The Cheeseblog

Sunday last, at the traily-taily-end of my flu, whom I have named Doug, saint aardvark and I went to the Mall to exchange some pants I bought that didn’t fit. They were $20 pants when I bought them, but when I exchanged them for a smaller pair, they were $15 pants! So I got $5 back. How nice!

Then Doug said I could eat so we went to the Taco Bell in the food fair (not the weird one at the movie theatre) to celebrate. I ordered two delicious bean burritos because sometimes one is not enough. When the taco bell woman gave me my burritos, she said, “Would you like some sauce?”
“You may,” said Doug. He lit a cigarette. He always smokes when he has some time to kill.
“Yes, please,” said I.
“Mild or ketchup,” said she.
“Hot, please,” said I.
“We don’t have hot. Sorry. Mild or ketchup?”

She asked wearily, for though it was early in her shift, it was still a Sunday at the Mall and she would have to defend herself all day against people like me and Doug.

“Have you stopped carrying hot sauce?”
“No, we’re just out right now.”
“Ah. Mild then, please.”

I tore the packet open with my teeth. The mild sauce tasted like hamburger relish. But the bean burrito was good.

“Ketchup on a bean burrito?” said Doug, shaking his head.
“No kidding,” said I.
“Better not come back here again,” said Doug.
“Well, when you’re gone, I guess I’ll do what I want.”

Doug just glared. But he is right. And I probably won’t go back to Taco Bell until I’m in GOD BLESS AMERICA where the FIRE SAUCE flows like so much lava from VOLCANOES OF FREEDOM.

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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.

I have a flu that makes me feel like I’m wearing underwear made of lead.