Every day, I will share something that makes me think 'Wish You Were Here.'

Thursday, February 28, 2013

February 28/13

If you're not an ABBA fan, skip this one.

I'm in a strange mood today.  Like there's something, some kind of fact or truth that I need to accept and come to terms with...but I'm only getting a glimpse of the problem, and so I can't really say what that fact or truth is, to be honest.

And to confuse things further, it's like I've prepared myself to accept it.

So when iTunes shuffled on to When All is Said and Done by ABBA a few moments ago, it was sort of that click...yes.  Whatever this is, or will turn out to be...I'm well-armed to deal with it, thanks to a pop-disco ballad from 1982...how deliciously mainstream:




Here's to us one more toast and then we'll pay the bill
Deep inside both of us can feel the autumn chill
Birds of passage, you and me
We fly instinctively
When the summer's over and the dark clouds hide the sun
Neither you nor I'm to blame when all is said and done

In our lives we have walked some strange and lonely treks
Slightly worn but dignified and not too old for sex
We're still striving for the sky
No taste for humble pie
Thanks for all your generous love and thanks for all the fun
Neither you nor I'm to blame when all is said and done

It's so strange when you're down and lying on the floor
How you rise, shake your head, get up and ask for more
Clear-headed and open-eyed
With nothing left to try
Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run
There's no hurry any more when all is said and done

Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run
There's no hurry any more when all is said and done

I'm ready...

...Wish you were here.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

February 27/13

My cat, Max, is a very poor communicator.  For instance, tonight, as I had the page open for writing this blog post, he decided he had something to say.  And I quote:

dsssssssssssssssssssss\"}]}dc.

I have no idea what he was trying to say, but if he had something in mind, he's clearly among the worst typists in the world.  I can't think of the last time I tried to type something specific by setting my entire body down on the laptop keyboard.  I don't mean to disparage his message, but I have to wonder what it even is, given his inability to articulate it in any known spoken or text language.


A decoder for Max's message...

...Wish you were here.

(PS - Happy Birfday Mr. BD!  Much love!  Hmmm...come to think of it, maybe Max was trying to say that?  Thoughts?)

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

February 26/13

So, by now, I think you know that I have a very-public love affair with zombies.  I love the new generation of zombie-apocalypse movies, like Zombieland, Shaun of the Dead, and most recently, Warm Bodies; I do own The Zombie Survival Guide, a children's book called Ten Little Zombies, and an academic essay collection on zombies called Brrraaaiiinnnsss: From Academics to Zombies; my cubicle at work does have a Zombie Caution poster, and a framed picture of a zombiefied Steve Yzerman; yes...I like zombies.  Very much.

It's largely due to the fact that the recent pop culture take on zombies has been to combine the gruesome horror of a zombie apocalypse with sharp, witty, even tender commentary that hasn't previously been explored (e.g. consider that zombies may have some small capacity to love).  I love good satire.

So, you might be wondering how it is that I haven't yet sat myself down and watched AMC's The Walking Dead.  After all, is it not zombies for TV?  Well, wonder no more.  I did.  Tonight, I took some time (before New Girl came on at 9 pm), tested Netflix on the new Blu-ray reader in the bedroom, and watched the series premier. 

Man, that shit is intense.  But I'm unsure about proceeding, because it's a drama.  I might be wrong, but it just seems like it's going to be all desperation, fighting-for-survival, against-all-odds, conspiracy-laden, more-drama-than-a-missing-falsey-in-a-prima-donna-drag-queen's-dressing-room, Capital D Drama. 

I don't know.  But I'm open to suggestion...

...Wish you were here.

Monday, February 25, 2013

February 25/13

I wish I could say that there was something worth talking about today, but I can't.  Today I was practically comatose.  I couldn't function at work; I swear, I read the same page of a deck about 10 times,  and it didn't sink in.  Today was one of those awful days that draaaaaaaaaags on forever.  The time that elapses between moments when I looked at the clock seems to be so long, but I was disappointed to find that what felt like 10 minutes was only about 2 minutes in actual time.

All that, and I was freezing too.  I put on my work sweater, but it was clear that it wasn't going to cut it.  It was a two-sweater day.  The chills suck. 

All signs point to I'm getting sick.  I don't feel any other symptoms (yet), but it could quite likely happen.  Bummer.

Sorry to waste your time today...

...Wish you were here.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

February 24/13

And in a rather unfortunate turn of events, the brand new Region-Free, Wifi-enabled Blu-ray player that we got only six weeks ago or so?  Yup.  Broken down. 

Dammit.

Etienne got it for the bedroom, and while he could have just picked up any old blu-ray player, the fact is that about 100 or so movies in our collection are Region 2 DVDs--his collection of movies from his years in Switzerland.  And we are talking about some pretty awesome movies that he's shared with me.  Some movies like Chouchou were a little above my French comprehension level (but it was pretty funny from what I guessed), while others literally tore my soul out and shredded it, like The Graveyard of Fireflies.  I figure that I've only managed to see about a third of his Region 2 movies, and now I'll have to wait until we can find a machine to play them on.

A working Region-Free, WiFi-enabled Blu-ray player...

...Wish you were here.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

February 23/13

It doesn't happen often, but once in a very long while, I do get the desire to brush up my pipes and sing in public again.  The rub of it is that my voice is the kind that is designed for choral, classical, or show singing.  I'm a soprano with a higher range, but I was never much of a belter, which is the popular music these days; the public today has a strong preference for mezzo sopranos and altos. 

I blame this episode on My Fair Lady.  Any soprano worth her salt has taken a run at those songs, and who hasn't had visions of being Eliza Doolittle as she dreamily croons her way through a bedtime routine in I Could Have Danced All Night.  I know I have.

But alas, my performing days are long behind me.  I was aiming for a career in the theatre when I left high school, but a traumatic event saddled me with a fear of being seen.  I had already hated being photographed, so that ruled out a career in film and television, but I clung to the hope of a stage career prior to that fateful night.  I'd like to think I would have done alright.  Not a star, but happy in my choice.

Eliza Doolittle...

...Wish you were here.

Friday, February 22, 2013

February 22/13

After a day that can quite easily be labeled as a rollercoaster, the only thing to do really is drink some beers and then go and spend a ridiculous amount of money at Lucky Brand Jeans.  Am I right?

As I noted before, my favourite jeans are borderline, showing signs of weakness, and likely are soon to become a pair of lazy jeans, or maybe even a pair of jean cutoffs.  They certainly aren't going to be good for work soon, and yes, I wear jeans to work.  If I have a meeting, I'll dress up, but otherwise, I keep things fairly casual.  The higher-ups don't seem to mind, or else if they do, they haven't told me as much.  I guess they figure that I'm showing up and doing good work, so it doesn't matter if I show up in jeans.  Policy work is by and large think-work anyway...there are times when you have to do the communications work for which more professional attire may be called for, but as long as I'm providing solid, evidence-based analysis for senior management, it doesn't matter if I do it in jeans, a suit, or a bloody tutu.

With my favourite jeans on their way out, I need new ones.  I prefer just plain old Levis, but wouldn't you know it, there is no Levis store in Ottawa, and to be frank, finding jeans means either buying the uber-expensive designer jeans (I'm looking at you, Nudie Jeans and Rag and Bone), going way down-market to the junk sold at Urban Outfitters or Forever 21, or worse still, buying the Mom jeans.  At the mid-market range, there's pretty much only Gap, and I am not digging on the styles they carry these days.  Call me an old curmudgeon, but whatever happened to a simple, plain straight-leg jean without fake fade washes.  Or even just a boot-cut that doesn't look like a bell-bottom?  Skinny jeans?  Well, I'll keep my black pair, but otherwise, I'm not interested in showing how conical I'm becoming from the waist down.  Oh for a simple, clean pair of jeans!

So this is how, after a morning of being upset, an afternoon of being active, and an evening of drinks, I end up wandering into Lucky Brand Jeans and dropping $250 for a pair of jeans, a belt, and a shirt (the promotion was buy a pair of jeans, get 50% off any shirt; as for the belt, I just got suckered into it, that's all).  I'm a more pliable shopper when drinking :)

A good old pair of Levis...

...Wish you were here.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

February 21/13

So, I'm trying new things in these last few years.  I can now choke down pesto sauce to some degree, and I'm open to Indian, Thai, and Vietnamese cuisines, among other new exploits.  Hell, I'm even eating small salads.

It goes without saying that my growing palate is playing havoc with my dental health and upkeep, so after much time and thought, I finally bought an electric toothbrush.  This is a huge step for me, as I hate the vibration sensation (yes, including those.  Perverts.).  It's a sensation that truly irritates my sensitive nerve-endings, and I'm left feeling so uncomfortable for some time.  Those electric massage chairs?  Totally out of the question.  So this is a big step for me.

I hate the fucking thing.  

A necessary evil...

...Wish you were here.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

February 20/13

The downside to getting older is that you make decisions for the sake of being responsible instead of having fun.

I got my collective bargaining agreement severance buy-out today, and the government, in its infinite wisdom, saw fit to take 40% of it automatically in taxes.  I was left with less than I had estimated, and there went my plans for the one big luxury purchase I wanted to make (knowing that the opportunities are growing few and far between to get it for this little slave to debt repayment).  Instead, I paid off Max's surgery (so to speak), and I paid a bill.  I kept some small pittance back because my favourite jeans are showing signs of distress, and I have a pile of pants that need tailoring, and maybe if there's enough left over, I'll replace my broken mixer.

Wow.  It sounds so boring.  In the old days, that money would pay for a vacation, or a wicked toy like an ipad.

Those carefree days of youth...

...Wish you were here.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

February 19/13

The nostalgic effect of music is a very potent, powerful force, particularly if the memories triggered by music are all at once moments of shiny, happy, genuine joy, mixed with cringe-worthy reminders of tall, over-sprayed bangs and jeans rolled and tucked into slouch socks.

I've been revisiting my youth these days, after the news of Amanda's passing.  Amanda was in the grade below me, but the proximity of our houses, and the fact that she was only 6 months younger than me meant that we were drawn to playing together.  In those days of elementary school, we had different friends, but in the summers, we were like all the other kids along School Draw Avenue, all playing and hanging out at the playground, regardless of age.  As we got older, interests changed from swinging the highest on the swings to experimenting with make-up, learning the fine art of curling and/or crimping hair, and music.

Amanda was actually a part of my discovery of some of the best music of my youth.  The first time I ever saw/heard Nirvana's debut single Smells Like Teen Spirit was on MuchMusic in Amanda's basement.  She brought Bon Jovi's Bed of Roses into our lives in a big way.  We all got into our Janis Joplin phase in the upstairs addition, as Amanda and Crystal abused their ever-loving, long-suffering friend (Me) with bad make-up and old lady wigs (GRANNY HAT'CHU!!).  Children of the 80's, we were the prime targets for the burgeoning alternative rock scene, complete with mix tapes of Jimi Hendrix and Pearl Jam.

But I can't lie; Amanda's house was ground zero for some pretty awful moments in music.  We blasted Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.  We danced like possessed fools to C+C Music Factory.  And worse still, we lip-synced to Rick Astley's massive hit, Never Gonna Give You Up, and I'm not sure we weren't doing it in earnest.  It gets worse, if you can believe it. 

Two Words: Wilson.  Phillips.

Yes, it's hard to keep your awesome music credentials up when you are holding a brush and giving your all to the lyrics "Some day somebody's gonna make you want to / Turn around and say goodbye / Until then baby are you going to let them / Hold you down and make you cry / Don't you know? / Don't you know things can change / Things'll go your way / If you hold on for one more day yeah / If you hold on" at 11 o'clock on a Saturday night.

Lean on Me...

...Wish you were here.


Monday, February 18, 2013

February 18/13

I don't know if you have any beloved family pets, but if you do, then you know those moments when you have spent some time doing something, or want to spend time doing something, but instead, your cat or dog or rodent or reptile or whatever chooses that precise moment to commandeer your attention.

As I sat down to share tonight's moment, one of my precious little dears, my darling little girl came over and plunked her very wide body down on my lap, making it nearly impossible to reach the keyboard.  Typing this is a laborious task.

But I do it with pleasure because my cats give me such moments of tender joy and love.  So many times throughout the day, we catch them in the middle of looking or being very cute, and whatever troubles we may have fall by the wayside as we open our hearts to these wonderful little creatures.

The love of a pet...

...Wish you were here.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

February 17/13

Two words for you:

Warm Bodies.

I dragged Etienne out to Gloucester today to see this movie, in the chill of winter's wind, and it was so worth it.  This is a charming, clever little movie!  Is it about zombies?  No!  The fact that people who happen to be zombies are major characters turns out to be quite incidental, because for the first time that I can recall, zombies are more than blood-thirsty killers.  They get a love story :)

If you haven't seen it yet, get on that.

Warm Bodies on Blu-ray...

...Wish you were here.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

February 16/13

Goodness me!  It's been a very active, busy day in our house, with groceries, cleaning, and hosting Etienne's friend for the Habs game.

But really, today's moment is a moment of quiet reflection.  Some time in mid-December, while searching for something in my files, I came across a poem that my friend Amanda had written about 20 years ago, and which she gave to me.  I even told Amanda I found it. 

After I heard of her death, I knew right away that I wanted to find the right way to share it, but the problem is that I refuse to post it or the picture I have with her on facebook, twitter, or even my blogs, because the second I do, the content belongs not to me or Amanda, but to some disgusting, callous corporation.  The conclusion I've reached is this: I will take a copy of the poem for myself, and I am looking for a way to get the original to Amanda's daughter.  It belongs to her now.

A place for everything...

...Wish you were here.

February 15/13

Yeah, sorry this one's late, but I suffered an attack of the stomach.  After only two beers.  I have no explanation for how it happens that two beers, a practiced feat, would have the nauseating effect on me that it did, but I was so ready to sleep on the bathroom floor.  Thankfully, my body obeyed the command to go to sleep and not throw up.

I certainly hope you all had a better Friday.

A do-over...

...Wish you were here.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

February 14/13

First off, Happy Valentine's Day to all.

I hope that today has either been completely wonderful for you (congratulations to my cousin's son, who proposed to his lady), or at the very least, you've been able to find ways to cope with the holiday.

This year, Etienne proposed to go to see Warm Bodies, the 'Zombies meets Romeo and Juliet' movie currently in theatres, but I also knew that tonight was a Montreal Canadiens game.  Detroit plays tomorrow, hosting Anaheim, so I was fully willing to give up my game and do the movie tomorrow instead so that he could catch the Habs game.

Yes folks, it must be true love, if I'm not losing my shit over lacking hearts and flowers and candlelit dinners because there's a hockey game on.  I'm secure in the knowledge that I am loved, and that is good.  Is all that stuff nice?  Sure!  But flowers, last I checked, are available 364 other days of the year (365 other days in leap years), as is chocolate.  I actually hate the heart shape, so no big loss there. 

What really matters this year, in the light of recent tragedy and loss in my life, is that everyone important to me knows that I love them.  It's not always the easiest feat to pull off, but the fact is, I do it because you mean something special to me.

You know who you are...

...Wish you were here.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

February 13/13

Today, a lot of stuff has happened, but in large part, it's either work-related, personal stuff, or dealing with my grief, so I don't have anything I can share.

Except this...


I needed a laugh, and The Surprising Adventures of Sir Digby Chicken Caesar always does the trick.

Sir Digby...

...Wish you were here.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

February 12/13

I woke up this morning with a lump in my belly, and not rested.  Last night, I learned that an old friend from my days in Yellowknife died. 

Younger than me, Amanda was taken from us by ovarian cancer.  She leaves behind a daughter, who by now is about the age her mother and I were as we clowned around in her mother's basement, dancing to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, and later, thrashing around to Nirvana's anthem, "Smells Like Teen Spirit" with our friend Crystal.

Where Crystal was ballsy and the ringleader, and I was the overly-sensitive goofball, Amanda was the open, caring one who loved any reason to smile.  Along with the totally-intense energy of Julie, we four forged a bond that somehow became the Twisted Sisters, and in time, we shared this bond with other friends.  There were times of strife and fights, but through it all, we knew someone had our backs.

As friendships are sometimes wont to do, we started going out separate ways, as we all started to pursue our individual interests and talents, and we started to grow into the women we would all become.  For Amanda, that meant bringing a beautiful baby girl into the world, coping with the tragedy of her mother's passing, and quite importantly, finding her voice in music and performing.  Through her music, Amanda touched a lot of lives. 

I got back in touch with Amanda through facebook a couple of years ago, and it's pained me to see from this far away that she faced the scourge of cancer, but I was so relieved that she had a massive community of people behind her, helping her fight. 

Amanda is not the first person I've lost to cancer, but her death is the first one outside of my family whose death has shaken me to my core.  Amanda, a piece of my heart belongs to you, my Twisted Sister.

A cure for cancer...

...Wish you were here.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Sunday, February 10, 2013

February 10/13

Looking back on today, it's sad that the most notable thing that happened was a very ugly thing.  And it apparently didn't happen to just me, but I think I sure as hell returned fire when it was my turn.

It was a rather beautiful day in Ottawa; bright, fairly warm, and it being a beautiful day during Winterlude, crowded.  Etienne and I set out and walked along the canal, where skaters were so thick, the people in the crowd weren't so much skating as they were trying to avoid running into someone while on skates.

We had reached the sidewalk outside of the Westin Hotel, when I noticed a shabby-looking man standing there, saying something to people.  As we got closer, I saw he was an Aboriginal man.  Closer still, I saw a smoke in his hand, so I thought maybe he was asking passersby for a light.  But then as we were within earshot, we heard him shouting at a couple ahead of us walking by, and his words were ugly.

"You white people, you steal everything!", he proclaimed.  The man in the couple said something back that I couldn't hear, but I assume it was dismissive, as the guy then turned in our direction, and as we got closer, shouted the same thing, this time in my face.

Now, I've never been the wallflower on this issue.  When challenged in the past about my ethnicity, I've pushed back, and if my words don't convey the feeling, well, if you are familiar with the First Nations woman, you know that her attitude bloody well does.  It's no coincidence that people around me have noted that you just don't want to piss off a Cree woman (or Dogrib, or, well, any First Nations woman).

Standing there was this ugly reminder that still, after nearly 500 years, there is just no room in the personal beliefs of some people for a pale-faced Indian.

I talked back.  I told him to fuck off, that I wasn't a "white" person, I'm a fucking First Nations.  As we kept going, he shouted back to me.  I'll spare you the words, but it was to the effect of "Fuck off you liar."  Once more, I reacted, this time shouting back that I'd go back and show him my fucking card.  Believe me, this asshole would not want me to go back there.  I've inherited a lot of things from my father, and that includes my temper.

I didn't go any further in the ever-so-polite discourse, and kept on walking, while he turned his attention to the other unsuspecting passersby, but I seethed for a long time after that. These days, I hear a lot of racism, and as much as people don't want to hear this, the salvos can be fired from both sides.

A cure for racism...

...Wish you were here.

Saturday, February 9, 2013

February 9/13

I'm within pages of finishing a book that I took up last year, but have slowly been working my way through since then.

The book is called Moby-Duck by Donovan Hohn.  As the rather lengthy subtitle summarizes, the book is about "The True Story of 28,800 Bath Toys Lost at Sea and the Beachcombers, Oceanographers, Environmentalists, and Fools, Including the Author, Who Went in Search of Them."

While it's true that it's the story of the author's chase around the world, following the (sometimes improbable) journeys of thousands of plastic bath toys that were lost at sea in the late 1990's, the search is punctuated by scientific explanations about everything from the origins of the Rubber Duck as a favoured toy for children to the design and deployment of sophisticated tools to capture data about phenomenon known as Irminger Rings.  Very fascinating stuff for amateur environmental sciences people like me (though my bent is toward geology and earth sciences).

Oh.  Yeah.  And then there's the bit about his time spent with one Erin Freeland-Ballantyne on an icebreaker from Resolute to Cambridge Bay.  I'll admit, I haven't read that part yet, but at a mere 70 or so pages from the end, knowing that this part of the book takes place in the high Arctic, I skipped ahead, to see if he talks about anywhere other than Cambridge and Resolute, and out of nowhere, there's the name.  Freeland-Ballantyne.  Believe me, we're a fairly small community up in the North, you see a name, and you know instantly who it is.  In this case, it's Erin who was this absolutely delightful girl I went to high school with.  She was very smart, very pretty, very talented, and very likeable.  Hell, she's even noted in the book as being a Rhodes Scholar.  Believe me, if you've ever met her, she's made an impression on you!  And now she turns up in a book written by a teacher from Manhattan.  Talk about 'Six Degrees of Separation'.

I guess my Northern life turns up in the most unexpected ways, in random places and faces at unpredictable times.

What a trip life is sometimes...

...Wish you were here.

Friday, February 8, 2013

February 8/13

Do you have a favourite section of the bookstore?  I do.

While it's officially known as the "Community and Culture" section at my local big box bookstore, I call it the "Weirdos" section.  And in particular, in my most local branch of said local big box bookstore, the Weirdos are shoved all the way in the back of a corner of the store, along with Eastern Philosophies and pseudo-sciences, so yes, there can be some, uh...interesting characters back there. 

"Community and Culture" is where the hapless store merchandisers put, well, the counter-culture, non-mainstream books.  In this section, I've found such treasures as a book of essays on Zombies as studied by various faculties and departments at a local university, an autobiography on the owner of a call-girl service, Barbara Ehrenrich's sociological studies on the working poor in America, all books written by Dan Savage, books on the gay community, the black community, the aboriginal community, drug culture, feminism, and of course, anthropological studies on nerds. 

I can and have spent upwards of an hour or so, hanging out in the Weirdos section because by far this is the most interesting mishmash of subjects, all of which are bound by a single but strong undertone: the subjects of these wayward books are all bound by their unabashed brand of humanity.

It's really the most fascinating place to be in a bookstore.

Come find the Weirdos...

...Wish you were here.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

February 7/13

So, we got some art.

Etienne's severance payout came in this week, and among the things he wanted was some more art rentals.  While we have made some small investments in a few pieces over the last couple of years, we can't yet afford the larger pieces, so we rent them from local galleries.

Art rental definitely has its merits (enjoy the art, not the debt!  Bored of looking at it?  Stop renting it!  Change things up!), there are at least two known issues with our rentals:

1) Etienne and I have fairly different taste in art.  My bent runs to the zen-inspiring, introspective pieces, or familiar classics such as Van Gogh and the classic Japanese woodblack prints by Hokusai and such.  Etienne is drawn to very provocative pieces, the contemporary Japanese art movement, and very colourful pieces.  There is some overlap in our tastes in photographic art, and we both appreciate the work of some of the same "old masters", but we generally have to have long lists before we come across pieces in common.  But it does happen.

2) If we really like a piece that we're rented, but we can't afford to purchase it, it's sad to see it go back.  For instance, last year, we had a Jonathan Hobin photo print called 'Dear Leader' at our place for three months, and we both really adored it, but at about $3,000, we couldn't afford to buy it.  It's sad, given the distinctive tastes we each have, that we have to give up something we both could enjoy that much.  It was hard to let it go.

Dear Leader...

...Wish you were here.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

February 6/13

And in the world of "Are you serious?" today...

Late this afternoon, I saw the weirdest headline: Anne of Green Gables gets blonde makeover in new cover.

Umm, what?  So yes, it turns out that Canada's venerable young heroine, beloved by generations, recognized instantly for her characteristic red hair...the Americans turned her into a sexy, farmer's daughteresque blonde?  It turns out that this platform owned by Amazon.com created this cover, and it's just about the most ridiculous thing I've seen in ages. 

If you've read Anne of Green Gables or any of the books, or seen the TV series, or hell, just have *heard* of them, you know that Anne is a red head; so much so, that the red hair can almost be called a character unto itself!

If you're wondering why this is worth the attention it's getting, it's simple: some moron in marketing at a subsidiary of a mega-uber-corporation cynically sold out one of the most recognizable and beloved heroines to earn the wrong kind of money.  The Venn diagram has minutely little overlap between those who will pick up these books to read because they are classics, and those who will pick up these books because some hot babe is on the cover.  I'd almost feel sorry for the dudes who decided to read the books because of the hot babe on the cover, only to discover there is nothing sexual or sexy about these stories if I didn't see how utterly unlikely it is that this would happen.

Has the cover designer even heard of these books?

Amazon...WTF?  Consider me confused.

An explanation...

...Wish you were here.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

February 5/13

This one is going to be very brief, because it's about something incredibly significant, but I don't want to give away any details.  I just want to put it out there, and let the overwhelming joy of the event speak for itself.

This morning, as I struggled to wake up and face another work day, my good friend was being prepped for surgery.  She's fine, very healthy. In fact, so healthy that the reason for the surgery was that she was anonymously donating a kidney.  Today, someone is getting a second shot at a normal lifestyle.   Her surgery was a success.  And I hope that the same can be said for the recipient.

After yesterday's crisis of faith in humanity, this event restores my faith in humanity.

More acts of selfless kindness...

...Wish you were here.

Monday, February 4, 2013

February 4/13

Today, some disturbing news came to light in the media.  A woman who is prominent in organizing Idle No More events received a death threat over the weekend--an explicitly racist one.

She was told she had better not go back to "the SOO", or Sault Ste. Marie, where she is from, because the only good Indian is a dead Indian.  This, just days after a supposedly "respectable" Canadian senator, and Indian-in-Name-Only, Patrick Brazeau made disparaging comments about Chief Theresa Spencer's weight and her hunger strike:

"“I look at Miss Spence, when she started her hunger strike, and now?” Brazeau added as a voice in the hall called out, “She’s fatter,” which drew laughter from much of the audience."*

The "honourable" Senator Brazeau mocks her because he wants to belittle her, to dismiss her, to try to take away from her position, her beliefs, and even her humanity.  Brazeau thought he was just going to score some cheap political points--but his comments feed that mentality of Indian women being objects of scorn and ridicule, and thus deserving of less respect and humanity.  As soon as that happens, they can fall prey to abuse, violence, and murder.

These incidents carry undertones of violence, though one is far more manifest, while the other is more latent.  There are sick, depraved, evil people in this world who see the "uppity" Indian women standing up for themselves with this Idle No More movement, and they want to hurt those women.  "Put them in their place."  And if they won't shut up, well, those women deserve what they get. 

It's frightening to think about.  And I'm so bitterly angry that I even have to think about it.  The reality is it doesn't take a direct threat to put Aboriginal women in harm's way.  Sometimes, all it takes is a stupid, careless statement meant to belittle and scorn.

Respect...

...Wish you were here.


* Source: http://ca.news.yahoo.com/blogs/canada-politics/senator-patrick-brazeau-mocks-chief-theresa-spence-tory-133116456.html

Sunday, February 3, 2013

February 3/13

Sometimes out-and-out boredom and listlessness can actually lead to productivity.  Of course, to doesn't follow that said productivity is in any way useful for anyone else, but all the same, it's productivity.

Today was one of those days.  After endless episodes of Twin Peaks on Netflix, I needed something to do.  But of course, that period in between pay cheques, and the cold weather really prevents me for getting out and doing something to cure my boredom, so what do I do?

Ready to hear something that may sound incredibly vacuous?

I do my nails.

Toes and hands. 

Ready to hear why it's not as vacuous as you think?

Because during the worst bout of seasonal depression I've experienced in years, I've really stopped caring for myself.  I don't care how I appear these days, so long as the clothes keep me warm.  I know I have very ugly winter shoes and boots, but I can't be bothered to do anything about it, not even the simple act of carrying a nice pair of shoes to work.  My hair is in gnatty condition, in need of a cut and colour (soon...soon.), and my low energy level means I can only muster enough physical energy to stare at my little pot belly with disdain and acceptance.  Yeah, it's been a rough winter.

Today, I made an effort, and that effort went into perfecting my manicure and repairing my neglected toe cuticles.  So I guess that means I'm not totally dead inside...signs of life are present.  And my nails looks awesome.

Energy...

...Wish you were here.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

February 2/13

Part II: February 2nd.

As Etienne and I walked to the cab, he made an extraordinary admission: he was drunk.  After 8 drinks throughout the night, I was surprised.  He's normally fairly good at handling his liquor, and 8 or more is not unheard of for him. 

We got home, and he seemed to make for the bedroom fairly quickly.  Normally, in that state, he'd go into the office and find some music to blast (at a respectable level, after all, we have neighbours).  But not tonight.

I was worried that he might get a headache in the morning, so I gave him two advils and a glass of water, and he went straight to bed.  For once, I wasn't tired, and I wanted to stay up, so I decided to read.  I went to grab a glass of water, and then it happened.

WARNING: If you have a sensitive stomach or gag reflex, stop reading.

I'll wait.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I heard heaving.  I raced back to the bedroom in time to see Etienne let loose on the carpet beside the bed.  He vomited so much and so violently that blood vessels around his eyes and on his forehead burst, leaving him with a red, rashy look.  There was so much vomit.  Not having a bucket or anything handy, the only thing I could do was wait for the worst of it to end.

It was horrible.  He never pukes, no matter how much he drinks, and I've seen him drink much more in an evening.  Something was very wrong.

The carpet was absolutely trashed, and the odor was revolting.  It took two towels to clean up just the...messy part, but the carpet still showed a lot of damage.  I got him onto the sofa bed in the office, this time with a garbage can placed at his head, and I sat to keep watch over him.  He started to pass out, but his breathing was erratic and congested, so I knew I had to stay up and with him to make sure he didn't choke.  It was awful.

Finally, around 3:30 am, he was breathing calmly, and it seemed that the worst had passed, so I went into the living room to try and catch some sleep.

Around 9:30 am, he awoke, and in the process, woke me up.  He still wasn't able to keep anything down, so I set him up on the couch, with a garbage can nearby, and a glass of water with instructions to sip and not drink it when it's cold.  Then I set to work, cleaning the carpet in the bedroom.  After about two hours, I had made enough progress to stop and let it dry.

You know it's true love when you will suffer through the clean-up without assigning blame.

But my poor Etienne...it's been a very rough day.  He only managed to start eating simple things around 4 pm. 

We figure he must have caught a bug of some sort, because there's no way this would happen under normal circumstances.  All the same though...

A cure for hangovers...

...Wish you were here.

February 1/13


Part I: February 1st.

My friend Sammy is in town for meetings and some family fun, but she made time to arrange for a few of us MPPers and Ottawa friends to get together.

With that in mind, Etienne and I joined some LMPers after work for drinks at Le Troquet.  We had a few hours to kill, since the get-together with Sam wasn't set until 8:30, so we tucked in to some food and a few drinks.  I had a couple of beers and Etienne took four ciders, and the conversation was varied and jovial.  All in all, a nice way to start unwinding after a hectic week of work.

We left and headed to the Market, bringing Brent with us, and got to the Black Thorn a little early.  Sam rolled in with her friends, and Jeff, Christine, Matt and Sean from MPP turned up as well, and jovial nature of the evening continued, through the change in people and scenery.

I had another couple of beers, and Etienne took another four ciders.  For him, this is more than usual, but he's fairly good at handling that quantity.  Without noticing, time slipped away, and before I knew it, people started slowing leaving.  I looked over and Etienne, and I knew that he had had enough tonight, so we paid the bills, said our goodbyes, and went outside to grab a cab.

I don't often get to hang out with the MPPers, it makes me miss those Thursday nights after class, when a bunch of us would wander down to the Lamplighter or Steamworks in Gastown and drunk all that MPP knowledge out of our heads for the time being. 

Good times with MPPers...

...Wish you were here.