My Butt.

My butt is aching with a dull sort of grumpiness in the bones behind each cheek.

My flu made me lie around for four days. Sometimes it let me sit. Sit. Lie. Sit. Lie. Sore butt.

Yesterday I learned that it is not all school districts that have inappropriate quotation marks around the word “please” on their school zone signs. I drove through Point Grey, on my way to UBC, and the schools there have grammatically correct signs. These are the children of professors. However, though the yellow Please Slow Down Our Children Are (extra) Worth It signs are abundant, I did not pass through an actual 30 KM/H SCHOOL ZONE sign. I slowed down a little to appreciate the correct punctuation, but I guess they are so smart in Point Grey they know enough not to run into busy traffic to retrieve a soccer ball.

It’s true: money breeds intelligence. If you are raising your kids in Burnaby, get yourself out! Burnaby makes dumb kids!

Speaking of smart, last night I watched The Newsroom on television. You know how when you don’t like a food, like broccoli, but you’re forced to eat it, you hate and fear it even more? Then one day you eat it of your own volition, maybe with some nice cheese sauce and it tastes mmmm-fantastic and it’s your new favourite? And you wonder why no one let you put cheese sauce on broccoli 10 years ago – it makes all the difference!

Canadian television is like that for me. When it is good, it is superlative. When it is bad, it is still allowed to be on the air, because it’s Canadian so it’s good for me. There seems to be more cheese sauce in Canadian television – or more skillfully cooked broccoli. The return of The Newsroom is one such bright speck of joy. Da Vinci’s Inquest, of course, is another, but it has been good for 6 seasons already. That’s some old news.

So, could we cancel the Royal Canadian Air Farce now? Would that be OK? Or just force them back onto radio?

I was pleased to see that Kink is doing a season in Toronto.
HEY I support the positive body image of people of all sizes, and their right to explore whatever makes them happy, sexually or otherwise.
BUT I have come across far too many same-like episodes of “Kink,” with the same-like people whipping each other’s leather-assless-pants-clad asses, and it was only interesting the first time, when I realized I knew a bunch of the characters by name. I sold things to some of them. One of them pierced my navel. Ha! The novelty has worn off now and unless you’re giving or getting the whipping, whipping isn’t so exciting.

I don’t think I know anybody in Toronto – except relatives…and that’s just…well, really hilarious imagery.

For someone who doesn’t watch a lot of TV, I guess I kind of do.

Maybe that’s why my butt is sore.

But I also read! And you have to sit down to read unless you’re on the bus and I wasn’t! My flu and I read The Way the Crow Flies by Ann-Marie MacDonald. It’s just over 700 pages long. It is a delicate, slow novel. There are details that make you want to stop and sigh. You sort of become enmeshed in the storyline without even realizing. My flu tried to warn me what was going to happen at the end, but I didn’t believe it.

Understatement of the Week
Always believe your flu. Even if its ideas seem farfetched, out of this world, squirrel-crazy. Believe your flu.