So, you'll have to indulge me for the duration of the Detroit Red Wings' playoffs run, I will be a little preoccupied.
We're mere minutes from the first game of the series in Anaheim, and I'm nervous as hell. The Wings have been on a hot streak over the final games of the regular season, and they needed it, being so very dangerously close to missing the playoffs for the first time in 22 years. That's how much they needed the streak.
Let's go Red Wings!
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
April 29/13
I think it's far too easy to stop thinking of those around us as human beings with hearts, feelings, and rights. Whenever some inconvenience stands in the way of getting our way, some of us are capable of dehumanizing those deemed responsible, thus making it easier to do whatever it takes to do away with the inconvenience. We, as a supposedly civilized species, are capable of great cruelty and evil.
Recently, there have been reports coming out of South America, and Argentina in particular, about the release of new evidence related to the brutal tortures, murders and "forced disappearances" of the 1970s and 1980s under the Argentine Military Junta and Augusto Pinochet. It's timely of course, as Margaret Thatcher's recent death shone a spotlight on her pathologically sick defense of and admiration for Pinochet.
So tonight, when the last song of U2's The Joshua Tree cued on the record player, I was immediately given over to it: Mothers of the Disappeared. If you haven't heard it, take five minutes and fourteen seconds out of your life to listen. It's an absolutely, breathtakingly haunting and heartbreaking song. It's dangerous and pleading and demanding. Try as you might, you just can't will those words out of your head..."Hear their heartbeat...We hear their heartbeat." Distraction is the only cure. I'm not a mother, but it just tears my heart apart to think of the mothers whose sons and daughters were stolen from them in such brutal and horrific fashions, and for what? A difference in political visions. For the crime of believing in political systems that promoted different values.
Answers for the Mothers and Grandmothers of Los Desaparecidos...
...Wish you were here.
Recently, there have been reports coming out of South America, and Argentina in particular, about the release of new evidence related to the brutal tortures, murders and "forced disappearances" of the 1970s and 1980s under the Argentine Military Junta and Augusto Pinochet. It's timely of course, as Margaret Thatcher's recent death shone a spotlight on her pathologically sick defense of and admiration for Pinochet.
So tonight, when the last song of U2's The Joshua Tree cued on the record player, I was immediately given over to it: Mothers of the Disappeared. If you haven't heard it, take five minutes and fourteen seconds out of your life to listen. It's an absolutely, breathtakingly haunting and heartbreaking song. It's dangerous and pleading and demanding. Try as you might, you just can't will those words out of your head..."Hear their heartbeat...We hear their heartbeat." Distraction is the only cure. I'm not a mother, but it just tears my heart apart to think of the mothers whose sons and daughters were stolen from them in such brutal and horrific fashions, and for what? A difference in political visions. For the crime of believing in political systems that promoted different values.
Answers for the Mothers and Grandmothers of Los Desaparecidos...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
April 28/13
It looks like Nature decided to skip early spring and go straight to late spring, because today it was mere hours ago that there was still a chill in the air, particularly if you weren't in the sunshine, and today, it's a spectacular day.
After catching the under 18 World Championship game, we pulled on our summer attire and took the canal like seemingly all of Ottawa, and headed into the Market. We had no particular plans, it was just about being outside and taking advantage of the first nice day of 2013. I couldn't help but note all the deathly-pale people out biking, jogging, blading...if you didn't get out of town and head south for spring break, it really showed. At one point, a man jogged by without a shirt on, and I could swear his pale skin was actually reflecting sunlight. Not that we were in any position to judge...
Here's to a summer of sun and warmth...
...Wish you were here.
After catching the under 18 World Championship game, we pulled on our summer attire and took the canal like seemingly all of Ottawa, and headed into the Market. We had no particular plans, it was just about being outside and taking advantage of the first nice day of 2013. I couldn't help but note all the deathly-pale people out biking, jogging, blading...if you didn't get out of town and head south for spring break, it really showed. At one point, a man jogged by without a shirt on, and I could swear his pale skin was actually reflecting sunlight. Not that we were in any position to judge...
Here's to a summer of sun and warmth...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
April 27/13
Who knew Guns N' Roses could be great music to write to?
After sketching out the story I'm creating, there are of course questions that need to be answered in order to keep the story flowing, help with plot or character development, and maintain the integrity surrounding real places, people, and circumstances. Today was about tackling some of those questions and finding a way to make this story happen.
While I worked, I put on some of the many gigabytes of music I need to sift through and keep or discard, and I got a bit lazy and just chose a random folder to go through so I wouldn't have to be flipping around. That folder contained GNR's Use Your Illusion I, which you might not consider when you are looking for music to help stimulate the creative process. I know I certainly wouldn't think of it first. Typically when I am writing something (unless it's poetry), be it a briefing note or a school paper, the music that provides the most stimulates the brain and helps the writing flow smoother is Classical, electronic, or certain rock albums. I would not consider Axl Rose's nasal caterwauling in any way soothing, but something about that music just had me thinking and writing up a storm.
Moments of unexpected delight...
...Wish you were here.
After sketching out the story I'm creating, there are of course questions that need to be answered in order to keep the story flowing, help with plot or character development, and maintain the integrity surrounding real places, people, and circumstances. Today was about tackling some of those questions and finding a way to make this story happen.
While I worked, I put on some of the many gigabytes of music I need to sift through and keep or discard, and I got a bit lazy and just chose a random folder to go through so I wouldn't have to be flipping around. That folder contained GNR's Use Your Illusion I, which you might not consider when you are looking for music to help stimulate the creative process. I know I certainly wouldn't think of it first. Typically when I am writing something (unless it's poetry), be it a briefing note or a school paper, the music that provides the most stimulates the brain and helps the writing flow smoother is Classical, electronic, or certain rock albums. I would not consider Axl Rose's nasal caterwauling in any way soothing, but something about that music just had me thinking and writing up a storm.
Moments of unexpected delight...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, April 26, 2013
April 26/13
I am not Rehtaeh Parson. But I can't help but wonder if I would have been her.
I don't talk about this much, but I'm compelled to by the disgraceful "journalism" of the ever-obstinate Christie Blatchford. This awful woman used her column in the National Post to victim blame and cherry-pick the facts of the case Rehtaeh had tried to bring against the four boys who raped her, took pictures, and sent those pictures around their community of Cole Harbor, NS. Blatchford went all in, defending the boys and taking any and all opportunities to point the finger in the direction of Rehtaeh as being the perpetrator of an unprovable case. Her opinion piece is so offensive, I refuse to even link to it here--If you want to read that trash, you'll have to seek it out yourself.
Rehtaeh's father took the high road in his response to Blatchford; it's kinder in tone than I would produce, had this woman, who knew nothing about my daughter or her life, decided to play judge and jury on a case she didn't have the first clue about.
Blatchford accuses Rehtaeh of flirting, giving consent, not being drunk enough, and being foolish enough to be partially photographed with one of the four accused. She argues that there's no way this would stand up in court.
Well. She would be surprised what can actually stand up in a court room in a sexual assault case.
More than 16 years ago, I was sexually assaulted while being close to black-out drunk. The assailant fed me drinks all night as I lost track (at one point, my water was replaced with another drink somehow), and when I was good and blacking out, he separated me from my friends as closing time chaos ensued, and carried me to a couple of locations in the building to carry out the assault. I had no interest in sex with him, and he knew it. I wouldn't have consented, even if I wasn't so drunk that I could no longer legally give consent.
I said he had to carry me to a couple of locations--that's because he got caught at the first site. He was determined to have his way. I sort of could feel sensations, like being carried up some stairs, but then I'd black out before I could figure out what was going on. I came to in the middle of the assault, and scared, he rushed me down those stairs and tossed me out into the snow, where an acquaintance found me and helped me reach my residence, where the police were called.
I went through the whole experience: the questions, the rape kit, the humiliating call to my parents. The investigation turned up evidence that I had been where I said I was, and that witnesses could place my actions throughout the night, up to and including him getting caught by a staff member at the first location, but not much more than that. The rest of it would be my word against his.
At the preliminary hearing, I spent about four hours on the stand while his lawyer went into full attack mode, trying to get me to slip up (up the stairs, down the stairs, up the stairs, down the stairs...), but I didn't back down. There were several other witnesses to be called, but my testimony took so long to get through, court was adjourned without having heard from them.
The assailant changed his plea from 'not guilty' to 'guilty'.
At the end of the day, he knew he stood no chance. He'd bet on me not knowing or remembering enough to make a case. And he lost.
Rehtaeh wasn't as lucky. She didn't have a dedicated officer investigating her case, she didn't have a crown attorney who could be confident in moving forward, and worse still, she had actual photographic evidence and the bragging confessions of at least one of the assailants that was used to defile and hurt her among her peers and friends. In many ways, on the face of it, her case seems stronger than mine did. And she actually suffered for it. She did a brave thing by going to the police, as so many never do, and yet she was punished for it.
I wonder...if pictures had been involved in my assault, would I have been in her position? Would my friends and acquaintances have reacted the same way as her so-called friends and acquaintances? If I hadn't had the right legal and social supports, would I too have ended my life? We'll never know. In the end, I was strong because I had great support, not judgment, nastiness or victim-blaming.
If you want to be stupid and judge me for being that drunk, I suggest you hit the road, because the law is on the side of the victim: when he or she is that impaired, consent can no longer be given or assumed. I'm not to blame for being drunk. He's to blame for breaking the law and committing a felony assault.
Rehtaeh...
...I wish you were here.
I don't talk about this much, but I'm compelled to by the disgraceful "journalism" of the ever-obstinate Christie Blatchford. This awful woman used her column in the National Post to victim blame and cherry-pick the facts of the case Rehtaeh had tried to bring against the four boys who raped her, took pictures, and sent those pictures around their community of Cole Harbor, NS. Blatchford went all in, defending the boys and taking any and all opportunities to point the finger in the direction of Rehtaeh as being the perpetrator of an unprovable case. Her opinion piece is so offensive, I refuse to even link to it here--If you want to read that trash, you'll have to seek it out yourself.
Rehtaeh's father took the high road in his response to Blatchford; it's kinder in tone than I would produce, had this woman, who knew nothing about my daughter or her life, decided to play judge and jury on a case she didn't have the first clue about.
Blatchford accuses Rehtaeh of flirting, giving consent, not being drunk enough, and being foolish enough to be partially photographed with one of the four accused. She argues that there's no way this would stand up in court.
Well. She would be surprised what can actually stand up in a court room in a sexual assault case.
More than 16 years ago, I was sexually assaulted while being close to black-out drunk. The assailant fed me drinks all night as I lost track (at one point, my water was replaced with another drink somehow), and when I was good and blacking out, he separated me from my friends as closing time chaos ensued, and carried me to a couple of locations in the building to carry out the assault. I had no interest in sex with him, and he knew it. I wouldn't have consented, even if I wasn't so drunk that I could no longer legally give consent.
I said he had to carry me to a couple of locations--that's because he got caught at the first site. He was determined to have his way. I sort of could feel sensations, like being carried up some stairs, but then I'd black out before I could figure out what was going on. I came to in the middle of the assault, and scared, he rushed me down those stairs and tossed me out into the snow, where an acquaintance found me and helped me reach my residence, where the police were called.
I went through the whole experience: the questions, the rape kit, the humiliating call to my parents. The investigation turned up evidence that I had been where I said I was, and that witnesses could place my actions throughout the night, up to and including him getting caught by a staff member at the first location, but not much more than that. The rest of it would be my word against his.
At the preliminary hearing, I spent about four hours on the stand while his lawyer went into full attack mode, trying to get me to slip up (up the stairs, down the stairs, up the stairs, down the stairs...), but I didn't back down. There were several other witnesses to be called, but my testimony took so long to get through, court was adjourned without having heard from them.
The assailant changed his plea from 'not guilty' to 'guilty'.
At the end of the day, he knew he stood no chance. He'd bet on me not knowing or remembering enough to make a case. And he lost.
Rehtaeh wasn't as lucky. She didn't have a dedicated officer investigating her case, she didn't have a crown attorney who could be confident in moving forward, and worse still, she had actual photographic evidence and the bragging confessions of at least one of the assailants that was used to defile and hurt her among her peers and friends. In many ways, on the face of it, her case seems stronger than mine did. And she actually suffered for it. She did a brave thing by going to the police, as so many never do, and yet she was punished for it.
I wonder...if pictures had been involved in my assault, would I have been in her position? Would my friends and acquaintances have reacted the same way as her so-called friends and acquaintances? If I hadn't had the right legal and social supports, would I too have ended my life? We'll never know. In the end, I was strong because I had great support, not judgment, nastiness or victim-blaming.
If you want to be stupid and judge me for being that drunk, I suggest you hit the road, because the law is on the side of the victim: when he or she is that impaired, consent can no longer be given or assumed. I'm not to blame for being drunk. He's to blame for breaking the law and committing a felony assault.
Rehtaeh...
...I wish you were here.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
April 25/13
This morning, the news broke. Susan Griffiths has died a peaceful death.
Susan was an active Winnipeg senior, very lively and sociable, but she was diagnosed with Multiple Systems Atrophy recently, and it's virtually a sentence for a very slow, agonizing death. There's no cure, and no hope even of remission.
Susan would have just been another unfortunate story amongst her friends and family if she hadn't made the heartbreaking decision to leave her home before she wanted to and fly to Zurich in order to seek a legal assisted suicide. As she was leaving Canada, she spoke with the media, and suddenly this articulate, warm woman became the face of injustice in Canada. She would have preferred to die at home at a later time, when she felt that she was at her end, but she had to fly more than 7000 km while she could still travel, spend an extraordinary amount of money, and seek assistance in ending her life in a pain-free, dignified way while she was still able enough.
It's so barbaric to think of. And this government remains steadfast in the face of legal losses and a growing majority public opinion that it's time to change the laws and allow able-minded individuals the right to choose a dignified death: this obstinate government will not do it.
Please, if you believe that an individual should have the right to choose, contact your MP and urge them to make the right decision to support changing the law.
The right to a dignified death in Canada...
...Wish you were here.
Susan was an active Winnipeg senior, very lively and sociable, but she was diagnosed with Multiple Systems Atrophy recently, and it's virtually a sentence for a very slow, agonizing death. There's no cure, and no hope even of remission.
Susan would have just been another unfortunate story amongst her friends and family if she hadn't made the heartbreaking decision to leave her home before she wanted to and fly to Zurich in order to seek a legal assisted suicide. As she was leaving Canada, she spoke with the media, and suddenly this articulate, warm woman became the face of injustice in Canada. She would have preferred to die at home at a later time, when she felt that she was at her end, but she had to fly more than 7000 km while she could still travel, spend an extraordinary amount of money, and seek assistance in ending her life in a pain-free, dignified way while she was still able enough.
It's so barbaric to think of. And this government remains steadfast in the face of legal losses and a growing majority public opinion that it's time to change the laws and allow able-minded individuals the right to choose a dignified death: this obstinate government will not do it.
Please, if you believe that an individual should have the right to choose, contact your MP and urge them to make the right decision to support changing the law.
The right to a dignified death in Canada...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
April 24/13
Ah crap.
I had hoped that the Champions League Final this year would be a showdown between FC Barcalona and Real Madrid, but yesterday, Barca was eliminated by Bayern Munich, and today Real fell to Dortmund, thus setting up an all-German final. BOOOORRRRRRRIIIIIINNNGGG.
German football doesn't exactly thrill, if you know what I mean. It's technically excellent, but so bland. And I have to say, there's a serious lack of eye candy.
This year, I will be busy on May 25th.
Better luck next year, Real....
...Wish you were here.
I had hoped that the Champions League Final this year would be a showdown between FC Barcalona and Real Madrid, but yesterday, Barca was eliminated by Bayern Munich, and today Real fell to Dortmund, thus setting up an all-German final. BOOOORRRRRRRIIIIIINNNGGG.
German football doesn't exactly thrill, if you know what I mean. It's technically excellent, but so bland. And I have to say, there's a serious lack of eye candy.
This year, I will be busy on May 25th.
Better luck next year, Real....
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
April 23/13
Etienne buys music at a fairly decent clip, and I'd fallen behind on ripping most of the CDs to my computer, but I tackled some tonight, and while I waited, I took the opportunity to go through some of the massive pile of files I need to listen to and make a decision about. I'd say I have about 10 gigabytes of music files to work my way through, but I can't get through it fast enough since the IT restrictions at work tightened up quite severely.
I found a folder containing the best of Sam Cooke that I hadn't finished with, and it was a brilliant choice. The thing about Sam Cooke is that his music might sound sort of light and gay, but it's got some weight to it, so that you genuinely feel happy to hear it.
In a weary, fast-paced, angry world, it does the mind and heart some good to slow down and just enjoy something simple and joyful.
Sam Cooke...
...Wish you were here.
I found a folder containing the best of Sam Cooke that I hadn't finished with, and it was a brilliant choice. The thing about Sam Cooke is that his music might sound sort of light and gay, but it's got some weight to it, so that you genuinely feel happy to hear it.
In a weary, fast-paced, angry world, it does the mind and heart some good to slow down and just enjoy something simple and joyful.
Sam Cooke...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, April 22, 2013
April 22/13
The first patio of the season!
It couldn't come soon enough, as clearly being trapped inside due to the crappy weather has taken its toll on us both.
Today it was sunny and bright, and we only need light jackets during the day. This, plus the extra few points we've been battling over the winter, has spurred us into walking home from work when we can, but today it was clear that it was too soon and too pleasant to go straight home, so we headed to Elgin in the hopes of passing the time with a pint or two. We were delighted to see that the upper patio at the Fox & Feather was open, and we took full advantage while the sun was still shining.
Spring has finally arrived...
...Wish you were here.
It couldn't come soon enough, as clearly being trapped inside due to the crappy weather has taken its toll on us both.
Today it was sunny and bright, and we only need light jackets during the day. This, plus the extra few points we've been battling over the winter, has spurred us into walking home from work when we can, but today it was clear that it was too soon and too pleasant to go straight home, so we headed to Elgin in the hopes of passing the time with a pint or two. We were delighted to see that the upper patio at the Fox & Feather was open, and we took full advantage while the sun was still shining.
Spring has finally arrived...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
April 21/13
It's never easy to hear from someone you love that they can't remember the last time they enjoyed themselves while doing something. It's hard to ignore the sting of words that imply you aren't capable of making that person happy.
If I've seemed out of sorts this winter, it's because I have been. I've struggled with depression that's been compounded by a seemingly endless barrage of trouble to stress me out. I'll bet if I consulted with a mental health professional, they'd consider adding anxiety to the diagnosis.
The extended winter hasn't helped, nor has the feeling of being trapped by a city that doesn't offer much to occupy someone like me, who craves the variety and anonymity that larger cities provide. We go to the same pubs in the same parts of town. We shop at the same stores in the same parts of town. We do this because all of the other parts of town are quiet neighbourhoods and strip malls. Ottawa's great for tourists if you like museums and tours, but I was talking to a colleague at work whose cousins came to visit Ottawa for a week from England, and as she discovered, if you don't drink, you don't enjoy the outdoor pursuits and you aren't into museums and such, Ottawa really doesn't offer you anything.
So this winter has been particularly brutal around our house. I'd like to apologize if I haven't been doing my job and keeping up with you as a friend. I'm working on it.
Some happier times ahead...
...Wish you were here.
If I've seemed out of sorts this winter, it's because I have been. I've struggled with depression that's been compounded by a seemingly endless barrage of trouble to stress me out. I'll bet if I consulted with a mental health professional, they'd consider adding anxiety to the diagnosis.
The extended winter hasn't helped, nor has the feeling of being trapped by a city that doesn't offer much to occupy someone like me, who craves the variety and anonymity that larger cities provide. We go to the same pubs in the same parts of town. We shop at the same stores in the same parts of town. We do this because all of the other parts of town are quiet neighbourhoods and strip malls. Ottawa's great for tourists if you like museums and tours, but I was talking to a colleague at work whose cousins came to visit Ottawa for a week from England, and as she discovered, if you don't drink, you don't enjoy the outdoor pursuits and you aren't into museums and such, Ottawa really doesn't offer you anything.
So this winter has been particularly brutal around our house. I'd like to apologize if I haven't been doing my job and keeping up with you as a friend. I'm working on it.
Some happier times ahead...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
April 20/13
Unfortunately, I had a crying in public moment today. I broke down a bit. Thankfully, I was wearing my ubiquitous sunglasses,
but I think anyone who would have looked at me would have guessed that I
was upset.
I was out at the pet store to pick up food for Purrball, when I checked out the adoption centre. I usually want to grab all the kitties and run anyway, but today, I was stopped dead in my tracks. One of the cats up for adoption could have been a perfect copy of Max at age 5 or 6, minus Max's distinctive brown spot on his nose, a leftover mark from a poor decision to get into a fight with a big dog when he was 4.
It was bound to happen, I suppose. An all-white domestic shorthair, Max was hardly a unique-looking cat (minus that brown spot, of course), I've seen copies of him on TV and in movies, so I knew that I would see similar cats at some point.
We got Max from the NWTSPCA when he was a 10 week old kitten--a tiny little white ball of intensity. So seeing this Max-copy back in an SPCA cage just broke my heart.
I really miss my baby boy.
Max...
...Wish you were here.
I was out at the pet store to pick up food for Purrball, when I checked out the adoption centre. I usually want to grab all the kitties and run anyway, but today, I was stopped dead in my tracks. One of the cats up for adoption could have been a perfect copy of Max at age 5 or 6, minus Max's distinctive brown spot on his nose, a leftover mark from a poor decision to get into a fight with a big dog when he was 4.
It was bound to happen, I suppose. An all-white domestic shorthair, Max was hardly a unique-looking cat (minus that brown spot, of course), I've seen copies of him on TV and in movies, so I knew that I would see similar cats at some point.
We got Max from the NWTSPCA when he was a 10 week old kitten--a tiny little white ball of intensity. So seeing this Max-copy back in an SPCA cage just broke my heart.
I really miss my baby boy.
Max...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, April 19, 2013
April 19/13
It's the eve of 4/20, and all through the house, stupid RCMP were confiscating the cookies.
Out of White Rock today comes the news that approximately 8,000 pot cookies were confiscated, and 3 people were arrested, and all I could think was "Oh for fuck sakes, get on with it!" meaning let's just stop the nonsense and decriminalize pot use.
I don't partake of drugs myself, and never have, to be totally honest, but I'm solidly for decriminalization because I've seen the research, and to be honest, there is no reason to keep up this ridiculous "criminal activity" charade.
Now why haven't I ever used pot? No interest. I've never even been curious about trying it, or any other drugs. It could be that I did grow up watching my much older brother use drugs and unfortunately spend about 25 years dealing with various drug and alcohol issues, and decided it wasn't worth it. Who knows. I once asked my dad about his pot use, and he told me he didn't bother with it all that much because it gave him headaches, which I could assume I would also have to deal with, so maybe it's that. Whatever it is, it's just not for me, but I judge not those who use it. That being said, I'm not down with toking and driving, so I would say pot should be treated like alcohol in that respect.
I mean, come on...Washinton state right next door (literally) did it. It's time, Canada. It's time. Unfortunately, there's a bit of a bump in the road. The current federal ruling political party is the only one that strongly disagrees with decriminalization (let's not even get started on legalization); hell, they are intent on further criminalizing it. So we can count on three more years of this nonsense before another party stands a shot at taking over and resolving this.
Get on with it...
...Wish you were here.
Out of White Rock today comes the news that approximately 8,000 pot cookies were confiscated, and 3 people were arrested, and all I could think was "Oh for fuck sakes, get on with it!" meaning let's just stop the nonsense and decriminalize pot use.
I don't partake of drugs myself, and never have, to be totally honest, but I'm solidly for decriminalization because I've seen the research, and to be honest, there is no reason to keep up this ridiculous "criminal activity" charade.
Now why haven't I ever used pot? No interest. I've never even been curious about trying it, or any other drugs. It could be that I did grow up watching my much older brother use drugs and unfortunately spend about 25 years dealing with various drug and alcohol issues, and decided it wasn't worth it. Who knows. I once asked my dad about his pot use, and he told me he didn't bother with it all that much because it gave him headaches, which I could assume I would also have to deal with, so maybe it's that. Whatever it is, it's just not for me, but I judge not those who use it. That being said, I'm not down with toking and driving, so I would say pot should be treated like alcohol in that respect.
I mean, come on...Washinton state right next door (literally) did it. It's time, Canada. It's time. Unfortunately, there's a bit of a bump in the road. The current federal ruling political party is the only one that strongly disagrees with decriminalization (let's not even get started on legalization); hell, they are intent on further criminalizing it. So we can count on three more years of this nonsense before another party stands a shot at taking over and resolving this.
Get on with it...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
April 18/13
A certain season that has been Missing in Action for several weeks now appears to be showing itself tonight, as Ottawa experiences it's first big rainstorm of the year, complete with heavy rain, thunder and lightning. I dare not even whisper the name of this season, for fear of scaring it off and returning to the icy grips of a seemingly never-ending winter.
Shit. That probably means the bathroom door will leak heavily all night.
And that's how easy it is to turn of the weather in this country! One minute, you're pining away from the unnamed season, desperate to shake off the depression and weight of winter, the next, you're mired in complaints about what the seasonal weather will do to the leaky roof over the bathroom/kitchen.
Hurry up summer...
...Wish you were here.
Shit. That probably means the bathroom door will leak heavily all night.
And that's how easy it is to turn of the weather in this country! One minute, you're pining away from the unnamed season, desperate to shake off the depression and weight of winter, the next, you're mired in complaints about what the seasonal weather will do to the leaky roof over the bathroom/kitchen.
Hurry up summer...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
April 17/13
You know what? I'm so fucking...DISGUSTED with the US Senators who voted down the Gun Reform bill, I just can't even put into words just how little I think of those cowards and pricks. You know that rule that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all? Well, the nicest thing I have to say about those 46 senators who voted it down is that they don't deserve one gawddamn nice thing said about them.
In lieu of my own words, I'll turn it over to Twitter to express what I'm feeling:
And we don't need to get into the media sources that are calling out the cowardly senators, or Bette Midler, who is tweeting the name of each senator, putting them on notice that their stupid decision to ignore the will of 90% of Americans (including 80% of NRA members) will be punished.
Grow a fucking spine, US senators.
Courage...
...Wish you were here.
In lieu of my own words, I'll turn it over to Twitter to express what I'm feeling:
Good going, congress. The bright yellow glow emanating from your alleged spine is a beacon in the night.
— Michael McKean (@MJMcKean) April 17, 2013
Giffords, shot in the head 2 years ago, says if Senate refuses to change gun laws "then we need to change the members of the Senate."
— Mark Knoller (@markknoller) April 17, 2013
Giffords, shot in the head 2 years ago, says if Senate refuses to change gun laws "then we need to change the members of the Senate."
— Mark Knoller (@markknoller) April 17, 2013
America needs to be pried loose from the NRA's cold, dead hands.
— God (@TheTweetOfGod) April 17, 2013
Senate rejects gun background checks. Mentally ill people rejoice.
— Albert Brooks (@AlbertBrooks) April 17, 2013
And we don't need to get into the media sources that are calling out the cowardly senators, or Bette Midler, who is tweeting the name of each senator, putting them on notice that their stupid decision to ignore the will of 90% of Americans (including 80% of NRA members) will be punished.
Grow a fucking spine, US senators.
Courage...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
April 16/13
In the US, it's National Library Week this week, and if you're in my age group or younger, chances are pretty good that you grew up knowing what Reading Rainbow is, and who LeVar Burton is. Today, LeVar sent out a tweet asking the internet about their favourite memory of the library, and I took some delight in a stroll down memory lane that was surprisingly full of fun and pleasant memories of the library.
My elementary school employed a wonderful, matronly, middle-aged librarian named (no kidding), Mrs. Christie, whose voice was just perfect for reading to us each week. I adored Mrs. Christie. I hadn't thought about it in years, but as I recalled her, I then recalled that she picked me in Grades 5 and 6 as a Library helper. This meant that during lunch recess, I and the other selected students got to stay in and go up to the library to tidy up, put away books, deal with the returned books, etc. We loved it! We'd work quickly so that we could then gossip and fool around. When we got brave, we started to explore the creepy dark room in the back where the movies and reels were stored.
But my fond memories don't end there.
I went to summer drop-in camps at the Yellowknife Public Library, back when it was just a refurbished house right on Franklin Avenue (it's now an Art Gallery), with its creaky stairs and floorboards, and the open-use basement, where many local meetings and events happened.
I used to spend hours at the public library after school because I had a crush on a boy in my class, and his mother was a librarian there, so I knew he would be there.
It's where I'd spend time reading about very grown up subjects as I did extra work outside of school--imagine if you will, a 12 year old Fancy reading up on Leukemia and Osteosarcoma and writing a brief report on it to give her Grade 6 teacher--for fun. Yeah, that happened.
When the Public Library moved to its location above Centre Square Mall (did I mention that I lived in the condo tower above the mall and Library?), and it was a large, professional-looking library, I spent time there with friends like Crystal and Amanda, doing school reports and gossiping about the very important lives of our classmates and friends. The paper Crystal and I worked on there on British Columbia earned an A. Our shared poetry project? Another A. It was also the place where, as my friends and I were talking about finding information on Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels for a social studies paper, a strange middle-aged man sitting by himself observing us stopped us to tell us that Marx was a drunk, philandering bastard who virtually let his kids die--lesson learned: teens shouldn't talk to creepy strangers in libraries.
As I got into university, I spent hours and hours in libraries on campus. During exams at U of A, the two main libraries would be partially-opened 24 hours a day for students, and I can recall being on a computer in the lobby of the Rutherford at 2 am, avoiding my studies by chatting in the Yahoo!Chat Books and Literature chat room, where I became friends with a very tight-knit group of chatters, some of whom I still keep in contact with.
So it turns out that I have many fond memories of libraries in my life. And it's somewhat sad that I haven't been to a library since 2010, when I was still in school, doing my Master's degree. Wow...3 years without a library? That's unfortunate.
I need more library time in my life...
...Wish you were here.
My elementary school employed a wonderful, matronly, middle-aged librarian named (no kidding), Mrs. Christie, whose voice was just perfect for reading to us each week. I adored Mrs. Christie. I hadn't thought about it in years, but as I recalled her, I then recalled that she picked me in Grades 5 and 6 as a Library helper. This meant that during lunch recess, I and the other selected students got to stay in and go up to the library to tidy up, put away books, deal with the returned books, etc. We loved it! We'd work quickly so that we could then gossip and fool around. When we got brave, we started to explore the creepy dark room in the back where the movies and reels were stored.
But my fond memories don't end there.
I went to summer drop-in camps at the Yellowknife Public Library, back when it was just a refurbished house right on Franklin Avenue (it's now an Art Gallery), with its creaky stairs and floorboards, and the open-use basement, where many local meetings and events happened.
I used to spend hours at the public library after school because I had a crush on a boy in my class, and his mother was a librarian there, so I knew he would be there.
It's where I'd spend time reading about very grown up subjects as I did extra work outside of school--imagine if you will, a 12 year old Fancy reading up on Leukemia and Osteosarcoma and writing a brief report on it to give her Grade 6 teacher--for fun. Yeah, that happened.
When the Public Library moved to its location above Centre Square Mall (did I mention that I lived in the condo tower above the mall and Library?), and it was a large, professional-looking library, I spent time there with friends like Crystal and Amanda, doing school reports and gossiping about the very important lives of our classmates and friends. The paper Crystal and I worked on there on British Columbia earned an A. Our shared poetry project? Another A. It was also the place where, as my friends and I were talking about finding information on Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels for a social studies paper, a strange middle-aged man sitting by himself observing us stopped us to tell us that Marx was a drunk, philandering bastard who virtually let his kids die--lesson learned: teens shouldn't talk to creepy strangers in libraries.
As I got into university, I spent hours and hours in libraries on campus. During exams at U of A, the two main libraries would be partially-opened 24 hours a day for students, and I can recall being on a computer in the lobby of the Rutherford at 2 am, avoiding my studies by chatting in the Yahoo!Chat Books and Literature chat room, where I became friends with a very tight-knit group of chatters, some of whom I still keep in contact with.
So it turns out that I have many fond memories of libraries in my life. And it's somewhat sad that I haven't been to a library since 2010, when I was still in school, doing my Master's degree. Wow...3 years without a library? That's unfortunate.
I need more library time in my life...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, April 15, 2013
April 15/13
My mind is spinning, as is yours, I'm guessing. The bombing of the Boston Marathon is so shocking.
While the media covers it, it's all coming so fast and furious, and it's hard to know what's real and what's false among the details reported. Etienne and I caught ourselves updating each other's mistaken reports as we've talked about it.
And yet, without fail, there are people on social media sites pouring salt in the wound by reminding us that violent bombings are happening around the world that aren't getting this much news coverage, and I get a bit ticked because it's all fucking relative. Today in Iraq, a bomb went off that killed 55 people and injured dozens. What do you think the lead story is on Iraq's media...the bombing in their own country, or the bombing of a marathon in Boston? The civil war continues in Syria, and I'm guessing the top news priorities of people reporting in Syria is the violence of the day in Syria, and not the bombing in Boston. Did the media in Canada cover Boston? Yes, because more than 2000 Canadians were entered in the marathon, and I'm guessing you could add another thousand or more relatives or friends who are there too to support the runners. Our media had to cover it because it impacts more than a few Canadians here and in Boston.
Another thing that bothers me is that when people point out that 55 people were killed by a bomb in Iraq today, and yet we're not hearing about that, they start accusing people of being callous, and I don't think that's what it's about. We're shocked about Boston because it's Boston. Bombs don't happen in peacetime in Boston. Very sadly, bombs do happen in Iraq, and though the Iraq war is over, sectarian violence has taken its place.
Many people develop thick skin on repetitive reporting of violence, almost as a coping mechanism, and it takes extraordinary cases to pierce that skin. For instance, look at the shocking case of the bus rape in Mumbai. Indians, and a good portion of the world knows that rape is an all-too-common occurrence in India, and reporting of it is disturbingly routine. But it took this single, horrific, violent, brutal gang rape of an innocent woman on a bus to wake the nation and the world, to pierce that thick skin, so to speak.
We all know there are still bombings in Iraq, but we're almost immune to the news because it's exhausting to have your heart broken by the devastating news of what people are doing to each other day after day, week after week. What makes something like Boston or Oklahoma City different is the literal shock (many of us jolt as if physically impacted at the first news) precisely because bombings don't happen there day after day, week after week. We are not psychically prepared for when it happens, and because we don't understand it, we seek to consume any information we can get to try to make sense of it.
The heavy reporting of the bombing in Boston does not diminish the deaths of the 55 people in Iraq, or the unknown number of deaths in Syria, or Somalia, or any other countries dealing with violence and strife on a daily basis. A death caused by unthinkable violence is still a painful thing, whether it's in Boston or Baghdad. Any person living in a country where a bomb kills people will hear more about that incident than any other because it's closer to home.
Looking at life through other eyes...
...Wish you were here.
While the media covers it, it's all coming so fast and furious, and it's hard to know what's real and what's false among the details reported. Etienne and I caught ourselves updating each other's mistaken reports as we've talked about it.
And yet, without fail, there are people on social media sites pouring salt in the wound by reminding us that violent bombings are happening around the world that aren't getting this much news coverage, and I get a bit ticked because it's all fucking relative. Today in Iraq, a bomb went off that killed 55 people and injured dozens. What do you think the lead story is on Iraq's media...the bombing in their own country, or the bombing of a marathon in Boston? The civil war continues in Syria, and I'm guessing the top news priorities of people reporting in Syria is the violence of the day in Syria, and not the bombing in Boston. Did the media in Canada cover Boston? Yes, because more than 2000 Canadians were entered in the marathon, and I'm guessing you could add another thousand or more relatives or friends who are there too to support the runners. Our media had to cover it because it impacts more than a few Canadians here and in Boston.
Another thing that bothers me is that when people point out that 55 people were killed by a bomb in Iraq today, and yet we're not hearing about that, they start accusing people of being callous, and I don't think that's what it's about. We're shocked about Boston because it's Boston. Bombs don't happen in peacetime in Boston. Very sadly, bombs do happen in Iraq, and though the Iraq war is over, sectarian violence has taken its place.
Many people develop thick skin on repetitive reporting of violence, almost as a coping mechanism, and it takes extraordinary cases to pierce that skin. For instance, look at the shocking case of the bus rape in Mumbai. Indians, and a good portion of the world knows that rape is an all-too-common occurrence in India, and reporting of it is disturbingly routine. But it took this single, horrific, violent, brutal gang rape of an innocent woman on a bus to wake the nation and the world, to pierce that thick skin, so to speak.
We all know there are still bombings in Iraq, but we're almost immune to the news because it's exhausting to have your heart broken by the devastating news of what people are doing to each other day after day, week after week. What makes something like Boston or Oklahoma City different is the literal shock (many of us jolt as if physically impacted at the first news) precisely because bombings don't happen there day after day, week after week. We are not psychically prepared for when it happens, and because we don't understand it, we seek to consume any information we can get to try to make sense of it.
The heavy reporting of the bombing in Boston does not diminish the deaths of the 55 people in Iraq, or the unknown number of deaths in Syria, or Somalia, or any other countries dealing with violence and strife on a daily basis. A death caused by unthinkable violence is still a painful thing, whether it's in Boston or Baghdad. Any person living in a country where a bomb kills people will hear more about that incident than any other because it's closer to home.
Looking at life through other eyes...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
April 14/13
I am a fairly kink-positive person. As long as the acts are consensual, not interfering with minors, and safety and due precautions are taken against serious injury, it's fair game.
Thanks to Dan Savage's podcast, I feel like I've heard about just about everything, running from plain old vanilla sex right on up to vore (WARNING: don't google it if you're not capable of handling some of the more disturbing aspects of human sexuality), and just as I've heard about the kinky gamut, I've heard him say dozens of times to people who are afraid to discuss their kinks with partners, the key is not to treat a kink like cancer...don't roll it out like it's something bad, sell it as a bonus! Sell it as being open-minded and GGG. If you're not familiar with GGG, it means "Good, Giving, and Game" which is short for being good in bed with your partner, giving of pleasure (and not just taking), and game to try new things and explore.
Why are you hearing this from me now?
Because I saw tonight's episode of American Dad.
For real.
Folks, if you have a kink, and you're not sure how to tell a partner (or partners), can I please, for the sake of having a good laugh and making the conversation easier to start, nominate that you roll it out in the form of a musical number? Or if you're not possessed of song composing talents, go to the American Dad wikia page for the episode 'The Missing Kink' and play the audio file of He's Got A Kink . Now that's the funniest way I've ever heard for rolling out a kink!
Life's short...have fun with it!
He's got a kink...
...Wish you were here.
Thanks to Dan Savage's podcast, I feel like I've heard about just about everything, running from plain old vanilla sex right on up to vore (WARNING: don't google it if you're not capable of handling some of the more disturbing aspects of human sexuality), and just as I've heard about the kinky gamut, I've heard him say dozens of times to people who are afraid to discuss their kinks with partners, the key is not to treat a kink like cancer...don't roll it out like it's something bad, sell it as a bonus! Sell it as being open-minded and GGG. If you're not familiar with GGG, it means "Good, Giving, and Game" which is short for being good in bed with your partner, giving of pleasure (and not just taking), and game to try new things and explore.
Why are you hearing this from me now?
Because I saw tonight's episode of American Dad.
For real.
Folks, if you have a kink, and you're not sure how to tell a partner (or partners), can I please, for the sake of having a good laugh and making the conversation easier to start, nominate that you roll it out in the form of a musical number? Or if you're not possessed of song composing talents, go to the American Dad wikia page for the episode 'The Missing Kink' and play the audio file of He's Got A Kink . Now that's the funniest way I've ever heard for rolling out a kink!
Life's short...have fun with it!
He's got a kink...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
April 13/13
Hokay, so. I have this goofy alarm clock: it's a 10-inch tall Lego statue of a Star Wars Stormtrooper. It's arms and legs move, and it's got those half circle "hands" that are signature to Lego. I also have a new lamp at my bedside. It's a very simple black metal Ikea table lamp.
You're thinking, "Yeah, so what?"
So, while I was sick this last week, Etienne slept in the office, and I gave him the clock to use because it's portable, already set to the right time, and he doesn't have one of his own. As it's the weekend, and I'm starting to feel better, it's safe for him to return to the bedroom. Last night, I walked into the bedroom and saw the Stormtrooper standing there, grasping the lamp pole. Etienne had turned my clock into a pole dancer.
Today, I came back into the bedroom and this time, the figure was performing a high-calibre pole dancing manoeuvre.
I love those moments when Etienne gets goofy...
...Wish you were here.
You're thinking, "Yeah, so what?"
So, while I was sick this last week, Etienne slept in the office, and I gave him the clock to use because it's portable, already set to the right time, and he doesn't have one of his own. As it's the weekend, and I'm starting to feel better, it's safe for him to return to the bedroom. Last night, I walked into the bedroom and saw the Stormtrooper standing there, grasping the lamp pole. Etienne had turned my clock into a pole dancer.
Today, I came back into the bedroom and this time, the figure was performing a high-calibre pole dancing manoeuvre.
I love those moments when Etienne gets goofy...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, April 12, 2013
April 12/13
Fuck you, snow.
As if to triple underline that spring is just so fucking late this year, a good old fashioned snow storm is dumping snow and ice pellets all over Ottawa, even now. My awful, long, painful winter continues unabated.
Spring, where the fuck are you?
...Wish you were here.
As if to triple underline that spring is just so fucking late this year, a good old fashioned snow storm is dumping snow and ice pellets all over Ottawa, even now. My awful, long, painful winter continues unabated.
Spring, where the fuck are you?
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
April 11/13
There's a lot I could talk about today (e.g. the Temporary Foreign Workers snafu, the legalization of Gay Marriage in Uruguay, multiple tragic teen gang rape and bullying stories, etc.), but honestly, today's moment belongs to an apartment downstairs.
Another sick day, another day of trying to rest in bed. Etienne was home sick today too, but he was sleeping in the office (when I'm sick, I'm awful to sleep beside). After 9 am, a smoke detector went off, and at first I gave it no notice because smoke alarms are a frequent occurrence for Sir Burns-A-Lot across the hall. But then I noticed it wasn't going away, and I started to smell something burning. I got up and confirmed with Etienne that he smelled it too, and I knew I had to check it out.
I ventured out into the stairwell (pajamas and all) to investigate, and as I walked down, I pinpointed the source, and it was clear there was smoke. I called the property manager, who raced over from another property in the area, but not before the couple from that apartment came back from their walk. I alerted them, and she raced into the apartment, yelling at him that he had left the oatmeal on the stove, while he stood there, frozen. The property manager came (with colleagues), and everyone set about opening windows, removing the smoke alarms. All the while, smoke poured out into the hallway, setting off the general smoke detectors, and permeating throughout the building. Our place upstairs wasn't immune. Great...gunked-up lungs AND smoke...fun times today.
It was fortunate that we were home today, and could raise the alarm--who knows what could have happened. Lesson of the day: Remember your actions!
Only you can prevent stove top fires...
...Wish you were here.
Another sick day, another day of trying to rest in bed. Etienne was home sick today too, but he was sleeping in the office (when I'm sick, I'm awful to sleep beside). After 9 am, a smoke detector went off, and at first I gave it no notice because smoke alarms are a frequent occurrence for Sir Burns-A-Lot across the hall. But then I noticed it wasn't going away, and I started to smell something burning. I got up and confirmed with Etienne that he smelled it too, and I knew I had to check it out.
I ventured out into the stairwell (pajamas and all) to investigate, and as I walked down, I pinpointed the source, and it was clear there was smoke. I called the property manager, who raced over from another property in the area, but not before the couple from that apartment came back from their walk. I alerted them, and she raced into the apartment, yelling at him that he had left the oatmeal on the stove, while he stood there, frozen. The property manager came (with colleagues), and everyone set about opening windows, removing the smoke alarms. All the while, smoke poured out into the hallway, setting off the general smoke detectors, and permeating throughout the building. Our place upstairs wasn't immune. Great...gunked-up lungs AND smoke...fun times today.
It was fortunate that we were home today, and could raise the alarm--who knows what could have happened. Lesson of the day: Remember your actions!
Only you can prevent stove top fires...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
April 10/13
Illness, Day...whatever: I have this awful feeling, like this virus has decided to set up the party in my chest. The sore throat is gone, and my heart rate is fine (well within normal parameters each time I check), but my head and chest seem to be jam-packed with goo. So my recuperation continues.
Today, it's movie day. Under the Tuscan Sun and Starbuck. And I went looking for new podcasts to follow. I've found one, but there's a problem...
Stuff You Missed in History Class by HowStuffWorks.com should be something that appeals to me: I've always loved history and excelled in history classes, so it seems like a good fit. I started to download the earliest episodes available from iTunes, all the way back to 2008. So I started to play the first episode, and immediately regretted it.
The program is hosted by a woman whose voice and intonation just makes me want to shove scissors into my already-damaged eardrums. As if that's not bad enough, she's got a normal, chill-sounding co-host, but their set-up schtick for leading into the topic of their segments sounds so fake, it makes me very irate. I had to search the internet for sweet relief, and luckily, I found out this woman leaves the podcast and is replaced after several months, so I'll grudgingly hang on and suffer through until I get to the Candace-Free episodes. I also found out she's not even a historian...she's an English major who writes about history.
Here's hoping it gets better...
...Wish you were here.
Today, it's movie day. Under the Tuscan Sun and Starbuck. And I went looking for new podcasts to follow. I've found one, but there's a problem...
Stuff You Missed in History Class by HowStuffWorks.com should be something that appeals to me: I've always loved history and excelled in history classes, so it seems like a good fit. I started to download the earliest episodes available from iTunes, all the way back to 2008. So I started to play the first episode, and immediately regretted it.
The program is hosted by a woman whose voice and intonation just makes me want to shove scissors into my already-damaged eardrums. As if that's not bad enough, she's got a normal, chill-sounding co-host, but their set-up schtick for leading into the topic of their segments sounds so fake, it makes me very irate. I had to search the internet for sweet relief, and luckily, I found out this woman leaves the podcast and is replaced after several months, so I'll grudgingly hang on and suffer through until I get to the Candace-Free episodes. I also found out she's not even a historian...she's an English major who writes about history.
Here's hoping it gets better...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
April 9/13
I have no energy to write anything today. Can you just please pick a topic you know I have opinions about and pretend that I wrote something here about it? Use your imagination.
My life is ebbing away. Or whatever.
Health...
...Wish you were here.
My life is ebbing away. Or whatever.
Health...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, April 8, 2013
April 8/13
There are advantages to being a client at a teaching clinic. My clinic is great, they try to reserve afternoon appointments for urgent cases, and they always work to get you an appointment as soon as possible for the non-urgent stuff. I've never waited more than three days for an appointment.
So this morning, after a terrible night's sleep, when I woke up and had no voice, and a raging sore throat, and sore ears (yes, both), I took total comfort in knowing I'd probably get in today. I had to have Etienne make the call for me, since I had no voice, and I dutifully typed up all my symptoms in my phone so that I could hand it over when asked about them.
As this is a teaching clinic, I know there's a pretty good chance I'll see a Resident. And I did. She was pleasant and professional, and she did the usual work up, but she was worried because my heart rate was a bit high. She consulted with the Clinician, and he came in to assess me as well. It didn't seem to be bacterial, as she listed off the symptoms I was experiencing versus the ones associated with a strep throat or similar ailment. She asked about Mono, which I informed her I've already had, so that idea was out, though he was receptive to her thought of it (yay her!). It seemed like it was just...you guessed it...another virus. Yippee. So I'll have to suffer through it, while I worry about this heart rate. If it doesn't go down in a couple of days, they want me back for thyroid testing.
And I've been instructed to stay home on bed rest while I recover, until at least Wednesday. Right, because post-Budget is always good time to be missing work.
Seriously, I need a new immune system...
...Wish you were here.
So this morning, after a terrible night's sleep, when I woke up and had no voice, and a raging sore throat, and sore ears (yes, both), I took total comfort in knowing I'd probably get in today. I had to have Etienne make the call for me, since I had no voice, and I dutifully typed up all my symptoms in my phone so that I could hand it over when asked about them.
As this is a teaching clinic, I know there's a pretty good chance I'll see a Resident. And I did. She was pleasant and professional, and she did the usual work up, but she was worried because my heart rate was a bit high. She consulted with the Clinician, and he came in to assess me as well. It didn't seem to be bacterial, as she listed off the symptoms I was experiencing versus the ones associated with a strep throat or similar ailment. She asked about Mono, which I informed her I've already had, so that idea was out, though he was receptive to her thought of it (yay her!). It seemed like it was just...you guessed it...another virus. Yippee. So I'll have to suffer through it, while I worry about this heart rate. If it doesn't go down in a couple of days, they want me back for thyroid testing.
And I've been instructed to stay home on bed rest while I recover, until at least Wednesday. Right, because post-Budget is always good time to be missing work.
Seriously, I need a new immune system...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
April 7/13
Perfect, just in time for the weekend, and during a busy time at work, I get sick. Again.
Last night, I felt that irritating tickle in my throat. I knew it was coming. I could feel myself losing energy as the day went on. And without fail, when I woke up this morning, I had a full-on sore throat. It just never ceases to amaze me...always sometime around early- to mid-April, I get a bug that sets me back a week or two. And it's never something simple like the flu or a cold. It's always some mystery virus.
I'm just wanting to go to bed and rest, but the two-hour (why two hours tonight?) season premier of Mad Men will be on soon, and I don't want to miss it because I've read a couple of things on the internet about this season that really have me scratching my head.
Hurry up 11:00...
...Wish you were here.
Last night, I felt that irritating tickle in my throat. I knew it was coming. I could feel myself losing energy as the day went on. And without fail, when I woke up this morning, I had a full-on sore throat. It just never ceases to amaze me...always sometime around early- to mid-April, I get a bug that sets me back a week or two. And it's never something simple like the flu or a cold. It's always some mystery virus.
I'm just wanting to go to bed and rest, but the two-hour (why two hours tonight?) season premier of Mad Men will be on soon, and I don't want to miss it because I've read a couple of things on the internet about this season that really have me scratching my head.
Hurry up 11:00...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
April 6/13
If you're listening to Otis Redding croon 'These Arms of Mine' and you're not deeply yearning for your (or a) lover, you're doing it wrong.
Otis was a bloody genius songwriter, and his sweet, soft voice told the story of a lonely man who, speaking from the depth of his soul, wants so much to be with that woman who is not his. He pleads with her, telling her how desperately he wants to hold her and love her.
Damn.
Who doesn't wish they could feel that passion from an admirer?
If you've ever yearned for that special someone from a distance, this song is completely and utterly your anthem. And with Otis, you can never go wrong.
Enjoy...
More Soul in our lives...
...Wish you were here.
Otis was a bloody genius songwriter, and his sweet, soft voice told the story of a lonely man who, speaking from the depth of his soul, wants so much to be with that woman who is not his. He pleads with her, telling her how desperately he wants to hold her and love her.
Damn.
Who doesn't wish they could feel that passion from an admirer?
If you've ever yearned for that special someone from a distance, this song is completely and utterly your anthem. And with Otis, you can never go wrong.
Enjoy...
More Soul in our lives...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, April 5, 2013
April 5/13
5:30 AM is not a fine time to wake up.
I managed six and a half hours of sleep before something (I still can't pinpoint what) woke me up. As I lay there, trying to go back to sleep, my efforts were thwarted by the sound of squalling seagulls outside, obviously fighting for their morning meal. I can't imagine what they would fight over, as the canal is still mostly drained, so there isn't likely a great deal of fish in the open parts (most of the canal is still covered by a wide swath of ice on both sides, leaving the middle exposed), and I can't imagine there's much in the way of worm meat.
Anyway, in addition the gulls, there was the usual din of a city waking up...garbage trucks start making their rounds, maybe the wail of an emergency vehicle...and then there's the curse of the waking Purrball.
Our fat little Purrball may be prone to carrying a little extra curvature, but she's helped along by her absolute *insistence* on having access to food at all times. I feed her twice daily (wet and dry in the morning, dry only in the evening) and leave the bowls for her throughout the day because if I didn't, she would literally howl her guts out all. day. long.
In the mornings, this howling is muted, and only lasts about 10-20 minutes, depending on how long it takes me to get dressed and clean her dish, largely because she prefers to remind us in other ways that she wants me to wake up and feed her: she sits on one of our chests (she's not picky), purring, and "cutes" her way into getting under the blanket and snuggling between the two of us.
This morning, her ritual started early because she heard me tossing and turning. So much for going back to sleep.
Mr. Sandman...
...Wish you were here.
I managed six and a half hours of sleep before something (I still can't pinpoint what) woke me up. As I lay there, trying to go back to sleep, my efforts were thwarted by the sound of squalling seagulls outside, obviously fighting for their morning meal. I can't imagine what they would fight over, as the canal is still mostly drained, so there isn't likely a great deal of fish in the open parts (most of the canal is still covered by a wide swath of ice on both sides, leaving the middle exposed), and I can't imagine there's much in the way of worm meat.
Anyway, in addition the gulls, there was the usual din of a city waking up...garbage trucks start making their rounds, maybe the wail of an emergency vehicle...and then there's the curse of the waking Purrball.
Our fat little Purrball may be prone to carrying a little extra curvature, but she's helped along by her absolute *insistence* on having access to food at all times. I feed her twice daily (wet and dry in the morning, dry only in the evening) and leave the bowls for her throughout the day because if I didn't, she would literally howl her guts out all. day. long.
In the mornings, this howling is muted, and only lasts about 10-20 minutes, depending on how long it takes me to get dressed and clean her dish, largely because she prefers to remind us in other ways that she wants me to wake up and feed her: she sits on one of our chests (she's not picky), purring, and "cutes" her way into getting under the blanket and snuggling between the two of us.
This morning, her ritual started early because she heard me tossing and turning. So much for going back to sleep.
Mr. Sandman...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
April 4/13
Ohhhhhhh snap! Today's moment is filled with all kinds of blue humour, so if you like G- or PG-rated content, move along little one!
What do you get when you cross Dan Savage with the McElroy brothers? Busted at work for laughing too hard!
Dan Savage is an advice guru, author, media pundit, journalist and newspaper editor. He doles out relationship and sex advice in his column Savage Love and on his podcast (which I am an avid listener of), the Savage Lovecast, and in 2010, he and his husband Terry Miller began the It Gets Better Project to help prevent suicide among LGBT youth. He's ferociously progressive on many issues, and his sharp tongue is both witty and lethal.
The McElroy Brothers are Justin, Travis, and Griffin, three goofball brothers who take a decidedly less, umm, serious tack to giving advice, with humourous results. They run what they refer to as "an advicecast for the modern era" called My Brother, My Brother and Me which consists of them taking questions from people, but also raiding the depths of Yahoo! Answers. They always warn that their advice is not to be followed, as it's not so much advice as it is these three goofs making jokes and merry mirth. I'd say it's possible that 30% of their podcast is them laughing.
This week on their show, they brought in Dan Savage, and for about 25 minutes in a 1 hour + podcast, my advice podcast world collided with riotous results. As I listened at work (hey, I need something to keep my active mind distracted while I work), I laughed so hard, I was busted by a couple of colleagues who wandered by.
For your listening pleasure...
More Dan/McElroy Brothers Crossovers...
...Wish you were here.
What do you get when you cross Dan Savage with the McElroy brothers? Busted at work for laughing too hard!
Dan Savage is an advice guru, author, media pundit, journalist and newspaper editor. He doles out relationship and sex advice in his column Savage Love and on his podcast (which I am an avid listener of), the Savage Lovecast, and in 2010, he and his husband Terry Miller began the It Gets Better Project to help prevent suicide among LGBT youth. He's ferociously progressive on many issues, and his sharp tongue is both witty and lethal.
The McElroy Brothers are Justin, Travis, and Griffin, three goofball brothers who take a decidedly less, umm, serious tack to giving advice, with humourous results. They run what they refer to as "an advicecast for the modern era" called My Brother, My Brother and Me which consists of them taking questions from people, but also raiding the depths of Yahoo! Answers. They always warn that their advice is not to be followed, as it's not so much advice as it is these three goofs making jokes and merry mirth. I'd say it's possible that 30% of their podcast is them laughing.
This week on their show, they brought in Dan Savage, and for about 25 minutes in a 1 hour + podcast, my advice podcast world collided with riotous results. As I listened at work (hey, I need something to keep my active mind distracted while I work), I laughed so hard, I was busted by a couple of colleagues who wandered by.
For your listening pleasure...
More Dan/McElroy Brothers Crossovers...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
April 3/13
I'm afraid it's been a headaching day around here. Etienne left work before I did because of a headache, and later this evening I started to get one too.
So I'll leave you with an audio clip instead.
My friend Karen O'Keefe recently recorded a guest spot on Stop Podcasting Yourself, a podcast by a couple of Vancouver-based comedians. I don't normally listen to the show, but for her, I'd gladly listen. It's funny, but the show clocks in at 99 minutes long, so if you don't have time to hear it now, I suggest bookmarking it for another time, or downloading it.
laughter is the best medicine...
Wish you were here.
So I'll leave you with an audio clip instead.
My friend Karen O'Keefe recently recorded a guest spot on Stop Podcasting Yourself, a podcast by a couple of Vancouver-based comedians. I don't normally listen to the show, but for her, I'd gladly listen. It's funny, but the show clocks in at 99 minutes long, so if you don't have time to hear it now, I suggest bookmarking it for another time, or downloading it.
laughter is the best medicine...
Wish you were here.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
April 2/13
When the mind pivots between two very different thoughts, there is that rare occasion that something comes out of it. Like an outline.
Once more, I sat at my desk, beating myself up for my career choice, feeling depressed at the thought of a lifetime in Ottawa. This time, it was a little different, because for the first time in months, I decided to pick up a pen and try to write out this feeling; I haven't had the spark to write in recent months, due to the worst bout of depression I've experienced in years. And because I was rusty, I was expecting to write garbage. It seemed to be happening, when clear out of the blue, my mind pivoted to Amanda.
Yes, that Amanda.
Though her life was cut short by the fucking scourge of cancer, she did what she wanted to do. That pivot led to inspiration, which, even as I type this entry, is leading to the most ambitious writing project I've undertaken since my Master's Capstone.
Such crazy pivots...
...Wish you were here.
Once more, I sat at my desk, beating myself up for my career choice, feeling depressed at the thought of a lifetime in Ottawa. This time, it was a little different, because for the first time in months, I decided to pick up a pen and try to write out this feeling; I haven't had the spark to write in recent months, due to the worst bout of depression I've experienced in years. And because I was rusty, I was expecting to write garbage. It seemed to be happening, when clear out of the blue, my mind pivoted to Amanda.
Yes, that Amanda.
Though her life was cut short by the fucking scourge of cancer, she did what she wanted to do. That pivot led to inspiration, which, even as I type this entry, is leading to the most ambitious writing project I've undertaken since my Master's Capstone.
Such crazy pivots...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, April 1, 2013
April 1/13
If your city or town doesn't have a terra20, I highly suggest you get one!
What is terra20? Well, it's an eco-department store! As per their manifesto, terra20’s one purpose is to encourage a healthier, sustainable lifestyle. They do it by seeking out innovative products ranging from natural, organic, gluten-free shampoos to eco-safe cleaners, to clothes, towels, dishes, sporting/leisure equipment...it's absolutely a functioning department store.
I noticed several months ago that there was this store out by Ikea, but it wasn't until I was researching natural cosmetics that I learned what this place was--sort of. I knew it was going to have boutique cosmetics and such, but I had no idea until we stepped into it today that this place was so awesome. I think we were ready to buy out half the store before we left.
The only downside? The one in "Ottawa" is all the bloody way out in the far reaches of Nepean, and to get there requires either a car or a great deal of patience to navigate the poor public transit option available to us (one that requires a long bus ride, and traversing a heavily-used motorway, complete with highway on and off ramps, and no pedestrian controls).
A terra20 downtown...
...Wish you were here.
What is terra20? Well, it's an eco-department store! As per their manifesto, terra20’s one purpose is to encourage a healthier, sustainable lifestyle. They do it by seeking out innovative products ranging from natural, organic, gluten-free shampoos to eco-safe cleaners, to clothes, towels, dishes, sporting/leisure equipment...it's absolutely a functioning department store.
I noticed several months ago that there was this store out by Ikea, but it wasn't until I was researching natural cosmetics that I learned what this place was--sort of. I knew it was going to have boutique cosmetics and such, but I had no idea until we stepped into it today that this place was so awesome. I think we were ready to buy out half the store before we left.
The only downside? The one in "Ottawa" is all the bloody way out in the far reaches of Nepean, and to get there requires either a car or a great deal of patience to navigate the poor public transit option available to us (one that requires a long bus ride, and traversing a heavily-used motorway, complete with highway on and off ramps, and no pedestrian controls).
A terra20 downtown...
...Wish you were here.
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