Archive for March, 2006|Monthly archive page

What would you pack?

Sunday, March 26th, 2006

So, while enjoying a coffee and people-watching today, Melle and I were talking about what our Dads would pack in their “run-away cases”. Remember when you were little? Even if you didn’t actually run away, you had the bag or the suitcase or the box of things that you knew you would take if you did.

Melle’s Dad would have paper towels, and degreaser and maybe an air compressor, along with some coffee. My Dad would have two very old brown bananas (the way he likes them), fig newtons, his knife, a book and probably his toolbelt. If he could take only one power tool, I’d guess it would be his drill, but then again the mitre saw is a fast friend…

Me? When I ran away to Grannie’s (around 7 years old), I had a little round carrying case, in which I deposited a couple of books, my favourite shirt, one barbie and an apple. At 38, I’d still go for the books and the apple. To which I’d add clean underwear, JeanLuc (though he’d not be happy in the suitcase), my BlackBerry, a pen and paper, and my toolbox. That would do nicely.

Orlando?

Saturday, March 25th, 2006

Take the Sex ID Test

Comfortable with my masculinity and feminity, I am. I’m almost 50/50 but the eye recognition test gave me away (and apparently, I like *really* masculine-looking men).

Meme

Saturday, March 25th, 2006

Yes, boys and girls, another meme…

Best sunset ever:
On the beach of Nevis, with the band warming up.

Best sunrise ever:
Sitting on the dock up north.

First concert:
Officially, Pat Benatar at the Aud in Buffalo. Don’t tell my parents about the April Wine show in Ottawa ;)

Last concert:
Sad to say, quite a while ago. I’m thinking it was the Femmes in Austin.

What’s in my stereo/mobile music device right now:
My new SD card in the stereo has G&R, Madonna, Big Audio Dynamite and Beyonce.

First steps:
Legend has it that my cousin Mitchell, who’s a week older than me, was walking already (at about 13 months?). Anyway, I sat in the corner and watched him walking around most of the afternoon while we were visiting. I went home, slept on it, and walked the next day :)

First word(s):
Not sure what the very first one was (suspicion is “no”), but I was big on “sgetti” early on (that’s “spaghetti” to you).

First kiss:
Heh. Grade One. He was an actor (lead cat in the school play). Been kissing ever since.

A strange place I woke up at/in:
In the hallway of an apartment building.

A strange place I fell asleep at/in:
In my Dad’s car, on the beach, with 5 other people.

Comfort clothing:
Slipper socks, soft yoga pants and a bigass sweatshirt with paint on it.

Sexy clothing:
The right pair of jeans, a shirt with buttons and not much else.

What I’m wearing right now: (NOT a solicitation – sheesh)
That would be the former.

vote now.

Friday, March 24th, 2006

Spaceys ’06

I think you know what your favourite movie should be. I kick. Kick hard.

Hey, hey Momma..

Thursday, March 23rd, 2006

Last night, Cathy, Jean, Melle and I threw the devil horns at the symphony! K-W Symphony Jeans and Classics – The Song Remains the Same: A Tribute to Led Zeppelin.

We had dinner at the Art Bar beforehand, with a pretty good Pinot Noir from Tasmania.

I’m a big Zeppelin fan from way back, and I wore my tight jeans but didn’t have time to get my hair feathered. Some pretty good mullets in the audience, though :) I knew every note and every drum beat (being a drummer groupie and all). The performance was quite good. Who’d expect “Black Dog” with strings?

Felt bad for the brass section, who had only a few highlights, but the lead singer was sure to point them out by name when they did. Then he high-fived the lead violinist several times, which kinda took me out of the rock moment.

The best guy by far was the symphony bassist – Mr Man second from the left. He was a Tiger! Older Tiger with glasses on the end of his nose. He’d pluck a few notes and his hips would start groovin’ and then he’d suddenly realize he’s, like, in the symphony, and then he’d get all serious again… until the next time he got the sardonic grin and did a little white man dance. He was awesome.

At the break, Melle asked me what I’d like to hear and I mentioned “Fool in the Rain” and “Over the Hills and Far Away” – and wouldn’t you know it, they played those songs in that order right after. I’m SO good at arrangements.

Geeks v Nerds, Redux

Tuesday, March 21st, 2006

Melle has written eloquently on geeks, and parried well on nerds. I find exemplars to be helpful:

  • Geeks: Jamie and Adam | Nerd: Tony Robinson
  • Geek: William Gibson | Nerd: Graham Hancock
  • Geek: Marilyn Manson | Nerd: Moby
  • Geek: Mike Lazaridis | Nerd: Joao Magueijo
  • Geek: Marie Curie | Nerd: George Eliot
  • And so on…

    In the neighbourhood

    Tuesday, March 21st, 2006

    On the way down the street, a grown-man city worker scaling a tree. Only he’s not that good at it and his buddies are on the ground telling him to “just grab that big branch up there” while he’s sliding down the trunk, with a fully operational chainsaw hanging from a rope on his belt.

    On the way up the street, a young woman walking a full-sized wolfhound on one side of the street. Mr Wolfound is whimpering every time the “ferocious” golden lab on the other side of the street barks and wags his tail.

    heh.

    Assimilate me, baby, assimilate me!

    Sunday, March 19th, 2006

    Trek Passions.

    For all your online dating sci-fi needs. And it’s about time! Where else can one find their “Forbidden Planet” soulmate???

    The spaces in between

    Sunday, March 19th, 2006

    …I’ve never met anybody with a perfect life. A perfect past and a pristine future, yes. But the perfect past is always brilliantly edited and the pristine future is a hopeless dream. The only perfect life is the one on paper, and even then there are those spaces between the words and lines and they’re rarely patches of nothing.”
    - “The Blind Man of Seville” (Robert Wilson)

    The perfect life. For me, this is a manufactured dream, a superficial role whose lines and movements are largely dictated by the media and, if we buy into it, one that is manifested outwardly. All those people looking for extreme makeovers, and granite countertops and a bigass SUV, and a full schedule of extra-curriculars for the kids. The perfect life in the early 21st Century is one that must be encoded in what others can see. And yet, and yet we also live in the Oprah/Phil age–where your dream can be validated, where your “achievement” can be validated in the language of spirituality and growth, if only you will show white spaces to others (and if you write them and your perfection with equal attention to fable, so be it and bless your ratings).

    A pristine future is another kind of lie. One that drives us to be constantly searching and hardly ever reflecting or appreciating. I think it’s crap.

    Why want either? Is it not our spaces, the gaps in between (in the literal and the postmodern sense), that reach the deep part of us? They drive art and joy and hatred and those moments of revelation one has in life. I say know your spaces, understand them, and never forget them. That doesn’t mean you discuss them at the water cooler (or in your blog). In fact, they are of such importance that you might want to keep them closer.

    You will be more humane to the extent that you do. More open-minded. More interesting and interested. You’ll know the thickness of the veneer of perfection you see in others. And you will easily recognize those people for whom this veneer is the entirety of who they are (and then discount them or pity them as you will).

    So, a future, then. But not a pristine one. A future that allows you to write and un-write who you are, while never losing the accumulated wisdom of the edits.

    So, there IS a test

    Saturday, March 18th, 2006

    With more Amerkans using the Canadian Flag in vain, including GW (says correspondent Rob Corddry), it’s become increasingly important to be able to recognize the genuine Canuck. And there’s a test! This will work best if you (the tester) are Canadian–otherwise the pronunciation and emphasis will be off. But I recognize that a particularly devious national might try this to ensure he/she has found a Canuck to whom they might attach themselves in a crowd (say, in France)…

    If you suspect that someone is falsely trying to pass themselves
    off as a Canadian, make the following statement – and then carefully note
    their reaction:

    “Last night, I cashed my pogey and went to buy a mickey of C.C. at
    the beer parlour, but my skidoo got stuck in the muskeg on my way back to
    the duplex. I was trying to deke out a deer, you see. Damn chinook, melted
    everything. And then a Mountie snuck up behind me in a ghost car and gave
    me an impaired. I was S.O.L., sitting there dressed only in my Stanfields
    and a touque at the time. And the Mountie, he’s all chippy and everything,
    calling me a “shit disturber” and what not. What could I say, except,
    “Sorry, EH!”

    If the person you are talking to nods sympathetically, they’re one of us.
    If, however, they stare at you with a blank incomprehension, they are not a
    real Canadian. Have them reported to the authorities at once.

    Source: Bert Christensen