- It's very hard to write a blog when one of your cats insists on chewing on your pant leg.
- Pilates is good for stress. Afterwards, you're too damn tired to care about anything.
- Chocolate isn't a food group, but should be.
- It is ever harder to write a blog when one of your cats insists on using your leg as a scratching post.
- That when you're very tired and have nothing interesting to say, it's best to write a redundant list of some kind.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Things I've Learned
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Just Askin'
Someone in our I.T. department raised a very important issue today that I feel I must share with you Dear Reader:
Does Paris Hilton look like our Prime Minister in drag?
To wit:
Stephen Harper
Paris Hilton
Does Paris Hilton look like our Prime Minister in drag?
To wit:
Stephen Harper
Paris Hilton
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Book a ….., A book in a …..I Read a Book! Hurray!
Ok I admit it. I cannot hope to match Ragdoll’s virtuosity when it comes to the sheer volume of books she reads. But in my defense, I would note that I have been dealing with a new job this past year and am still working my way through A Breath of Snow and Ashes, Diana Gabaldon’s latest 1000+ page tome.
However, I did find time recently to read In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Ragdoll lent it to me and it was a much needed break from the trials and tribulations of Jamie and Claire in the 1770’s.
In Cold Blood is a book that I think will remain in my personal Top Ten the rest of my days. I have rarely read a book so completely chilling yet enthralling. Ragdoll was right. It IS utterly brilliant in its omniscience. Capote’s a marvel in his use of evocative scene setting and the calculated relation of fact.
The book tells the story of the Clutter family who were brutally murdered in their Holcomb, Kansas home in 1959. Capote heartbreakingly brings the members of this family to life, even while writing a book that only exists due to their brutal deaths. But where the book is truly superlative is in its retelling of the investigation of the case and the motive [or apparent lack thereof] of Perry Smith and Richard Hickcock, the two killers.
It is a harrowing book to read, one that leaves you sympathetic and yet utterly disgusted by these two men. If you’ve seen the movie Capote, I can honestly say that it barely scratches the surface of In Cold Blood. But there is a wonderful moment in the film where Capote, who was regularly abandoned by his mother as a child, is speaking of Perry Smith and remarks “I feel as if we both grew up in the same house, except I went out the front door and he went out the back.”
How can two people go through horrendous abuse and/or neglect as children and come to live completely different lives? One is strengthened by the experience, determined to better themselves and their life, to survive. The other is utterly ruined by the experience and grows into the human version of a hurricane, wreaking havoc and destruction wherever he goes. Other people have the most caring parents in the world and still grow up to become monsters. This will forever be one of life's great quandries.
As silly as it sounds, I’m finding as I get older that I’m almost shocked by how much humanity never changes. Our current age has always struck me as particularly vicious and debauched. And yet, children have always been abused, murderers have always rampaged. This book utterly confirmed this with its absolute timelessness. It could have been published last week.
My view of anytime before I was born is ludricrously quaint. But think about it. For anyone of my generation who was born in the 1970’s, the 1950’s were a time of malt shops and poodle skirts, cool cars and drive ins. Smith’s recollections of his alcoholic mother sound like a transcript from Dr. Phil, but this was his life as a child in 1930’s America.
Capote’s work was simply the first serious modern exploration of his country’s unseemly underbelly. I can now understand how ground breaking this book was at the time. For it is a non-fiction book written in the style of a novel. In this day and age, we take books like The Perfect Storm and Shot In the Heart for granted. But all paths lead back to Capote.
Rembrandt and I were out picking up some lunch last Thursday and I asked him if he had seen the movie Capote. He said yes, and felt that it was awful the way Capote “used those poor criminals.” He stopped himself and said, “Well, not poor criminals but you know what I mean.”
I told Rembrandt if he’d read the book, he wouldn’t feel that way, but I saw what he was getting at. I can understand how writing such a book destroyed Capote. It would never have been published had Smith and Hickcock lived. In many ways, Capote’s need for validation and attention were every bit as voracious as Smith’s. Perhaps that is what he struggled with, that in his own way, he too had taken life to feed his own demons.
For as much as these men and their acts repulsed me, there was a part of me that wished I could go back in time and comfort the child that was Perry Smith. You can’t read In Cold Blood and not be left with the distinct impression that despite this world and its complications, some things are, and always have been, very simple. For it is sometimes true, that the only thing standing between a child and their future life in oblivion is for just one adult to demonstrate a singular concept to them: You matter.
However, I did find time recently to read In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Ragdoll lent it to me and it was a much needed break from the trials and tribulations of Jamie and Claire in the 1770’s.
In Cold Blood is a book that I think will remain in my personal Top Ten the rest of my days. I have rarely read a book so completely chilling yet enthralling. Ragdoll was right. It IS utterly brilliant in its omniscience. Capote’s a marvel in his use of evocative scene setting and the calculated relation of fact.
The book tells the story of the Clutter family who were brutally murdered in their Holcomb, Kansas home in 1959. Capote heartbreakingly brings the members of this family to life, even while writing a book that only exists due to their brutal deaths. But where the book is truly superlative is in its retelling of the investigation of the case and the motive [or apparent lack thereof] of Perry Smith and Richard Hickcock, the two killers.
It is a harrowing book to read, one that leaves you sympathetic and yet utterly disgusted by these two men. If you’ve seen the movie Capote, I can honestly say that it barely scratches the surface of In Cold Blood. But there is a wonderful moment in the film where Capote, who was regularly abandoned by his mother as a child, is speaking of Perry Smith and remarks “I feel as if we both grew up in the same house, except I went out the front door and he went out the back.”
How can two people go through horrendous abuse and/or neglect as children and come to live completely different lives? One is strengthened by the experience, determined to better themselves and their life, to survive. The other is utterly ruined by the experience and grows into the human version of a hurricane, wreaking havoc and destruction wherever he goes. Other people have the most caring parents in the world and still grow up to become monsters. This will forever be one of life's great quandries.
As silly as it sounds, I’m finding as I get older that I’m almost shocked by how much humanity never changes. Our current age has always struck me as particularly vicious and debauched. And yet, children have always been abused, murderers have always rampaged. This book utterly confirmed this with its absolute timelessness. It could have been published last week.
My view of anytime before I was born is ludricrously quaint. But think about it. For anyone of my generation who was born in the 1970’s, the 1950’s were a time of malt shops and poodle skirts, cool cars and drive ins. Smith’s recollections of his alcoholic mother sound like a transcript from Dr. Phil, but this was his life as a child in 1930’s America.
Capote’s work was simply the first serious modern exploration of his country’s unseemly underbelly. I can now understand how ground breaking this book was at the time. For it is a non-fiction book written in the style of a novel. In this day and age, we take books like The Perfect Storm and Shot In the Heart for granted. But all paths lead back to Capote.
Rembrandt and I were out picking up some lunch last Thursday and I asked him if he had seen the movie Capote. He said yes, and felt that it was awful the way Capote “used those poor criminals.” He stopped himself and said, “Well, not poor criminals but you know what I mean.”
I told Rembrandt if he’d read the book, he wouldn’t feel that way, but I saw what he was getting at. I can understand how writing such a book destroyed Capote. It would never have been published had Smith and Hickcock lived. In many ways, Capote’s need for validation and attention were every bit as voracious as Smith’s. Perhaps that is what he struggled with, that in his own way, he too had taken life to feed his own demons.
For as much as these men and their acts repulsed me, there was a part of me that wished I could go back in time and comfort the child that was Perry Smith. You can’t read In Cold Blood and not be left with the distinct impression that despite this world and its complications, some things are, and always have been, very simple. For it is sometimes true, that the only thing standing between a child and their future life in oblivion is for just one adult to demonstrate a singular concept to them: You matter.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
The Value of Little Things
As my sleep has been improving and thus my energy level overall, one thing I’ve noticed is the value of doing a little here, a little there.
I have a tendency to have all or nothing thinking combined with a high degree of impatience. As a result, I am a strategic and decisive thinker. This comes in handy for you if you’re a project manager, but it’s an approach that can be hazardous to the quality of your daily life.
I’ve noticed I’m good at the big decisions but will procrastinate sometimes and then do a big job all at once.
Most of the time this has been a necessity. When you’re energy isn’t great or you’re just a total stress ball, you pretty much deal with things when they are right in front of you, when that big pile of dishes in the sink just CAN’T be ignored anymore.
But I’ve noticed that as my physicality has changed and frankly, life is just not full of non-stop bullsh*t, I’m able to step back and, dare I say it, plan things.
I’ve found this has worked out especially well in the garden. I always feel a little behind the eight ball, still weeding and planting in June when all the rain from April has gone. This year, I’ve already cleared out the winter debris, done some plantings and am basically ready to go into maintenance mode. This is all due to just an hour or two every weekend over the last month.
It’s the same around the house. I just putter and do a little bit every evening. Somehow it just doesn’t seem like a big deal anymore. The miniscule is no longer monolithic.
As a result, my home is the most organized it has ever been and is getting better all the time. I’m even applying this approach to my New Year’s Revolution to get my basement organized.
I suppose for most of you this is eliciting a big “HUH?” I know what I’ve just talked about is pretty much normal for most, but it’s not for me. I’m beginning to see the power of small steps and for my impatient and demanding heart, that’s a good thing.
I have a tendency to have all or nothing thinking combined with a high degree of impatience. As a result, I am a strategic and decisive thinker. This comes in handy for you if you’re a project manager, but it’s an approach that can be hazardous to the quality of your daily life.
I’ve noticed I’m good at the big decisions but will procrastinate sometimes and then do a big job all at once.
Most of the time this has been a necessity. When you’re energy isn’t great or you’re just a total stress ball, you pretty much deal with things when they are right in front of you, when that big pile of dishes in the sink just CAN’T be ignored anymore.
But I’ve noticed that as my physicality has changed and frankly, life is just not full of non-stop bullsh*t, I’m able to step back and, dare I say it, plan things.
I’ve found this has worked out especially well in the garden. I always feel a little behind the eight ball, still weeding and planting in June when all the rain from April has gone. This year, I’ve already cleared out the winter debris, done some plantings and am basically ready to go into maintenance mode. This is all due to just an hour or two every weekend over the last month.
It’s the same around the house. I just putter and do a little bit every evening. Somehow it just doesn’t seem like a big deal anymore. The miniscule is no longer monolithic.
As a result, my home is the most organized it has ever been and is getting better all the time. I’m even applying this approach to my New Year’s Revolution to get my basement organized.
I suppose for most of you this is eliciting a big “HUH?” I know what I’ve just talked about is pretty much normal for most, but it’s not for me. I’m beginning to see the power of small steps and for my impatient and demanding heart, that’s a good thing.
On A Bender
Well as I mentioned Dear Reader, last week was a bit of a lulu. I had a lot going on at work and went through some very strange experiences.
One of the things I noticed was that I was very emotional, with extreme highs and lows. My diary entries went something like this:
Monday – Our world is doomed.
Tuesday – OMG! I am so happy! I found wheat free croissants!
Wednesday – Our world is doomed.
Anyway, you get the picture. I spoke to my Pilates teacher about this at my Wednesday class. [Yes! I am still going!] Somehow, it just came up in our conversation as Travis, my classmate, was away on a business trip. My teacher said that she also teaches yoga and that she’s had people burst into tears during classes. She thinks that it’s because even though we have emotionally, spiritually and mentally dealt with events in our lives, physically we sometimes haven’t. Our bodies need to “vent” as much as our psyches do.
When she put it this way, it made total sense and I didn’t feel so loopy.
HEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAW HEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAW.
WARNING!
GYNO ALERT!
HEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWW!!
GYNO ALERT!!
So this past week my period was coming and I had one of the weirdest episodes of PMS in Zesty lore ever.
I find that I don’t have any pre-menstrual symptoms per se. I sometimes end up walloped with cramps, but most times, I just keep on trucking. There is the odd time where I’ll feel very fatigued and irritable. Other times where I’ll have really whacked out dreams. But for the most part, nothing out of the ordinary.
This past week I had cravings like I have never had. I’m talking about ice cream. And potato chips. At the same sitting. It was unbelievable. Now chocolate is my “booster” of choice if I’m feeling sluggish, but it wasn’t that kind of craving. It was more like an “I will put a brick through a wall if I don’t get chocolate” kind of thing.
So I got some Hagan Daas Triple Fudge ice cream, upon the consumption of which I noted that I was really in the mood for salt for some reason. At that moment, the Marine remarked that he had some potato chips I was welcome to. [Do you see Dear Readers why I completely and utterly adore this man? He not only tolerates my PMSing, he ENABLES it. I so heart him.]
At any rate, once I had the potato chips, all was once again right with my world. This was Good Friday. It was on Easter Sunday as I went to bed that it occurred to me I had lost count of my days. Plus I felt a little “swollen”. Could I be pregnant I wondered? Is this why I was having crazy cravings?
I am moving out of a comfort zone and was subconsciously sabotaging myself.
OR
Sometimes, you just gotta live a little. I eat one of the healthiest diets of anyone I know. I don’t even drink pop. But sometimes you just need to let off some steam. So between chocolate, chips and my Friday trip to Rotten Ronnie’s, I think I’ve gotten it out of my system.
Frankly, it was probably a combination of all of the above. But I think I’m past it now. I didn’t gain any weight and frankly, feel like I’ve had some wickedly good fun.
Although I must admit at the grocery store today, fresh fruit had never looked so good.
One of the things I noticed was that I was very emotional, with extreme highs and lows. My diary entries went something like this:
Monday – Our world is doomed.
Tuesday – OMG! I am so happy! I found wheat free croissants!
Wednesday – Our world is doomed.
Anyway, you get the picture. I spoke to my Pilates teacher about this at my Wednesday class. [Yes! I am still going!] Somehow, it just came up in our conversation as Travis, my classmate, was away on a business trip. My teacher said that she also teaches yoga and that she’s had people burst into tears during classes. She thinks that it’s because even though we have emotionally, spiritually and mentally dealt with events in our lives, physically we sometimes haven’t. Our bodies need to “vent” as much as our psyches do.
When she put it this way, it made total sense and I didn’t feel so loopy.
HEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAW HEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAW.
WARNING!
GYNO ALERT!
HEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWW!!
GYNO ALERT!!
So this past week my period was coming and I had one of the weirdest episodes of PMS in Zesty lore ever.
I find that I don’t have any pre-menstrual symptoms per se. I sometimes end up walloped with cramps, but most times, I just keep on trucking. There is the odd time where I’ll feel very fatigued and irritable. Other times where I’ll have really whacked out dreams. But for the most part, nothing out of the ordinary.
This past week I had cravings like I have never had. I’m talking about ice cream. And potato chips. At the same sitting. It was unbelievable. Now chocolate is my “booster” of choice if I’m feeling sluggish, but it wasn’t that kind of craving. It was more like an “I will put a brick through a wall if I don’t get chocolate” kind of thing.
So I got some Hagan Daas Triple Fudge ice cream, upon the consumption of which I noted that I was really in the mood for salt for some reason. At that moment, the Marine remarked that he had some potato chips I was welcome to. [Do you see Dear Readers why I completely and utterly adore this man? He not only tolerates my PMSing, he ENABLES it. I so heart him.]
At any rate, once I had the potato chips, all was once again right with my world. This was Good Friday. It was on Easter Sunday as I went to bed that it occurred to me I had lost count of my days. Plus I felt a little “swollen”. Could I be pregnant I wondered? Is this why I was having crazy cravings?
Nahhhhhhh. Turns out I was just bloated from the corn starch in the custard I’d had. I hadn’t even thought to ask what was in it. Sigh.
END OF GYNO ALERT.
So what was behind this craziness? I have several theories.
I am building muscle through Pilates, hence my body is craving protein. Best then to look for sources other than ice cream.
I am moving out of a comfort zone and was subconsciously sabotaging myself.
OR
Sometimes, you just gotta live a little. I eat one of the healthiest diets of anyone I know. I don’t even drink pop. But sometimes you just need to let off some steam. So between chocolate, chips and my Friday trip to Rotten Ronnie’s, I think I’ve gotten it out of my system.
Frankly, it was probably a combination of all of the above. But I think I’m past it now. I didn’t gain any weight and frankly, feel like I’ve had some wickedly good fun.
Although I must admit at the grocery store today, fresh fruit had never looked so good.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
It's One Of Those Weeks
Which means my blogging will be sparodic, if at all.
But as the man on television says, "We'll be right back."
Talk to you in a bit.
But as the man on television says, "We'll be right back."
Talk to you in a bit.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Happy Easter If You're Celebratin' !
See y'all next week and have a great long weekend!
In the meantime, apologies to any blondes in the Readership:
Three blondes went to Heaven on the same day and showed up at the pearly gates. St. Peter looked them over and said, "Well, before you can enter the gates you have to answer one simple question, to show you know something about why you're here."
The first blonde stepped up to the gates, and St. Peter said, "Now, explain to me, what is Easter?" The woman replied, "Oh, that's easy. That's the holiday in November, when everybody gets together to give thanks, and eats turkey, and..." "Wrong," replied St. Peter, "You'll have to wait."
He turned to the second blonde and said, "What is Easter?" The second blonde replied, "I know, Easter is about Jesus. In December, when we put up a nice tree, exchange presents, and celebrate His birthday." St. Peter shook his head in disgust at the second woman and sighed.
He turned to the third blonde and said, "You look a little smarter than the other two... Now, WHAT IS EASTER?" The third blonde smiled and said, "I know what Easter is. Easter is the Christian holiday that takes place in the spring. Jesus and his disciples were eating at the last supper, and He was deceived and turned over to the Romans by one of his disciples. Then the Romans took Him to be crucified and stabbed Him in the side, made Him wear a crown of thorns, and crucified Him. He died, and was buried in a cave sealed off by a large boulder."
St. Peter smiled and nodded.
The blonde continued, "And every year the boulder is moved aside so that Jesus can come out, and if He sees His shadow there will be six more weeks of winter."
In the meantime, apologies to any blondes in the Readership:
Three blondes went to Heaven on the same day and showed up at the pearly gates. St. Peter looked them over and said, "Well, before you can enter the gates you have to answer one simple question, to show you know something about why you're here."
The first blonde stepped up to the gates, and St. Peter said, "Now, explain to me, what is Easter?" The woman replied, "Oh, that's easy. That's the holiday in November, when everybody gets together to give thanks, and eats turkey, and..." "Wrong," replied St. Peter, "You'll have to wait."
He turned to the second blonde and said, "What is Easter?" The second blonde replied, "I know, Easter is about Jesus. In December, when we put up a nice tree, exchange presents, and celebrate His birthday." St. Peter shook his head in disgust at the second woman and sighed.
He turned to the third blonde and said, "You look a little smarter than the other two... Now, WHAT IS EASTER?" The third blonde smiled and said, "I know what Easter is. Easter is the Christian holiday that takes place in the spring. Jesus and his disciples were eating at the last supper, and He was deceived and turned over to the Romans by one of his disciples. Then the Romans took Him to be crucified and stabbed Him in the side, made Him wear a crown of thorns, and crucified Him. He died, and was buried in a cave sealed off by a large boulder."
St. Peter smiled and nodded.
The blonde continued, "And every year the boulder is moved aside so that Jesus can come out, and if He sees His shadow there will be six more weeks of winter."
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
My Game is Tight, and One Day, So Will My Ass
Well, short and sweet today Dear Reader, as I have an epsom salt bath calling my name. I had another great Pilates class today. Nice thing was it wasn't anywhere near as sore because I wasn't holding anywhere near as much tension in my body. It's really great to feel like I'm making progress already. I will, hopefully, be able to hit the rec centre tomorrow night for a quick run on the treadmill, but we shall see.
But overall, despite how busy I've been, I've really felt like I've got it going on. I'm making great strides with my work project, getting stuff done around the house, packing my lunches everyday, hitting Pilates class. It's nice to just be getting stuff done.
But overall, despite how busy I've been, I've really felt like I've got it going on. I'm making great strides with my work project, getting stuff done around the house, packing my lunches everyday, hitting Pilates class. It's nice to just be getting stuff done.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Context is Everything
OK. I am the first to say that the recent mass murders in Ontario are an absolute tragedy. But, is it REALLY necessary for the The Star to publish pictures like this?
Or this:
What possible value do these pictures add to the reportage of the incident?
We're talking about the worst mass murder in Ontario history and what do we get? A pictorial essay outlining what appears to be the antics of a bunch of average beer swilling f*$kwits. The only difference between these people and my neighbours two doors down is that my neighbours don't make their living off of organized crime. Then again maybe they do. They're just smart enough [I use the term loosely] not to perform mass murder in our neighbourhood. Otherwise the yuppies would regulate on their yobbo ass.
Note to the Star: Arrests in this case were made in 24 hours. I kind of gathered we weren't dealing with a bunch of Moriarty's here. Instead, your editorial excellence has done the impossible. You made me laugh out loud at a mass murder story.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Dude. That Light Is Red
Slowly but surely the temperature is going up and along with it, my spirits. This past weekend was blazing sunshine for two days, the first really nice weekend of the year. Saturday, I found myself in just a terrible terrible mood, a very bad case of the grumps if I do say so myself. Having spent the previous weekend doing a lot of chores around the house, I suggested a drive to which the Marine readily agreed.
We usually just follow our noses on these drives and decided to go west. This worked out alright until we hit Hwy 6, then west then north again, landing us smack dab in the middle of countrified surburbia. But despite the lack of pastoral scenes, I did encounter one nice event. I hadn't been in Cambridge for ages. The last time I was there was for an auction. As you head north to the 401, there is a huge hotel, one of those "grande dames" of the age when the railroads were King. I had always loved this building and never missed an opportunity to decry it's decrepit state.
Well, it has been restored! It was repaired and freshly painted and looked absolutely glorious. It is, no doubt, being turned into condos but I don't care. I'm just glad to see such a great building survive.
The rest of the day we meandered over to St. Jacob's and other areas. We stopped at a new place in Shelburne called CHAMP Burger where I had what is quite conceivably the best chicken sandwich of my life. We then got home, only to find out that the worst mass murder in Ontario history had occurred in the western part of the Province, the very area we'd be driving in. Something to do with bikers apparently. I confess I have not read much about it. Ragdoll lent me her copy of In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, which is quite truthfully, one of the most enthralling, yet utterly terrifying books I have ever read.
So needless to say, I had no desire to freak myself out anymore than I already was.
Sunday, I awoke a new woman. I think I'm finally through Daylight Savings Hell as I had gotten what felt like the first normal night's sleep in about a week. I spent Sunday morning reading and then headed out to run some errands.
I had mailed a present to a friend and then had to go to the east side of town. I didn't listen to my gut which said "go south and take the Gardiner." No instead, I listened to my willful inner child who said "Nooooooooo. I wanna see College Street!!" Which was all fine and good until three, yes three people in three separate instances, walked in front of my car on a red light. The coup de grap came at Spadina where a guy just full on walked in front of us all when the light actually turned red. I honked my horn because he looked dazed. He starts heading towards me and of course, I'm ready to regulate because I figure he's upset I honked. Instead he asks me for change. Then everyone behind me started honking. Sigh.
My nerves were a little shot to be honest. But I practiced some of my Pilates breathing and it really helped calm me down. But honestly, it felt like a dodge 'em course on Toronto's roads, as if the first serious blast of springtime sun had collectively melted everyone's brains.
As for this week, the Easter weekend can't come soon enough. I'm enjoying my work, but managing production and a redevelopment is a lot on my plate right now. I'll be glad when we're out of planning mode that's for sure.
But it was nice to start the week feeling I'd had a weekend well spent. It's nice to feel like I can do more with my days off than just catch up on my sleep.
We usually just follow our noses on these drives and decided to go west. This worked out alright until we hit Hwy 6, then west then north again, landing us smack dab in the middle of countrified surburbia. But despite the lack of pastoral scenes, I did encounter one nice event. I hadn't been in Cambridge for ages. The last time I was there was for an auction. As you head north to the 401, there is a huge hotel, one of those "grande dames" of the age when the railroads were King. I had always loved this building and never missed an opportunity to decry it's decrepit state.
Well, it has been restored! It was repaired and freshly painted and looked absolutely glorious. It is, no doubt, being turned into condos but I don't care. I'm just glad to see such a great building survive.
The rest of the day we meandered over to St. Jacob's and other areas. We stopped at a new place in Shelburne called CHAMP Burger where I had what is quite conceivably the best chicken sandwich of my life. We then got home, only to find out that the worst mass murder in Ontario history had occurred in the western part of the Province, the very area we'd be driving in. Something to do with bikers apparently. I confess I have not read much about it. Ragdoll lent me her copy of In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, which is quite truthfully, one of the most enthralling, yet utterly terrifying books I have ever read.
So needless to say, I had no desire to freak myself out anymore than I already was.
Sunday, I awoke a new woman. I think I'm finally through Daylight Savings Hell as I had gotten what felt like the first normal night's sleep in about a week. I spent Sunday morning reading and then headed out to run some errands.
I had mailed a present to a friend and then had to go to the east side of town. I didn't listen to my gut which said "go south and take the Gardiner." No instead, I listened to my willful inner child who said "Nooooooooo. I wanna see College Street!!" Which was all fine and good until three, yes three people in three separate instances, walked in front of my car on a red light. The coup de grap came at Spadina where a guy just full on walked in front of us all when the light actually turned red. I honked my horn because he looked dazed. He starts heading towards me and of course, I'm ready to regulate because I figure he's upset I honked. Instead he asks me for change. Then everyone behind me started honking. Sigh.
My nerves were a little shot to be honest. But I practiced some of my Pilates breathing and it really helped calm me down. But honestly, it felt like a dodge 'em course on Toronto's roads, as if the first serious blast of springtime sun had collectively melted everyone's brains.
As for this week, the Easter weekend can't come soon enough. I'm enjoying my work, but managing production and a redevelopment is a lot on my plate right now. I'll be glad when we're out of planning mode that's for sure.
But it was nice to start the week feeling I'd had a weekend well spent. It's nice to feel like I can do more with my days off than just catch up on my sleep.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Kiddisms
My Niece, Close to Christmas:
Rosy: Zesty, today we learned about Chanukah.
Me: Oh really? What's that all about?
Rosy: It's a holiday for doo-wish people.
At A Mexican Restaurant
The Marine meets me at Margaritas on Baldwin, one of our favourite restaurants. It's Friday night, and very busy. A little boy is waiting for a table with his mother and grandfather. The Marine passes them to meet me at our table and he hears:
Little Boy: Wow! It's really crowded in here.
Grandfather: And you know what that means don't you?
Little Boy: We have to go to Burger King?
At Canadian Tire
Little Girl: Can I have this?
Father: No. We're not buying you things today.
Little Girl: Then why am I here? I could have stayed at home.
Rosy: Zesty, today we learned about Chanukah.
Me: Oh really? What's that all about?
Rosy: It's a holiday for doo-wish people.
At A Mexican Restaurant
The Marine meets me at Margaritas on Baldwin, one of our favourite restaurants. It's Friday night, and very busy. A little boy is waiting for a table with his mother and grandfather. The Marine passes them to meet me at our table and he hears:
Little Boy: Wow! It's really crowded in here.
Grandfather: And you know what that means don't you?
Little Boy: We have to go to Burger King?
At Canadian Tire
Little Girl: Can I have this?
Father: No. We're not buying you things today.
Little Girl: Then why am I here? I could have stayed at home.
Operation Pudge Nudge: Pondering Pilates
Well I had my Pilates class yesterday and enjoyed it very much. My teacher is very very nice and I love her studio. It's in her home! She has this really nice loft space with tons of plants and a studio space to one side. It just had such a wicked vibe about it. I felt immediately at home and I think I'm really going to enjoy working with her.
Already I feel a difference in that it did wonders to really start releasing a lot of tension in my back and shoulders. I think I like it a bit better than Yoga. [Sorry Guru. It's not that I don't like Yoga, but Pilates just has this Sesame Street factor with all the doo-dads you get to use. Given you know me so well, this will make total sense. :) ]
So, I'll be doing my monthly weigh in at the weekend but I know I won't have lost anything. I'm taking this in stride because I know for a fact it's because I haven't been exercising as much as I need to. But I was right. My Pilates class broke the spell and I'm now ready to hit the Rec Centre.
Ragdoll? Crack out them new sneakers. LET'S ROLL GIRL!!
Already I feel a difference in that it did wonders to really start releasing a lot of tension in my back and shoulders. I think I like it a bit better than Yoga. [Sorry Guru. It's not that I don't like Yoga, but Pilates just has this Sesame Street factor with all the doo-dads you get to use. Given you know me so well, this will make total sense. :) ]
So, I'll be doing my monthly weigh in at the weekend but I know I won't have lost anything. I'm taking this in stride because I know for a fact it's because I haven't been exercising as much as I need to. But I was right. My Pilates class broke the spell and I'm now ready to hit the Rec Centre.
Ragdoll? Crack out them new sneakers. LET'S ROLL GIRL!!
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Spare Me II
Here's a link to the article I was talking about. I tend to avoid this as The Star doesn't keep their articles up long, but for those of you who are interested, here it is.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Spare Me
Ah yes Dear Reader. Hell hath no fury like a musician ignored.
To wit, I present the latest rant from Canada's independent music scene featured in today's Star.
"I feel really sorry for those kids in Canadian Idol because they're going absolutely nowhere," singer Kevin Drew said backstage after Sunday's awards.
Oh really? Tell that to Kelly Clarkson oh bitter Broken Social Scene.
And I love this one:
"Collectively we probably have 200 years worth of gig experience. I feel only empathy . . . for the kids that are put in that position before they have those road scars," she [Feist] said Sunday.
Susanne Boyce was so right to point out that audiences connect with you or they don't. Some people have it inately. And some people need 200 collective hours to get it. Since when do Canadian independents have a monopoly on the fact that performance is work?
Here's the thing. I get what they're getting at and it's this: Canada has some of the greatest music period and it's independent scene is unbelievably diverse and exceptional. But as usual, record labels follow the almighty buck.
Uh...I'm sorry. This is news?
Twas ever thus, and I think if it's bothersome to some musicians, they should focus on that issue instead of trashing some twenty-somethings "livin' the dream" however impermanent or imperfect their manner of doing so will end up being.
Artists can be very supportive of each other. In fact, it's essential. But I get really really tired of the "we are the world" crap. Because more often than not, artists, musicians in particular, are some of the most competitive, petty, non-well-wishers you'll ever encounter.
And the fact is, most indie bands would give their nipples to have the kind of sales the idol kids do. Trashing them just comes across as sour grapes, because it is. Spare me the too-cool-for-school bullsh*t. You want to be hip and independent? Do it. Just don't bitch about the fact that not everyone will be into the music you make and your record sales will reflect that.
The fact is that it's about accessibility. Celine Dion is always going to have more record sales than a thrash metal band. But I think that if thrash metal is what that band wants to do then they should. Their music has no less right to exist than pop balladry. Because in the end that's what's important. It's about loving what you do and being true to it despite it all. You either love it or you don't. If you love it, the fact that you're "critical darlings" that no one else is really paying attention to won't bother you. [Honestly. The sense of entitlement is staggering.]
In the meantime, the Canadian independent scene should focus on the issue, which is that major labels need to wake up and smell the coffee so that they can really begin to work with their independent counterparts to bring new music to the fore. Even the biggest stars were independents once and trashing major labels won't win you any favours or friends.
That's life and the lessons are hard. The Idols will learn theirs and independents should remember the one about not biting the hand that feeds you. Instead, they should be calling their label reps to ask how many meetings they've had at the major labels to pitch them. That way they'll be ready when the candy confection that is the Idol house of cards comes tumbling down.
Because it will.
To wit, I present the latest rant from Canada's independent music scene featured in today's Star.
"I feel really sorry for those kids in Canadian Idol because they're going absolutely nowhere," singer Kevin Drew said backstage after Sunday's awards.
Oh really? Tell that to Kelly Clarkson oh bitter Broken Social Scene.
And I love this one:
"Collectively we probably have 200 years worth of gig experience. I feel only empathy . . . for the kids that are put in that position before they have those road scars," she [Feist] said Sunday.
Susanne Boyce was so right to point out that audiences connect with you or they don't. Some people have it inately. And some people need 200 collective hours to get it. Since when do Canadian independents have a monopoly on the fact that performance is work?
Here's the thing. I get what they're getting at and it's this: Canada has some of the greatest music period and it's independent scene is unbelievably diverse and exceptional. But as usual, record labels follow the almighty buck.
Uh...I'm sorry. This is news?
Twas ever thus, and I think if it's bothersome to some musicians, they should focus on that issue instead of trashing some twenty-somethings "livin' the dream" however impermanent or imperfect their manner of doing so will end up being.
Artists can be very supportive of each other. In fact, it's essential. But I get really really tired of the "we are the world" crap. Because more often than not, artists, musicians in particular, are some of the most competitive, petty, non-well-wishers you'll ever encounter.
And the fact is, most indie bands would give their nipples to have the kind of sales the idol kids do. Trashing them just comes across as sour grapes, because it is. Spare me the too-cool-for-school bullsh*t. You want to be hip and independent? Do it. Just don't bitch about the fact that not everyone will be into the music you make and your record sales will reflect that.
The fact is that it's about accessibility. Celine Dion is always going to have more record sales than a thrash metal band. But I think that if thrash metal is what that band wants to do then they should. Their music has no less right to exist than pop balladry. Because in the end that's what's important. It's about loving what you do and being true to it despite it all. You either love it or you don't. If you love it, the fact that you're "critical darlings" that no one else is really paying attention to won't bother you. [Honestly. The sense of entitlement is staggering.]
In the meantime, the Canadian independent scene should focus on the issue, which is that major labels need to wake up and smell the coffee so that they can really begin to work with their independent counterparts to bring new music to the fore. Even the biggest stars were independents once and trashing major labels won't win you any favours or friends.
That's life and the lessons are hard. The Idols will learn theirs and independents should remember the one about not biting the hand that feeds you. Instead, they should be calling their label reps to ask how many meetings they've had at the major labels to pitch them. That way they'll be ready when the candy confection that is the Idol house of cards comes tumbling down.
Because it will.
Operation Pudge Nudge: Pontius Pilates
So I have signed up for a Pilates class! It's a new studio that's opened just down from my office. I have classes at 1:30 p.m. on Wednedays. I really enjoyed Pilates when I took it before. It's kind of like Yoga and Sesame Street combined, which is why I like it so much.
Hopefully this will help me get over my aversion to the rec centre. For some reason, I just haven't wanted to go. But I need to get over that.
It's like I was saying to the Duke yesterday. I'm so sore from gardening and I didn't really even do that much. But I'm just too out of shape and I can't ignore it anymore. I suppose that's a big reason folks don't exercise. You don't want to feel incompetent or look that way to others. You don't want to do something that's uncomfortable and difficult and that really brings home to you how you really are.
But as I told the Duke, I'm just going to take lots of epsom salts baths and will crack out the ibuprofen as needed. I've resigned myself to about 4 to 6 weeks of just feeling tired and sore as I get my activity level up.
As Yazmar says, "Without struggle, there is no progress."
Hopefully this will help me get over my aversion to the rec centre. For some reason, I just haven't wanted to go. But I need to get over that.
It's like I was saying to the Duke yesterday. I'm so sore from gardening and I didn't really even do that much. But I'm just too out of shape and I can't ignore it anymore. I suppose that's a big reason folks don't exercise. You don't want to feel incompetent or look that way to others. You don't want to do something that's uncomfortable and difficult and that really brings home to you how you really are.
But as I told the Duke, I'm just going to take lots of epsom salts baths and will crack out the ibuprofen as needed. I've resigned myself to about 4 to 6 weeks of just feeling tired and sore as I get my activity level up.
As Yazmar says, "Without struggle, there is no progress."
Help Me Make It Through The Night
It's about 3:50 a.m. and I can't sleep. The Marine must of crashed on the couch because he woke me up getting into bed, which is very unlike him. I must of been in a light sleep. Funny, I was just thinking to myself in the evening how grateful I was to my naturopath because I'm finally out of that whole "Bing! You're wide awake and it's 4 a.m.!" thing.
At any rate, I know that if I just lie in bed my mind starts spinning. It's always better for me to just get up and go back to bed when I'm tired again. That usually takes about an hour or so, thus here I am Dear Reader.
It was quite an interesting weekend, despite the horror of daylight savings time. Why do we in the western hemisphere put ouselves through this twice yearly masochism? Honestly, "spring forward" and life in the central time zone sells itself really. "Come to Colarado, where the time never changes."
The fall is always a breeze because you go back an hour, but even that exercise leaves me puzzled as I trundle home from work in the pitch black, knowing that only the day before it was in daylight. As for spring, we all collectively endure imposed jet lag for a week while we adjust. I don't get it. WHAT is the purpose here? I'm all for helping the farmers, but give them my tax dollars. Let me keep my extra hour of sleep dammit!
Monday at work was a write off. I barely got through the day. Then towards the end one of the designers ["Esther"] and I just started getting the giggles because we were so punchy. I submitted to Esther that I could never be a spy. Just deprive me of sleep and basically, well what do you want to know? Or it's the other extreme. I get massive amounts of energy. So we're cracking up because I'm talking about how I'd be getting Chinese Water Torture and instead of feeling tormented I'd be all "C'moooooon maaaan. Let's go swimmin'!!!"
Well. Guess ya had to be there.
Still, this past weekend was the first really nice one of the year, with reasonable temperatures and blazing sunshine. I never cease to be amazed at what a miracle spring is, how the earth can be frozen and blasted by snow and wind for months on end, and then like clockwork everything comes back to life. My theory is that summer reminds you of how good living is. Spring reminds you of how good it is to be alive period.
This weekend I completed, in no particular order:
Backyard clean up - garbage and garden prep [Yay! Gladiolas!]
Basement clean up - a little bit every week as I head towards completing another New Year's Revolution
Got the rust stains out of my dishwasher - that Jet Dry descaling stuff really works!
Cleaned out the utensil drawers and returned them to a semblance of order
Went out with the Duke, my personal shopping consultant and got a whackload of new clothes with my birthday money. Thank you oh Duke, for taking me out of my Italian Widow look. Colour! Who knew?
Went to Canadian Tire and got cleaning supplies. Went to Rona and got yard bags [that's a blog in and of itself] and a window well cover. I also resisted the urge to buy aforementioned Gladiolas, not to mention Lily of the Valleys and Dhalias. I'll get those in a couple of weeks when all danger of frost is gone.
Made homemade pizzas.
I don't think I've done so much in a weekend in years. Seriously. I'm going through this weird phase where I'm pushing myself to do more and I can actually do it. Usually after a weekend like this I'd be bone tired until Wednesday, but other than some sore legs from gardening and my daylight savings jet lag, I feel perfectly fine. It's a mixed bag of blessings. I'm so happy to just get things done and not feel totalled for it. But at the same time, another part of me is angry that for so long, this basic stuff was just very hard for me to do at times. I get through chores in an hour that used to take me a whole morning or afternoon to do and I think that's it? That's all it took?
I'm like a cat taking some tentative steps out from under a deck after a rain storm. I'm finding what was once difficult, really isn't anymore and it's great, but strange. I'm beginning to think something I haven't in a very long time: What else can I do?
At any rate, I know that if I just lie in bed my mind starts spinning. It's always better for me to just get up and go back to bed when I'm tired again. That usually takes about an hour or so, thus here I am Dear Reader.
It was quite an interesting weekend, despite the horror of daylight savings time. Why do we in the western hemisphere put ouselves through this twice yearly masochism? Honestly, "spring forward" and life in the central time zone sells itself really. "Come to Colarado, where the time never changes."
The fall is always a breeze because you go back an hour, but even that exercise leaves me puzzled as I trundle home from work in the pitch black, knowing that only the day before it was in daylight. As for spring, we all collectively endure imposed jet lag for a week while we adjust. I don't get it. WHAT is the purpose here? I'm all for helping the farmers, but give them my tax dollars. Let me keep my extra hour of sleep dammit!
Monday at work was a write off. I barely got through the day. Then towards the end one of the designers ["Esther"] and I just started getting the giggles because we were so punchy. I submitted to Esther that I could never be a spy. Just deprive me of sleep and basically, well what do you want to know? Or it's the other extreme. I get massive amounts of energy. So we're cracking up because I'm talking about how I'd be getting Chinese Water Torture and instead of feeling tormented I'd be all "C'moooooon maaaan. Let's go swimmin'!!!"
Well. Guess ya had to be there.
Still, this past weekend was the first really nice one of the year, with reasonable temperatures and blazing sunshine. I never cease to be amazed at what a miracle spring is, how the earth can be frozen and blasted by snow and wind for months on end, and then like clockwork everything comes back to life. My theory is that summer reminds you of how good living is. Spring reminds you of how good it is to be alive period.
This weekend I completed, in no particular order:
Backyard clean up - garbage and garden prep [Yay! Gladiolas!]
Basement clean up - a little bit every week as I head towards completing another New Year's Revolution
Got the rust stains out of my dishwasher - that Jet Dry descaling stuff really works!
Cleaned out the utensil drawers and returned them to a semblance of order
Went out with the Duke, my personal shopping consultant and got a whackload of new clothes with my birthday money. Thank you oh Duke, for taking me out of my Italian Widow look. Colour! Who knew?
Went to Canadian Tire and got cleaning supplies. Went to Rona and got yard bags [that's a blog in and of itself] and a window well cover. I also resisted the urge to buy aforementioned Gladiolas, not to mention Lily of the Valleys and Dhalias. I'll get those in a couple of weeks when all danger of frost is gone.
Made homemade pizzas.
I don't think I've done so much in a weekend in years. Seriously. I'm going through this weird phase where I'm pushing myself to do more and I can actually do it. Usually after a weekend like this I'd be bone tired until Wednesday, but other than some sore legs from gardening and my daylight savings jet lag, I feel perfectly fine. It's a mixed bag of blessings. I'm so happy to just get things done and not feel totalled for it. But at the same time, another part of me is angry that for so long, this basic stuff was just very hard for me to do at times. I get through chores in an hour that used to take me a whole morning or afternoon to do and I think that's it? That's all it took?
I'm like a cat taking some tentative steps out from under a deck after a rain storm. I'm finding what was once difficult, really isn't anymore and it's great, but strange. I'm beginning to think something I haven't in a very long time: What else can I do?
Saturday, April 01, 2006
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