But sir, don’t you think that since you’re the one driving 60 km/h down the middle of the sidewalk in a motorized scooter that it’s not the responsibility of the woman walking tidily on her side (and do you know how UNUSUAL that is?) of the sidewalk to move over? And do you really think that calling her a “fucking [racial slur]” will help ease anyone’s pain?
People suck ass sometimes.
A year is so long. How can you make a resolution that should last a whole year? I heard on the radio last week that the number of days after which Canadians break their new year’s resolutions is 17. What day was it, now, that I heard that? Oh yes, January 17th.
I think I will take things one week at a time.
This week I resolutely intend to:
1. Paint my nails.
2. Pack a lunch every day except one.
3. Buy a delicious lunch one day.
4. Stop using the words “fuckwad,” “cocksucker” and “goddamn idiot.” Especially when at the office. Especially especially out loud.
5. Try to see things his or her way.
6. Not watch any television that makes me scowl or utter words listed above. Election results excepted.
7. Eat only good chocolate.
Re: #6. Last night I sat on the couch and watched 3/4 of a movie on the women’s television network. It starred Shannon Elizabeth. She really acts about as well as these boots in the Vancouver rain. It was about a woman trying to balance her career in advertising with her upcoming wedding. See, she wanted the wedding to be PERFECT and she also wanted to win the big account for her scowly boss who thought she was an airheaded idiot so she was all stressed out and she fought with her fiance and she got kissed by an old college flame who happened to be working on the big account pitch with her.
There was a lot of narration.
Is the fluff getting worse or am I getting old or is it just because I’m not drinking? Regardless, this week I shall be strong and stick only to that television which makes me happy.
Now. Since I seem able, of late, only to read other peoples’ words on the web and cry at how much better they are than me, and since it is Sunday, a day when I traditionally feel a) morose and b) obliged, because I have free time, to write here yet increasingly nothing comes, which leads to a spiral of angst and carpal tunnel attacks from my hand poised over the keyboard, I introduce the first installment of Sunday Love! wherein I provide links to the places I like to visit in the interest of sharing and compliments and, well, love.
I will leave out those blogs which are linked on the right as you people are either the authors of those blogs or have seen the links there for the last year and if you haven’t checked ’em out yet you’re probably not going to. Sigh. Maybe next week’s resolutions will include one to re-vamp ye old cheeseblog.
Proceeding, then.
I recently began reading In Palinode’s Palace, a witty, often downright hilarious account of travel, conversations, eclectica etc. And he’s Canadian. I enjoyed this post a great deal.
Out of Order is the first online journal-type-place I ever read. She was my first bookmark. I go back for Annie’s elegant, clean writing that sometimes is gut-splittingly hilarious and sometimes makes me sob like an over-tired toddler. Recently, her cat died and I was unable to function for weeping.
Similarly, when Kitty Bukkake lost her mom just over a year ago, I was stunned by how much it affected me. Kitty/Jen runs marathons, makes performance art and writes from a place in her body that I don’t think I’ve ever even seen in an anatomy book.
Another recent obsession: Breed em and Weep. So bloody good.
And if you’re after music, So Much Silence offers MP3s, suggestions, theme weeks and more. It was here I discovered Jewish hip hop, among other things.
OK bye.
Now I really want to eat this. Is it wrong?
In the week leading up to an election, I think the people who are running for office should have to stop campaigning. They could take the week to sleep, eat, swim, suntan. Then, come election day, they would be rested and capable. Their acceptance/concession speeches would be delivered with full emotional breadth rather than near-hysterical shouting, sweating and podium-pounding stemming from exhaustion.
We voters would be able to sit back for that last week and reflect on the campaign, on our values, on how best to get what we want. We would have a week of peace, free from the poisonously catchy jingles and bad acting of election advertisements. We could pretend all the election/scandal/non-confidence/election hooplah was over and we were already lolling in the calm after the storm where government is productive and serves its people. (If you need me, I’ll be sitting on the beach of Utopia Island, removing the solid gold shells from succulent crabs, thinking about our federal day-care system and drinking bellinis made of tropical nectar. Non-alcoholic bellinis.)
As I do fiction or film or television that insists on explaining things to me, insulting my ability to reason, I have grown to resent the intrusion of media in my decision-making process around elections. It’s like a director’s commentary playing in the background of a movie. Only once have I sat through such a commentary; it was for Jaws and it was Steven Spielberg going on and on about what a genius he is and how he didn’t want to use a fake shark for this scene but the studio made him do it. Not everything needs to be analyzed and explained. (and I am an over-analyzer & hyper-explainer so you can trust me on this.)
And yes, of course, I can turn off the director’s commentary and I can avoid the television and radio. I could live in a little bubble where media doesn’t intrude. But then I’d have nothing to complain about.
Who needs to see the dying thrusts of an election campaign? Who wants to hear the desperate tone in the leaders’ voices as they attempt to refute each others’ claims of negligence, corruption, testicle-less-ness, etc? It’s not as though we are learning anything important about these guys at this point except that they crack under pressure, as do we all. The real information is in their platforms, in their histories, in what they said and did when the whole country wasn’t watching.
Watching them flail makes me uncomfortable; I’m embarrassed for their last-ditch efforts, like when the guy in the sitcom does the dumb, cringe-worthy thing, and you have to squint your eyes a little because it hurts to watch someone, even a fictional character, say or do something so asinine. Hush your mouths and let’s get on with it.
My mom celebrated her 65th birthday on Thursday. She was so excited to be turning 65 & having just received her new GOLD CARE CARD, she booked herself into the hospital for gall bladder removal! (actually, they called her after 5 months on a waiting list, but let’s not muddy this celebratory post with reality) All went well; the GOLD CARE CARD worked & so did the surgery and tomorrow we will go to her house to celebrate her new, gall bladder (and encumbering stones)-free existence.
I am making a cake for her birthday. Because she is on a restrictive diet – not because of the gall bladder, strangely enough – and cannot have dairy, I googled for cake + dairy free recipes. Eggs are OK, which means there are lots of cakes to choose from but also there are lots of cakes not to choose.
Williamsburg Pork Cake, for example. Described as, “…an old recipe for spice cake made with salt pork and raisins. It’s baked in a tube pan and contains no eggs or dairy,” this concoction features brandy, pork, currents & raisins.
And lest you think this is a one-off, behold the Pork-n-Beans Cake, which, according to the reviews, “…is one where people say, “mmmm, what’s this?” after tasting it, and the look on their faces is quite amusing after you tell them there’s a can of pork and beans! My roommate made this for a dietetics class once, and she said that nobody could tell what it was made out of! So it’s kind of a joke that we make it for each other’s birthday every year now. but it really is pretty good, nice and moist and it does in fact taste similar to a spice cake. I haven’t tried any type of icing or frosting, but I have made this cake quite a few times, and though people may be hesitant, they will surprise themselves after tasting this one!”
“Mmmm, what’s this!”
“Pork-n-beans cake! Hey, where are you going?”
Now, icing or frosting ideas….ketchup? Tang? I guess it depends if you want to go sweet or savoury.
I can safely say there are things that should not go in cake. PORK = #1 on the list.
In unrelated news, someone loves ducks more than me. Way more.
As for my own health, this week I had my tooth filling replaced and my blood drawn, both without incident. We also attended our first group prenatal visit. We have joined an all-inclusive prenatal program where you attend a 2 hour visit every month (more frequently as you get more preggo). The 2 hour visit includes a group session about pregnancy care, baby care, nutrition, what-have-you, with 9 other women at the same stage of pregnant as you, a “belly check” with a doctor or midwife and a fun little circuit of measuring your own weight, blood pressure & pee. There were also snacks. As the woman who led our group pointed out, most of the time when you go for a doctor’s visit, 15 minutes (if you’re lucky) is spent talking about how you feel, while 2 minutes is spent doing the actual physical check-up. By putting the basic medical stuff in our own hands and saving just the dopplering & squeezing for the health professional, the talking about how we feel part can be longer and more productive. Especially because we all feel variations of the same thing. (bloated, worried, smelly, powerful) It’s a very cool model of care that I think I will take a lot from.
The babby, who spends most of the time blowing bubbles and eating all my food, got super excited about the doppler and swam right up front ’cause that’s where the mic is, yo. In about 18 years, we will be great karaoke stars, the babby and me.
This weekend marks my 17th week of pregnancy and because I am crazy in love with the number 17, I am posting two photos. One is of my pointy belly (containing a uterus the size of a canteloupe, according to some book or other). This may be the only belly shot I ever post (with or without tequila) as I receive quite enough creepy google hits as it is. However, when I am an Extreme Wide Load in June and can do nothing but sweat and type using vintage cigarette holders, whilst having nothing to actually say except “goddamn it’s hot and I’m fat” I may post more pictures. For sympathy, you understand.
The other is of my hair, which may have finally signed a contract with the hormones to provide me with glossy, tangle-free locks until post-partum when it all (according to some other book or other and several first hand accounts) falls out. That’s okay. It’ll be July and I won’t need long hair in July.
