The Cheeseblog

Walking up a busy downtown street the other day, following the throes of businesspeople, heading for a coffee. A skinny man with dirty clothes and a backwards baseball cap was scuttling up the street beside me, picking up cigarette butts, brushing them off, putting them in his pocket. He also carried a big plastic bag full of cans he had collected from garbage cans and right off the road.

He was a few feet ahead of me when a fast-walking man came up from behind and put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, that terrible “hey!” whistle that people do that I can’t do but even if I could I would never do except maybe at a Led Zeppelin show. The whistling man was short (about to my shoulder) and balding and chubby and had a lot of cologne on. He had half an inch left to smoke on his cigarette. When the skinny guy turned around, at the whistle, Shorty said, “here, you can have the rest of this.” Skinny guy looked at Shorty for a minute, then said “thanks,”and took the cigarette butt.

Hmm. That’s kind of nice, I guess, but the whistling really put me off.

Then, as the skinny guy scuttered off, Shorty pulled out his pack of smokes (Dunhills) and lit a fresh one. He had a full pack.

And:

i. while those who smoke are under no obligation to give away all their cigarettes to people who live on or near the street

and:

ii. while it can be exhausting to give to people downtown because there are so damn many of them asking and we are all cynical and have our doubts that they will spend our hard earned money on something “appropriate” ie: food not drugs even if drugs will keep them alive longer than a cheeseburger and who are we to judge, really, if you don’t want to give your money don’t give your money

I still:

a) couldn’t help but think that it would have been nice for Shorty to go the extra three inches and give the guy a whole cigarette and that

b) if he had done so it would have been a surprise and a heartening moment whereas

c) as it stands, it just made me (think and) feel a little sad.

I just read that Laura Branigan has died of a brain anuerysm (that is a word I have never had to spell) at the age of 47. Mere days ago, I was dancing around my kitchen, calling “Gloria.”
And earlier that same day, I was discussing with a co-worker how brain anuerysms are terrifying.

But then think – to die in my sleep would be great.

OK, great-ish.

Goodbye Laura Branigan. I don’t know why it had to be you and not, say, Vanilla Ice or the fine folks of Finger Eleven (they’re CrapTastic!). But mine is not to reason why.

My friend Melissa who has no website to link to, alas, recommended an internet radio station named Whole Wheat Radio to me, quite some time ago. She was listening to it obsessively from her cubicle in her boring job in Wisconsin, as a way to stay sane AND prepare for a trip to Alaska, which is where WWR starts before it is broadcast over the WWW. Well, I didn’t have speakers on my computer at work at the time, so I filed the information in my brain-cabinet under “somedaymusiccool.”

Of late, I found myself with more speakers than a girl really needs – 2 sets at work (2 computers; 2 desks; 2 jobs, just call me Jacob) – a nifty set on the ibook, etc. I accessed my brain-cabinet and went to the Whole Wheat Radio site & it sounded mighty fine but I didn’t have time to really listen. 2 busy 2 do much but weep & sleep.

Then today came. Today is a rainy, grey, perfect saturday. The catt has been following me around my house and curling up in my lap every time I sit down. I have had several cups of peppermint tea and I am wearing a cardigan. ( I have well and truly taken the “Librarian Look” to heart. As though I had been waiting for 15 years to become fashionable.) It’s been half an hour or so of WWR and I have heard some wonderful folk play their music, I have registered myself as a listener and chosen a monkey icon and I have sat, delighted and astounded, as the computer radio voice read me my horoscope and linked aloud to my blog. What a lovely bunch of people. Oh and now they’re playing a jammytastic version of “Summertime,” one of my most favourite songs.

How does the internet get inside my head? I guess now I know why there’s no room in there for important stuff like how to address a Minister of State in a formal letter.

So anyway, thanks, Melissa. And thanks, yummy whole wheat people.
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T-Shirt Hell has a lot of terrifyingly funny shirts that I would probably never have the numchuks to wear in public. There used to be one that said “Guns Kill People: Mario Van Peebles” that I would have worn and really wanted but I didn’t have the $17. When I went back with my $17, the shirt was gone. Alas. However this shirt is something I could wear.

This site has food and it is good food. I made a modified version of the chili recipe (modified for time because it was after work and I wanted to eat before midnight, though I KNOW that embracing and cuddling one’s chili makes it better) the other night and holy shazzammy! it was good. One day if I am unemployed again I will make the risotto.

Article in today’s Globe & Mail online about the upcoming first ministers conference on health – with a terrible picture of our Health Minister, Ujjal Dosanjh, attached to it – reads:

Alberta Premier Ralph Klein has also added to the tension by announcing he will only the attend the opening day of the first ministers meetings.
Mr. Klein was quoted Wednesday as saying “there’s no bloody votes down there” and said he’d rather honour a speaking commitment in Lethbridge, Alta.
“I think that Ralph Klein is the dean of all the premiers,” said PM Martin

Hmm, do you really think so? Does that make Gordo the President of the University? I remember a president that resembled Gordo in some key ways.

Anyway, I think I’d rather go to a school where the profs aren’t drunk all the time – unless they’re buying me drinks…but that’s a different kind of prof, yes? If I’m going to pay all this tuition, I want to employ intelligent, well-educated profs with my interests at heart.

Here is a(n) Haiku called “Work”

I am so finished
But have two more hours to go
Such injustice, hey?