drinking water from a Brita will save untold thousands of plastic bottles from going to the landfill. Their reasoning is, you'll refill your glass from a Brita Water Filtration System (tm) instead to using the devil plastic!

This ignores the fact that Brita pitchers are made of plastic, the non-recyclable kind, and the filters are housed in disposable plastic.

It is also a bullshit afterthought that happens to work for them, but it was never - I guarantee never - an objective of theirs. It's like a company that makes stairwells marketing themselves as a weight loss tool.

There are some places in Canada that don't have drinkable tap water, but I wager there are very few that are along the southernmost 100 kilometers of the country. Like I've said before, drink your tap water. It's fine, and delicious, and virtually free, compared to its value. If it's chlorine-y, it's probably because older infrastructure makes your town's officials nervous about breaches. Someone loves you and doesn't want you to get an infection from faecal coliform! Aww!

Greenwashing has become a real thorn in my side. The last time I went to the Green Living Show, I was appalled. There were booths there touting products that had tenuous, at best, right to be there. It was BS like, hey! this lawn mower uses diesel instead of gasoline! Diesel is a cleaner-burning fossil fuel! Cleaner burning. Rad.

Fooled Again.

2010-04-29T11:12:00.000-03:00

I happened to turn on "The Blues Brothers" last week and saw Ray Charles et al performing "Shake a Tail Feather." I had forgotten about it all together. Here it is:

Only last week, I found this Hanson video. Yes, you read right: HANSON VIDEO. I loved it. While it was a little dance mob-y, which I'm getting a little tired of, there was something a little organic about it, like how you can hear the audio of the dance, i.e. foot scuffs.

Watch:
Thinking 'Bout Somethin'

HANSON | MySpace Music Videos

So is Hanson cool because they payed homage to the cool movie "The Blues Brothers," or lame because they couldn't do something cool on their own?

I found this video because Weird Al tweeted about it. I think he directed it, and yes, he's in the video too. Want to waste 2 hours? Go to YouTube and rediscover how brilliant Weird Al's videos are. Al dressed as a Padawan? Nerd boner!

I am a fan of homage. Hell, I follow Weird Al's tweets, for goodness sake! Also, most of you know about my "Shawn of the Dead" devotion, the ultimate zombie movie homage.

The difference between homage and ripping off is if there's respect; a tribute paid. Ripping off is just capitalizing on someone else's success.

Colbert Bender.

2010-04-16T17:04:00.013-03:00

Hello, my name is Catherine, and I'm on a Colbert Bender.

Many of my friends and readers (but why, if they aren't my friends, do they read this tripe?) know I have the kind of benign addictive personality that, when the (extended) mood strikes, will make me consume some sort of entertainment ad infinitum.

Well, it's Stephen Colbert's turn.

This last month has been a blur, and it is owing in no small part to my brother-in-law teaching me how to download torrents. I got all three seasons of "Strangers With Candy," and the short-lived but important "Exit 57," a sketch show with Amy Sedaris and Paul Dinello (on whom I could also develop a crush, if I could see him in more stuff).

Note: I unwittingly pushed our household over our downloading limit for the month and will have to pay the penalty when the bill comes in. Worth it? Yes. Yes, it is.

Early Colbert.

My earliest introduction to Colbert was on "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart," where he was not only a correspondent, but I believe was the first Senior Correspondent. Ooh-la-la. This was the Petri dish where Colbert developed his hard-nosed, windbag, right-wing newsman character that he uses on "The Colbert Report."

When he was on "The Daily Show," I especially enjoyed Even Stephven. It was a segment where Colbert and Steve Carell skewered programs in which two pundits berate one another's intelligence because they have differing opinions. This was my first introduction to Colbert breaking down into sobs - one of my favourite weapons in Colbert's comedy arsenal, and it pre-dated "The Daily Show."

There was one legendary piece on "The Daily Show" where Colbert was reporting "from London" on a allegation that Prince Charles had had a gay experience with a servant. Colbert's very uncharacteristic uncontrollable corpsing makes this a real gut-buster. I watched it on a loop when I was in grad school, until my roommate started to worry about me.

In the Comedy Central TV show "Strangers With Candy," Colbert plays Chuck Noblet, a closeted high school teacher who has a secret relationship with Mr. Jellineck, the art teacher. This is so titillating to me. [Sidebar: why is it such mainstream knowledge that many men get turned on by the idea of two women "together," but it's not as mainstream that two men getting it on could turn on a woman? I think this is a much bigger discussion about sexuality and social custom. Maybe that's for a later post.] Somehow, "Strangers With Candy" got away with such filth, I doubt it would go to air today, even on basic cable. The show was modelled on after-school specials, but the main character (a 46-year old ex-junkie whore who goes back to school, played by Amy Sedaris, who is once and again more than thrilled to make herself unattractive as an actor) is based on Florrie Fisher.

Noblet: Why are you pushing me away?
Jellineck: I'm not pushing you away. I'm pulling me towards myself.

The Man.

I have long enjoyed satire. It's a dignified sarcasm. Colbert can do satire because he has the looks and the smarts. He looks like any other part-in-the-hair, pin-in-the-lapel newsman, which makes him the perfect sleeper to subvert from within. He is incredibly quick and witty, and seems to have some sort of perfect recall. All this gives him a great deal of power, but he's also very kind. He tells Charlie Rose in an interview, which I strongly recommend you watch, that he doesn't want to ambush people and make them feel like dirt, but wants to point out their silliness nonetheless. He also shows his humility by expressing his wonder that Jon Stewart considers him a peer.
Colbert is a family man and maybe I'm at a place in my life where that's attractive. He's a Roman Catholic and a family man. Well, I can look past the Catholic part. I like candles... Anyhow: he has said he doesn't want his kids to see the Report because he doesn't want them to think he's insincere. He doesn't think kids can understand satire. He's right - you have to balance too many factors to make and understand satire.

I think it would be difficult to have a character that has the same name as you. There are many differences between Stephen Colbert and Sir Dr. Stephen Colbert, D.F.A., but because they look the same and have the same (basic) name, that must be trying at times. Bret and Jemaine from "Flight of the Conchords" said they had the same problem, playing characters which had their own names which they didn't resemble in real life. Anyhow, Dr. Colbert is a corporate schill, an addict, a pretentious windbag, and a closeted homosexual - an amalgam of those he's satirizing, all in one Brooks Brothers-wrapped package. A one-stop-shop.

The Voice.

Colbert has a beautiful singing voice and we don't hear it enough. I think the first time most of us heard it was on the Christmas Special, but from time to time on the Report, he sings with a guest. I love this duet with John Legend, singing a Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney song. (Check out the killer work on the key change.)

When Elvis Costello was on the Report last November, Elvis had a sore throat, but he accompanied Colbert on guitar. There's a moment at the end of the song where Colbert grins, breaking character, and I imagine it's because he had just said to himself, starstruck, "Holy shit. Elvis Costello is three feet away and I'm singing his song while he plays guitar." Colbert's vocal somersaults and bittersweet sincerity is fantastic. Because of the Christmas Special and this appearance on the Report, I started to investigate Costello's music and I was missing out in such a big way. [Anyhow, this is also for another post, but suffice it to say: me+Elvis=happy.]
These are two examples, I believe, of Colbert making loyal friends. Both Legend and Costello both appeared on the Christmas Special.

The Christmas Special.

The Special, whose full title is "A Colbert Christmas: The Greatest Gift of All!" is a genius send-up of old-school Christmas shows, slapped together and phoned in with shitty production value and hollow sentiment. Colbert so broadly lip-syncs and minces about his three-walled "mountain cabin," there's no way anyone could ever think he really means it. But no, some critics thought he was for real, and gave the Special tepid reviews. I think it's genius, and not only because he sings and dances and hits on every guest under the mistletoe, but because the original music is so so so smart. When my friend Sunny and I performed "Can I Interest You In Hannukah?" at my ukulele jam in December, we brought down the flippin' huppa. It also required me to call Sunny "you Jew" on stage. (I was less nervous about calling her a Jew than I was having the audience think I was a Christian.)

So, to close a conversation that I'm far from finished having, Stephen Colbert is an important entertainer who has nestled his full, lustrous head of hair to my bosom. If he were ever to find himself in Toronto, I would invite him into my home, make him a fresh mojito, and I would play my ukulele and we would sing all night long, probably while his wife frantically describes his kidnapper to the RCMP.

Note To Self.

2010-04-13T14:08:00.004-03:00

I can't wear bangs.

I want this to be here in writing so next time I get the urge to cut them again, I will not.

My skin is too oily, my hair is too oily, and I have a cowlick on my widow's peak. These three factors combine to make for god-awful bangs.

I have been cutting bangs about every three years. That three-year cycle consists of:

1) 3-4 months of wearing them with difficulty and too much maintenance.
2) 1 year of pinning them back while they grow out.
3) 1 year of wearing no bangs.
4) 8-9 months of thinking about cutting bangs again.

It's during step 3) that I forget about step 1) and how big a pain in the ass my bangs were, but there's that one picture that someone took of me that night and my bangs look really good even though I know I had just had a shower and it was a day with optimal humidity and within 30 minutes, I looked like I had rubbed Crisco on my head, but maybe if I use a different size round brush and change my mousse, and blah blah blah and suddenly I'm back at the end of step 4) again.

There. For the record.

I KNOW!

2010-04-12T15:45:00.002-03:00

Can cashiers please wait more than .2 seconds after seeing me swipe my debit card before saying (in an exhausted tone), "Other way"?

I know it's the other way! I can see nothing's happening! It's not like I'm going to continue to swipe it one way until the card catches on fire and I break down weeping, hand bloodied.

There aren't a lot of options! It's only going to be one other way! I'm not going to try to fold it in half and push it through the screen!

Insert emoticon for frustrated screams!

Spring Is Sprung.

2010-04-05T09:07:00.010-03:00

I'm home on PEI. I wasn't sure I'd get another chance this summer since I'm taking courses full-time at U of T this summer, so we thought Easter might be a good time.

It's very warm here - unseasonably warm. It's been over 20 degrees every day, and so so so nice. J and I went for a long walk up on Cavendish Beach on Saturday, and then my father and I went up to Savage Harbour to snoop around a big construction site and we went out to the North Shore there, as well.

The Island smells like new grass, warm sand and salt air. It's perfect timing - no mosquitoes yet, no tourists, no fee for the National Park...

For those of you who've never been to the Island: there's not much in the way of bedrock here. That is, what we have of bedrock is mostly sandstone, which is just very tightly packed sand. All the ice that froze through it in the winter melts, leaving fissures and too much moisture, so it heaves with the slightest pressure. Our roads get very potholed and torn up, and heaven help you if you're driving on an unpaved or ungraded road, because you could end up spinning your tires in slippery clay.

The good thing about this is, though: red soil everywhere! There's nothing better to remind you where you are than going up to your ankle in ground you thought was solid, and pulling out a rust-coloured sock of mud around your shoe.

The sand isn't always red here. On beaches on the South Shore, there's a lot more clay, so they're very vibrant red, but on the North Shore, the beaches can range from red to pink to white. (The pounding of the Gulf eventually washes away the oxidization.) All the beaches are pretty. They're usually scattered with red sandstones, kelp, and seashells. J and I saw a dead seal! (There was a boy there, about 7 y.o., who was very excited about it.)

The soil in Ontario is very black. I find it quite off-putting. I think I feel that it's dirty or something. This is strange, because I spent so much time in Newfoundland growing up, and it's dark there, too. It's funny, isn't it, that black soil is probably much richer for growing things, but some crops love the sandy, acidic soil that we have here on PEI. Our soil and potatoes are best mates.

Thanks to this guy for the photos.

Living In A Tip.

2010-03-29T17:09:00.003-03:00

My dear old friend B is living with us right now. He's as tidy as I'm disheveled.

Now, I have said for ages that I'm comfortable with a certain level of disarray. I'm not a neat freak, is what I mean. I don't like it, but I'm ok with it.

My room is often a total tip. I get overwhelmed and can't even start. I see my desk covered in clean but unfolded clothes, and I can't start putting it away because I see one sweater that needs de-linting, and another that needs a needle and thread for a newly-discovered hole, and then under the clothes are papers that need sorting. That means I have to arrange my file folder and clean it out. Then I have to label file folders. Do I have file folders? Are they in that drawer? That drawer is awfully disorganized... I should empty it and clean it. Do I have labels?

It just snowballs and I can't start.

B is like a warden when it comes to cleaning.

I whine and stomp and sulk and beg, but he crosses his arms and looks at me sternly. He also encourages and points out my good work. It makes me feel like a third-grader, but I have to be yelled at to clean my room, so I guess that fits. B is also savvy enough to make me feel guilty when he takes allergic sneezing fits. Cunning.

I have been thinking about my future boyfriend, and how that would change my tidiness. I think it would change it a lot, because I am ashamed of the mess, but no one ever sees it but me, and I don't count. If someone who I was trying to impress were to see my room, it would be a lot tidier.

Hm. Even more motivation...

Run The Good-Will Gauntlet.

2010-03-26T14:13:00.001-03:00

I am getting so frustrated and angry toward charity solicitors in the street. You see them from time-to time, with their clipboards and nametags and vests. Usually, here in Toronto, they're collecting money for one of three causes: Greenpeace, SickKids (the big paeds hospital here), or the World Wildlife Fund.

Well, what used to seem like a "from time-to-time" situation has become a scourge.

This is how they roll (proving that they're evolving, not unlike the Borg in their insidiousness): they stand in pairs on either side of the street; four of them altogether. This means crossing the street to avoid them is out (my old stand-by) is no longer an option.

"Would you like to help sick and suffering children?"

Of course I would. Do you know how much they want you do sign up for in monthly payments? $60! A toonie a day!

I don't like not acknowledging their existence, but that's how they get you. They flank the street and make you feel like a callous a-hole if you a) ignore them or b) talk to them and turn them down.

And like I want to tell people I'm unemployed! "Oh, I've been laid off, so I'm not sharing my grocery money with sick children, beached whales, etc."

I can't think of a tidy way to finish this post. I'm just irritated by being forced into feeling guilty because I'm not giving my money away.

Compare If You Dare.

2010-03-21T16:38:00.001-03:00

This song and video is begging to be parodied.

And these are the men to do it:

Auntie Fern!

2010-03-17T10:34:00.005-03:00

After months of trying to kick and punch her way through my sister's rib cage, my niece found a more conventional way into the world last Saturday, the 13th. Nobody knew, even my sister and her husband, if it was going to be a girl or a boy, so that was a fun surprise. It was a really long labour (like, 34 + hours), but both Marilyn and the baby were fine.

They named her Svea, which is a family name and also my middle name. We pronounce it SVEE-ya, so if you can say Sven, you can probably muster Svea. She'll have to tell people how to pronounce it all her life, but unless she moves to Stockholm, she probably won't meet another one.

I'm up in Ottawa now. Marilyn's really exhausted, and I don't blame her. One thing's for sure, the kid's lungs work! She cries and cries, even when she's just eaten. Apparently Marilyn did the same thing to my parents, so... karma*? It's a funny little newborn cry, though, like a little kitten mew.

Well, I'm pretty stoked to be an aunt. I'm the only one, since we have no other brothers or sisters and Marilyn's husband is an only child. It makes me want to get the theme to presents, or sing her a certain song, or dance a certain dance, but I'm really not going to worry about it - it'll all come naturally. I just hope I'm around enough in the coming years to get to know her.

Oh, the stats: she was 6lbs 6oz, has some wispy hair, blue eyes.

ADDENDUM: Svea's actually pretty darn good. It turns out she was full of gas that first night I was here, but now my sister's gotten used to feeding and burping, so she's pretty congenial. Damn straight.

* I mean "karma" in the misunderstood, Western sense, so says the Religious Studies snob.

PSA.

2010-03-11T18:45:00.002-04:00

Ladies and Gentlemen,

The little criss-cross of thread that holds the vent closed on the back of your new coat is meant to removed before the garment is worn. It is only there to keep the vent flat in shipping.

Cousin of same advice: the label on the outside wrist of your new sportscoat is meant to be removed.

The vent tacking isn't quite prêt-à-porter - you have to do the finishing.

Oscars 2010.

2010-03-07T17:23:00.004-04:00

Ugh. I am so over the Oscars this year.

For a long time I was able to look the other way when it comes to the arbitrary bullshit, and actors or directors being "owed" awards from other years or just general goodwill/good marketing.

Now, with the Academy expanding the Best Picture to include 10 pictures, basically to allow for more popular films to be up for the big prize and therefore attracting more viewers.

For years, possibly a decade, I've really made an effort to see all 5 movies nominated for Best Picture. Almost every year I've been able to do it. This year, because I think the top ten are now meaningless, I have totally foregone all interest in the Oscars for the prizes and am now just going to watch for the reasons most people watch: to see beautiful people in nice clothes, and to hope to spot someone embarrassingly drunk on the red carpet.

I have seen five of the ten Best Picture nominees. Every other year that has been fine. I will go down the list of those I have seen, followed by my impressions of the ones I haven't.

Avatar. This was a great big popcorn movie from heck. It was loud and flashy with the 3D, good high concept story, strong characters. Best Picture? Yeah, I can see that. The Academy likes James Cameron, despite his constant jackassery when he wins awards. Postscript: Now that I think about it, they weren't strong characters. They were caricatures of rote characters. Meh.

An Education. This was a fantastic character study with great performances, and the Academy likes period pieces, but was it big enough? I dunno. It was a fantastic vehicle for Carey Mulligan, an actor I hope to see more of. She deserves all the accolades she gets for her performance in this movie. Sarsgaaaaaard was good, too.

Inglourious Basterds. Awesome. Beautiful, chilling, suspenseful, disturbing, funny, dripping with style: all those things you'd expect from Tarantino. Brad Pitt was a red herring. He was cool 'n' all, but he was clearly overused for the posters and trailers. All eyes were on Christoph Waltz and Mélanie Laurent, who will go down in the books as one of the greatest femme fatales in film for her turn as Shoshanna Dreyfus. Yes, the gore was there, but it was revenge fantasy gore that was cartoonish.

Up. This was a hard one for me to watch. I wept through most of it. I thought the lonely widower looked too much like my lonely widower grandfather, so I was a mess. That being said (read: if you're not an overly sensitive sucky baby), this was a fantastic film. One of the best of the year. There was so much said in the first 10 minutes without one word of dialogue. Now, it's animated, so does that mean it shouldn't be in the main Best Picture category? Other animated films have been nominated for Best Picture, but that was before a separate category was created in the last few years. I don't like that it is nominated for both Best Picture and Best Animated. No.

Up In The Air. Again, a great character study. We get Clooney, which is always a treat, but the best part of Clooney is, he can really deliver the goods. He is a good actor, and brings great depth to roles that go beyond his handsomeness. I think the buzz for this film was warranted. Perhaps it was too low-key to seduce most, but its quality was its subtlety. It should be on the list.

The Blind Side. I did not see this movie. I will never see it. Not if someone else pays my way, not if it's on TV, not nuthin'. It looks like the lowest-common-denominator bullshit Hallmark movie-of-the-week tripe I could imagine. It is on the list because it is a manipulatively emotional football movie and the Academy thought that all the big-haired Texan football mothers would tune in to cheer for between organizing church raffles and buying bulk meat. I shudder to think that Sandra Bullock, who could be called a good actor (at least in fits and starts) could win an Oscar for her performance in this.

District 9. I would have liked to have seen this. I like sci-fi, and it looks cool. It's nice to see a sci-fi movie nominated for Best Picture, but again, I don't imagine this would have been on the list if there were only 5 spots.

The Hurt Locker. I wanted to see this, but my apathy for the Oscars this year didn't drive me to even rent it. I'm curious about the suspense. My brother-in-law told me that it was sponsored by the American military and that left a bad taste in my mouth, even though I suspect that it is nothing but conspiracy speculations.

A Serious Man. Again, I would have liked to have seen this, although I've heard it's not a laugh-a-minute. I think I would get a movie like this. I think I could find the humour in the pathos. I've heard it described as a modern-day Job story, which isn't exactly Duck Soup.

Precious: Based on the Novel 'Boring' by Whocares. I will not see this movie for the same reason I will never see Passion of the Christ or Monster's Ball. I am not interested in watching stories about people being abused, beaten to a pulp, or chronically demeaned. Actually, it's not a lack of interest - it's more the fact that I am far too sensitive to watch that kind of story. (This was proven when I loudly bawled though The Pianist in a sold-out theatre. It was a beautiful, haunting film, but I can never see it again.)

So. There it is. I'm not going to choose what I think is the best since I have not seen them all. I would LOVE Inglourious Basterds to win because I think it moved me the most. Apparently because of some dubious tallying, that could happen.

I Can't Flight This Feeling.

2010-03-06T16:57:00.001-04:00

It's Bret. It's always been Bret.

Sorry, Jemaine.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

2010-03-02T13:03:00.005-04:00

I recently read my favourite book for the first time.

When I finished it, I was in the middle of a blood donation. I closed the book and set it my lap, and calmly thought, "I can't remember reading a book I enjoyed more than this one."

"The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay" by Michael Chabon was highly recommended to me years ago, and because of that recommendation, I began hunting for it used. It took me years to find it, and now I know why. No one would ever want to part with their copy, save lending it out to a good and trusted friend.

"Adventures" follows the lives of two cousins for about fifteen years, starting in 1939. Joe is an immigrant from Prague. His family worked especially hard to get him, the eldest son, out of the increasingly Nazi-occupied city. Just as the day for him to travel to New York City arrives, the regulations on travelling Jews were tightened once again, making his hard-earned papers obsolete. He seeks help from an old man who was once his escapistry teacher. Joe was a big fan of Houdini and sleight-of-hand artists, and once studied with Mr. Kornblum, who taught him how to pick locks, hide keys, and hold his breath for long periods of time. Mr. Kornblum arranges to smuggle him east in a casket carrying a golem.

After travelling east, Joe finally arrives in New York, where he meets his cousin Sam for the first time. Sam is a devotee of the earliest comic books, and works as a mediocre illustrator at a novelty catalogue company. He dreams of creating his own comic books. It turns out that theirs is a match made in heaven, as Joe is a trained illustrator and Sam is a natural story-teller.

They create the wildly popular Escapist, a superhero who pursues justice and, best of all, graphically trounces Nazis. This allows Joe to take out some of his frustration while his family suffers in a ghetto in Prague.

The history of comic books informs the title and the cover designs. Here's the first edition's cover:

I won't detail any more of the plot, since this is an epic work - babies are born, wars are fought, and there are tragic losses. This is clearly a masterpiece, a magnum opus. I pity Chabon sometimes, wondering if every time he sets pen to paper, he tries to live up to the greatness of this book, and lets the air out of his lungs and allows his shoulders to slump.

One thing I regret is that I didn't keep a pencil close at hand while I was reading "Adventures." When I was a student, I would keep a list of words I didn't know in the back cover of the book and make a tiny dog ear on bottom of the offending page.

Being a word geek, this book was a thrill. I wager on every page there was a word I didn't know. Don't let this intimidate you: we know to not get hung up on words we don't know, but to glean their meaning from the context and move on. Still, I wish I'd made the effort to look them all up, just to get them under my belt. Chabon has such a raw, but also subtle way of using the English language. Violence is graphic, but hardly described. Sex scenes are complete and satisfying in two sentences. Grief and shame are illustrated in a simple nod.

There was an incredible amount of research that would have had to have been done to make this novel click. In the back of the "Adventures," Chabon lists dozens of books he read about the advent of comic books, New York in the 1940s, World War II, Jewish folklore and Jews in Europe before and during the war, among many other topics. He interweaves historical events into "Adventures," which makes it read more like a duel-biography than a work of fiction. It's funny, but true: you take away a feeling of wanting to shake Sam Clay and Joe Kavalier's hands for their contributions to American culture.

I can't implore you enough to find this book and read it. I am going to try to read Chabon's other books to see how they compare. I've since read his first novel, "Mysteries of Pittsburgh" and it was good. Again, it had that rawness but also a cool disconnect with the characters. I could hear his voice in it, but still, it didn't have the intrigue of "Adventures." "Adventures" did, after all, win a Pulitzer Prize and was on many of the "best of the decade" lists that came out in December. I'm going to try to find a copy of "The Yiddish Policemen's Union" next. I think I'll enjoy that one, too.

I am nervous about an impending film adaptation, however. It's too big a book for a movie, and I don't mean length-wise (although it is a good-sized tome at c.600 pages). If it has to be filmed, and I wish it didn't have to be, it might be better suited for a miniseries or a trilogy of films.