Friday, December 30, 2005

Jerome K. Jerome

Ever since I was about 13 or 14, I've loved Mr. Jerome for his sense of humour, for his whimsical side, and for his gentle sorrows at the way the world can turn.

My copy of "Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow" is the signed copy from 1890.
My father managed to find the "Second Thoughts...." for me for Christmas and I was so happy! Neither he nor I knew it even existed.

Here's one of my favorite passages....

(From "Idle Thoughts....)

"It is a strange thing this bed, this mimic grave, where we stretch our tired limbs, and sink away so quietly into the silence and rest. "Oh bed, oh bed, delicious bed, that heaven on earth to the weary head," as sang poor Hood, you are a kind old nurse to us fretful boys and girls. Clever and foolish, naughty and good, you take us all in your motherly lap, and hush our wayward crying. The strong man full of care - the sick man full of pain - the little maiden, sobbing for her faithless lover - like children, we lay our aching heads on your white bosom, and you gently soothe us off to by-by."

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

There's just something about blue eyed friends....

Kim & I.

'Pol & I.

Spider & I...

You just can't help but love 'em!

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Oh, the Mistletoe!

As I'm off celebrating my 'seasonal festivities', I just wanted to enjoin you all to celebrate (or NOT, as you choose), in whatever you might....

Just let there be joy in your heart; life's too short without it!

(and c''s MISTLETOE!)

p.s. Kissy Kissy!!
(And thanks for the pic Spider! Love you madly!)

Monday, December 19, 2005

You're doing WHAT in December?

You're BLOOMING in December?

But look at all the frosty, frozen blackened and dying leaves you're surrounded by...
hello! Reality should be setting in right.about.NOW!

It's December in British Columbia. You should NOT be blooming...please, you're beautiful! Wait till the spring when I'm not shivering in my booties so I can truly enjoy you! ARE lovely and you probably smell divine.
But the truth of the matter, is that my nose was dripping from the fact that it had almost dipped to freezing and I had a hard time inhaling any kind of scent you might have been exuding.

By the way, what kind of flower ARE you???
Obviously crazy.
And very VERY hardy.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

I had a dram.

I mean DREAM...I had a DREAM!

Ms. Lewis and I had a delightful conversation.
We discussed the article I had written (in the dream, of course!) about her and the "Licks" (and it wasn't entirely complementary, but positive, nonetheless.)

Then a delivery person showed up with a package that she had ordered.
It contained a beautifully ornate vase, handpainted with delicate flowers.
She excitedly showed me the bottom mark 'Cornell'.

"This is 100 years before they officially became the 'Cornell' company, there are only 4 of these in existence!" She was breathless.

And this dream only came along to remind me of something I already well know.
You can't judge a person by the clothes they wear, or the movies they've played in.

So, thanks, Ms. Lewis.

You have no idea, but you've proven to be an excellent lesson.

p.s. is that your NIPPLE!?!

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

A moment of respite.

Sometimes, I'd really love to be sitting right back here. *

The Cinque Terre, a collection of 5 little villages situated precipitously on the cliffs edge in Italy. Nothing but a worn and ancient goats' path stitching them together.

And this is where I'd love to be once again.
Perched over a delicate little creek, sitting on a wee stone footbridge along the path between tiny towns filled with delicious wines and delightful foods, suffused with an undeniable feeling of calm.

* sometimes!?! Whom am I kidding!? RIGHT NOW PLEASE!

Monday, December 12, 2005


I’m feeling a little shell shocked these days.
So many people around me are suffering so much, some self inflicted, others due to illness.

I saw an old friend yesterday, Dee. I hadn’t seen him for perhaps a year and a half, by his choice.

At least, I think it was him who I saw.

The last time I saw him he was a 37-year-old man. The fellow I saw yesterday appeared to be 47, and a hard, cruel 47 at that.

He walked right by me, traveling the opposite direction on the sidewalk.
It’s possible he didn’t want me to see him, or, as the look of anxiety and grief showing on his face seemed to indicate, he was so involved with some interior concern, he didn’t even notice me.

He had appeared to have aged so much in such a little time.
I wondered what had been going on in his life that aged him so dramatically, and made him look so distraught and so unlike himself.
I knew he hadn’t been working for years, and was living on social assistance.
Over the last year, I also heard rumor that he had taken to stealing to sustain himself.
(I had long ago stopped ‘helping’ him with money, for several reasons, not the least of which was because it wasn’t ‘helping’ him at all. I have long suspected that was one of the reasons he decided to stop being my friend. But I’ll never really know.)

I didn’t stop him. I didn’t call his name and run over to speak to him.

I don’t think he would have wanted that.
I think he didn’t want anyone to see him.
And I didn’t want to see the question forming in his eye as we casually stood and chatted, “Maybe you have $20 dollars you can give me?”

Tonight, I ran into another old friend, Rick, with whom I hadn’t spoken for many months, as he is very difficult to get a hold off. He is either ensconced in a hospital, or out of town.
He suffers from several illnesses; leukemia being the one that has wrapped it’s sucking fingers around him and is draining him to the end.

He’s taken to hanging around in the roughest neighborhoods, and I suspect that he’s finding solace in the cheap drugs to be found there, as prescribed morphine is incredibly expensive.
I used to give him money, too, to help him cover the insane cost of dying from a leeching disease, but I don’t have enough to help and feed myself.

He used to be full of life, interested in everything, always had a plan for his life.
Now his pale face and flat eyes appear to see the world through a dense, cloying fog that chokes him, and blurs the smile he tries to call up for me at our chance meeting.

He tells me that my ex-friend, Dee whom he also knows, now lives in a shelter.
Ah, that may explain his grim expression, and sad demeanor when I saw the other day.

Rick spoke little about his own life; I suspect he has very little to say, and wants to hide his pain as much as possible.
I wonder, if I were in his shoes, that I would not care to run into old friends whom you once knew in the glow of health...I might not want to have them witness a decline and fall for which they can do very little but weep.

This weekend has been difficult and troubling.
I’m not sure what to make of it.

I suspect this feeling of breathless confusion is with me to stay until I do make heads or tails of it, and can come to some kind of terms with all of these oddly juxtaposed people in my life.

Why are they all here, and why are they suffering so much?
I know there’s nothing I can do, I can’t save Dee from his world, and Rick is dying from something I have no control over.
And the other doesn’t want help.

Why do they continue to show up in my life?
What am I supposed to do?

Thursday, December 08, 2005

In continuation of the previous theme...

I agree with all the comments from the preceding post...Bill I agree with you, too, about the over-the-top PCness of everything.

I suppose, that the attempt to generalize major customs like Christmas, is to act as an encouragement to all cultures to feel included? Maybe?

But you know, I have never personally felt EXCLUDED from any one cultures celebrations.

In fact, if I asked some one of a different cultural orientation to teach me about their celebrations, I'm sure they would happily, and I'd be a more interesting, and aware individual.

And I be sorely disappointed if we "pc'd" everything into oblivion.

No new expressions of well-wishes in other languages to learn, no special celebration foods to try for the first time, no joy in discovering wonderful other traditions to incorporate into your own festivities.

The world would be a dull and gray place to live WITHOUT a multitude of cultures.

Perhaps the answer isn't to blur out differences by rubbing out the edges, but to make EVERYONE'S celebrations important, so no one feels left out and everyone gets a chance to celebrate something that represents happiness and joy around the world?

(And can you imagine how many stat holidays we would have, it's enough to make anyone want to jump on that bandwagon!)

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Merry Seasonal Festivities?

I had a long discussion the other day with a friend of mine about the elimination of the word 'Christmas' from the public lexicon.

Now, I must admit two things:
1) I have celebrated Christmas under Christmas trees, unwrapped Christmas presents, and sat for Christmas dinner all my life

2) I'm not Christian

Technically, the religion, and the celebration of it are supposed to go hand in hand, but in our Western society, we have overlooked that for as long as I can remember.

There was ALWAYS Christmas.

And now, it seems like "things they are a changing".

I'm of mixed opinion.

I LIKE Christmas for the good things it represents, family, caring, the general wish for peace for all peoples.
Those are GOOD things.

On the other hand, Christianity doesn't represent that for a lot of people that live in Canada.
Many cultures simply don't practice it.
And for others, it represents repression and an elimination of their own culture.
(and for all the religions that Christianity squashed in it's march across the world, I think at some point, an awful lot of people have ancestors that that category encompasses.)

My opinion seems that I don't really have a strong opinion, either way.

What do you think, for or against?

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Just another day at work.

We ship cars (and lots of other things), all over the world.

Today, I drove this car into a container.

It's worth almost half a million dollars.

Yeah, it's a tough job, but somebody has to do it.

(Look, look, it's silver, and sparkily too!!)

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Did some one mention shoes?

Ah, yes, here are some DECIDEDLY impractical heels.

And aren't they ever so SPARKILY!?!

(I'm pretty sure I could climb trees in them.
Given the opportunity.
And enough financial incentive. Any takers?)

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Eh? 24? I don't know if I want to be seen as so young!

You Are 24 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.

30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!

40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

Monday, November 28, 2005

I may be in danger.

Here's a very small, (for me) stack of books that I'm currently reading. No danger there.
A completely safe, acceptable size stack, no?

By way of comparison looms THIS stack. Beside my bed.
Not the port though, that doesn't sit by my bed.
(Though that's not such a bad idea!)
No, the port is merely there to illustrate the immensity of my dilemma.

C'mon people, if this thing FALLS on me, I'm in serious trouble.
(Not if the bottle of port is full, though. Then I'll be okay. "Send help, but not to fast, I'm only half way through the port!")

Truth be told, I really HAVE read all those books (and the ones by Nancy Friday more than once...ahem...) but now. I have NO. MORE. ROOM.

I have two large bookcases full to exploding with all the OTHER books I have.

So I guess I'll just have to build more piles and get more port.
(I can see there's a happy turn to this problem already!)

But seriously...

I live in a one bedroom apartment.

I own hundreds and hundreds of books, none of which I would easily part with.
(oh, and my teeny storage unit? Full. Of books.)

I need help.

Send port.

I didn't write this, but DAMN, I wish I had.

10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage is Wrong

1) Being gay is not natural. Real Canadian/Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

2) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

3) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

4) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

5) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' '55-hour just-for-fun marriage' would be destroyed.

6) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

7) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

8) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in Canada/America.

9) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.


I guess the moral is that I definitely need taller friends.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Well, not THAT much cellulite.

It's funny, isn't it.

I live in an intentional pop culture void.

I don't buy the tabloids, I won't watch E.T., and I don't go to movies just because of the name tagged on to it.

(I was going to say I make exception for movies with Ralph Fiennes in them, but you know, I couldn't be bothered seeing "Maid in America".)

So what's so darn funny?

Well, considering the degree to which I actually avoid the pop icon world, it's bizarre that I visit frequently (and I must confess, with glee), this website, Go Fug Yourself.


Maybe it's not so bizarre.
After all, isn't it inherent in human nature to look for that in others which makes them more like yourself...pimples, cellulite, questionably placed sequins and all?

I'm not sure.

All I'm saying's darn amusing. And that's all I'm saying.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Blackcrag, I don't mean to boil your bottom, but...

Main Entry: ra·ti·o·ci·na·tion
Pronunciation: -"O-s&n-'A-sh&n, -"รค-
Function: noun
1 : the process of exact thinking : REASONING
2 : a reasoned train of thought

Main Entry: au·re·ate
Pronunciation: 'or-E-&t
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English aureat, from Medieval Latin aureatus decorated with gold, from Latin aureus
1 : of a golden color or brilliance
2 : marked by grandiloquent and rhetorical style

Main Entry: fab·li·au
Pronunciation: 'fa-blE-"O
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural fab·li·aux /-"O(z)/
Etymology: French, from Old French, diminutive of fable
: a short, usually comic, frankly coarse, and often cynical tale in verse popular especially in the 12th and 13th centuries

And ms. L was right about lineaments...thanks ma'am!

ahem...Merriam-Webster Online....

(oh gosh...DUCK! he's throwing things at me!!)

Oh, to be able to read a book.

This is the book I'm currently reading.
It's call "Albion: The Origins of the English Imagination" by Peter Ackroyd.

This is me trying to read this book.

Note size of eyes compared to sheer mass of book.


Don't get me wrong.

I'm REALLY enjoying it.
It's full of fascinating information and history, interesting characters including Chaucer, Henry the VIII (that puppy kicker!), and of course Shakespeare.


I'm NOT used to reading a book that affords me more than a few words in the entire volume that I don't understand.
I may not be able to spell, but, DAMN IT, I know my words.

This incredible tome is so full of words I don't know, I've resigned myself to writing them all down so I can review them later.

Here's a list composed after only about 10 pages.








Now, I can generally surmise what these mean in a fashion, based on the context of the sentence they're surrounded by...but if someone actually KNOWS what these words mean, when they're just hanging out there all by themselves like that, speak up!

Give me a hand, would ya?

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

How to re-enter the blogosphere, after a hiatus.

Why...with the KILLER RABBIT in his very own SPAM CAN, fresh from New York!
(as you can see, he's got great HUGE pointy...and he can LEAP...ahem)

Thanks Kris, I needed that!

And thanks EVERYONE, for being patient and understanding and allowing me the time I needed to work my way through my sadness.

There are so many good people in this big old world...thanks for being a part of mine.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

I'm still here.

I'm just finding it really hard to get my bearings...but I'll be back soon, I hope.

Your words are very kind.

Don't give up on me quite yet.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Now what do I do?

Thank you everyone, you're all so generous, and your thoughts so kind.

They are so important to me.

It's true that some of you never met Bentley, but as Ian pointed out in his comments about his cat Stumpy, "She followed me like a dog, talked to me, and would rarely let me out of her sight. She was awkward and cumbersome, and that was much of her charm."

That was Bentley,too, Ian.
Just like like that.
Awkward, cumbersome and wouldn't let me out of his sight.

There's just something about some animals that elevate them to more than 'just a cat' or 'just a dog'.

And now?
I'm totally confused about what I'm supposed to do next.

Bentley and I traveled far, just he and I.

I 'grew up' with him by my side.

I evolved from a naive 19 year old to a slightly less naive 33 year old, as he stood watch.
From a small town girl, to a woman actually 'making it' on her own in it in a big city.

And living in a large city, away from friends and family, he was my balance point.

I couldn't go to far off the edge 'cus he was there depending on me.

No matter what else was going on, Bentley was always my focal point.

Broken heart?
Bentley still needed to be loved.
Lost job?
Bentley still needed to be feed.
Bad day?
Bentley still had a purr for me.

But now what do I do?

I feel lost.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

He's gone.

Bentley didn't make it back from the vet.

Despite the fact that I'm crushed, I have to say that he afforded me the best example of what a cat can be, and in turn, I gave him the best life I could offer.

He made me laugh, he listened to me, he moved to 4 different cities with me and always, he loved me just the same, even if I was bawling my eyes out or laughing out loud, he was always stomping about, keeping me company.

He accepted all other animals gracefully and generously, without question.
Dogs, mice and other cats...even a chinchilla once all benefited from Bentley's beatific gaze.

Bentley didn't have a mean bone in his body.

Last year, a squirrel showed up on my balconey that Bentley refused to chase away, so I wrote the ode to him you can read below.

This morning, just before I took him to the vet, a squirrel showed up again.

Bentley stalked slowly to the open balconey door as the squirrel bounced along. Bent checked behind him every few steps to make sure I was right behind him.
Finally, he got to the threshold of the inside/outside and paused there, checking over his shoulder once again for me.

The squirrel paused, stared at Bentley, then jumped away casually, no fear.
Bentley didn't even make a move to attack.

Even during Bentley's last few hours he was true to his nature.
Calm and gentle.

"A credit to cats", as my friend Danny said.
"I didn't even LIKE cats before I met Bent", another said.

It's true.

Bentley had a charm about him that I don't think will ever be duplicated, and was certainly unusual in the feline world.

He was 'Bentley', a personality, and a charming one.

I miss him so much.

Ode to my Cat

Oh, fierce terror recessed deep under the fat.

Oh, fang'd and claw'd with sharp pointy things, you stalk the apartment on semi silent paws...

The food bowl cowers and trembles at your stealthy approach, for it knows it's fate is at hand.

Yea, let the squirrel approach the balcony with no trepidation at all, for it knows that lurking inside the glass door you are there.

So, come oh squirrel, come dine on the bulbs I planted in happier times. Dine and revel.

I hasten to open the door, placing death on four legs out, out onto the balcony to revenge me!

You mew piteously, the squirrel snacks on.

I let you back in. The thief chortles and stuffs it's face.

Bentley, please please don't go quite yet.

He's in the 'hospital' maybe with a tumour, maybe cancerous, maybe not.
They're still doing tests and I am beside myself.

He's a grand old cat, the nicest, kindest, calmest cat I've ever met.

I've had him 14 and one half years, since he was 8 weeks old.
He was named 'Bentley' because he's got a crooked ('bent', if you will) tail, born with it, in fact.
It's the reason I chose him from all the cats in the litter.
For that little tiny 'flaw', it turned into the finest discovery of all.

We've seen just about everything, him and I.

And I would like to continue to see more of this life with him....

Please, send him your best.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Friday night built for one.

I adore Fridays.

End of a long and hectic work week and the beginning of just about anything you can imagine.

This is one of my favorite ways to spend a rainy, wind blown Friday night...

First, the drive down a long dark windy road to my favorite 'comfort food' restaurant, Burgoo.

The car gets parked on the quiet little street and off I go...but wait, before I go for dinner, I need one little thing.

A new book!

I'm so lucky, there's a Book Warehouse three doors away from Burgoo.

So a brief browse, and I am now the proud owner of immense tome, "Albion: The Origins of the English Imagination", by Peter Ackroyd.

I slide in to a VERY crowded, warm Burgoo to the back of the line up.

I'm lucky though, the waitress comes over, and motions me to take a seat at the dark wood bar, ahead of everyone waiting.
They're waiting for actual tables, and not a seat at the bar, but I still feel special.

She asks me how I am, comments that she hasn't seen me for a while, and asks with a smile, "French onion soup?"

I grin, nod and take my seat, arranging my book in front of me.

Burgoo is a delightful, warm little restaurant.
The walls are creamy brown, and old travel posters of exotic locales hang on the walls.

Their specialties are soups and stews, and they do them with a grace meant for more 'refined' fares.
Delicious, decadent and always perfect.
They do comfort food to make moms the world over wonder why they didn't start their own restaurant based on their own beloved tomato soup.

Jazz plays in the background at the perfect level, I can choose to immerse myself in what is proving to be an interesting read, or listen for a while to the croonings of "Dancing Cheek to Cheek".

That's where you'll find me, on a perfect Friday night.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

You see what I mean!?! Trouble.

Attessa...Bentley...little cat...BIG cat...

(I really am turning into a crazy old cat lady...OH NO!)

Hello, little cat! Hello, digital camera!

This is wee little Attessa.

My little cat I raised till she was two, then didn't see again until this that she is 8.

And she is tiny, perhaps 5 pounds, soaking wet.

(The digital camera is smaller, but WONDERFUL, thanks to my dear friend Spider and her sweet husband...thank you thank you!!!!
And yes, this does mean that I'll be posting ever so many pics that I have taken with my very own hands!
So...consider yourself warned!)

It's just to damn easy!

Honest, I wasn't even LOOKING for it, it simply came to me!

It's to the point now, where I feel all I need do is stand back and just let it happen.

Ms. Lewis.
I hereby pledge not to make any snide comments regarding your 'ensembles' ever again.

I mean, I hardly need to, do I.

Monday, October 31, 2005

The truth of the matter.

It's POP QUIZ time!

Test your supernatural knowledge here, for exciting prizes!! *

The werewolf is a wily creature, and immune to damage inflicted by ordinary weapons. So how do you kill a werewolf?

a) Force it to watch reality television shows for 48 hours straight

b) Shoot it with a silver bullet or stab it in the heart with a silver

c) Drown it in holy water

d) Drive a wooden stake through its heart

The correct answer?

Do you really need me to tell you?


It's 'A'.
"Force it to watch reality television shows for 48 hours straight."

Silver bullets? That's a laugh.
You'd be lucky if they didn't steal them all and melt them down for cash to buy a good old Scorpions cd.

*I was lying.
There are no exciting prizes.

At least you know how to do in your typical werewolf next time they come over to visit.
But the truth of the matter is...anything with Paris Hilton or Juliette Lewis will be equally up to the task.

Happy HOWL-o-WEEN!!!

I'm currently dressed in jeans, a white tee-shirt, and sneakers.

One of my co-workers laughed, and asked (facetiously, I might add) what I was dressed as.

I replied blithely, "A werewolf."

The blank stares suggested that they just. didn't. get it.

So I curled my lip back to reveal a full set of vicious canines sliding down from my gumline, my hands creaked and curled and stretched into huge fur covered pads....


I'm still here.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

They're celebrating, AND DAMN IT, SO AM I!!

I don't know what they're so happy about, but today is my ONE YEAR BLOG BIRTHDAY!!!

Who knew I'd be able to keep this up for so long!

You know...these two young women look VERY familiar to me.

I pulled this as a random pic off the 'net, so I'd be really surprised if I did know them.

But they just LOOK SO DARN HAPPY!!!
I suspect it's my blog that brings them joy.

I mean, what else could it be?

(Okay, possibly it's the hat. And the lighter.)

(And maybe the fan in the background.)

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

I don't recall that being taught during drivers ed.

I'm driving...driving along..driving along..lalalala




What's that!?!

You're giving ME the finger!!??!!!


This is what I learned today.

I can pull right out in front of someone driving along, and when they screech on the brakes and look shocked and afraid, it's their fault.

And when they honk at me out of stress and fear, I should indicate to them through hand signals, that they can "Fuck right off."

I didn't know that before.

(Like how I put a 'kinder-gentler' spin on the whole thing?
I cleverly disguised this post as a 'thank you' note to the driver who opened my eyes to the new rules of the road.
Subtle, no?)

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Oh, how I wish I wrote this.

Highlights from Tom Cruise's inevitable upcoming Today show interview regarding his impending baby with fiancee Katie Holmes:

"I know diapers, Matt. I‘ve powdered tushes, OK? Have you ever powdered a tush, Matt?"

"Please, Matt, Don't try to tell me about Barney. I know Barney, OK? I‘ve worn the Barney suit, Matt, I didn't just sit around talking about it. Did you ever wear a Barney suit, Matt? Or do you just talk about it on TV?"

"Don't talk to me about spit up, Matt. Have you ever even spit up? Because I've spit up, Matt. And for you to insinuate that spit-up is no big deal ... You're very glib, Matt. Very, very glib. And facile. Glib and facile. Matt."

"Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt. Do you even know what's in Gerber Rice with Apple Bits and Cereal Crisps, Matt? Have you ever done a chemical analysis of those bits and crisps? Because that's what I did. I built a lab in my basement and tested those bits and crisps myself. Until you've tested those bits and crisps Matt, I don't think it's responsible for you to be on the Today show talking about Gerber Rice with Apple Bits and Cereal Crisps."

"Now I'm going to jump up and down and sing a little fatherhood song. Don’t talk to me about jumping up and down, Matt. Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt."

Monday, October 24, 2005

You look so unhappy, Ms. Lewis...

I must extend an apology.
It appears that I'm laughing at Ms. Lewis often in my blog.
But that's not true.

I'm actually becoming very concerned for her.

Look at the size of her forehead! Something horrible must have happend.
A terrible accident or...
Oh, wait!

I've got it!

She's lost her Viking horns!

Quick, somebody find them and return them!!
She looks like she might be capable of inflicting some serious damage.

(Nice gloves, though.)

Thanks everyone!

Gil is recovering at home at the moment.

It's expected he'll make a full recovery, but no one really knows how long it'll long does it take broken ribs to mend?

(As a side note, this is the first time in 3 years that he'll have 'called in sick'.)

Friday, October 21, 2005

Oh Gil.

We had a horrible accident today at work.

One of the older men I work with (he's 67), had a terrible fall and literally cracked his head open on the concrete floor of the warehouse.

He was doing something he shouldn't have been, climbing unsafely on his forklift in order to get something down from a height, (to help ME, I might add, though I didn't ask him to do it in that manner).

And he slipped, and he fell.

I called 911, a fire truck and an ambulance arrived to find him suffering from arterial bleeding.

Later we found out (his wife called in and kept us up to date on his status), that he is also experiencing internal bleeding of the head and he's broken some ribs, too.

He's almost 70.

Oh Gil...please come back to work soon.

I miss you, and I feel so bad that it was in doing something for me that you hurt yourself so badly.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Hi, my name is...uh...

"Well, it's Osedax Mucofloris...yeah, it's Latin. My folks were old hippy-scientists.

Umm, what does it MEAN??? It's kind of embarrassing, I'd really rather not...oh, you insist?

Alright, but I didn't want to do this.

(Man I hate my parents), it means Bone-eating Snot Flower.

Uh huh. I eat whale bones.

But I'm super picky.
I only dine on Minke carcass in relatively shallow water close the Swedish coast.

Hey, it's a weird, but somebody has to do it!



That's me.

Here's my free Saturday night?"

Monday, October 17, 2005

So much for closure.

It’s his mom, on the other end of the line.
I haven’t spoken with her for almost 7 years...not since I broke up with her son.

He used to be a charming, entreprenurial young man...excited about life and interested in everything.
Now he’s a millionaire drug addict, slowly killing himself.

I've been trying really hard to keep myself separate from that whole mess, but some how I keep getting pulled back there.
I can't seem to be rid of him, even after all these years.

First he calls me to take care of his cat, then his best friend calls to ask how he looks, then his older brother calls to warn me that he’s unstable and possibly violent, and now his mom has called.
And she's devastated.

I don't MIND that she wants to speak with me, in fact, it's rather flattering that she would turn to me.
But I just didn't realize how much I had managed to pretend I didn't care until I talked to her.

And now all the things that I didn’t want to have to think about, and all the things that I thought I had managed to get ‘over’, have all come flooding back.

I broke up with him years ago, but that doesn't seem to mean a thing.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Is this mean?

Today, I was so happy that I did NOT cry at my desk because work is so frustrating and my nose was dripping.

Nope, today, my CO-WORKER burst into tears at her desk, because work is a despairingly sad place, where everyone cries at their desk.

And I'm glad it wasn't me this time.
Is that mean?

Thursday, October 13, 2005


Between work being monstrous, and my being ill...well, all I can say is humblest apologies for lack of blogging.

And now I have to go back to work.
Thank you for your time.


Tuesday, October 11, 2005

What I was going to write...

...was how work is a great black festering hole of despair, but it's not very positive sounding, is it?

And then I was going to whine about how I didn't get any turkey for Thanksgiving day, but you know what?

Instead, I'll be thankful that I have a cozy apartment, two fat cats, dear dear friends, a sister who practiced Reiki on my sore wrist (and now it feels better), a mother I adore (her CT scan came back normal, hooray!), a car that I can afford to insure, perfect health, a good brain (stop the guffawing over there), and a sunny day today.

And anyway,turkey is overrated!

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Saturday, October 08, 2005

How many karma points for this?

I saved a life today.

Yes, a wee yellow budgie flew his coop today, and came awfully close to being road mush until I intervened.

And he chewed a good chunk of my fingers for my efforts.
He wasn't as grateful I thought he should be.

Ah well, now he's safely installed at the vet.

I'm sure my cats would have appreciated me bringing him home, but...I need all the karmic points I can get!

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Halycon is not exactly the word I was looking for.

The small town I grew up in is situated on Vancouver Island.
The good ol' 'Village of Cumberland.'
(yeah, it really was allotted 'Village' status. It wasn't even a town!)

I swear, inbreeding was an issue there, everyone seemed to be related to each other in a convoluted and strange (read 'unnatural') manner.

Having been born in a different (but equally small) town on the Island, I narrowly avoided the risk of being related to any of the riff raff belonging to that place.

Now, keep in mind that I'm talking about the town as it was during the late 70's, and throughout the 80's.
Today, it's actually become an interesting little hub of antique stores and talented artsy types.
Its' original existence was as a coal mining town during the 19th century, and at its' peak, it hosted the second largest Chinese immigrant population outside of San Francisco.

During the period of time that I lived in Cumberland though, it was a poor, poor town.
Merely (and barely) a bedroom community to some of the larger towns, it had few basic requirements for survival.
Including 4 pubs and a liquor store, this little town became known a few years ago as the "Luckiest Town in B.C.", due to the vast quantities of the cheap beer 'Lucky' which was consumed by the residents.

But it had no mall. No movie theatre.
No streetlights, just stop signs (I mean the ones that weren't shot out of course.)

It had 8 dusty Roads one way, and 10 dirty Streets going the other way.
The only street with a paved sidewalk was the main street, so if you wanted to get somewhere, you walked in the dirt.

Cars on blocks in the front yard, and dead fridges on porches were common sights.

And then there were the roving packs of pre-teens looking to pick a fight for lack of anything else to do in that town.
Do I need mention that more often than not, myself and the girls who befriended me were their targets?
(I suppose I should be glad I grew up back then. Nowadays those same roving packs of bored teens are killing those outcast in point, Reena Virk in Victoria was murdered by one of those groups.)

Small wonder that to escape that place was high on my list of priorities after graduation!

There were a few redeeming features about that town, though...for instance, the surrounding forest played an integral role during my childhood.

To hell with Barbies and makeup and boys!
My dear friends and I had pointy sticks to sharpen, bows to make, hunting skills to hone, and trees to climb.
(Well, I climbed the trees mostly. They would stand around at the bottom and call up to me pleadingly, "I don't think that's such a good idea, Tai.")

We roamed far and wide in the extensive bush behind Cumberland, hunting for edible natural foods, preparing ourselves for the inevitable apocalyptic end to the world as we knew it (of course, we would be the only ones who were going to survive! We had to be prepared and rigorously trained!)

I suppose we were lucky.
We had run of the town from dawn till dusk with little restriction.

Except for me of course.
We had exactly two corner stores in that town.
On opposite corners of the same block if you can believe that.
A Chinese one (Leungs), and an Italian one (Marocchi's).

I wasn't allowed in Marocchi's.

Which was a cryin' shame, 'cus they had the best candy selection!

I don't know why my father took a dislike to it, but he did.
I knew I would rue the day he ever caught me in there, so I judiciously avoided it when I thought he might be about.

So I was in there a lot.

But I digress....

After dark and in the wee hours, we would sneak out of our homes and run about after midnight without fear.
And given the fact that we were prone to rearranging garden gnomes, it's more likely that the town folk feared us!

I'm hard pressed to think of anything else of any import...well, there was the glazed doughnuts EVER (Kripsy Kreme doesn't even come close) for a mere 25 cents.

Can't think of anything else.

Of coure, while the feral cat population and the black bear infested garbage dump added some interesting features, I wouldn't call them selling points, really.

If you had a horse though, you could ride it up and down the streets all the live long day, if you so desired.

I wish I had a horse then.
I think I would have enjoyed doing just that.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

If I can do it, any old monkey can!

Chimp finally quits smoking *

A chimp at a zoo in China has finally managed to kick smoking after 16 years.
(she must have taken the literature seriously!)

Former chain-smoker Ai Ai quit within four weeks by cutting down step by step.

Keepers at Qinling Safari Park, in Shaanxi Province, decided to help the chimp quit after her health began deteriorating.

The methods tried by handlers to divert the 27-year-old chimp's attention from cigarettes included a walk after breakfast, music sessions after lunch and gym after dinner, reports Xinhua.

One zoo keeper said: "She's served fried dishes and dumplings at every meal, alongside her usual diet of milk, banana and rice.
('Cus those post-smoking pounds can really kill a girls figure...)

"I also put earphones on her so that she could enjoy some pop music from my Walkman.

"In the first few days, she squealed for cigarettes every now and then, but as her life became more colourful, she gradually forgot about them altogether."

Ai Ai started smoking cigarettes given to her by visitors shortly after her first male companion died in 1989.
(Smokes...the perfect substitute to lifelong companionship!)

*ME? I've been quit for 1 year and 4 months (give or take a few days.)

Monday, October 03, 2005

Hell and cheap roses.

I was driving around over the weekend, when I witnessed a VERY odd sight indeed.

There's a company that sells inexpensive roses (a dozen for $4.99!) in Vancouver.
They advertise by having a person stand on a street corner holding a large sign up with their particular company details.

Over the years they've had more than their share of 'odd' characters holding their sign for them on that corner.

There was the ancient, toothless, chinese woman who was barely able to suppport herself upright with a cane, let alone hold the large sign and point to the store up the hill.

Then, there was the curly blond haired young man, who always rolled his cotton shorts WAY up on his plump thighs, and tied his shirt up into a 'roll twist' to afford as MUCH of his pale, lumpy skin a chance at the sun.
He was sort of entertaining in his own way...bouncing around, gesticulating wildly and yelling at stopped cars to buy the cheap roses.

But this new fellow?
He has come from out of my nightmares and now sells roses on the corner of Main and Marine.

I'm sure he's the Grim Reapers nearest cousin in human form.

Wearing black baggy jeans, a huge black hooded sweatshirt that he wears hood up.
It resembles nothing short of a cowl shadowing his gaunt face.
Large black Uni-Bomberesque sunglasses and 4 days worth of facial hair completes the alarming look.
He stands motionless, one hand grasping the 'Roses $4.99' sign, the other arm pointing up that hill to the store.

I'm pretty sure I'll never go to that shop.


He's looks as if he's pointing to a place where one would go, if one were interested in having their throat slit.

I suspect he'd be much better off, standing at a dark crossroads, his pale pointy finger ushering you forward to the gates of hell. *

* And most disturbing of all, toward the cheap roses.

Friday, September 30, 2005

There'll be more to come!

Spider Girl's Life in a Bathtub Blog (there's pictures of Africa AND horrendous injuries, what more could you want!)

Polaris's 'Once Was A Crow' blog (she's talented, I need not over sell)

Kim writes some FINE Books! (so go buy them already!)

Bill's Music (and he's good!)

Okay, I realize it's not a TRUE links sidebar...but I'm working on it!

Is it just me?

This has GOT to be the strangest e-mail I've received in a long while.

I'll set the back drop, so as to paint as clear a picture as I can.

I work at a warehousing facility.

We receive stuff in, as per the other company's directions (obviously the company will be left unnamed for very good reason!)

They are required to tell us what is coming in, and what is not coming in.

Sometimes they forget or make mistakes, so it's my job to check, check and double check to make sure everything is correct.

I almost ALWAYS c.c. my boss or another co-worker in my e-mails when corresponding with this other company, because as we all know, 'CYA' * is first and foremost the most important rule in business.

So, here I am, asking for verification on whether or not we were going to be receiving a particular shipment, and cc'ing in my boss, Ed.


Hi Jing,
Can you advise please, if this is coming here or not?



Yes, this one does not go to you I sent wrong instruction to you which is my mistake.

But do you think there is no point to copy Ed?

You made mistakes I do too everyone does, but pls do remember our common goal is to complete our job well.

ME (replying in surprise and obvious confusion):

I'm sorry?

I don't understand...I generally copy Ed or Tom, or someone at our facility on all things that I e-mail.

I apologize if it bothers you, but it's just something I'm supposed to do when confirming activity here at our facility.

JING (replying from some other planet. The translation has apparently undergone a distinct interplanetary static problem, thus garbling it beyond all comprehension):


Simple stuff.

We suppose spending time to perform well at work.

That is answer. **

* You know...CYA "Cover Your Ass"

** But...what the hell was the question?
Come to think of it, can some one PLEASE explain that answer???

Dreams and their soundtracks.

I admit, I have my fair share of strange dreams.

This time however, I didn't have a particularly strange dream, so much as I had an odd accompanying background song...

"Thank God, I'm a Country Boy"...yup, good 'ol John Denver.

A thigh slapping old fashioned tune, but not really one I want to have continuously streaming through my head all day, if y'all know what I mean.
(Especially when those are the only words I know! over and over and OVER!)

I can almost SMELL the hotcakes on the griddle!

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Update on the attitude adjustment.

Ah, success.
Imagine a drizzly Vancouver day, grey clouds and lots of traffic.

And imagine a young women who has come to a complete stop in an uncongested lane directly ahead of me.

I sit behind her, watching her crane her neck in an extended shoulder check watching the traffic to her left waiting for a moment to switch over.

And she's at a full stop, no traffic ahead of her, and a lane that continues for at least 2 more blocks before parked cars would ever force her over.

And I just sit. Full stop. No honking or gesticulating. Hoping that she eventually feels safe enough to merge into the other lane.

On the other hand, I was to tired to do much BUT sit there.

But it's a start, right?

Behavior modification.

I'm doing my best to be a calmer, more gentler Tai, I really am!

My friends may laugh and point, but I'm determined to stop flying into a rage at the drop of a hat.
No more unnecessary frothing at the mouth or scratching at my own eyeballs out of unmitigated frustration.

So the next time some one cuts me off in traffic when the roads have been freshly washed with enough rain to bring up a nice slick of oil, and I have to slam on the brakes and fear that'll I slide into them, I'll just give them a friendly wave and wish them a safe journey.

Or when a customer calls me on the phone, unjustly accusing me of not doing my job properly, suggesting, in fact, that I've erred when it's their own screw up that's caused the mishap, I'll say to them warmly, "I'm sorry you feel that way."

Yup, you just watch me.

But this...this will be the true test.

At the grocery store when someone rams their cart into my innocent heels over and over and over, drawing blood, I swear, I'll just smile and nod.
I might even ask if I can move out of their way to accommodate their rush up and down the aisles!

Now, I know what you're thinking.
Not very pirate like behaviour, really.
Quite unbecoming to any swashbuckling maid, you might say.

HOWEVER, I have this to rebut with.
I AM a Gemini.
My other personality will MORE than make up for any fearsome behavior that I might be lacking in my 'functioning in the real world daily persona'.

After all.
I have a certain blood thirsty image to uphold, now don't I.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Taking stock.

Well, I was pondering the state of my car this morning, considering all of the collective 'stuff' I have in it.

Here's a more-or-less complete log of the 'stuff' I travel with on a daily basis.

3 plastic tiger cubs ('cus you just can't have enough, obviously)
1 black rubber bat (to accompany the vampyre, of course!)
1 green lizard of a random sort (no good reason for that one)
1 'Playmobile' vampyre figure (to accompany the bat, of course!)
1 pirate girl living in my glove compartment (I think she's Bonny Anne)
1 golf ball sized disco ball hanging from my rearview mirror
1 Jolly Roger air freshener (for that freshly swabbed deck scent) also hanging from my rearview mirror
1 pair of shoes
1 book (the "Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" a mediocre book at best)
4 tapes of various musicians (including Muddy Waters, which I like, but is now useless to me now as I don't have a tape deck in my car (thank the gods...NO ONE should have a tape deck player in their car. My dad gives them to me under the mistaken belief that one day I will get the tape deck replaced because my new 6 cd-changer isn't enough. Sorry Dad. It ain't gonna happen. Though I'm sure you're still very happy with your 8-track).


That's a lot of 'stuff'.
And I still manage to fit myself in there, despite the full menagerie.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Sometimes I'd like to turn my brain off.

I was having dinner with a friend last night, when the most vile thought came crashing into my skull.

My mom, (whom I love love LOVE!) has been having some ear troubles lately.
Now, she's a healthy 55 year old women, who has never smoked or drank. She walks everyday is generally very healthy.
However, her inner-ear has been plaguing her as of late, leaving her dizzy (because we all know it affects your equilibrium), nauseaus and feeling generally crappy.
At my insistance, and after almost two months of ill ease, she's going to go in for a CT scan to see what the problem is.
(She's one of those kinds of people that has a tendency to think that if one doctor says it'll go away, it'll go does not question the doctor.)

So, I was talking about her doing this when suddenly, horribly, the thought that it might be something more than just a simple blockage or minor infection came whip-cracking across my thought pattern.
What if it's a tumour?
What if it's cancer?
What if it's one of those occasions where an initially innocent problem bloats and explodes into the worst possible scenario.

I know what if.
If THAT'S the case, I'd move back to Courtenay instantly. There would be no way I wouldn't be by her side.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Hagar loves Juliette

Look VERY closely at Hagar's shirt and sign board....
It holds important clues as to why I don't care for Hagar.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

I never liked Hagar, either.


“Hey,” my friend Chris said after I arrived in Victoria, “We should go to the meatery.”

“A meatery?” I questioned, puzzled.

“Yes, the meatery in Sooke.”

“Ummm,” I pondered that for a moment, desperately trying to understand what he was saying, but I couldn’t quite.
“Is there any special reason you want to take me to an abattoir?” I queried, suddenly nervous.

“No, no.” He laughed, “A MEADERY.”

“Yeah, as if that makes MORE sense.” I tossed back.

“You know, a place where they make mead.”

“OH!!” I reflected on that for a moment.
“Okay. Let’s go.”

If there’s one thing I like, it’s mead.*

*I mean, I like meat too, but I don't know if I really want to go to a meatery...or an abattoir for that matter.

Monday, September 19, 2005

I WAS going to write about so many things.

I was going to write about how GLAD I was that my friends made it back safely from their amazing sounding safari in Kenya and Tanzania, it really sounds extraordinary and I can't wait to hear about the rest of it.

Then, I was going to write about the lovely little trip to Victoria I just had, beautiful weather, good food and 6 episodes all in a row of the Muppet Show, what more could any one want on a mini-hols?

I also had something to write about the strange man I ran into a while ago (from my post "Safe and Sound"), as he seems to me following me about. Seeing the same person 3 times in 15 minutes aimlessly driving around the neighbourhood as I make my way home from shopping makes me nervous.
He always waves and smiles and I just walk a little faster.

I was going to write about all of those things, but the dreams I had last night kept me distracted and disturbed all day.

I dreamt of murder and rape and hideous torture. I was merely a watcher in the distance, but it was still so grim...kidnapped women tormented and cut, and once death relieved them from their agony, necrophilia.

I awoke feeling dirty and saddened that there was nothing I could do, with a horrible headache settling in at the back of my head.
Dreams are such odd things.
They can elate you or leave you weeping as you wake.
I had no part in any of this one, but it still settled over my shoulders, a dark and heavy cloak.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Two last post errors.

Just in case anyone ELSE noticed...

It's actually "Hair of the Dog" by Nazareth *


the word is STRIPE, not stipe.

Thanks for your attention, you may resume your regular blogging.

*Which, in the commercial, they changed the words to some weird rappy thing, but the background bass is SO obvious.
Kind of like when that strange Vanilla person used the Queen riff from 'Under Pressure' for his ICE ICE Baby song.
tsk tsk tsk

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

I don't think I'll buy one, despite the cool tune.

Well, the old chargers are gone.

And the new ones are a comin'.

I saw one of the first commercials on tv last night for it.
They were playing a catchy tune in the background that took me a few seconds to recognize.

It was Nazareth's "Now You're Messin' With a Son of a Bitch."

I was initially suprised that they chose that tune, but in retrospect, it's not like anyone younger than 25 will have a clue.

(oh gods...I really AM *ahem* 'mature')

I still prefer MY old charger.
'Cept mine was DIRT BROWN, not shiny red.
AND mine had a racing stipe down the side.

Now doesn't THAT picture just bring back all the years of repressed angst, eh girls?

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

I just remembered.

Yeah, I suddenly recall, with alarming force, all of the reasons I don't like Juliette Lewis.

And it all comes to a ugly head in the 'spandex "Solid Gold" dancer meets East German Pro-Wrestler type woman' ensemble she vomited up and then put on.

(I'll forgive the horns. Sort of.)

Monday, September 12, 2005

It's all about the bling?!?

As I AM currently reading J. Mitfords facsinating and disturbing book, "The American Way of Death: Revisited" I keep feeling compelled to look up the Canadian versions for reference.
(Not only is this book about the American 'tradition' of death, it's also almost 10 years out of date.)

And lo, I discovered that these days a variety of funeral jewelry can be had, as shown by the lovely piece above.
That dandy little number will run you about $800 big ones.
It IS, after all, a Black Onyx Pendant.

And here I am, running around without the slightest idea that I would need some new jewelry when someone I love passes on.

The notion of buying myself jewelry when my mother dies is perfectly VILE.

(On the other hand, I may need something big and sparkly when my father goes....)


I come to work and instantly I'm thrown into a foul mood.

We are currently understaffed in the office by 2 people.

Meanwhile one of my other co workers is off sick (again!).
For weeks at a time she's gone, putting a considerable amount of pressure on the rest of us.

Now, there are several things wrong with these scenarios.

Firstly, that we've been running at half staff for so long with no direction or indication by management that it's going to change any time soon.

Secondly, that one of the key employees here is not capable of being in the office for more that a week or two at a time.
I've never met ANYONE who was so ill so often!
During the summer she was gone for several months, and now she's going to be gone AGAIN for at least three more weeks!?!

While I like this person as an individual, I've never been so annoyed.

I don't see why she can't be replaced.
A company can not be expected to be run with an employee that is never well enough to be here!
It so seriously affects production (not to mention morale) you would think it would be of importance to deal with.

So, then it once again rests on the management to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!

The rest of us work hard with very little thanks (and no, I don't think that a crappy piece of pizza for the companies third birthday constitutes thanks, and it hardly counts as a celebration either. Nary a piece of cake or a hearty 'congratulations' was evident.)

Also, (while I'm ranting away) one of my OTHER co workers thinks that they are above the regular rules of office conduct.

He yells at people, he's rude and belligerent and acts superior in general.
Once, he was annoyed with me because I didn't jump when he commanded, so he complained to the boss I was taking to many smoke breaks...the irony being that I had been quit smoke for almost ONE MONTH at that point!

After a multitude of complaints made to management over the years by almost everyone in the facility regarding his inappropriate behaviour, he continues on as before with no change.

So I suppose that I'm in the same boat as everyone else, overworked, underpaid, under appreciated and disgusted with their co workers.

There's GOT to be a light at the end of the tunnel, doesn't there?
(and the first one that suggests it's a train is going to get a little visit from me, and it ain't gonna be for tea!)

Thursday, September 08, 2005

One day...

...I really ought to learn how to use my fabulous computer.

I tried to download a pic of my revitalized computer, but no.

Apparently I'm SO technologically DE-clined I can't even do that!
(I wasn't kidding, just getting a new blog-post posted takes all my abilities!)

Well, you'll just have to believe me that Kris did an absolute bang-up job of taking a sow's ear and making a silk purse.

It slices!! It DICES!!! It GLOWS IN THE DARK!!

And a bottle of rum, too!

Wednesday, September 07, 2005


After poking around in the British Columbia funeral restrictions information I found this little gem.

Prohibition on sales, and offers of sale, of
arrangements relating to cryonics and irradiation

14 A person must not offer for sale, or sell, an arrangement for the preservation or storage of human remains that is based on

(a) cryonics,

(b) irradiation, or

(c) any other means of preservation or storage, by whatever name called,

and that is offered, or sold, on the expectation of the resuscitation of human remains at a future time

Well, there goes MY hope of making a nice little nest egg for myself!
I had space in the freezer set aside and everything!

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Emily Dickinson

I'm a decided fan of Ms. Dickinson.
She's wrote in an unusual manner for a woman of that time and religious upbringing. (Rather Puritan)

She died in Amherst in 1886 without any public recognition of her astounding abilities while she was alive.
It wasn't until her room was being sorted after her death that her family discovered her (literally) hidden talent.

One of my favorite of her poems isn't uncommon, but it speaks so clearly of her catching of breath at seeing a snake, that any time I've seen a snake since I recall the last line of this poem with cold clarity.


A narrow fellow in the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have met him, -did you not?
His notice sudden is.

The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen;
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn.
Yet when a child, and barefoot,
I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash
Unbraiding in the sun, -
When, stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled, and was gone.

Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality;

But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Missing something.

I'm missing more than just a few things these days.

One girlfriend, and the VERY talented writer of, is away in 100 Mile House B.C. I don't even KNOW where that is...jeeeeze, she might as well be in AFRICA!
(Hey 'Pol, why don't you use your blog to show off some of your amazing graphic art talents? We didn't go through all that time in that little apartment on Boundary Ave for nothing, right?)

And as for Ms. Holm of the famous, she really IS in Africa these days...perhaps in Tanzania at the moment?
I miss the both of them very much.
Their blogs are cobwebbing away with out them.
And so am I!!!!


I think that I'm the only Canadian resident that's missing the CBC.

I used to swan in to work on Swan Lake, and march in on other days to a brisk 1. 2. 3. 4. by Haydn.
The most disturbing thing I've heard so far on my way to work, was the other day, THE funeral march...dum dum dum dum DUM dum dum dum dum dum dum. Dark and linear and NO allowance for anything else.
I suspect it's Beethoven, or Haydn...or maybe Wagner.
It's hard to say because the CBC is ON STRIKE and Jurgen Goth isn't around to tell me what the hell I've just been listening to.
I miss him.


Here's something else I missed, apparently.
Today my workplace 'celebrated' it's the 3rd year of existence with (drum roll here please) some pizza.
"Congratulations!" Says the boss, "You've seen this company through to the dynamic moving force it is today, you are a part of the success and we thank you very much."
~oh, gee, that's the DREAM portion of this blog. That didn't really happen. 'Cus you know, why should it? We got some pizza, thank GOODNESS!~


I miss my door knob, too.
I tried to exit my apartment the other day via the normal route (meaning, through the door way of course) only to discover that the door handle was NOT turning the little interior thingy that slides the bolt back to allow me to leave.
Fortunately, my phone call to the landlord saw some relief from being trapped inside my place for the entire long weekend.
I was also lucky in that my friend Danny is very mechanically inclined and can fix all sorts of things that go wrong in my life (including clutch fans, windshield wiper motors and dodgy window motors).
He was able to remove the guts of the door knob so that I no longer have to rely on it, but what a strange feeling to only have a bolt slide and a chain to 'keep the outside world out'.
Of course, the promise the landlord made to replace the importants bits didn't go through, but at least, (thanks to Danny) it shuts and locks, and the strange world out there will stay out there.


oh yeah, my sanity too. Miss it desperately.

Thursday, September 01, 2005


Almost a 1000 people died while on a pilgrimmage in Baghdad the other day.
As they streamed over a bridge spanning the Tigris, panic ensued when word of a suicide bomber spread.

1000 people.
Stomped to death or pushed over the sides of the bridge to drown in the fast moving waters below.

At least 700 of the unfortunates were women and children.
The rest were most likely the old and infirm.

Every able bodied man for himself.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Tick tock, tick tock

Well, the DEATHCLOCK has indicated that I'll live to the ripe old age of 98.

Kim at has correctly pointed out that there are many things it doesn't take into consideration, not the least of which are health and diet.

And if you happen to spend your time bleeding around sharks, you can be sure that your clock will be sadly inaccurate.
(Thanks for pointing that out Kim. You never know when a gentle reminder will save lives.)
Also, it didn't even begin to consider the speeds at which I drive, though those are tales for another time.

So, I have a lot of minutes to live, really.
Given the fact that my fastest personal speed land record on public roads in a 'buy off the lot' vehicle is 260kmh * (that's 163mph, for my dear American readers.)

Which makes me wonder how it is that I'm sitting here, exactly.

* Don't try this at home, kiddies! The cops will stop you and point a gun at your head in a very unfriendly manner.

Dreams are such amazing things.

I had the best dream the other day...

I dreamt that I was traveling across a country with my wolf, and my raven.
(The country wasn't defined, it was some otherworld)

And as if that wasn't cool enough, I could SHAPE SHIFT into either form, at will!
First a wolf than raven than wolf than raven wolf raven wolf raven...I was making myself dizzy flipping back and forth!

NOT TO MENTION (and this was TRULY exciting), that if my wolf and raven were close by me, I could also shift into horse form to travel swiftly across the plains.

Sometimes you just don't want to wake up.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Two things...

First things first.

I added a whatchamacallit to the comments posting area 'cus frankly?
REALLY don't like the comment spam.
They'll just hunt you down and spam you anywhere won't they, even in the (relative) privacy of your own blog.
They'll be showing up in your bedroom next, pasting spam on your forehead while you sleep!

Well, as the great Monty Python skit goes...

Waitress: "We've got spam, spam, spam and eggs and spam. And spam.

Pepperpot: "BUT I DON'T LIKE SPAM!"

At least the vikings won't show up and sing!

I just received the coolest t-shirt I have seen since I found my "Dead people are cool" shirt.

I tried to scan it and post it, but...yeah, don't ask.

It's got picture of a little pirate on one side giving the finger and a little annoyed looking ninja on the other side and in the middle it says...


And ain't THAT just the truth!
Thanks Kris, you rock!

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Modern religion.

I'm currently reading Jon Krakauers', "Under the Banner of Heaven".
(He also wrote one of the most amazing books about an expedition up Mt. Everest that I have ever read. Really! Pick up "Into Thin Air." You won't be disappointed.)

Anyway, "Under the Banner of Heaven" looks at a horrifying murder of a young woman and her 15 month old baby girl in the name of God, in Salt Lake City at the hand of two fundamentalist Mormon brothers.
(side note: The Church of the Latter-Day Saints denies there is any such thing as a 'fundamentalist sect', and in fact generally refuses to acknowledge any association with them as Mormons at all.)

Krakauer not only reflects on the reasons given by the now convicted murderer for the slayings, he also looks long and hard at the history of the Mormon Church.

It's a horrible crime, but the historical portion of this work really is fascinating.

Prior to Salt Lake City being developed as the focal point for that community/religious base, Vancouver Island, Canada was considered as a destination for the much vilified and harried group as they made their exodus from Nauvoo, Illinois.
(Polygamy was the major cause of many of the hardships the 'fundamentalists' suffered. They believed that 'God's will' was for man to have many wives to bolster the population of the chosen people.
Seems most everyone else found the whole concept disgusting and 'against God's will'. Isn't it amazing how EVERYONE knows God's will so intimately?)

Our little Vancouver Island would have been a far different place had that been the case!

So far, it's held my interest.
I've never been a history buff, but it sets my mind to working on how a regular old 'Joe' (in this case, Joseph Smith in 1825) could wake up one day, write a little book about how an angel visited him and gave him some signs that he need to be the head of his own religious community, and people signed up!

These days, that type of thing is either called a cult or Scientology.

I suppose L. Ron Hubbard has done the same thing in our modern age, hasn't he?

Well, that's it.

Where's my pen and paper!?
Times a wastin'!

Monday, August 22, 2005

Humblest apologies!

Okay, alright, that last post was a lame kind of cop out, but honestly, I'm just TO BUSY!

So anyway, here's a few things that have been going on...

Uh, hmmm...saw a man with three (3) thumbs the other day.
It was growing from near the base of his other thumb. It wasn't very long, maybe half an inch.
Kind of instilled a queasy feeling in my stomach, but I'm not sure why.
I guess anomalies like that really strike at the psychological/instinctual fear trigger perhaps?
Logically, of course, I was able to consider things, but really, that weird feeling in the stomach wasn't entirely controllable.


My little cat FINALLY got her cast off...but her poor little leg is kind of gross now. She has to wear a cone for a few days to a week, lest she lick the cast wounds down to the bone.
(Yes, she already tried that, she licked it till it was bleeding and I was forced to replace it. She must wonder why I hate her so much that it requires torturing her. At least it'll be all over in a week!)


My momma's coming to visit this weekend!
I love my little mom, she's just the sweetest little thing really.
Kind, nice, and giggly to boot!
She'd make the BEST grandmother, I think.
But we'll never know for sure, for I don't plan on having any children any time soon.
(Well, honestly, I don't plan on it EVER.)
Poor mom, she'll just have to pamper old Bentley, I guess!


Speaking of Bentley, I think I'll have to haul him into the vets one of these days. He's arthritic in the back end, and while it's not causing him any obvious pain, I can tell it's affecting him.
He's never been a graceful cat, but he's having trouble jumping up on the bed and such things.
I wonder how much medication for that kind of thing costs.
More than I have, I'm sure!
Ah well, he's been a good cat for his whole life, so it's the least I can do, really.

And that's it!
See, I'm busy AND dull right now!

Friday, August 19, 2005

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

I tried to send a nice letter, but it didn't go through.


RE: Flying Spaghetti Monsterism

I have decided, though my family may wail and rend their garments, to become a Flying Spaghetti Monsterist.

I hope the great FSM (that's not considered bad form, is it?) will consider me a great disciple in long leather boots and a cutlass.
I'll carry whip if need be, but prefer a musket.
Give me a musket any day!

So, anyway.

You can find me at

I do pledge my allegiance etc etc...but as I'm Canadian, I also reserve the right to sit back for a few years and think about things.
I might reconsider, but I'll do it in the nicest possible Canadian / Pirate sort of way.

Cheers and Avast Ye!
Tai the semi-committed Canadian FSM'ist

Avast ye! And walk the plank, too! *

Since my youth, I knew that I wanted to be a pirate.

All I wanted was to swashbuckle!

But now I know that my desire to don big leather boots and wield a cutlass also has important religious and ecological ramifications too!

So thank you, oh great Flying Spaghetti Monster, and Ms. Bannerman at, for unearthing this extremely elucidating document for me!

(And YES, that's EXACTLY how I would have dressed had the job become available!)
But you know, what with the cut backs and lay offs, it's just not feasible these days! Though, truth be told...I still dress like that on occasion.
When the moon is full.
And when the black swell of the sea beckons. The very wind carrying the song of the distant sirens, calling, calling us to our rightful bounty, gold and gold and more GOLD.
They sing out to us over the vast space!
Until the enemy ships fill the horizon, bounding over the waves to block our path, and smell of gunpowder and blood fills the.....

where was I...?

Oh yes...
*click on this 'shiver me timbers' title to take you to one of the most important letters to the Kansas school board to date.

I wish I had a house to walk to at the end of this road....

....complete with a fire roaring in the sitting room, a cozy duvet to cuddle under and a big cup of tea.


Safe and sound.

That’s a strange how do you do.

I went for my traditional 'walk about' after work the other day, to gather food for dinner and had a rather strange thing happen.
(Well, I think it was strange…)

As I crossed the road, a car had stopped in the middle of the block. I suspected he was going to parallel park and skirted out of his way.
He looked straight at me and smile-nodded.

I continued on my merry way down the street a few more blocks, and lo, there he was again, but not in his car this time.

He was standing holding a very pretty looking little Siamese cat and seemed to be inspecting it.

He held it aloft in the air, turning it this way and that and when he saw me about to walk by, rushed over to me saying, “Look at this cat I just found!”
I stopped, polite as all ways, as he continued, “Yeah, I just got out of my car and it came running up to me.”

“Perhaps it’s this cat?” I pointed at a sign posted on the lamp post about a missing Siamese without a collar.
“Hm. This one has a collar though.” He slung the cat over his shoulder.

I wondered how a cat, and a Siamese in particular, would deign to allow itself to be flipped around so casually by a random stranger.

And then he asked me, “Do you live on Selkirk? I do. I think I saw you over there.”

Uh oh. I KNEW that was coming.
My creepy man senses started tingling instantly.

Then he pulled out his phone. “So. I should call?”

I started to walk away quickly, saying, “Good luck!”

Something about him....I just can't explain.

I continued along my way, stopping at the library, at the local farmers market and at the grocery store for my dinner.

And as I walked back through my neighbourhood, there he was again!

In almost the same place, sitting in his car.

With the cat standing on the head rest of the passenger seat.

Maybe it’s just me, but I just KNOW he was up to no good.

Years ago, in my youth, I would have been tempted to stand around, be concerned about the cat and try to help him locate the poor things owner.
I can't help but suspect that's exactly what he wanted.

Now that I’m old?

I know a “please help me little girl, help me” ploy when I see one.

Not to mention the fact that I’ve seen enough A&E specials on serial killer/stalker rapists to be instantly fearful.

Which is sad, I think.

But on the other hand, I am still alive.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Dry spell!

It's odd...for weeks on end I blog each day, (except for the weekends, of course, 'cus I'm out having WAY to much fun) and suddenly I find myself rather wordless.

Anyway, not much of great excitement has occured.
My car died and needed the alternator replaced. (That's 3 in as many years, if anyone is counting.)
Also, my clutch fan needs replacing, otherwise, it may completely detach and fling itself willly nilly through my radiator. Which would be bad.

So while I can little afford the hundred odd dollars it will cost to replace, I can even LESS afford the three hundred to four hundred dollars if it DOES go through my rad!

So, that's all the news fit to print.


Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Well, honestly Mr. Jackson!

Now, Samuel L, you and I really must talk.
This shameless show of flinging yourself at me really must stop!

First, you position yourself carefully where you're sure my girlfriend and I are going to walk.
Pretending to have a cigarette, you took the next bold step of inviting us up to your private soiree when we stopped to chat.

Nicely done, subtle, yet clearly an indication of your interest.

But now you've gone to far!

Throwing yourself at my doorstep is not neccessary.
Yes, I'm a charming, intelligent woman.
Yes, I am, frankly, beautiful.

But honestly, Sam, you don't need to film a movie on my doorstep to get me to notice you!
And having me move my car for those few days of filming, now that really takes the cake!

All you have to do is have your people call me on the telephone in an old fashioned kind of way.
(Obviously your people know where to find me now, they were laying in wait for me when I arrived home today!)

I might even say 'yes' to a coffee.


But nothing more, mind.
I'm not that kind of girl!

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Mr. Robertson Davies

Thanks Nish', your comment about Peter Jennings and Robertson Davies reminded me of my love of that Canadian author.

The first book I read of his, I read when I was 12..."The Rebel Angels".

I won't bore you with the details, as ones' great loves do not necessarily excite others.

Needless to say, though, it held me then, and continues too.

Every year I read it, I learn something new, I read something new, I see it in a new way.

As Robertson says:

"A truly great book should be read in youth, again in maturity and once more in old age, as a fine building should be seen by morning light, at noon and by moonlight."

I was working at a video store at the time of his death.

My boss knew of my love for Mr. Davies, as I had just purchased his latest (and last, unfortunately) book, "The Cunning Man", and was expounding on it whenever anyone would listen to me.
(Went they weren't choosing movies called "Police Academy 7", I mean.)

He came to me one day as I worked and took me aside to say, "That author that you like so much? I'm really sorry, but he died this morning."

The last sentence from his last book reads:

"No, this is the Great Theatre of Life. Admission is free but the taxation is mortal. You come when you can, and leave when you must. The show is continuous. Good night."

So I cried because he had no more words to write.
But I rejoiced for the ones that he did.

Monday, August 08, 2005

A tribute to Peter Jennings.

Please click on the title to take you to Crazy Aunt Purls inspiring website.

Peter Jennings has died due to lung cancer caused by smoking, and she remembers him fondly.

Thanks Peter Jennings for your contribution to this world , and thanks Laurie, for bringing to the forefront a fine Canadian.

Discussing the future of network news, and musing on who might replace Jennings as anchor, are to be expected, says CNN anchor Aaron Brown, a former ABC News anchor who considers himself a student of Jennings.

"But the story to me today is that the guy I really believe was the best anchorman ever born died much too soon, with so many stories he wanted to tell," Brown says. "I never knew anybody who so loved the work.

"He was that guy who lived and breathed it. He should have had another 10 years' worth of stories to tell."

And I didn't even mention this!

Having managed to drag myself away from the delightful company, music and food at 'Tuscany' on Bowen Island, BC, (see my last post about bliss...) I went to use their 'facilities'.

Not that interesting really, and probably something that you really don't need to be privy to, HOWEVER...

As I walked out of the washroom and back into the dining area, a women my age, who appeared to be waiting for the same said washroom, beamed a tremendous and beautiful smile at me as she touched me on the head and said,
"How lovely!"

I was wearing my skull and crossbones bandana at the time.

Needless to say, I remain delighted AND confused.


...when does anyone get to have a weekend this good?

It surprises even me, sometimes, at how much can be squeezed into 48 little hours, and still have time for sleep.

Friday night saw an evening of sake and sushi, at a fabulous little Japanese restaurant in posh Yaletown.
What goes better with a dreamy bit of sashimi?
Why, compliments of course!
Our waitress wanted to know, "Who did your eyes?"
Well, uh, I did...
"There just gorgeous! Whose eyeshadow do you use?"
...M.A.C. there are no other kienz!

Saturday morning saw me awake bright and early to have breakfast in the same swanky neighbourhood...mmmm blueberry pancakes.

A quick trip home for supplies, and I was back out the door and on my way to PLAYLAND!
Rides galore...the 'Hellavator', 'Hellsgate' (sounds rather like a theme going on there, doesn't it?) and my favorite, the 'Drop Zone'.
The Drop Zone involves you, in a bodybag-like contraption, (just in case something goes wrong?) being hoisted horizontally up 100 feet into the air and being released to glide out over the grounds of Playland in a graceful arch.
(My description may be inaccurate for some people...many of them screamed from start to finish, but for me, it was just like all of my flying dreams, and I loved it.)

But the best ride was saved for last.

After a quick bite to eat on Granville Island, a friend of a friend had a beautiful sailboat waiting to take us out to the bay to watch the fabulous "Festival of Lights", up close and personal.
It was grande finale night, and all the splendor of Canada, Sweden and China was out in perfect form.
The sky exploded in multiple-epiphanies of colour, amazing shapes and forms, colours seemed to hang in the sky for impossible lengths of time as more fireworks added more and more layers.
Oh, and I musn't forget the delicious wines that complimented the evening, and the clear, cloudless sky on a calm bed of water.
(Did I ever complain about the universe being unfair? Well, I take it ALL back!)

Sunday afternoon arrived, full of sun.
Now what?
What could possibly hold up to the day I had yesterday?

Well, how 'bout exploring on a little gulf island?

A 15 minute ferry ride to Bowen Island was just the thing.

It's a wealthy bohemian's dream, gorgeous houses with gorgeous vistas abound!
Expensive 'hippy' organic grocery stores that have the best of everything.
This little island even included a small group of musicians set in the park playing Irish jigs for free.

And I can't forget that wee Italian restaurant 'Tuscany'.
Outdoor seating under trees and grapevines, the smell of lavender drifting hazily through the warm air.
And Billie Holiday drowsing over the speakers in a long, soft dream of a song.
Not to mention the gorgonzola and sweet almond salad...

I won't even quibble that a bee stung me, or that my alternator went and I had to get my car towed.

All I can remember is the sashimi, the 'Drop Zone', the fireworks by boat, and being lulled under an arbour of green while eating one of the best examples of bruschetta I've had since I was in Italy.

Si, la dolce vita.