um...Pardon?

“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.

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.

Two last post errors.

Just in case anyone ELSE noticed...

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

AND

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

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?

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.)

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....)

Grumpiness

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!)

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!!

YARRRRR!!
And a bottle of rum, too!

CREMATION, INTERMENT AND FUNERAL SERVICES ACT

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!

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.

Snake

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.

Missing something.

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

One girlfriend, and the VERY talented writer of www.pol-loves.blogspot.com, 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 www.bathtubspider.blogspot.com, 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.
Yaaaaaay.
"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.

Baghdad

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.

Tick tock, tick tock

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

Kim at www.kbannerman.com 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.

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!

And SECONDLY,
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.

ANYWAY,
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...

"PIRATES ARE WAY COOLER THAN NINJAS."


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

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'!

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!
Hurray!
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!

I see and will obey.

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

TO: bobby.henderson@gmail.com

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 delusionoftai.blogspot.com.

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.

Really.
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 www.kbannerman.com, for unearthing this extremely elucidating document for me!

Yaaarrrr!!
(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.

mmmmmmm

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.

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.

Whee!

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!

Really!
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.

Maybe.

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

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.

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.

Bliss.

...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.

Grazie.

Isn't it amazing?

Dancing statue

A statue of the Virgin Mary has reportedly "become flesh" and started to dance.

Over 40,000 catholics are on their way to St Peter's church at Acerra, near Naples to have a closer look.

Witnesses say that the 5ft white marble statue stretched out her arms and moved her legs reports the Daily Express.

Domenico Di Gennaro said: "I saw the statue move without doubt. The legs and the arms were clearly moving and my wife saw it as well. Some people who had phones photographed it."

The parish priest said the church was closed so that tests could be carried out on the statue.

-----------

That story just astonishes me.

I mean...telephones that can TAKE PICTURES!?!
It wasn't that long ago that telephones in houses were rare, and now they can photograph things.

I can't wait till they start doing housework, too.

Oh, and that other thing is kinda weird too, but after all the religious toast out there, one grows rather used to it.

And now, I interrupt your regularly scheduled program.

Well, just in case I've not entirely established myself as a 'nerd fantastique'* in your minds, I've just been watching a very interesting show on KCTS (you know, that 'edd-you-case-yoonal' television station?)

Yeah.

It's a reality OPERA show.

uh huh.

20 or so people get together and compete to be part of the English National Opera.

It's so exciting!
To bad it's only one episode of congenial, nice people singing their hearts out for the chance at a dream, instead of a bunch of bitchy people in a whole prolonged, nail biting and agonizing series of sex, anxiety and back stabbing cruelty for some cash.

(Come to think of it, there's enough of that kind of angst in real life, why would you WANT to spend an hour of your life each night watching it on tv?)

I guess some one is making money on reality shows somewhere! **







* I don't know what that means exactly. A fantastic nerd? A nerd of fantasy? You pick, I'm sure you'll make the right choice.


** Well, no one is making money on reality Opera shows...I mean, who wants to see THAT, anyway?
And hell, I just watch it to be peculiar!
(Okay, okay. So I secretly enjoy it. So some of the arias make me cry. Just don't spread it around!)

Now THIS is an ugly ol' cat!

See?
Bentley is MUCH more handsome compared to this cat!

Well, I mean....obviously you can't tell that from the LAST picture...

He had just woken up, or some one had just punched him or something. (no, I didn't punch him, geeesh!!)

Anyway.

My other cat is cute.

My dear old cat Bentley.

Hmmm.
Must have caught him at a bad time.

He's generally much more handsome and much less...demented looking.

You learn something new everyday.

Well, you're supposed to learn something new everyday, but it doesn't always work that way.

Yesterday, though, I DID learn something new.
Something that I suspect not a lot of people are aware of.

This information came to me by way of a VERY reputable source...a button on the ground that Nisha found.

I learned about the Passions of the Christ, which are, apparently, (and possibly not limited to) the following:

1) knitting

2) Hummel figurines

and last, but definately NOT least...

3) black velvet paintings

I'm not sure what to do with my new found knowledge.
I suspect sharing it is the best thing to do, thus I present it to all of you fine people.

Pass it on.
Black Velvet Paintings.

Who knew!?!

You saw it here first, folks!

Yes indeedy, the birth of a BRAND NEW WORD.

Some of you may have noticed something...odd about my last blog.(I know who you are. You can't hide.)
You may have noticed that I tossed a rather...unusual word in very casually about half way through.

Officially Introducing:

SUBVERTIVE!!!

There.

I understand that most reputable dictionaries do NOT recognize my word at all, but I'd like to say here and now, they'll be jumping on the 'subvertive' band wagon soon.

Furtive + subversive = SUBVERTIVE!!

Ain't it gorgeous!?!

I'm so proud.

Gnomes and trends.

Mystery of missing garden gnomes puzzling
By The Associated Press | July 19, 2005

GREELEY, Colo. --The mystery of the missing garden gnomes may prove harder to solve after all.
Police found about 80 of the pint-sized figurines stashed in black plastic bags and surrounded by youngsters on Saturday, but investigators don't think the children stole them.
In fact, Sgt. Dave Adams said the children most likely found them, so it's back to square one.
Adams said police will call people who reported their gnomes stolen to come identify the decorative yard items.
Elsie Schnorr, who had 30 gnomes stolen from her front lawn more than a month ago, will be among the first to retrieve her property.
"I could identify every one of them. My name isn't on them, but I know which ones are mine. Most of mine are one-of-kind," she said.

First of all, may I just say ....

30 GNOMES IN ONE YARD!!??!!

okay, that being said---

This little episode proves my friends and I were TREND SETTERS, I tell ya...TREND SETTERS!!!

As children, we, too, experimented with Gnomes.
(okay, we weren't exactly CHILDREN, but that's beside the point...in fact, well...nevermind about that.)
So anyway, we had a habit of visiting a certain house, in the dead of night, and rearranging their multiple gnomes.

Generally, we would arrange them on the doorstep...staring alarmingly into the house...we liked to think it looked as if the gnomes were stopped just short of a major insurrection by the breaking of the dawn, but it probably just looked kind of silly.

We returned to the same house several times, and did more subvertive rearranging, but stopped eventually, as it was no fun not being able to see the inhabitants faces as they rose in the morning to see a horde of gnomes threatening their homestead.

Well, I guess they weren't that threatening...with their cute little hoes and buckets, but imagine if they were 30 feet tall!?
30 feet tall, grinning their weird maniac grins.

Now that would be scary.

Oh yes.

This just in! EXTREME ACCOUNTING!

Extreme accounting is the latest - and unlikeliest - adrenaline sport.

Accountants visit challenging locations like mountain tops, seabeds, caves and rollercoasters.
Inspired by the "extreme ironing craze", (this really DOES exist) they take their paperwork with them, reports the Sun.

South African Keet Van Zyl is the sport's reigning champion.
(I'd like to know what he did to deserve the title...did he set himself on fire while adding up two tax returns at the same time?)

A spokesman for the Chartered Institute of Management Accounting said: "It's a phenomenon that pushes accountants to their limits - and beyond."

Oh and what, helping people evade their taxes isn't thrilling enough, it has to be done hanging naked over a croc pit?

Don't accountants get enough excitement tieing their own shoes?

Jeffye? Any thoughts?

A nice restaurant = disappointment

I took myself out for lunch the other day, to a restaurant I’d been wanting to try for some time.
“Provence”, it was called.

I waltzed in and was taken to a very nice seat by the window and waited to order a drink.
And waited.
And waited.


(still waiting…)

FINALLY, the waiter came by and took my drink and lunch order.
“I’ll have a cold beer and the cannelloni, please.”
“Yes ma’am.” He took off towards the back.

What? Did I say cannelloni?? Why did I do that!?
I actually wanted the ravioli.
Drat.

The restaurant was very nice.
Small and elegant…taupe walls, accented by long, heavy and elegant drapery in a darker chocolate brown held back from the wood encased floor to ceiling french windows with gold ties.
While the view was only of a street, the restaurant had put in a raised outside patio and sumptuous amounts of flowers and trailing greens to detract from the less than ideal view.

They were playing a slightly overdone version of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, which I love, but it has been pla...

“YEAH, so like, I said to the guy, give him a head butt, man! That’ll take care of him!”

A man’s voice rang out over the carefully selected background music with an apparent word to the wise.

What the HELL was that?

Looking around surprised, I could see a young waiter titillating his feminine co-worker with tales of virility.

Which, you know, obviously went very well with the calm décor and carefully chosen wall hangings.

“’Cus you know, if there’s going to blood spilt, you don’t want it to be yours.”

Uh huh.
Thanks for that.
That little old woman sipping tea in the corner will be sure to know exactly what to do the next time she's in the ring with the 'Undertaker' (which may come in handy for her sooner than later, judging by her frail appearance.)

Another waiter circled the empty dining room with a great, gawping open mouthed yawn, giving me pause to reflect on how proud I am of the excellent dental service afforded to all Canadian citizens.

Oh look, here comes my tomato based cannelloni and a side salad.

I had to wonder what the side salad did to deserve its’ sad fate, however.
Poor, poor salad.
What did those innocuous little greens do to deserve death by drowning in a balsamic dressing?

It wouldn’t be fair to judge the cannelloni, as I’ve never been a big fan, but I guess it was okay.
The pasta was al dente, the tomato sauce fresh and the melted cheese good.

Despite the palatability of the cannelloni, a head butt may have been a better overall experience.

And here's why.
I’m a customer that enjoys service at my finger tips.
I like it when my waiter comes to me and asks how I am, if I need anything, if I’m done with my cannelloni and would like to get it wrapped.

I enjoy being doted on.

There was no fear of that, however, in this empty little restaurant.

I was put in a corner and pretty much left to fend for myself against gaping jaws, bad manners, and a violent sounding waiter.
And it looked as if I would have to wrap my own lunch, too.

And no…I didn’t take the salad…it was WAY past resuscitation, thank you very much.

But oh my, weren’t they quick as bunnies with the bill!

I was left to question if I did offend somehow, the poor service, the average food slapped down in front of me, a bill brought to quickly...and then I reconsidered...they'd all been exposed to one to many headbutts.

This work thing is interrupting PRIME blogging time.

I knew that was going to happen!
Ah well, I promise to blog as often as I can, and as well as I can.

Luckily, nothing of interest has occurred this week, so I don't feel as if I'm leaving you, gentle reader, out in the dark on my (at the moment) less than fascinating life!

Oh, I just forgot!
I did go to the Vancouver Art Gallery last night, to see the Rodin exhibit.

I saw some of his works at the Musee Rodin in Paris a few years ago, but unfortunately, the employees were on strike while I was there, and the museum was closed.
I got to see very little besides the gardens and some of the statues on permanent display there.
The gardens were beautiful, as was the exterior of the Hotel Biron, but I could little more than press my nose up against the glass in a vain attempt to see the wonders inside.

I was very glad that the Gallery had a presentation of his works, as Rodin is a wonder.

His sculptures stand effortlessly in space, the delicate ones looking so airy and light that any moment they may be whisked away by the slightest breeze.
His more forceful statues takes up room in a fierce, concentrated energy...there is no mistaking the intent.

Here's a good, accurate quote...
"His great individual figures and best monuments reveal a depth of feeling for humanity and a nobility of thought that place them among the finest works of European sculpture."

Michelangelo had marble, but Rodin has bronze.
And it's wonderful.

And with a single 'crack' of the whip...

....work is back to full GO!
So, if you wonder what's happened to me, that would be it.

Unfortunately.

Oh, remember I mentioned stupid idiot boy crashed his Ferrari a while back?
Well, he's done it again, but this time he's managed to write off his BMW Z8.

Maybe some one should take all his toys away until he learns how to play nice.

P.S. (an addendum to the weekend.)

I narrowly managed to avoid purchasing my very own copy of :

"Hamlet, the Revised Klingon Editon"

So if you want a copy, it's out there folks, for the low low price of $39.95.

Also available:

For five monthly installments of $49 each, you can get "The Official Klingon d’k tahg Crystal Edition," which is "the awesome weapon of the Klingon warrior" from "Star Trek."
This would be used, presumably, to stab people who call you a hopeless geek.
(It would also come in handy to defend your Klingon copy of Hamlet from bullies who want to mindlessly shred it into very tiny, tiny pieces.)

You'd better hurry, I'm seriously reconsidering my intial reaction of pure horror to it, and may going running back to buy all of them.

Please. Hurry.

Busy busy busy weekend!

Ah, what better way to spend a sunny weekend (the first in a long while, here in Vancouver!) than with dear friends, good food, Shakespeare on a beach and sangria at a Flamenco show?
I'll tell you...
NOTHING could be better!

All of my girlfriends get together once a year to celebrate our collective 'UN' Birthday...we don't buy each other presents, instead we meet at one destination once a year to celebrate our friendship with our 'presence'.

So, the first trip to the ferry Friday evening, and then off to coffee. Unfortunately, that little trip saw us wading through hordes of little wizard wannabees as they waited in cranky, over tired, hyperactive lines for the newest Harry Potter book.

Saturday, a delicious breakfast at a wee English pub ("please, no black and white pudding!)
(I've never had black pudding before, but according to 'Vanne, (who is capable of painting evocative paintings with just a few words), it's rather like eating a scab.)

Another quick trip to the ferry, and another dear friend is added to the mix Saturday afternoon.
A bus trip to the beach to see 'Rozencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead' was hot and sweaty, but soooo worth it.
(http://www.bardonthebeach.org/2005.html)
What a GREAT play...the quality of dialog left not a minute that was not entertaining...thanks Tom Stoppard...I love that play!

A quick bus trip home, to make ready for a night on the town!
Dinner at a fabulous restaurant, replete with fine wine, and a courtesy visit by the chef...then a jaunt across the street to watch some fiery and splendid Flamenco dancers moving across the small stage with authority and passion.

And then Sunday, a fine breakfast with more friends, then a cab ride BACK to the beach to take in a fine day under the main tent to see 'As You Like It'.
And thanks to you, William, for such delightful, thought provoking plays.
"All the world's a stage..."

I can't think of a more splendid weekend!
Thanks to my dear friends, for making it so sweet!
(with an extra nod of thanks to Nish', for soldiering through it all as well as she did...don't worry, you'll be fine by the time the UN-Christmas rolls around!)

Thank the Gods! Praise be!

FINALLY!
They've gotten around to inventing an 82" t.v.
The people who've been forced to try to get by with 62" and 72" inch TVs will see some relief.

I just can't imagine how, as a race, we've survived so long.

Thank you Samsung.
We can all rest easier at night knowing that you are there...striving to make this world a better place.

HAHAHAHAHAHOOHAHAHA!!!

*sniff* **SNORT**

AHaAHAHAHAHA!!!

Ooooh, man...that picture just makes me howl!

Mr. T.

THE A-TEAM!!

I wasn't allowed to watch it as a youth...to much violence.

Interestingly, despite the multitude of car crashes, explosions and gratuitious acts of random destruction, no one ever died.

Come to think of it, the bad guys could roll their car up and down several hills, fly upside down over a bridge, have it burst in to flames for no apparent reason, get hit by a well timed train, and then fall off a cliff, and they would still manage to escape their now crushed, smoldering, demolished vehicle without even a limp to show for all their efforts.
Truly inspiring!

So anyway, I wasn't allowed to watch it due to the amount of violence, but beyond that, I'm not entirely sure what my dad thought...I really wasn't foolish enough to think I could do those things.

Oh, don't get me wrong.
I tried and tried to emulate my heros antics (not to mention their shenanigans), but I just never got the flame thing quite right.
I could spin out and burn rubber, do three sixties down dark winding roads with deep water-filled ditches on either side, and my smoke shows were the stuff of legend, but alas, no flames. *

Though in retrospect, I suppose that was a good thing.



*but maybe I just wasn't trying hard enough...maybe now that I'm older and more experienced with cars and fire, and with a little more practice...

...hey 'Vanne, wanna go for a car ride?

I didn't know that 'glass-gazing' was a bad thing...

I’m such a lucky girl!
First Danny gives me a fine Italian phrase book from the Lonely Planet.
(Yes, 'Vanne, it includes ALL the ‘indelicate’ terms.
*nudge nudge* *wink wink*
I'll be cursing up an Italian storm, believe you me!)

Oh, I do love my phrase book…it’s so VERY informative…molto grazie Danny!

Mi sento fortunatissima!

And then…
Another great bequeathing!

Another book!!

And not just ANY book, but a timely and perfectly given book.
“Shakespeares’s Insults: Educating Your Wit”

Oh, many, many thanks Chris…and the inscription…so eloquent!

May I quote you?
Yes, I believe I will.
“Knowledge is idle when trapped on a bookshelf.”
Oh, yes, you’re are ever so correct, and your gift ever so appreciated!

And here’s a fine insult from “As You Like It”:

“I do frown on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.”

Ah, I love insults that have real bite to them.
None of this, "You suck" here, oh no, this has depth and sting...

"You are a knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical rouge; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good sevice, and are nothing but the compostion of a knave, beggar, coward, pander and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deni'st the least syllable of thy addition!"

Ouch.

Please, don't ask, just smile politely and walk away quickly.

adopt your own virtual pet!

Glad I was wrong about that!

I went for Thai food the other day.
LOVE Thai food.
The hotter the better.

They got one of the orders wrong, not a big deal really, but they felt that they should offer us a free dessert to make up for their outrageous error.

It came out...a small dish of easily recognizable ice cream and...what IS that??

A small brown lump of something deep fried.

A FISH STICK!?!
I'd never had ice cream with a fish stick before.

With great trepidation, I took a nibble and ascertained quickly that it WASN'T fish (though they might want to change their frying oil soon), but I still couldn't figure it out.

Another small bite...BANANA!
Weird.

Deep fried banana.
It wasn't great, but I'm REALLY glad it wasn't a fish stick.

Once I settle in, I'll invite everyone over. Should be any day now.

A nice little to place to call home in Tuscany is SUCH a necessity, don't you agree?

Oh, to travel again.

My travel bug is starving and complaining bitterly.
It's partially my fault, I've been reading travel memoirs about France and Italy, feeding the bug even more, but not enough to satisfy it.
I really can not WAIT to go back to Europe.
My first few trips were so fabulous and exciting...I want to go back with more understanding and more language and more specific quests.

In France I want to spend more time in the small, small towns, investigating every nook and cranny.
In Italy I want to spend more time eating, and enjoying the foods each area has to offer...you know, Parmesan from Parma, roma tomatoes from Rome...you get the drift, right?
Oh, to go again and be able to speak a little more of the languages...to know more about the wines...

The first time I went, it was with Vanne to the British Isles.
She had everything very nicley organized.
I didn't have to worry 'bout anything except for sleeping, and believe me, I worried about that A LOT!
The second time I went, it was on a whim...on a lark and all by myself!
I knew general things about France and Italy, and muddled through happily, but I know now that I missed a lot of things due to sheer ignorance (you realize, of course, I'm using that word in it's grammatically correct form, and not calling my self a stupid head, right?)

With luck (and some of Vannes' planning), I will be returning to my beloved Italia in a few years with my best friends, and what a joy that will be!
Traveling alone was great, and I'd do it again in a heart beat, but I'm really looking forward to being with my best friends to enjoy it.
As I've been to Rome before, it'll be a delight to watch 'Pol and Nisha's faces experiencing all those things for the first time.
And whatever Italian I fail to learn, I trust 'Vanne to pick up the slack!
You will, right?
uh...per favore?
Si?

I mean, lets consider for a moment shall we?
The only thing I can be trusted to say reliably in Italian is,"Vorrei dieci commemorativi francobolli, per favore."
And frankly, the thought of me running around Italy shouting at the natives, "I would like 10 commemortive stamps, please!" is distrubing.
First of all, it's a flat out lie, and secondly, it just doesn't get me any delicious food and wine, now does it?

Sono pazza, non?

Right back at ya, boys!

Ever hear the old saying, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

Well, here's your comeuppance guys, and about time, too...

Shout it LOUD AND PROUD LADIES!

"You don't buy the whole pig just to get a little sausage!"

Yowza!

Mos*qui*to = A dark minion fresh from the dankest levels of hell.

MOSQUITO
Main Entry: mos•qui•to
Pronunciation: m&-'skE-(")tO
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural -toes also -tos
Etymology: Spanish, diminutive of mosca fly, from Latin musca -- more at MIDGE
: any of a family (Culicidae) of dipteran flies with females that have a set of slender organs in the proboscis adapted to puncture the skin of animals and to suck their blood and that are in some cases vectors of serious diseases

TORTURE
Main Entry: 1tor•ture
Pronunciation: 'tor-ch&r
Function: noun
Etymology: French, from Late Latin tortura, from Latin tortus, past participle of torquEre to twist; probably akin to Old High German drAhsil turner, Greek atraktos spindle
1 a : anguish of body or mind : AGONY b : something that causes agony or pain
2 : the infliction of intense pain (as from burning, crushing, or wounding) to punish, coerce, or afford sadistic pleasure

HELL
Main Entry: hell
Pronunciation: 'hel
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English; akin to Old English helan to conceal, Old High German helan, Latin celare, Greek kalyptein
1 a (1) : a nether world in which the dead continue to exist : HADES (2) : the nether realm of the devil and the demons in which the damned suffer everlasting punishment -- often used in curses or as a generalized term of abuse b Christian Science : ERROR 2b, SIN
2 a : a place or state of misery, torment, or wickedness b : a place or state of turmoil or destruction


MOSQUITO TORTURE HELL

So, anyone gleaming what the general topic of today’s blog is going to be from the above entries?

If you guessed unmitigated mental (and physical) anguish in the deep dark corners of the night, you’d be correct!

Lucifer himself decreed that I should lie awake in endless torment, awaiting the whining, soul destroying 'zzzzzzzzttttt' that announces a host of mosquitoes set to converge on my poor, prone sleepy body and bleed me dry.

I was sound asleep last night, when I awoke with a start; something hurt!
Something on my body was burning and insanely itchy.
OH, it’s my entire right arm and left kneecap.
DRAT! There’s a horde of mosquitoes in my room!

“OH PLEASE PLEASE,” I begged out loud to the enveloping dark, tears streaming down my face in fervent supplication...my hands clasped at my chest in an age old gesture of humble and earnest entreaty *, “Please leave me be...look yonder,” I pointed at the prostrate body of my sleeping cat, “Take him. I have to work tomorrow!”

(At this point, I have to admit to a certain amount of guilt about that whole 'offering up of the cat' part.
But before you judge me too harshly, consider the considerable misery and torment that must have induced me to offer, as sacrifice, my cat to the demanding and vicious mosquito god...but he’s a right bastard! I had no choice! And I was tired and oh so itchy.)

That incident takes me back to the time I was riding a beautiful white horse across the plains of the Camargue in Provence.
I think it was lovely. I mean, I’m pretty sure it was.

The wild black bulls, the amazing and startlingly pink flamingos and vast green wetlands, all would have been a wonderful thing to see as I rode along that memorable day.

Unfortunately, the many flocks of MOSQUITOES that also grace the rough and rugged beauty of the Camargue got in my way.
All I could see was a great, black swarm of the blood thirsty agents of Beelzebub coming to carry me away to their pestilent leader.
The travel agents certainly didn’t mention THEM in their pamphlets, now did they!!

In short, I wage a daily battle against that wee terror.

I fight valiantly though, killing as many as I can with wild abandon.
I do, despite the knowledge that it's a war I'm destined to lose.






*oh, I do go on so, don't I!

We're thinking of you London...

Know that you've got a place in all of our hearts now and in the future...
May your wounds heal quickly, though the scars remain.

A small portion from "The Cloud"

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die,
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.

--Percy Bysshe Shelley

Speaking of sucking chest wounds...* (and more blathering)

...I was driving to work this morning, in the slower lane of the double lane highway, when a dark flash ran out across the path of the 5 ton UPS truck in front of me.
"Oh no..." I gasped as my stomach raced to my throat.
I slowed my car and waited to hear the screech of tires and to see the UPS truck twisting in effort to avoid hitting the crazed man who ran out in front of him.
I scanned the space ahead to look for a place to pull over to offer what ever aid I might, but realized suddenly that there would be very little I good do against a sucking chest wound.
Then I realized...there was no wail of brakes, or slow motion crushing of soft flesh against unforgiving metal...
Ah, it was merely a person on a moped cutting in front of the truck to take the turn off.
My eyes deceived me.
I was sure it was a person, dodging traffic to get across the road, I was sure that I was going to be witness to a death this morning.
And then I remembered the feeling of zero at the bone...Ms Emily Dickinson wrote that in reference to seeing a snake slid out from the underbrush, but that feeling of all the blood in your veins turning to ice was never better described.

-----------------------------------------------------

I had a dream last night that Dana Scully (X-Files) and I, were investigating a small town where many of the people had developed a zombie-like presence which ended in a complete disintegration of flesh and, as one would expect after that, death.
We had ascertained that it was an airborne viral problem that was extremely infectious.
The initial symptoms began with general moodiness and unfocused rage, and then progressed as described above.
As we had identified the problem, the next thing to be done was to get the hell out before we, too, were infected.
BUT, of course, Ms Scully started getting grumpy so I had to leave her behind.

I know, not much of a climax.

-----------------------------------------------------

My favorite ‘bumper sticker’

“Witches parking only.
All others will be toad”

-----------------------------------------------------

My little cat Attessa is doing well with her wee purple cast.
She thumps around authoritatively, smacking Bentley as she goes.
Actually, she’s very good with it, leaving it alone, no licking or biting at it, she’s been very calm through the whole process.
The cast is coming off on the 18th of this month. It will be interesting to see her adjustment to a leg without a cast on.
But, she’s been taking it all in stride (…) so I doubt it’ll be more than a day or so before she’s perfectly re-adjusted to her old self!
Look out Bentley!

And blah blah blah…

(it’s getting worse, isn’t it?)

Signing off and begging your patience,
Tai the Absurd.






* thanks Spider Girl (http://www.bathtubspider.blogspot.com/)...the image has burned itself into my brain, and I just can't shake it!

Ubiquitous.

This post will contain certain amounts of randomness and some sheer pointlessness as well.
And just so you know, so there's no mistake, there will be absolutely no rhyme or reason to it, no structure, and no obvious time line to follow.

----------------------------------------

I saw a man the other day, possessed of the most astounding collection of ear hair I have ever seen, or ever hope to (never) see again.
The exterior of his ear, (the round part just above the ear lobe) was thick with a cactus-like growth of black prickles sprouting densely outward, seeking the sun.
Then, there were the long, curly tendrils of inner-ear hair, bushy and circling around the dark hole leading to his brain.

It was a veritable pelt! His ear (I only saw the one) was truly hirsute!

I paused in my reflection of this astounding collection of furze, to wonder if some of those hairs could grow long enough to spiral in around his brain stem and do some serious damage.
He didn’t seen to notice my astonishment and revulsion, but then, the jazz music we were listening was very good.

----------------------------------------

I’ve become very talented at paper shuffling since Vancouver is currently experiencing a trucking strike.
My job is dependent on container shipping, as no containers are being moved due to no trucks driving them to our facility, I have very little to do.
Well, you might say, you could clean and file and update records.
Uh…no.
You see, when I actually do have something to do, I’m very efficient at it, so I’m not behind.
Ah, but your co-workers, you press on.
They’re in the same boat, so to speak.
Thus, I blog and blog with relative impunity.
And I am happy.
I can’t actually LEAVE for the day, anyway.
But that isn’t so bad, the weather here in Vancouver has been dodgy at best (it’s only July, after all), so I'm better off at my desk, warm and dry and happily blogging.

----------------------------------------

I cleaned my apartment yesterday, not quite from top to bottom, but as close as I ever get to it.
I cranked up some old school Arrowsmith (I know, I know, even their modern stuff is already ‘old school’) and rocked out to “Dude Looks Like a Lady” while scrubbing my toilet.

I wonder what the neighbours think when I do that?
Normally I’m an extremely quiet person, listening sedately to chamber music whilst making a healthy dinner for myself to enjoy while watching documentaries I’ve rented from the library.
(OMG. It’s true! I really DO do that. Oh, what you must think of me!
Oh well, at least I don’t also have several cats that curl around my legs while I eat my dinner at the coffee ta... NEVERMIND!)

----------------------------------------

UBIQUITOUS.
It’s a word that just doesn’t get used enough in everyday conversation.
Really.
It ought to be used till it, too, is ubiquitous.

----------------------------------------

AND...I have nothing else to say at this time.
Stay tuned!
If this strike doesn’t end soon, you may see more of this random gibberish by yours truly.

Signing off now before it gets really bad,
Tai the Inane

Loooong weekend.

It seems that this was a very looong weekend indeed.

Friday was our 'Canada Day' holiday, which of course means a glorious day off from work!
I did so much this weekend, but it's all kind of melting itself into a big pool of stuff in my head...
Hmmm, let me ponder for a moment.

My weekend involved (to varying degrees) sushi, jazz, Samuel L. Jackson, oysters (raw AND cooked), a pregnancy (not mine...Congrats again, Nish'!), Chinese fusion food, police, Italian lessons, car towing, the 'Mermaid Room', a missed lunch with a friend, (sorry Deb!), and the Vancouver Public Library.

whew...no wonder I'm so tired today!
This work thing is getting in the way of my social life!
Hope all you good blog readers had a lovely Canada Day, and to those American neighbors of ours, have a nice 'Independence Day' celebration...watch out for those pesky space ships.

Holiday! HUZZAH!

Well, I'm off for a few days...I've got somethings to celebrate, so I thought I'd do it by going home to lovely Vancouver Island, BC.

Things to celebrate include:

My BIRTHDAY (just passed) 33 years on this planet...not bad considering I thought I'd be expired by 26.

BUT BEST OF ALL...

It's been officially 1 YEAR TODAY that I QUIT SMOKING!!!

And believe me, that's something to CELEBRATE!
It was a bit of a struggle at first (as one would expect), but now, it's smoooth sailing!

YAY ME!

So, if work isn't to chaotic when I return on Wednesday, I'll blog away, but don't get your hopes up...my desk reverts to a natural state of disorganization the minute I leave it alone for more than 3 hours.
Ugh.

Now HERE'S a thought...

"The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek."
~ Joseph Campbell

I love Joseph Campbell. He was, indeed, a truly wise man.

Now, let's consider closely that idea.
Interestingly, the treasure that he's speaking about may be, simply, the overcoming of your fear in the first place!

How lovely!

Now, while my fears aren't many, the ones I have are big deep black caves, designed to swallow little girls like me up, never to be seen again!

What do I fear?
I fear to say!
Amongst friends, I'm generally considered fearless...

Well, I guess that, in and of itself is a fear, isn't it?

I fear people seeing me as less than in control and in charge.
You know, the vulnerable, wimpy side of me.
Admitting it is half the battle right?
I guess now I just have to cry in front of someone to get 'the treasure I seek.' Or tissue, as the case may be!

Okay, that's one down.

NEXT!

Uh, on second thought, that's enough for today.
Anything more is too scary.

Honest! I haven't fallen off the face of the earth!

But you want to know what I HAVE been doing?

I've been reading so many other peoples blogs it's starting to make my head swim a bit, and that's the LAST thing I really need!

There are SO many good blogs out there, so many interesting people with interesting lives and thoughtful things to say about the world.

BUT I found a site that's a little creepy...I read some of it, and boy, did I ever feel like I needed to take a shower afterwards.

Here, I'll share:

http://notproud.com/

Go.
Read.
Feel dark and confused and muzzy from what goes on in peoples heads out in this big old world.

It's already weird enough as it is!

I was going to retell the tale of Lot here.

You know, the one about the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah and bad, bad Lots' wife who turned into a pillar of salt 'cus she wouldn't listen to her husband, but the story is awful enough on it's own with out requiring much adjustment.
Let's look at it for a moment, shall we?

God doesn't care much for homosexuality, which apparently the lovely cities S&G are replete with.
So he sends some angels down to check it out, and hang with Lot while they suss the place out.
While the angels are there, some of the village men want to rape them.

Well! Lot won't have anything to do with that, no sir!
Instead, like a good host, he offers up his virginal daughters to the mob of men for use and abuse.

Oh, but wait, it just gets better from here!

So anyway, the angels prevent the rape of Lot's daughters from happening, but they tell Lot to scram out of the city, 'cus god is going to do what he does best...smote smote smote and smote some more!!

No one believes Lot except for his two daughters and his wife, so they high tail it for the hills...everything is going well except Lots' wife turns back (of course), and is immediately turned into a pillar of salt.

(Why a pillar of salt? I don't know. What could the reasoning possibly be?)
So anyway, she's suddenly (and conveniently, I might add) out of the picture.

Eventually Lot and kids make it to a cave and hide out there.
With lots of wine.
Lots and lots of wine.

Note to self:
When fleeing from god's smoting, don't forget to take the wine!

The girls get bored, so they come up with a cunning plan.
As they are the only females left on the face of the planet, they really need to get started repopulating the world, right?
Yeah, that's what they thought.
So.
This is what they do.

The first night, they get dad REALLY drunk. Then one of them has sex with him.
Lots' a lush, so he doesn't remember being a victim of incestuous rape the night before.

Day two.
Get dad drunk again, so second daughter gets a go! Wheee!
And then they both have sons who go on to become famous and influential leaders, (presumably they were able to hide the webbed feet and extra teeth.)


Moral of the story:

Wine will help you save the world as long as your not gay.
Anything is better than gay, even incest.
And rape is fine, as long as the parties are different sexes.
And moral decrepitude is generally permissible (without the gayness, of course.)

Buon compleanno a me!

And many happy returns to me, too!

Apologies to those of you who wait in eager anticipation of my blog being updated regularly, I've been laid low by lethargy and anemia.
(And for the rest of you, I apologize for my suddenly enlarged ego!)
I think age will do that to you though (enlarge the ego that is)...after a certain point in time, you give up on false modesty and insecurities and just BE.

Really though, I haven't done any deep reflecting on my birthday or aging at all.

I LIKE birthdays, and enjoy the well wishes that come my way, but I pay no nevermind to the bit about getting older.

And anyway...I'm not getting OLDER, I'm getting BETTER!!! And I firmly believe that.

Speaking of birthdays...a hardy welcome to:

http://www.bathtubspider.blogspot.com/
Many congratulations on a brand new baby blog!

OH!
I cut my hair SHORT (and upon doing so my hair suddenly, and with great gusto, went VERY curly.)
I colored it as well, and now (according to a friend) I resemble Goldilocks' evil sister.
Black ringlets instead of blond.
Somehow it seems appropriate.

Oh BOY! Infinitive verbs!

I’ve decided to take up learning Italian as a hobby.
I need a good hobby besides reading, because while reading is fabulous, it’s a passive type of self education.

Instead, I’ll be actively learning something, which will prevent my brain from atrophying and oozing out my ears in a disagreeable manner.

I am amazed that at one point, I actually got REALLY excited about verb usage. (I’m not kidding…honestly, I leapt up and grabbed my workbook to make notes. Yes. I have a workbook.)

Generally, I'm really rather hostile to that kind of thing.

Through school I was the kid that was staring off into space imaging what my pirate ship would look like, and how many long haired cabin boys I would have.
(Hey, it WAS the eighties. Jon Bon Jovi ROCKED! I would have had him on my ship. Not now though, his hair is to short and he's cleaned up his act. Won't do at all. I've heard that Tommy Lee is free though, and as I too, hail from the Comox Valley as does Ms. Anderson, do you think...ew. Never mind.)

The teacher struggled (in vain of course) to get some French past participles lodged in my skull…but I resisted, and in the end, I won the battle.
"Vive le resistance!!"
(ooops, okay, you got one past me Mr. Philips...but rest assured...it will not happen again.)
Uh, rest in peace Mr. Philps, you really did do your best.
It's definately not a reflection of your teaching abilities, merely a statement to my willful ignorance and determined non-bilingulism.
I've changed my ways, really I have!

So, very soon, I expect (through my own expert tutelage) that I shall be completly fluent, and will be blogging away in Italian for all of those in bella Roma who eagerly await the day.

Desidero!!

Exciting weekend, but not in a good way.

There's an old curse that seems applicable at this time...
"May you live in interesting times."

Well, this weekend certainly has been interesting...it started with my dear friend being laid low by an unruly appendix and large intestine, and ended with my dear little cat (the one that aforementioned "stupid idiot boy" 'lent' to me) breaking her wee leg.

Well, Jennye's on the road to recovery, though off work time will be 2 weeks or more, and Attessa is currently at the vet being repaired.

I really could live WITHOUT those kind of interesting times!

(Cheers Jen, you'll be belly dancing in no time, with a great scar to add mystery and intrigue to your dance!)

I really don't like cilantro!

My girlfriend and I were discussing men and relationships the other night, and more specifically our general taste in men.
She was wondering how come she could really like a mans' ability to make her laugh, and think and feel generally special, but still have no interest in him.
Well, of course, there’s lots of reasons that could happen, but then the real point of the matter came out.
“He’s not very attractive…am I THAT shallow that I can’t appreciate a man’s other qualities without that getting in the way!?!” She was very disappointed in herself.

The only analogy I could come up with was, “Well, not everyone likes cilantro! Taste is taste is taste, and I really don’t think that it’s anyone’s fault if you’re not physically attracted to someone!”

More specifically, am I a shallow person if a handsome man hits on me but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is “Duuh, you’re purdy.”

I require intelligence, that’s paramount. I refuse to believe that my requirement for brains would make me a shallow person.
So, in the same breath, I must refuse to believe that not liking someone’s physical appearance isn't also perfectly acceptable.

On the OTHER hand...men often get chastised severely for expressing their requirements in a woman, particularly if they are physical requirements.
I wonder why the double standard?

Huh.
Oh well, I don’t like cilantro and I refuse to feel bad about it.
And I don’t like Brad Pitts’ looks either. pffft.

What a horrid beast I am.

Now, I'm not saying I'm a prude...

…but I was flicking through channels the other day and happened to notice what looked like a live sex show, right there on the old tv...Je suis choqué!!

I mean, there were men touching themselves through their boxer shorts, and women in next to nothing lingerie rolling around on top of other women in less than next to nothing lingerie and OH!
Over there on the other bed was a women on her knees in front of a man (hmmm, I wonder what they were 'pretending' to do!)
Hmmm. I didn’t think they were allowed to show this stuff on the telly, really…

HEY!

I know that brunette up there singing away and masturbating...
It’s…Brittany Spears!

Really, I’m NOT a prude, but…uh…people are taking their 10 year old daughters to that!

I know…I know…I managed to live through Cher and her thong, Madonna with her pointy-breasted self-touching show, not to mention Tiffany(!), without turning into a mindless slut, but Ms. Spears Miami show struck even me as way over the top.

I know what’s going on here!

I’m getting old and crotchety.

Damn.

The Dodo Club

(Because I’m fairly new, I have to point this out ‘cus I find it VERY exciting…if you click on the title of this blog, it’ll TAKE YOU THERE!! So cool.)

So. Anyway. On with the show here.
As a child, I was hooked up with this particular club…”The DODO CLUB”. Man, it was great.
We (Jennye and I, of course) would pile our pennies together, and rush down to the post office to have the lady (it was always a ‘lady’ back then. Not a woman or man. “The Postal Lady.” It was a title. You could apply…) but I digress...you asked the Postal Lady to please make a money order out to the tune of 7 pounds, because it was going to England, and they use pounds there, not ‘dollars’ isn’t that weird? I wonder if their money is heavier and that’s why they call them pounds?? Yeah, right.

And then we would have to (get this) MAIL IT(!) to England.
No e-mail credit card stuff then, no sir.
These were the old days, waaaay before this 'internet' thingy-ma-jiggy…and credit cards! HA! I don’t think my parents even had a checking account!
Which might go a long way to explain my current aversion to credit cards, I mean, some anonymous company doling out credit to complete strangers. Hello!?!
And checks!? What good are they, they’re not even real money! Well in MY day…


Anyway. “The Dodo Club” is devoted to the conservation of rare and endangered animals via a ‘zoo’ (though I do hate to call them that, but I can't think of a better word at the moment) on Jersey in the Channel Islands created by Mr. Durrell.
Great club.
They would mail out a monthly newsletter (monthly or was it quarterly?) with all sorts of information and tidbits about the daily destruction of the planet and how the human race was responsible for the demise of thousands of species of animals (well, okay, they didn’t actually say any of that.
But I was 9, I could read between the lines!)

AND they had a ‘pen pal’ section.
So I had a PEN PAL.
She was from Hungary (Debrecen) which I thought was fabulous because I’m half Hungarian on my fathers’ side, although he was born in Canada…and so was I.
BUT I always thought it was so exotic and mysterious…in my mind, I was half a gypsy princess, whisked out of Hungary due to the turmoil of the country, and that when I was old enough I would be returned to my rightful throne to rebuild the country to it’s former glory and power!!!

Well, you never know!
Maybe one day soon the next newspaper headline you see will read, “QUEEN TAI RETURNED TO THRONE!!! THE COUNTRY REJOICES!”

I’m have a hard time keeping on track here…okay, my pen pal’s name was Agota Vinczeffy (it was close to that…c’mon, I was 9).
I wonder what ever happened to her. I was very diligent in writing to her. She wasn’t diligent in responding.

Since then, I’ve gone to Hungary, but I never went to Debrecen. I discovered cheap beer and that the country wasn’t in that much turmoil. How could they be, with beer that cheap!!

I still think I would have made a rockin’ Queen though.
I would have sent lots of money to “The Dodo Club” if I WAS queen, believe me!

The Story of Job, as retold by Tai. With NO apologies. *

"1 There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was blameless and upright, one who feared God, and turned away from evil. 2 There were born to him seven sons and three daughters. 3 He had seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred she-asses, and very many servants; so that this man was the greatest of all the people of the east."

And that’s were it all began to go seriously wrong.

So, God and Lucifer were chilling out at God’s crib when Lucifer pulled God aside and suggested a bet.
“Hey, big ‘G’,” Lucifer grinned a pointy grin, “What say you and I have a wager, a little joke on Job, say.”

“Oh, I don’t know…I like Job. He does exactly what he’s supposed to and he’s really quite obsequious. I like that.”

“That’s only because you give him everything he wants,” Lucifer pointed out, “You let me have a little fun with him, and I swear, ‘he will curse thee to thy face’."

“You really think so? Well, okay. Off you go. But I just don’t believe it!” So God sent Lucifer off to turn some nasty tricks on poor unsuspecting Job.

The next thing Job knows, ALL of his she-asses, camels, oxen, sheep AND servants were all slain.
Gone.
'Smote' even.
And that's not to mention every single one of his kids annihilated.
But Job didn’t get mad, oh no, he didn’t even flinch!
He just prayed to God and said, “Thanks God…I didn’t need all that stuff anyway.”

God laughed and laughed at Lucifer…”I told you! I told you! Job totally rocks. There’s no WAY he’d ever be pissed off with me.”

“Humph. Well obviously I went easy on him. Let’s have another go, shall we? I know, I’ll scourge his flesh or something. That’ll annoy him.

“Oh, fine. Just don’t kill him. I like Job.” God sighed and waved Lucifer away.

So Lucifer went back down to Job’s place and inflicted some loathsome little sores on him from head to toe.
Not to mention the running scabs.
Even Job’s wife was like, “Wow, God must really be choked with you. You should totally renounce him.”

Job just wept a little, cursed his wife and sat on some ashes.
His friends eventually showed up, and even they didn't know what to say.
They didn’t offer any help or anything, but there was a lot of rending of garments and weeping.

Well, then Job SNAPPED!
That was it. He was finally totally pissed off.
“God, you SUCK! What did I ever do to you? C’mon, look at me. My whole family is dead. I’m like, totally unattractive to my wife and friends. Geez! I’ve had it. I hereby renounce you.” He yelled, shaking his scabby fist in the air.

Actually, he went on and on and on about his ‘groanings pouring out like water’, and ‘longing for death that doesn’t come’. Really quite pitiful, but you could hardly blame the guy, really.
I mean, look at what happened!
And, to quote Job a little further, “My flesh is clothed with worms and dirt; my skin hardens, then breaks out afresh.”
Eew.

So after a while of this, God finally tunes in to what’s going on, (thanks to Lucifer’s strutting around saying, “Who’s your DADDY!?! WHO’S yo’ DADDY!!” **), and WOW, was God ever choked.

Meanwhile, Job was still complaining when God showed up, full fury.
“HEY! YOU!” He yelled at Job, “Who do you think you ARE!?!”
Job looked up and freaked out, “Oh, uh...God, it’s you! Uh…uh...”
“Yeah, I heard you whining away down here, and I’m not very happy about it. I mean, seriously Job. I AM God. And you’re not. What do you think you're doing, talkin' smack about me?!”

“Well, I hate to be pedantic, but look what happened to me!!” Job rolled around in the ashes a bit to re affirm his current and unpleasant lot in life.
“I loathe my life; I will give free utterance to my complaint; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.” He continued, just in case God missed the point.

God proceeded to yell at Job for a while, about Ostriches, "The wings of the ostrich wave proudly; but are they the pinions and plumage of love? For she leaves her eggs to the earth, and lets them be warmed on the ground, forgetting that a foot may crush them, and that the wild beast may trample them. She deals cruelly with her young, as if they were not hers; though her labor be in vain, yet she has no fear; because God has made her forget wisdom, and given her no share in understanding. When she rouses herself to flee, she laughs at the horse and his rider.”

Job didn’t really get the point of that, but he didn’t fail to get it that God was royally annoyed with him, and he’d better make peace, ‘cus when God starts talking about opening a can of whoop ass on you, you’d better make your apologies, and right quick.

"I know that thou canst do all things, and that no purpose of thine can be thwarted. Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge? Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.”
Basically, Job just completely did a full recant on the “I hate my life,” and was being his old obsequious self.
Which pleased God a lot, because he gave Job more oxen and camels and servants than he ever had before.
Not to mention a new and improved family!
Oh, and then Job got to live to the ripe old age of one hundred and forty years old.

The moral of the story?

Fawning sycophant...it's the only way to go!






*In fact, I even RESEARCHED this stuff! All italicized quotes are taken directly from 'The Source'. (just in case you were curious!)
You should look up the story of Job yourself, you'll that see my version is much more entertaining!
Here, go have some fun finding my quotes!
http://eawc.evansville.edu/anthology/job.htm

** okay, that's not a legit quote, but it's damn funny (see first asterix)

I guess no one warned them about me.

They (meaning my unsuspecting company) just trained ME in the handling of dangerous goods and hazardous materials!

HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

"Excuse me young lady, just where are you going with that semi-trailer of hazardous materials?" Says the unsuspecting officer.

"Oh, it's okay sir, I'm CERTIFIED!" I say, dazzling him with my big brown eyes.

"Ah, well, carry on. Drive safe!"

"Oh, yes sir. That's just about the only thing on my mind...driving safe."

Mwahahahahahaha!!!!

Oh, that's so sad...

Yes, I joke about being a 'crazy cat lady', but truly, this is a grievious state of affairs, and I will never EVER end up like this.

And if I ever DO start to show true 'crazy cat lady' tendencies, I would hope that my dear friends would intervene at cat number 20 or 30, and present me with this article to knock some sense into me.

But, oh, it really does make me feel sad.

The New Zealand Wine Festival.

And a good time was had by all!

http://www.stoneleigh.co.nz/

http://www.oysterbaywines.com/flash/flash_content/index.html

http://www.new-zealand-wines.com/

http://www.kimcrawfordwines.co.nz/

There were some lovely sauvignon blancs, not the least of which Gravitas represented...but for a relatively inexpensive sav blanc though, the Stoneleigh makes a very nice, very drinkable summer white (their Chardonnay is very good too!)

Each of the 45 or so agents only had 3 different wines on display, the sauvignon blanc, chardonnay and a pinot noir, so the selections were limited, but it's a really good way to sample a really specific type of wine from a very specific part of the world.

My favorite? The roasted New Zealand lamb with mint jelly, of course!
But seriously...I really enjoyed all the Oyster Bay offerings. The seem to have made the most impact.

(Mmmm, but the 10 year old Cockburn's Tawny Port I had afterwards, in the lounge of the Four Seasons Hotel really topped the evening.)

Ah, bliss!

Oh, and I wore my new hat, and my, didn't I feel just like Audrey Hepburn!

Clean keyboard leads to inspiration.

Okay, I'm not THAT inspired at this very moment, but I can tell that good things, NAY! ... GREAT things will transpire now that I've cleaned the black gunk and weirdness off of my keyboard!
It's like I've got a new lease on life or something!
Alright, at the very least, I don't feel nauseated when I look at the filthy thing. Honestly, it really was disgusting.

I would like to point out, however, that it's not my fault it got like that. The place where I work is incredibly dusty and dirty, and short of sandblasting the joint clean, there is very little I can do about the amount of dust that collects everywhere.
It seems to be magnetically attracted to my keyboard.

Anyway.
Everyone NEEDS to get one of these little jobbies, they really ARE magic.
And considering how much I dislike domestic tasks, this actually makes the whole cleaning thing kind of fun!

They're at a store near you.
In the cleaning aisle.
So run out and buy one, what are you waiting for!?!
Really. You'll thank me for it!

(I hate sounding like an ad...but I can't help it, it's really great!)