The Cheeseblog

Tumultuous days!

Geared up this morning, stuffed it all in my backpack, necessary because of all the crap I now haul around. Why? Because it helps me cope. Discman (oh yes, I have joined the 21st century) & 18 batteries, CDs, lunch, a book, a notebook, another notebook, a pen, lipgloss, other lipgloss, other other lipgloss.

Well, one is a “sheen” and the other is a “shine” (SHINE!) and the third is just “sparkles” so maybe that one is best for tomorrow, being Friday again so soon.

Rode the bus & listened to ani difranco at full volume. Ah yes. We saw ani last night at the Queen e. St. Aardvark won us tickets on the CBC radio show. I’ve seen ani 4 times now and last night was not her best.

I remember the first and especially the second time; she talked and giggled that maniacal giggle like a mad poet on helium. She hugged everybody with her smile. It was like being in ani’s living room, sitting cross-legged on the shag carpet, chins in our hands, while she bestowed on us wisdom, freakishly fast guitarplaying and some of the best punchlines in folk music.

But I think maybe the love of her life left her and she’s tired and her country is at war and nipples are evil and what’s it all for, anyway? What’s it all fucking for?

That’s what last night’s show said to me. I understand – I know the feeling – I have in the past marvelled at her energy and positive spirits in spite of all of the above…and more. So it was sad and beautiful and all-powerful but in a different direction.

One encore, consisting of one song, then the lights went up and we were all drunk at last call, blinking up at the roadies sweeping the stage.

So this morning my DISCMAN played ani for me, loud and angry in a positive way, in a THIS is what it’s all fucking for THIS is my voice and it is powerful, (“Every time I move, it’s a woman’s movement”) and I rode the bus and the skytrain to work.

aside…
As a commuter, I would like it if everybody else would play along and fill the abundent space on the train. Think of the skytrain car as one of those chocolate bars with the bubbles. Now imagine the bubbles are human sized! And the more people you can fit in the chocolate bar bubbles, the better chance you have of winning a LIFETIME SUPPLY of CHOCOLATE!

Also, how do people get to the executive level of any company without ever using commas? There are some who write like this for sentences even when they have many points to make even when they are composing what should be a business letter why do they get paid so much money? Maybe commas are like giving in.

TONIGHT is the two hour season FINAL!E! of The Making of America’s Next Top Business (live! from a ) Shark (cage!). Oh I am so excited. I don’t know how I’m going to stay up till 11 to see the tha-rilling conclusion but I sure am gonna try. And if I’m up that late, I might as well watch Courtney on Leno.

Yesterday we saw Mayor Larry Campbell at the corner of Georgia and Burrard, wearing a kilt & walking down the street. St. Aardvark hollered “WE LOVE YOU MAYOR CAMPBELL!” and Mayor Larry Campbell looked back at us, gave us a wave and a giant smile.

In closing, a moment of silence for the best politician in the whole wide world: Svend Robinson. My heart breaks for him and for me, too, because this was the year I moved back to his riding and I was going to get to vote for someone I actually believed in, someone with convictions, standards, balls, style, talent. A west-coast, tall, gay Trudeau.

The Sea Animal of the Moment,

You write the caption,

Funny/horrible/funny period story (because a day isn’t complete without one),

An articulate deconstruction of “The Swan,” which I may or may not watch this evening, just to know my enemy, as it were.

Also,
My mom painted some ducks. See how one is going in the opposite direction from the other ones? That one is my mom.

No question; no argument; definitely no apologies: Today’s holy trinity of whup-yo-ass: Ministry, Soundgarden and Nine Inch Nails.

In my second year of university, I would sit outside on the stone wall beside the pathway that people used to get to class, listening to “Badmotorfinger” and “Louder than Love” way too loud on my walkman. I was invincible behind my Olive Oyl-y combo of long johns and combat boots, my slightly used plaid flannel shirt, my scraggly hair. I sneered at the students hustling to class, wearing hiking boots, crippled by the weight of their textbooks, clutching coffee mugs and muffins in plastic wrap. Who cared if they were late? Wasn’t it better to watch the world, observe it closely and experience its madness from a vantage point like mine, where the heavy wailing and screeching in my ears assured me that I wasn’t wrong, that really it all was for shit?

Well, I was 18. I sure thought so at the time and I’ve got the poetry to prove it.

Still, twelve years later (ACK!), I think it would benefit me in my dull-as-pink-carnations-on-mother’s-day job to reconnect with that mad, scornful 18-year-old. You’ll find me siting outside on the concrete benches, listening to Ministry on my walkman (same walkman – still works), mentally fanning the sparks of the people in suits and 1.5 inch heels who hustle to their 9 am committee meeting where they will discuss how many more committees they should commit to for the fiscal year.

However juvenile it might seem, separating me from them might be the only way to survive. That and big hoop earrings. And, quite possibly, subversive underwear.

The weekend is new, shiny, bright. All the ducks are lined up for inspection. Four days of glorious relaxation is ahead; food, drink, chocolate, sleep, music, chips, cheese. mmm. cheese.

But first, from my What the Fuck? files:

COACHELLA, Calif. AP
Without any specific strategy, dealmaker Donald Trump battled a live chicken and won $250.
The real estate mogul showed up at his namesake Trump 29 Casino on Tuesday and played the Apprentice Chicken Challenge, a tic-tac-toe game with live poultry in a booth pecking its board selections while a gambler makes picks outside the box.
The Donald beat the bird.

(This “article” came from MSNBC.com. That’s the entire text. I’m not linking to it because when I added the link here, it did not not work and a little NBC icon showed up in the location bar next to the cheeseblog. NBC does not own me, nope. Not just yet.)