Today was a busy day with plenty of moments to share, but I'll try to narrow it down.
We're taking today in reverse order, and as you go, you'll see why.
This evening, we went to see The World's End with Brent and Cassie. It was a fun little romp, and I really enjoyed Nick Frost's role in it. See it, if you haven't already.
This afternoon, we went to the Star Wars: Identities exhibition at the Canadian Space and Aviation Museum. I have to admit, the exhibition was a hit and a miss. You get these electronic wrist bands, and as you go through, you stop at each station and answer questions. At the end, you get a character made for you, based on the decisions at each station.
While it was fun, and naturally, I chose to go to the dark side, it was also a serious distraction. Throughout the show, there are replicas of costumes, characters and props from the movies, as well as back-work from the movies such as the conceptual sketches and story lines, which lets you see how different the ideas were at the start to the execution in the final products. For instance, there were sketches of potential character mock-ups for Yoda, the beloved Jedi Master. If you aren't a huge Star Wars nerd, you probably don't know how close we came to seeing a Yoda that resembled a kick-ass garden gnome in tall boots. Sacrilege, I know. But this detail, and others, almost get totally lost by the urge to get to the next station and answer your questions. See what I mean? Hit and Miss.
But our first outing of the day, just me and Etienne, is what I want to really get into. After a slow start, we got up and moving. We went to the National Gallery to catch the dying days of the Sakahan exhibition. We've meant to see it since before it opened, but have pushed it off for a variety of reasons. Well, we had to do it this weekend...it closes on Monday.
It's a brilliant exhibition. For those who don't know, it's an International Indigenous Art exhibit, and the pieces cover indigenous artists from around the world. The First Nations of Canada, the Sami of Northern Europe, the Maori of New Zealand, the Aboriginees of Australia, the Indigenous Hawaiians and so many more groups where represented. There were several impressive pieces on display, but it was the words of Richar Bell, an artist from here in Canada, that struck a nerve for me.
His piece, Life on a Mission speaks to the way Indigenous people are represented around the world. The piece itself is a large canvas with a colourful, swirling image, but interspersed with that image are the worlds "I am not a noble savage." And therein lies the problem. This idea that Indigenous peoples are this romantic point of entry into the past because they maintain traditions.
It's a problem I struggle with personally, and it's one that put me at odds with both sides of my cultural heritage, not to mention a Professor with whom I took personal issue in class while he railed on about the First Nations people adopting the hallmarks of white society instead of pushing to have white society adopt First Nations ways of life instead. He seemed to be enamored with this ideal of the noble savage, and how we're being lost to the white ways. I seethed openly (he knew I was half Aboriginal) and challenged him, as did others, but I gave up because he wasn't going to be persuaded that he sounded like an ass. After class, he conferred with a friend of mine and fellow classmate as they walked across campus, and the Professor did speak with my friend about my reaction to the lecture. I didn't hold out much hope that this Professor had gotten the message that he was being a white, Marxist, ivory tower intellectual, and talking out of his ass about his high ideal and judgments instead of listening and hearing the words of a member of the very group he was simultaneously idealizing and berating. Jackass.
Anyway...
The other side of Richard Bell's work is this idea that Indigenous people are only considered "authentic" if they are living in the "traditional" ways, and if they aren't, they are deemed as having lost their culture. The artist goes on to explain that this condemns Indigenous peoples to live in poverty due to the segregation caused by this way of living, and it frames the people as primitives with no place in contemporary society. I absolutely take his point. And I would add to it that it comes from both sides of the divide.
It's a struggle that is familiar to any First Nations person who leaves the reserve or community they grew up in, with no definite plan of returning. Once we leave those communities, we start to become an outsider. If we return quickly enough, the adjustments are slight, and it's becomes a period in our lives. If we don't return quickly, our place in the community isn't that easy to return to. It's a difficult struggle, walking that line between living our lives outside the community and maintaining the traditions because not all of us are successful at integrating our outside lives with our inside lives. And it can even lead to charges that we've lost our way.
When you take both sides together, it seems we are damned if we do, and we are damned if we don't.
I'm glad I saw this piece. Art can be a powerful tool for provoking thought, but good art is a powerful tool for provoking empathy.
A busy day...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
August 30/13
A year ago today, I had an idea.
I was looking over my Now What blog, and I was frustrated. I knew there were things I needed to write about, but I was too angry, frustrated, lazy, ambivalent, busy, etc. to put the effort in. Whenever I was writing, it felt like a chore, and I was basically "phoning it in" on some entries. I knew it was time for a change.
I was also going through a phase where I wanted more privacy then usual, and this led me to a period of introspection.
Then I got this idea...
What if I chose just one thing a day to write about. Whether it was something happening to me, or in the world, or a piece of media, just...whatever. And it had to be something that I wanted to share, or even needed to share in order to work through my psychological process of dealing with it.
It would be a way of maintaining my connection to the world while I worked through my privacy issues (an ongoing process, even now), and let those who cared to read know that I wanted to include them in these moments.
And here we are, a year later. Some of these moments haven't been worth sharing, like when I'm bored, have done nothing, or was too sick to function, but for the most part, these moments have reminded me to stop shutting out the world, and to be a participant in it.
I've wondered about the fruits of my labour over the last year. September 1st marks the one year anniversary of the first share, and I have learned over the year that I'm writing more for my benefit than for the benefit of others. I'm sorry if that sounds bad, but I am seeing the google analytics, and I know I'm not writing for a crowd of hundreds. Or even tens. So, knowing this, I wondered if I'm just selfishly ranting and need to stop, or whether I should continue.
But then I know that there are people reading these posts daily, and this is a way for them to stay connected to me. These damn social networks...they appear to keep us connected, but that connection is a front for the fact that actually, we're losing touch because we don't actually speak anymore. Travel is prohibitively expensive these days, so it's not like trips to see these people are a real possibility most of the time. Phone conversations have become really awkward for me. Texting someone how much you miss them just seems...wrong, somehow. So slowly, I've talked myself into continuing for another year, while I continue to work on being a better friend, sister, daughter, etc.
Here's to an idea...
...Wish you were here.
I was looking over my Now What blog, and I was frustrated. I knew there were things I needed to write about, but I was too angry, frustrated, lazy, ambivalent, busy, etc. to put the effort in. Whenever I was writing, it felt like a chore, and I was basically "phoning it in" on some entries. I knew it was time for a change.
I was also going through a phase where I wanted more privacy then usual, and this led me to a period of introspection.
Then I got this idea...
What if I chose just one thing a day to write about. Whether it was something happening to me, or in the world, or a piece of media, just...whatever. And it had to be something that I wanted to share, or even needed to share in order to work through my psychological process of dealing with it.
It would be a way of maintaining my connection to the world while I worked through my privacy issues (an ongoing process, even now), and let those who cared to read know that I wanted to include them in these moments.
And here we are, a year later. Some of these moments haven't been worth sharing, like when I'm bored, have done nothing, or was too sick to function, but for the most part, these moments have reminded me to stop shutting out the world, and to be a participant in it.
I've wondered about the fruits of my labour over the last year. September 1st marks the one year anniversary of the first share, and I have learned over the year that I'm writing more for my benefit than for the benefit of others. I'm sorry if that sounds bad, but I am seeing the google analytics, and I know I'm not writing for a crowd of hundreds. Or even tens. So, knowing this, I wondered if I'm just selfishly ranting and need to stop, or whether I should continue.
But then I know that there are people reading these posts daily, and this is a way for them to stay connected to me. These damn social networks...they appear to keep us connected, but that connection is a front for the fact that actually, we're losing touch because we don't actually speak anymore. Travel is prohibitively expensive these days, so it's not like trips to see these people are a real possibility most of the time. Phone conversations have become really awkward for me. Texting someone how much you miss them just seems...wrong, somehow. So slowly, I've talked myself into continuing for another year, while I continue to work on being a better friend, sister, daughter, etc.
Here's to an idea...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
August 29/13
We had intended to go see the Sakahan exhibition at the National Gallery of Canada this evening after work, but the students at work in Etienne's branch were being feted after work, and would not hear of Etienne not being there. So we went. I hang out with that crowd too, so we stayed for a drink, and then we headed out. I thought we were going to the Gallery, but what I hadn't realized was that we were leaving because if we had stayed for another drink, we'd have to order food, and Etienne wasn't in the mood for what was available to him on the menu.
We walked for a bit and tried to talk through the confusion, but things weren't getting any clearer, so we stopped at a bus stop in front of the Museum of Civilization to make a choice: either go to the Gallery, or go to the Market for food. If we do the Gallery, we keep walking across the bridge. If we do the Market, we get on a bus. A decision still hadn't been reached before a bus came, but we climbed on anyway. As we crossed into Ottawa, I turned to him and said we should just go home, since it was too much trouble to do the Gallery, and neither of us wanted to make a decision about a place to eat. He agreed.
So naturally, we went to the mall.
Sometimes, we are a special pair...
...Wish you were here.
We walked for a bit and tried to talk through the confusion, but things weren't getting any clearer, so we stopped at a bus stop in front of the Museum of Civilization to make a choice: either go to the Gallery, or go to the Market for food. If we do the Gallery, we keep walking across the bridge. If we do the Market, we get on a bus. A decision still hadn't been reached before a bus came, but we climbed on anyway. As we crossed into Ottawa, I turned to him and said we should just go home, since it was too much trouble to do the Gallery, and neither of us wanted to make a decision about a place to eat. He agreed.
So naturally, we went to the mall.
Sometimes, we are a special pair...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
August 28/13
The orange kitchen can wait.
While at work this afternoon, I remembered that I had a couple of episodes of The Rachel Maddow Show waiting on my phone, so I put them on while I worked, and I've never been more glad that I did. I get the TRMS podcasts the day after broadcast, and sometimes I don't pay as close attention to them while I work, instead listening for keywords or something, but when I heard Rachel announce that MSNBC had co-secured the extremely rare rights to re-broadcast in its entirety the Martin Luther King, Jr. I have a dream speech on the 50th anniversary tomorrow night, I bolted upright. This was yesterday's broadcast, so that meant the speech would be aired tonight!
I knew we had plans to go to the mall to grab a few things, and then I had to start priming the kitchen walls (see yesterday's entry), and also, we don't subscribe to MSNBC on our cable box because it's prohibitively expensive to do so, but come hell or high primer, I was watching that speech.
I have been able to find a somewhat unreliable live stream of MSNBC online in the past, so I hoped it would come through for me tonight.
I started the cutting work in the kitchen, enjoying the first coat of primer as it wiped out the edges of the orange on the walls, but as 8 pm inched closer, I started pestering Etienne with time checks. What time is it now? How about now? At about five minutes to eight, I took a quick break to jump off the countertop and run into the bedroom to search for the feed. And it worked! I dashed back up on to the countertop and raced to finish the first coat of cutting before the speech began. I made a mess of the last bit, but it's primer...a mess doesn't make a difference!
Then I hauled my busted-ass laptop over to the living room, and Etienne and I sat and watched.
It was breathtakingly powerful, and I couldn't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. It's one thing to read the text of the speech, which sounds so inspiring, but to hear him speak those words in his measured, deep tones, rising and falling until reaching that last awe-inspiring crescendo, and the crowd reacting to the speech at various points...it's a moment in time we as people and society should all see and hear, because it reminds us all of the importance of working for a just and equal society.
I have a dream...
...I Wish you were here.
While at work this afternoon, I remembered that I had a couple of episodes of The Rachel Maddow Show waiting on my phone, so I put them on while I worked, and I've never been more glad that I did. I get the TRMS podcasts the day after broadcast, and sometimes I don't pay as close attention to them while I work, instead listening for keywords or something, but when I heard Rachel announce that MSNBC had co-secured the extremely rare rights to re-broadcast in its entirety the Martin Luther King, Jr. I have a dream speech on the 50th anniversary tomorrow night, I bolted upright. This was yesterday's broadcast, so that meant the speech would be aired tonight!
I knew we had plans to go to the mall to grab a few things, and then I had to start priming the kitchen walls (see yesterday's entry), and also, we don't subscribe to MSNBC on our cable box because it's prohibitively expensive to do so, but come hell or high primer, I was watching that speech.
I have been able to find a somewhat unreliable live stream of MSNBC online in the past, so I hoped it would come through for me tonight.
I started the cutting work in the kitchen, enjoying the first coat of primer as it wiped out the edges of the orange on the walls, but as 8 pm inched closer, I started pestering Etienne with time checks. What time is it now? How about now? At about five minutes to eight, I took a quick break to jump off the countertop and run into the bedroom to search for the feed. And it worked! I dashed back up on to the countertop and raced to finish the first coat of cutting before the speech began. I made a mess of the last bit, but it's primer...a mess doesn't make a difference!
Then I hauled my busted-ass laptop over to the living room, and Etienne and I sat and watched.
It was breathtakingly powerful, and I couldn't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. It's one thing to read the text of the speech, which sounds so inspiring, but to hear him speak those words in his measured, deep tones, rising and falling until reaching that last awe-inspiring crescendo, and the crowd reacting to the speech at various points...it's a moment in time we as people and society should all see and hear, because it reminds us all of the importance of working for a just and equal society.
I have a dream...
...I Wish you were here.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
August 27/13
Tonight is the beginning of the end of the Orange kitchen.
When we were picking out paint colours about two years ago, well, when Etienne picked out paint colours, I was on board with the Green Apple living room, the Auburn bedroom, the Lavender Office, and the Blue Bathroom (though my shade preference for the bathroom differed), but when he presented the orange colour card to me, I was surprised and thought he was picking the white-orange shade, which I wasn't crazy about' then he pointed to the bright pumpkin orange shade, and I thought he was joking.
He wasn't.
At first, I tried to find a way to say I was not on board, but then I had a brief flash: it's the kitchen. I'm not a fan of being in the kitchen anyway, so I made an on-the-spot decision that I won't stand in the way of this. I knew he wanted to put up the Black Keys concert poster in the kitchen, and it had very intense oranges in it, so I figured, 'what the hell.'
And later, when I started doing the cutting and prep work, my mindset changed to 'what the fuck!' This orange just turned out to be a nightmare. It applied unevenly and it created a lot of work that had me cursing in my head. After two and a half coats, there were still parts where the orange didn't apply properly, especially in corners where cutting was difficult. By the time it was over, I resented that colour, but I reminded myself, it's the kitchen. Well, it turns out that I spend a lot more time in the kitchen now then I ever have before. There it was, my orange torment, with the uneven edges mocking me. Fuck.
So tonight, as I taped the outlet covers and some tile/cabinets in preparation for priming the walls, I tried to hide my glee. My reign of orange terror is finally coming to an end, and I think that next time there is an orange kitchen, I will not be the one doing it.
Here's to new kitchen colours in the future...
...Wish you were here.
When we were picking out paint colours about two years ago, well, when Etienne picked out paint colours, I was on board with the Green Apple living room, the Auburn bedroom, the Lavender Office, and the Blue Bathroom (though my shade preference for the bathroom differed), but when he presented the orange colour card to me, I was surprised and thought he was picking the white-orange shade, which I wasn't crazy about' then he pointed to the bright pumpkin orange shade, and I thought he was joking.
He wasn't.
At first, I tried to find a way to say I was not on board, but then I had a brief flash: it's the kitchen. I'm not a fan of being in the kitchen anyway, so I made an on-the-spot decision that I won't stand in the way of this. I knew he wanted to put up the Black Keys concert poster in the kitchen, and it had very intense oranges in it, so I figured, 'what the hell.'
And later, when I started doing the cutting and prep work, my mindset changed to 'what the fuck!' This orange just turned out to be a nightmare. It applied unevenly and it created a lot of work that had me cursing in my head. After two and a half coats, there were still parts where the orange didn't apply properly, especially in corners where cutting was difficult. By the time it was over, I resented that colour, but I reminded myself, it's the kitchen. Well, it turns out that I spend a lot more time in the kitchen now then I ever have before. There it was, my orange torment, with the uneven edges mocking me. Fuck.
So tonight, as I taped the outlet covers and some tile/cabinets in preparation for priming the walls, I tried to hide my glee. My reign of orange terror is finally coming to an end, and I think that next time there is an orange kitchen, I will not be the one doing it.
Here's to new kitchen colours in the future...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, August 26, 2013
August 26/13
I'm just stumped by American prudery. It's not that I think everyone should be talking about sex and sexual health every second of the day for the time we can talk, but I certainly don't understand why a small minority who seem to fear and loath sex and sexuality get to control the agenda of society, and dictate to parents, teachers and communities how sex and sexuality should be discussed (or, not).
In Wisconsin, the land of Governor Scott Fucking Walker, the state recently repealed sex education laws, thus removing the requirement for comprehensive sex education for students. Public schools are required to emphasize abstinence, and all schools are allowed to teach health without any discussion of contraception and puberty. Body-shaming appears to be the order of the day in Scott Fucking Walker's world.
So, you're a teacher, and one of your curious students starts asking questions, not about sex, but about masturbation. What do you do? Well, the Oak Creek School district (a public school district) created and distributed a booklet to explain its guidelines on answering kids’ questions about “human growth and development” to parents so they will understand how school staff will or should handle questions related to sexuality. This stuff is not taught to the kids, it's just an in-case guide for random questions students may ask.
Well, now the sexually-repressed, socially-insane Right Wingnauts are on the move, and they are mobilizing against this guide because as Faux News and other insane Right Wingnaut media outlets are reporting it, the guide is not a guidebook, but rather a "curriculum" that authorizes some Wisconsin school districts to teach detailed sex education at elementary schools that includes such topics as masturbation. Trust Faux News to go all National Enquirer in their reporting.
The thing is, this guide takes into account that there are varying levels of family beliefs, values and opinions, and that kids will be encouraged to refer to their parents to discuss masturbation. Teachers will not be discussing the benefits and drawbacks of the Rabbit or Fleshlights with their students. They will be saying, "Look, this is what it means in technical terms, and some people do it or don't do it. Now go ask your parents." That seems neutral enough to me. If you have a problem with a teacher giving a technical explanation of masturbation, then you'd better hide every dictionary in the world from the kids, because it sounds like the discussion will be as dry and technical as what the kid would read in those precious reference books.
The problem that really gets me is that this is a very sensitive topic in a very sensitive time and place, so I would absolutely rather the teachers had the protection of a guide like this as they try to deal with this aspect of their occupation. Kids are growing and have healthy feelings and urges that they understand only in very primal terms ("it feels good"), and some may seek to know more about this. You would think that parents can have some peace of mind because they know teachers aren't going to overstep the basic information available in any searchable reference source.
But no, the Right Wingnauts want to hide behind a veil of ignorance, thus setting the stage for these kids to make a lot of potentially poor decisions later in life. Yeah, that's just what the world needs more of...ignorance, stupid decisions, and bad consequences.
Common sense for all...
...Wish you were here.
In Wisconsin, the land of Governor Scott Fucking Walker, the state recently repealed sex education laws, thus removing the requirement for comprehensive sex education for students. Public schools are required to emphasize abstinence, and all schools are allowed to teach health without any discussion of contraception and puberty. Body-shaming appears to be the order of the day in Scott Fucking Walker's world.
So, you're a teacher, and one of your curious students starts asking questions, not about sex, but about masturbation. What do you do? Well, the Oak Creek School district (a public school district) created and distributed a booklet to explain its guidelines on answering kids’ questions about “human growth and development” to parents so they will understand how school staff will or should handle questions related to sexuality. This stuff is not taught to the kids, it's just an in-case guide for random questions students may ask.
Well, now the sexually-repressed, socially-insane Right Wingnauts are on the move, and they are mobilizing against this guide because as Faux News and other insane Right Wingnaut media outlets are reporting it, the guide is not a guidebook, but rather a "curriculum" that authorizes some Wisconsin school districts to teach detailed sex education at elementary schools that includes such topics as masturbation. Trust Faux News to go all National Enquirer in their reporting.
The thing is, this guide takes into account that there are varying levels of family beliefs, values and opinions, and that kids will be encouraged to refer to their parents to discuss masturbation. Teachers will not be discussing the benefits and drawbacks of the Rabbit or Fleshlights with their students. They will be saying, "Look, this is what it means in technical terms, and some people do it or don't do it. Now go ask your parents." That seems neutral enough to me. If you have a problem with a teacher giving a technical explanation of masturbation, then you'd better hide every dictionary in the world from the kids, because it sounds like the discussion will be as dry and technical as what the kid would read in those precious reference books.
The problem that really gets me is that this is a very sensitive topic in a very sensitive time and place, so I would absolutely rather the teachers had the protection of a guide like this as they try to deal with this aspect of their occupation. Kids are growing and have healthy feelings and urges that they understand only in very primal terms ("it feels good"), and some may seek to know more about this. You would think that parents can have some peace of mind because they know teachers aren't going to overstep the basic information available in any searchable reference source.
But no, the Right Wingnauts want to hide behind a veil of ignorance, thus setting the stage for these kids to make a lot of potentially poor decisions later in life. Yeah, that's just what the world needs more of...ignorance, stupid decisions, and bad consequences.
Common sense for all...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
August 25/13
Late this afternoon, after I returned the rental car, I walked over to Bank station on the Transit way to catch a bus home, and as I walked, I overtook a mother and her son, who was maybe 8 or 9 years old. As I passed, I overheard her tell him that next time he wants to give a homeless person some money, a dollar is too much. She told him to give a quarter. Maybe 50 cents.
And my heart sank.
On the one hand, she is doing right by her son and teaching him that the homeless are people too, not to be ignored as if they didn't exist, but on the other hand, I'm so sorry to hear her instill in this boy that a dollar is too much.
A dollar is not too much...
...Wish you were here.
And my heart sank.
On the one hand, she is doing right by her son and teaching him that the homeless are people too, not to be ignored as if they didn't exist, but on the other hand, I'm so sorry to hear her instill in this boy that a dollar is too much.
A dollar is not too much...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
August 24/13
I'm in a food coma here in Montreal.
I drove in late this afternoon alone, blasting tunes and singing along as loud as my injured vocal chords will let me (they are sore because of the type of inhaler I was given to control my asthma--don't worry, I have an appointment Monday, and hopefully I will get a new form of inhaler), and reached the hotel pretty much exactly when I said I would. Etienne and his cousin came up, and we changed into our dinner clothes before heading out to St. Catherine Street to meet up with his father and uncle.
Dinner was at Europea, and it was four hours of gourmet foods and snacks so delicious, I refused nothing, save the truffle and lobster coffee item...seafood I don't eat, and truffles, though not mushrooms, are in the fungus family, and I don't do very well with the fungus family (allergy). Otherwise, I had everything offered to me, starting with the cheese lollipops right down to the pink cotton candy and miniature macarons, and I even took a full take-out container of the madeleines so I'd have something to snack on in the evening and in the morning.
So now, I'm going to drop off into a deep coma-like state and try to recover from the culinary spoiling we had tonight.
I swear, I gained 10 lbs just at dinner...
...Wish you were here.
I drove in late this afternoon alone, blasting tunes and singing along as loud as my injured vocal chords will let me (they are sore because of the type of inhaler I was given to control my asthma--don't worry, I have an appointment Monday, and hopefully I will get a new form of inhaler), and reached the hotel pretty much exactly when I said I would. Etienne and his cousin came up, and we changed into our dinner clothes before heading out to St. Catherine Street to meet up with his father and uncle.
Dinner was at Europea, and it was four hours of gourmet foods and snacks so delicious, I refused nothing, save the truffle and lobster coffee item...seafood I don't eat, and truffles, though not mushrooms, are in the fungus family, and I don't do very well with the fungus family (allergy). Otherwise, I had everything offered to me, starting with the cheese lollipops right down to the pink cotton candy and miniature macarons, and I even took a full take-out container of the madeleines so I'd have something to snack on in the evening and in the morning.
So now, I'm going to drop off into a deep coma-like state and try to recover from the culinary spoiling we had tonight.
I swear, I gained 10 lbs just at dinner...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, August 23, 2013
August 23/13
This afternoon, I put Etienne on a train to Montreal. His father is in Canada for a few weeks, and we arranged to go up tomorrow, but we decided it was best to send Etienne a night early to spend some father-son time together.
So, it was a Girls Night In for Purrball and me. And I wish I could say I did something way cool with it, but to be honest, I got all wrapped up in working past a Writer's Block problem I've been struggling with for months. Now that this is done, I can finally enter the research phase, and this project can move forward again.
Easier going...
...Wish you were here.
So, it was a Girls Night In for Purrball and me. And I wish I could say I did something way cool with it, but to be honest, I got all wrapped up in working past a Writer's Block problem I've been struggling with for months. Now that this is done, I can finally enter the research phase, and this project can move forward again.
Easier going...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
August 22/13
In honour of Claude Debussy's birthday today, Google dedicated its doodle to him. It's simply gorgeous.
Clair de Lune...
...Wish you were here.
Clair de Lune...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
August 21/13
Today, it was revealed that Wentworth Miller, star of the hit television series Prison Break has come out as a gay man. Miller, partially of Russian extraction, had been invited to a festival of some kind in Russia, and he publicly replied that he would not attend because, as a gay man, he cannot go to Russia while the LGBTQ community is suffering so much intense discrimination.
When a celebrity comes out, it can be for so many very good reasons, but coming out so you can publicly support people like you in a difficult time and place? It's the mark of an individual whose empathy is to be admired and respected.
Welcome to your outing, Wentworth...
...Wish you were here.
When a celebrity comes out, it can be for so many very good reasons, but coming out so you can publicly support people like you in a difficult time and place? It's the mark of an individual whose empathy is to be admired and respected.
Welcome to your outing, Wentworth...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
August 20/13
I'm at a loss for words right now.
Portions of Quebec's proposed "Charter of Quebec Values" were leaked to the press, and it includes a plan to prohibit people like doctors, teachers and public daycare workers from donning turbans, kippas, hijabs and visible crucifixes in public institutions.
If you know me, you know I'm an open Atheist, so you would be forgiven for speculating that secularization is something I would be down with, but I'm sorry to inform you that you would be wrong. While I don't believe in a god or higher powers, I'm really and truly one of those hippy-dippy "you have your thing, I have mine, and as long as there's no harm to life or liberty, it's no big deal" types of Atheists. In other words, I won't agree with you, but as long as your beliefs aren't doing harm, I'll give you the benefit of contextualization. And to me, as long as a person is freely making the choice (i.e. not coerced) to wear an accepted religious symbol of their faith, it's not the business of society and government to go about imposing what I believe is simply an assimilationist measure.
Ultimately, I don't believe at all that this proposed ban is about anything other than assimilation or forced integration of immigrants. I may be wrong, but I heard some outrageous things during the turbans and soccer debate earlier this year, and I can't ignore that fact as I go forward and judge this proposed ban.
But I'm actually curious then...does that mean that any of the nuns and priests who currently practice in public hospitals and schools and such will have to give up their religious clothes too? Can anyone with a far stronger grasp of French decipher that for me?
We're all the better for knowing more about our world...
...Wish you were here.
Portions of Quebec's proposed "Charter of Quebec Values" were leaked to the press, and it includes a plan to prohibit people like doctors, teachers and public daycare workers from donning turbans, kippas, hijabs and visible crucifixes in public institutions.
If you know me, you know I'm an open Atheist, so you would be forgiven for speculating that secularization is something I would be down with, but I'm sorry to inform you that you would be wrong. While I don't believe in a god or higher powers, I'm really and truly one of those hippy-dippy "you have your thing, I have mine, and as long as there's no harm to life or liberty, it's no big deal" types of Atheists. In other words, I won't agree with you, but as long as your beliefs aren't doing harm, I'll give you the benefit of contextualization. And to me, as long as a person is freely making the choice (i.e. not coerced) to wear an accepted religious symbol of their faith, it's not the business of society and government to go about imposing what I believe is simply an assimilationist measure.
Ultimately, I don't believe at all that this proposed ban is about anything other than assimilation or forced integration of immigrants. I may be wrong, but I heard some outrageous things during the turbans and soccer debate earlier this year, and I can't ignore that fact as I go forward and judge this proposed ban.
But I'm actually curious then...does that mean that any of the nuns and priests who currently practice in public hospitals and schools and such will have to give up their religious clothes too? Can anyone with a far stronger grasp of French decipher that for me?
We're all the better for knowing more about our world...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, August 19, 2013
August 19/13
In her book, The Wisdom of Whores: Bureaucrats, Brothels and the Business of AIDS on navigating the world of AIDS epidemiology, Dr. Elizabeth Pisani wrote this quote, and as a bonafide policy nerd, I find it both charming and alarmingly close to the truth:
I used to think numbers were a pretty sure bet. Our institutions have put so much stock in numbers that they seem so objective and untouchable.
Then I got me some higher learning, and the fraud was revealed. Behind most numbers, there are subjective decisions and even out-right biases. Then there are numbers that tell one side of the story, while there are numbers that tell another side of the same story. When you want to know how much money a program spends in a year, what do you want to report--the cash accounting, or the accrual accounting? Do you report what has been spent based on the total dollar amount of cheques cashed, or do you report on the total dollar amount of cheques issued? Which official figure do you use? Do you get the amounts from the Public Accounts of Canada? Or the Monitoring and Assessment Reports? Or maybe special reports issued by the Parliamentary Budget Office, or the Auditor General of Canada? The answer may shock you.
It depends.
Ask one bureaucrat, you'll get one answer, ask another, you'll get a different one. Why? Because of the function of their job. A policy analyst will tell you one thing, while an accountant will tell you something else, and a budget officer will give you yet another answer.
Next time you see big numbers floating around, give a passing thought (if only that) to what story those numbers are meant to tell. You'd be surprised where a question like that can lead you, if you have time to look further.
The art of numbers...
...Wish you were here.
"If you torture the statistics enough, they will confess to anything."
I used to think numbers were a pretty sure bet. Our institutions have put so much stock in numbers that they seem so objective and untouchable.
Then I got me some higher learning, and the fraud was revealed. Behind most numbers, there are subjective decisions and even out-right biases. Then there are numbers that tell one side of the story, while there are numbers that tell another side of the same story. When you want to know how much money a program spends in a year, what do you want to report--the cash accounting, or the accrual accounting? Do you report what has been spent based on the total dollar amount of cheques cashed, or do you report on the total dollar amount of cheques issued? Which official figure do you use? Do you get the amounts from the Public Accounts of Canada? Or the Monitoring and Assessment Reports? Or maybe special reports issued by the Parliamentary Budget Office, or the Auditor General of Canada? The answer may shock you.
It depends.
Ask one bureaucrat, you'll get one answer, ask another, you'll get a different one. Why? Because of the function of their job. A policy analyst will tell you one thing, while an accountant will tell you something else, and a budget officer will give you yet another answer.
Next time you see big numbers floating around, give a passing thought (if only that) to what story those numbers are meant to tell. You'd be surprised where a question like that can lead you, if you have time to look further.
The art of numbers...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
August 18/13
Today, it's this...
I found this via my Song of the Day podcast from Minneapolis' The Current radio station. It's Kisser by Step Rockets, and it's just an awesome song. I hope to hear more good things out of these guys!
I live for good music...
...Wish you were here.
I found this via my Song of the Day podcast from Minneapolis' The Current radio station. It's Kisser by Step Rockets, and it's just an awesome song. I hope to hear more good things out of these guys!
I live for good music...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
August 17/13
As you may recall, we are moving in October. Though it's not out of town, as I hoped, it's at least to a nice apartment in a nicer building.
So this week, I was in a bit of a tizzy, trying to plan and execute this move in a way that is cost effective (cheap), well managed (not last minute), and ultimately saves us money. It's that last part that I get most worked up about. Unlike the western provinces and territories, things are different in Ontario. Out west, when you take an apartment, you give first month's rent, maybe last month's rent, *plus* a damage deposit.
Sorry if you are familiar with the concept, but others aren't so I'll explain. The damage deposit is a set amount of money (could be less than or equal to a months' rent) that the landlord or property manager holds on to until you vacate the apartment. Then, once you are out, they use that money to make any repairs that go beyond standard wear and tear. So if you put a hole in the wall, and you don't have it fixed before you move out, some of that damage deposit is put toward that repair. Whatever portion of the damage deposit that doesn't get used, the landlord or property manager just sends you a cheque. If you go above the damage deposit, then you pay the difference. I've always been pretty good about getting most, if not all of my damage deposit back just be being on top of things.
But out here in Ontario, they do things all screwy. Instead of collecting a damage deposit, they collect first and last, and then once you've moved out, they *charge* you for whatever repairs. It's just fucking nuts. It means that there is no agreed upon inspection report when you move into a place, and it puts the tenant at a complete disadvantage to know what will be charged to them after they move out.
This shouldn't be a problem, but we've made modifications to the apartment over the last two years, including painting and changing some of the hardware in order to tone down the sad late 80's look of the place, and now if we want to avoid major charges, I have to prime the walls for painting, and we have to return all of the hardware to its original state. Oh, and they will charge us $200 to steamclean the carpets in the two bedrooms, unless we have it *professionally* done ourselves. I've steamcleaned many a carpet in my day, I don't need to spend money on a professional company, thank you very much, CLV. Not to mention the carpets in this apartment probably haven't been replaced since the 90's, and they are in pretty worn down condition. It offends me to think we'll be charged $200 to clean what should just be torn out and replaced.
Anyway, all that to say that I'm off this evening to buy a huge fucking bucket of primer. I'll do my best not to curse CLV out loud as I do it.
Moving in Ontario sucks...
...Wish you were here.
So this week, I was in a bit of a tizzy, trying to plan and execute this move in a way that is cost effective (cheap), well managed (not last minute), and ultimately saves us money. It's that last part that I get most worked up about. Unlike the western provinces and territories, things are different in Ontario. Out west, when you take an apartment, you give first month's rent, maybe last month's rent, *plus* a damage deposit.
Sorry if you are familiar with the concept, but others aren't so I'll explain. The damage deposit is a set amount of money (could be less than or equal to a months' rent) that the landlord or property manager holds on to until you vacate the apartment. Then, once you are out, they use that money to make any repairs that go beyond standard wear and tear. So if you put a hole in the wall, and you don't have it fixed before you move out, some of that damage deposit is put toward that repair. Whatever portion of the damage deposit that doesn't get used, the landlord or property manager just sends you a cheque. If you go above the damage deposit, then you pay the difference. I've always been pretty good about getting most, if not all of my damage deposit back just be being on top of things.
But out here in Ontario, they do things all screwy. Instead of collecting a damage deposit, they collect first and last, and then once you've moved out, they *charge* you for whatever repairs. It's just fucking nuts. It means that there is no agreed upon inspection report when you move into a place, and it puts the tenant at a complete disadvantage to know what will be charged to them after they move out.
This shouldn't be a problem, but we've made modifications to the apartment over the last two years, including painting and changing some of the hardware in order to tone down the sad late 80's look of the place, and now if we want to avoid major charges, I have to prime the walls for painting, and we have to return all of the hardware to its original state. Oh, and they will charge us $200 to steamclean the carpets in the two bedrooms, unless we have it *professionally* done ourselves. I've steamcleaned many a carpet in my day, I don't need to spend money on a professional company, thank you very much, CLV. Not to mention the carpets in this apartment probably haven't been replaced since the 90's, and they are in pretty worn down condition. It offends me to think we'll be charged $200 to clean what should just be torn out and replaced.
Anyway, all that to say that I'm off this evening to buy a huge fucking bucket of primer. I'll do my best not to curse CLV out loud as I do it.
Moving in Ontario sucks...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, August 16, 2013
August 16/13
This evening I took a little stroll down memory lane. A young person in my life put it out there this evening that that person's partner had some trouble with school and didn't know what to do. I reminded this person that my ex was in the exact same position as the partner, though it was a million years ago, and that if my ex could turn it around and now have a career and a life journey he can be happy with, the partner can too.
I offered to give advice if needed; after all, my ex and I each have a history of fuck-ups at school, though mine resulted in a journey that was more twisted and surprising. All told, it took me nine years, three schools, and about seven different programs just to get my Bachelor of Arts degree. That an experience I can't regret, because I learned a lot of lessons about myself and the world, and I gained a lot of perspective which I hope I've been able to share with others so they can benefit too.
Going back a bit, Etienne said something to me this summer about how it seems that I don't question things. Well, there are two answers to this. First of all, if it appears that I don't question something that, by all accounts, I should be questioning, it's usually because I've had some kind of previous experience that tells me something is less 'shades of grey' and more 'black and white' and that I don't want to go down that road again. Second, as I informed him, I never stop questioning. If I've gained one valuable insight from my year in the Social Policy Issues diploma program, it's this: it's all about context, and I can't presume to recognize the "right" context for every social interaction because I don't experience that interaction from other perspectives. So, I may try to be understanding, but that doesn't mean I ever stop pushing to know the who, what, when, where, why and how of life.
Here's to the journey, not the destination...
...Wish you were here.
I offered to give advice if needed; after all, my ex and I each have a history of fuck-ups at school, though mine resulted in a journey that was more twisted and surprising. All told, it took me nine years, three schools, and about seven different programs just to get my Bachelor of Arts degree. That an experience I can't regret, because I learned a lot of lessons about myself and the world, and I gained a lot of perspective which I hope I've been able to share with others so they can benefit too.
Going back a bit, Etienne said something to me this summer about how it seems that I don't question things. Well, there are two answers to this. First of all, if it appears that I don't question something that, by all accounts, I should be questioning, it's usually because I've had some kind of previous experience that tells me something is less 'shades of grey' and more 'black and white' and that I don't want to go down that road again. Second, as I informed him, I never stop questioning. If I've gained one valuable insight from my year in the Social Policy Issues diploma program, it's this: it's all about context, and I can't presume to recognize the "right" context for every social interaction because I don't experience that interaction from other perspectives. So, I may try to be understanding, but that doesn't mean I ever stop pushing to know the who, what, when, where, why and how of life.
Here's to the journey, not the destination...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
August 15/13
So, do you want to know how much of a nerd I am?
Well, I spent my day at work nerding out with numbers and excel spreadsheets. I investigated, I built tables and charts and did analysis of descriptive statistics. I was all-in on rebuilding a long neglected product.
You could try to say your day was more fun, but I've got to tell you that you are probably wrong. You may have done something that seems more fun, but unless you saw a challenge, rolled up your shirt sleeves, and dove passionately into tackling that challenge, knowing you were going to make it your bitch...well, you did something child's play, while I went full tilt Nerd, and by the time I'm done with this product, it will be my bitch.
Nerding out...
...Wish you were here.
Well, I spent my day at work nerding out with numbers and excel spreadsheets. I investigated, I built tables and charts and did analysis of descriptive statistics. I was all-in on rebuilding a long neglected product.
You could try to say your day was more fun, but I've got to tell you that you are probably wrong. You may have done something that seems more fun, but unless you saw a challenge, rolled up your shirt sleeves, and dove passionately into tackling that challenge, knowing you were going to make it your bitch...well, you did something child's play, while I went full tilt Nerd, and by the time I'm done with this product, it will be my bitch.
Nerding out...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
August 14/13
Let's keep this simple...
WALL-E.
This morning, as I was bleary-eyed and tired, I read a tweet from Simon Pegg:
Bring us home, WALL-E...
...Wish you were here.
WALL-E.
This morning, as I was bleary-eyed and tired, I read a tweet from Simon Pegg:
The Incredibles and Wall-E, two films I can watch over and over again and still experience total and utter joy.And it's so true. I can't speak for The Incredibles because I haven't seen all of it, but WALL-E, now that's a story that makes me feel delight and joy. That little robot who defies the odds and takes us out into the far reaches of our galaxy in an effort to return us to a home we must care for? That's a story to inspire child-like wonder, so simple and pure, almost undisturbed by our adult realities.
— Simon Pegg (@simonpegg) August 14, 2013
Bring us home, WALL-E...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
August 13/13
Purrball was very happy to see us this morning!
As our flight landed in Toronto at 1 am, and our Ottawa flight wouldn't be leaving until 10 am, we had to overnight in Toronto. If you are ever on an overnight layover in Toronto, I recommend the Sheraton at the Airport. Sure, you may have to take a shuttle between terminals, but it's much nicer than I thought it would be, and it was very convenient.
We were up at 8 am to get ready to go, and at the precise moment that we left the room (card keys inside, as per convenient check-out), I checked my email and saw a message from Air Canada that our flight was cancelled, and we were re-booked on the flight to Ottawa departing an hour later. Dammit! If I had seen the email when I woke up, I could have taken an extra hour to sleep!
It all worked out fine though. We arrived and picked up our new boarding passes, and for once, we could take a leisurely pace through security screening. Except we got separated there. When we pulled up, the screener directing people didn't hear me say we were together, so she directed me to a line much further down, and told Etienne to get in line right in front of her. Rather than get into it with this lady, we did as we were told. Well, the line I went to wasn't moving much, so the lady in the Nexus line stepped in and directed me to the Nexus screening check point, where I breezed through quickly.
And had to wait. Etienne got stuck behind a woman making a fuss about an oversized bottle of face cleanser, a couple who spoke little English and had to be dealt with, AND....a young guy who decided to get into an argument about *not* being allowed to take his large Swiss Army Knife through security screening. WTF, really?? Has this guy been living under a rock since before September 11, 2001? Dude, this is not a fight you are going to win. Etienne told me that he opted to go back and check the knife in as luggage rather than part ways with it. Duh.
We had a nice breakfast, got on our plane, and an hour later, we were at the Ottawa airport, waiting for our suitcase.
We missed you, Purrball...
...Wish you were here.
As our flight landed in Toronto at 1 am, and our Ottawa flight wouldn't be leaving until 10 am, we had to overnight in Toronto. If you are ever on an overnight layover in Toronto, I recommend the Sheraton at the Airport. Sure, you may have to take a shuttle between terminals, but it's much nicer than I thought it would be, and it was very convenient.
We were up at 8 am to get ready to go, and at the precise moment that we left the room (card keys inside, as per convenient check-out), I checked my email and saw a message from Air Canada that our flight was cancelled, and we were re-booked on the flight to Ottawa departing an hour later. Dammit! If I had seen the email when I woke up, I could have taken an extra hour to sleep!
It all worked out fine though. We arrived and picked up our new boarding passes, and for once, we could take a leisurely pace through security screening. Except we got separated there. When we pulled up, the screener directing people didn't hear me say we were together, so she directed me to a line much further down, and told Etienne to get in line right in front of her. Rather than get into it with this lady, we did as we were told. Well, the line I went to wasn't moving much, so the lady in the Nexus line stepped in and directed me to the Nexus screening check point, where I breezed through quickly.
And had to wait. Etienne got stuck behind a woman making a fuss about an oversized bottle of face cleanser, a couple who spoke little English and had to be dealt with, AND....a young guy who decided to get into an argument about *not* being allowed to take his large Swiss Army Knife through security screening. WTF, really?? Has this guy been living under a rock since before September 11, 2001? Dude, this is not a fight you are going to win. Etienne told me that he opted to go back and check the knife in as luggage rather than part ways with it. Duh.
We had a nice breakfast, got on our plane, and an hour later, we were at the Ottawa airport, waiting for our suitcase.
We missed you, Purrball...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, August 12, 2013
August 12/13
It's not often I get to be on a plane between two large destinations that is only 1/3 full.
This afternoon, we left Yellowknife. Unfortunately, on our way to the airport, we stopped to drop Baby K. off at the emergency room, suffering another bad migraine episode. S. dropped us off at the airport, and made it clear that he gave Etienne the Brother-in-Law Seal of Approval, and our Yellowknife adventure came to an end.
Our flight out of Yellowknife was uneventful, and we had a long enough layover in Calgary to catch our breath this time before we boarded our flight to Toronto. And here's where the empty plane part comes in. I knew it would be a lighter passenger load because it was a Monday evening, but when the announcement came on to let us know that the door was closed and we'd push off from the gate soon, I looked up and this large plane seemed desolate.
Well, at least this time, we weren't going to have to worry about them running out of gluten-free friendly snacks before they reached our aisle.
I need to travel more on Monday nights...
...Wish you were here.
This afternoon, we left Yellowknife. Unfortunately, on our way to the airport, we stopped to drop Baby K. off at the emergency room, suffering another bad migraine episode. S. dropped us off at the airport, and made it clear that he gave Etienne the Brother-in-Law Seal of Approval, and our Yellowknife adventure came to an end.
Our flight out of Yellowknife was uneventful, and we had a long enough layover in Calgary to catch our breath this time before we boarded our flight to Toronto. And here's where the empty plane part comes in. I knew it would be a lighter passenger load because it was a Monday evening, but when the announcement came on to let us know that the door was closed and we'd push off from the gate soon, I looked up and this large plane seemed desolate.
Well, at least this time, we weren't going to have to worry about them running out of gluten-free friendly snacks before they reached our aisle.
I need to travel more on Monday nights...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
August 11/13
Hey, Yellowknifers? If you were down at the Yellowknife River bridge this evening around 4 or so, can you tell me...did Winston finally jump? Is he still there?
It was so prescribed by myself and Karyne that today was the day we'd do a family hike out at Cameron Falls, a place I haven't been since I was just a bit older than Brady. I wasn't sure how Etienne would handle the hike. On the one hand, it's comparatively quite short (maybe 30-45 minutes, depending on pacing), but it's a rigorous little climb, on a hot day.
We headed out to get snacks, and once everyone was dressed and ready, we all climbed into the truck (including very big Dog), and we hit the road. Shit. I forgot how shitty that highway is, especially around Giant Mine. As we bounced along, I wondered what the hell we were doing as idiot teenagers speeding along some of those curves and potholes. As we passed the Pit, where more than a few parties in the bush took place, I concluded at the time we wereinvincible just plain dumb.
It's about an hour-long drive out to Hidden Lake, and that's hard enough being crammed into the back seat of the truck without that magnificent dog not being able to sit still :D But he looked so forlorn, we couldn't just leave him at home. By the time we arrived, Dog was in full excitement mode.
We hiked in and arrived in good time, and settled in at the lookout for some snacks, along with a couple dozen other people. Since the territorial government made some changes to legitimize the trail, it's quite a popular little spot. The falls were quite pretty; Cameron Falls is not the biggest or most spectacular waterfall in the NWT, but it's no slouch. We crossed over to the other side and did the obligatory photo ops, and then we turned around and headed back. We had to. We were on a mission.
Back in the truck, heading toward town, but first we had a stop to make...to jump off the Yellowknife River bridge.
S. and the boys are no stranger to this activity, but I haven't done it since I was a teen, and Etienne, well..."Will he? Won't he?" We knew Baby K. was out, as she's not comfortable with heights, and she got goaded into doing it once this summer, and I think once is enough to last her a lifetime. Etienne is also not comfortable with stunts like this, so I told him not to feel pressure to do it.
We pulled up and parked in the park's lot, and while the boys all went to change, I got to see what was the laugh of the day. This poor boy, maybe 11 or so, with a cast on his wrist, standing on the outside of the railing, just absolutely playing the drama to the maximum. He wanted to jump, but likely had psyched himself up too much, and was now experiencing the fear of the jump combined with the performer's high of commanding a large audience of buzzed adults and their children. In the half-hour or so that we were there, Winston played his role. "I'm going to do it! Don't pressure me! I'm scared! Will you jump with me? I'm going to die!"
In that time, I had time to jump and change. S. had time to jump two or three times, as did each of the boys. Still no Winston.
Etienne jumped. (for the only time in his life, I'm sure)
Still no Winston.
We all toweled off, and the boys all went to change.
Still no Winston.
We left, and as we crossed over the bridge, we honked and yelled at him to jump.
Still no Winston.
I hoped that kid finally jumped...
...Wish you were here.
It was so prescribed by myself and Karyne that today was the day we'd do a family hike out at Cameron Falls, a place I haven't been since I was just a bit older than Brady. I wasn't sure how Etienne would handle the hike. On the one hand, it's comparatively quite short (maybe 30-45 minutes, depending on pacing), but it's a rigorous little climb, on a hot day.
We headed out to get snacks, and once everyone was dressed and ready, we all climbed into the truck (including very big Dog), and we hit the road. Shit. I forgot how shitty that highway is, especially around Giant Mine. As we bounced along, I wondered what the hell we were doing as idiot teenagers speeding along some of those curves and potholes. As we passed the Pit, where more than a few parties in the bush took place, I concluded at the time we were
It's about an hour-long drive out to Hidden Lake, and that's hard enough being crammed into the back seat of the truck without that magnificent dog not being able to sit still :D But he looked so forlorn, we couldn't just leave him at home. By the time we arrived, Dog was in full excitement mode.
We hiked in and arrived in good time, and settled in at the lookout for some snacks, along with a couple dozen other people. Since the territorial government made some changes to legitimize the trail, it's quite a popular little spot. The falls were quite pretty; Cameron Falls is not the biggest or most spectacular waterfall in the NWT, but it's no slouch. We crossed over to the other side and did the obligatory photo ops, and then we turned around and headed back. We had to. We were on a mission.
Back in the truck, heading toward town, but first we had a stop to make...to jump off the Yellowknife River bridge.
S. and the boys are no stranger to this activity, but I haven't done it since I was a teen, and Etienne, well..."Will he? Won't he?" We knew Baby K. was out, as she's not comfortable with heights, and she got goaded into doing it once this summer, and I think once is enough to last her a lifetime. Etienne is also not comfortable with stunts like this, so I told him not to feel pressure to do it.
We pulled up and parked in the park's lot, and while the boys all went to change, I got to see what was the laugh of the day. This poor boy, maybe 11 or so, with a cast on his wrist, standing on the outside of the railing, just absolutely playing the drama to the maximum. He wanted to jump, but likely had psyched himself up too much, and was now experiencing the fear of the jump combined with the performer's high of commanding a large audience of buzzed adults and their children. In the half-hour or so that we were there, Winston played his role. "I'm going to do it! Don't pressure me! I'm scared! Will you jump with me? I'm going to die!"
In that time, I had time to jump and change. S. had time to jump two or three times, as did each of the boys. Still no Winston.
Etienne jumped. (for the only time in his life, I'm sure)
Still no Winston.
We all toweled off, and the boys all went to change.
Still no Winston.
We left, and as we crossed over the bridge, we honked and yelled at him to jump.
Still no Winston.
I hoped that kid finally jumped...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
August 10/13
Today, we finally made it out to the museum and some of the stops in Old Town, but before I wax poetic about nostalgia, today's moment is not about that.
It's about throwing toast at a teenager :)
Since we've arrived, the boys have been largely absent. It's no big deal, they are teenagers and, well, boys, so it's not like we were expecting to spend every waking minute with them talking about activities, life, their hopes and dreams, etc. And when our boys aren't out, there's a gaggle of other boys here, hanging out in the front, doing guy things like shooting hoops and scootering around the road.
The boys had to be there for supper, and no sooner did we finish eating than the oldest told his mother he was still hungry. There was some negotiation over what the eat, and they reached a compromise of toast. The lad put the bread in the toast...and went downstairs, out the front door to hang with friends who had arrived.
I remarked, "Where's B.D.? Didn't he just start making toast?"
My sister said yes, and then looked out the front window to see him hanging on the lawn. We started joking about wasting food, and I mentioned I thought it would be funny to throw the toast out the window at him. She thought it would be funny too, so she buttered the toast, and I took it over the window and shouted down, "B.D., you forgot something!" then flung the toast out at him and his friends with a grin.
He and his friends probably think his aunt is a total wingnut, but who cares! I got to throw toast at a teenager!
And he ate it too.
Fun with Toast...
...Wish you were here.
It's about throwing toast at a teenager :)
Since we've arrived, the boys have been largely absent. It's no big deal, they are teenagers and, well, boys, so it's not like we were expecting to spend every waking minute with them talking about activities, life, their hopes and dreams, etc. And when our boys aren't out, there's a gaggle of other boys here, hanging out in the front, doing guy things like shooting hoops and scootering around the road.
The boys had to be there for supper, and no sooner did we finish eating than the oldest told his mother he was still hungry. There was some negotiation over what the eat, and they reached a compromise of toast. The lad put the bread in the toast...and went downstairs, out the front door to hang with friends who had arrived.
I remarked, "Where's B.D.? Didn't he just start making toast?"
My sister said yes, and then looked out the front window to see him hanging on the lawn. We started joking about wasting food, and I mentioned I thought it would be funny to throw the toast out the window at him. She thought it would be funny too, so she buttered the toast, and I took it over the window and shouted down, "B.D., you forgot something!" then flung the toast out at him and his friends with a grin.
He and his friends probably think his aunt is a total wingnut, but who cares! I got to throw toast at a teenager!
And he ate it too.
Fun with Toast...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, August 9, 2013
August 9/13
Our plans for the day included a stop at the museum and the galleries. Our plans for the day did not include hangovers. Etienne and S. were moving a little slowly today, and as a result, we pushed off our plans until tomorrow. Today, it was all about just hanging around the house. And the trampoline. I don't know when it happened exactly, but it seems like every house in the neighbourhood now has a trampoline.
It was agreed last night that we would go to the Friends' place again tonight, this time for dinner and drinks. The food was delicious, and the company was very hospitable, but it struck me as weird that I was sitting in the dining room of my Social Studies teacher as she prepare and serve food and drink to me. I don't think many people start partying with their high school teachers, but hey, this is the North. It's not the first time I've gotten drunk with any of my former teachers, it won't be the last.
Anyway, after supper, the drinks continued, and the conversation...well, that was something else! We hadn't expected to be talking shop on vacation, but I guess when you are in our line of work, and you are in the company of educated people with varying points of view, anything is possible. At one point, there was a raging discussion about policy and law that was on the verge of becoming quite heated, and as it was related to files held by the department Etienne and I work for, I knew I had to put a stop to it. We can discuss broad, general, public information and answer questions about said topics, but the discussion was starting to track into territory that Etienne and I have specific knowledge about, so the only thing I could do was state plainly that we could not discuss the topic any further.
Well, that turned out to pretty well stop the night. Baby K. was suffering another migraine, so she and I headed home, leaving S. and Etienne to find the bottom of a bottle and safely make their way back :)
These aren't the good old days...
...Wish you were here.
It was agreed last night that we would go to the Friends' place again tonight, this time for dinner and drinks. The food was delicious, and the company was very hospitable, but it struck me as weird that I was sitting in the dining room of my Social Studies teacher as she prepare and serve food and drink to me. I don't think many people start partying with their high school teachers, but hey, this is the North. It's not the first time I've gotten drunk with any of my former teachers, it won't be the last.
Anyway, after supper, the drinks continued, and the conversation...well, that was something else! We hadn't expected to be talking shop on vacation, but I guess when you are in our line of work, and you are in the company of educated people with varying points of view, anything is possible. At one point, there was a raging discussion about policy and law that was on the verge of becoming quite heated, and as it was related to files held by the department Etienne and I work for, I knew I had to put a stop to it. We can discuss broad, general, public information and answer questions about said topics, but the discussion was starting to track into territory that Etienne and I have specific knowledge about, so the only thing I could do was state plainly that we could not discuss the topic any further.
Well, that turned out to pretty well stop the night. Baby K. was suffering another migraine, so she and I headed home, leaving S. and Etienne to find the bottom of a bottle and safely make their way back :)
These aren't the good old days...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
August 8/13
It was a busy day in the 'knife.
My sister and S. are both involved in education, so they have the summer off...mostly. So after knocking back a hard sleep, I was up and moving around 8 am (MDT), but I knew it would be a couple of hours until anyone else stirred.
The dog appeared to want to go out, so I let him out the back door, but after doing his business, he started to wander off over the rock behind the house. He stopped and started to spend a lot of time in one spot, so I went out to see what was so interesting, and when I got to him, he was there, snarfing down some abandoned dog kibble that was just spread out over the rock. WTF? Who just leaves out a bunch of dog kibble? It freaked me out. Our cat, Purrball, had been taken from the pack at my ex-Mother-in-Law's place, and it saved Purrball's life. Some of the other cats died after being poisoned by a neighbour. All I could do was warn Baby K. after she woke up and watch Dog for any signs of distress.
We hit the grocery store to augment Baby K.'s gluten-free purchases for Etienne, and then we headed "downtown" to go to Erasmus Apparel and the Post Office. It was set to be a quiet evening until K. got a text wanting us to go to their friends' place (also in the education business). The wife had been one of my high school teachers, so I was a known quantity, but it was going to be interesting to see how they would take to Etienne. Well, as far as I can tell, they liked him. After some drinking and joking about, we headed back to the house after sunset (so after 10 pm, maybe?) to sit in the sun room. There was teasing and storytelling, and just enjoying each other's company, when I happened to look out at the darkened sky and noticed it...
the Northern Lights.
We see them so rarely in southern Canada, and it's also not common to see them in Yellowknife in August, but there they were, putting on a show for Etienne. To be honest, I'm not sure he's ever seen the Northern Lights.
There are few things about the North that I miss. I miss my sister and her family, and I miss some of the friends I grew up with and family members who are still around there. I miss the lake, and the Midnight sun in the summer. And I miss those Northern Lights. Winters are a miserable experience in the North because they are long, very dark, and cold, but the one good thing about them is the skies dance at night.
The Northern Lights...
...Wish you were here.
My sister and S. are both involved in education, so they have the summer off...mostly. So after knocking back a hard sleep, I was up and moving around 8 am (MDT), but I knew it would be a couple of hours until anyone else stirred.
The dog appeared to want to go out, so I let him out the back door, but after doing his business, he started to wander off over the rock behind the house. He stopped and started to spend a lot of time in one spot, so I went out to see what was so interesting, and when I got to him, he was there, snarfing down some abandoned dog kibble that was just spread out over the rock. WTF? Who just leaves out a bunch of dog kibble? It freaked me out. Our cat, Purrball, had been taken from the pack at my ex-Mother-in-Law's place, and it saved Purrball's life. Some of the other cats died after being poisoned by a neighbour. All I could do was warn Baby K. after she woke up and watch Dog for any signs of distress.
We hit the grocery store to augment Baby K.'s gluten-free purchases for Etienne, and then we headed "downtown" to go to Erasmus Apparel and the Post Office. It was set to be a quiet evening until K. got a text wanting us to go to their friends' place (also in the education business). The wife had been one of my high school teachers, so I was a known quantity, but it was going to be interesting to see how they would take to Etienne. Well, as far as I can tell, they liked him. After some drinking and joking about, we headed back to the house after sunset (so after 10 pm, maybe?) to sit in the sun room. There was teasing and storytelling, and just enjoying each other's company, when I happened to look out at the darkened sky and noticed it...
the Northern Lights.
We see them so rarely in southern Canada, and it's also not common to see them in Yellowknife in August, but there they were, putting on a show for Etienne. To be honest, I'm not sure he's ever seen the Northern Lights.
There are few things about the North that I miss. I miss my sister and her family, and I miss some of the friends I grew up with and family members who are still around there. I miss the lake, and the Midnight sun in the summer. And I miss those Northern Lights. Winters are a miserable experience in the North because they are long, very dark, and cold, but the one good thing about them is the skies dance at night.
The Northern Lights...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
August 7/13
S'up, Yellowknife.
It's been more than three years since my last visit, and it's Etienne's first time North of 60. What a day!
I'm a terrible morning traveler, and I absolutely hate early morning flights. I get so anxious the night before, that I have trouble sleeping, and often I only manage maybe a couple of hours. Like last night. I think I managed three or four hours, but then I woke up in the middle of the night because, of all things, I started thinking about something at work. Fuck me! Seriously?!
So my day was already not starting off on the best note. Our first flight to Montreal was at 6:30 a.m., so I got up and showered at 4:30, knowing it was a futile effort. When I don't get enough sleep, my body goes into hyperactive mode, and as a result, I feel sweaty, grimy and slimy all day. This shower was a token effort.
We tried to get to the airport for 5:30, but various slowdowns such as a quick repack and the cab not arriving as quickly as I'd hoped conspired against us. We arrived at 5:40, and couldn't check in at the kiosks. The ticket counter attendant told us it was because we were late. It looked really bad for a moment, but she asked where we were going, and when I told her Yellowknife, she picked up the phone and called the gate to see if we could still check in. She told us she wasn't supposed to even do that, but we got the okay, and we made our way to security. The problem with early morning flights is that they all go out at the same time, so that means hundreds of people needing to clear security. We just barely made it before they were announcing last call for our gate...all the way at the very far end of the airport. Ottawa's a small airport, but it seems to go on forever when you are late. Yeah, this definitely increased the sweat/grime/slime/stink factor, in case you were wondering. I was offensive even to myself.
We raced to the gate, and in less than an hour, we were in Montreal. I was worried that our bag might not have made it on time because of our late arrival, but I couldn't do anything about it (except fret). Our time in Montreal was uneventful, and we boarded the flight to Calgary. Now, the other thing about me as a traveler is that I can't sleep. Whether it's driving or flying, I just can't sleep. I might doze off for a few minutes, or if I'm really lucky (as I was on the flight from Montreal to London in October), I might manage a fitful hour or two, but generally, I just can't sleep. I knew I needed sleep today, but I also knew my limitations. I put on a couple of short movies (Funny Face, The Big Wedding), and tried my best, but the guy in the window seat took my arm rest (and his...jerk), so I spent the flight uncomfortably shifting positions.
Finally we landed in Calgary, and I went for my last Starbucks until Monday. Yeah, Yellowknife's the 'big city' up there, but it's not "Has a Starbucks" big. As we waited for the Yellowknife flight, I waited in the gate lounge to see if I recognized anyone, or if they recognized me. While I saw a couple of faces that were familiar, it was largely an anonymous event...that's what happens when you've been away from a growing city for 15 years, I guess.
At this point, I made the point oftelling warning Etienne that *IF* my sister was on time to pick us up at the airport (*IF*), then we'd likely be interrupting a conversation with someone she knows...it's still "Small Town" enough for that kind of thing. But that was *IF* ;-D
As we flew north, the landscape started to look more and more familiar, and by the time the Lake came into view, I started to get anxious. I love my sister and her family, but Yellowknife is a part of my life that I've put to rest for the most part, and it's a real mix of emotions whenever I go back. Once we crossed the lake, I noticed an uncontrolled forest fire on the north shore, and I knew I was back. The winds were taking the smoke south, but I knew it could shift any time, and that familiar stench of burning landscape in August would come rushing back.
Etienne's impression of what he saw from the plane was that it was pretty. I've often been asked if it's pretty up north, and my response usually goes something to the effect that a lot of tourists say it is, but growing up there, my impression is quite different. It's a real frontier town, which is something that can be viewed as romantic or tragic.
So, we landed at precisely 3:20 (as scheduled--this is important), and walked into the terminal building.
Is the suspense killing you? Will she be there?
She was not.
Heh. Some things never change. My sister not being the best at keeping track of details is one of those things (I tease, Baby K, and there's nothing but love behind it, but we know it's true).
We waited for the pokey little conveyor belt to end my suspense of whether the suitcase would be there or not, and for a time, I despaired, but then that ugly green case popped out onto the belt.
Still no sister.
Etienne looked at me and asked if we should call a cab. Yeah, let's call the Sister Taxi Service :D
I called at 3:48, and the first thing she said was, "You're early! You're flight landed already?"
"No, we're right on time. And we've got our bag,"
"When did you land? Just now?"
"Our flight landed at 3:20 as scheduled"
"WHAT?! But you told me that you land at 3:45."
"No, I said in the facebook message that it's at 3:20."
After a bit of playful guffawing on both sides, she told me she'd be there in 7 minutes. Yes, in Yellowknife, we can say that. It's 5 from her house, if there's no rush hour traffic. The funny thing is that even if our flight had landed at 3:45...she'd still have been late!
She and my brother-in-law (S.) came by and collected us quickly, and we went back to their place where we were offered a lot of food, a shower, and a nice bed for a nap. I took a quick shower because by this time, I was unfit for human company, and Etienne napped a little before joining us upstairs to prepare for supper.
Now, if you know my sister or are friends with her on facebook, than you know that her culinary skills are the stuff oflegends nightmares. She routinely posts pictures of her handiwork--overcooked, undercooked, scorched, etc. So I had warned Etienne in advance, and showed him some of her greatest hits. However, tonight, it was personal pizzas (yay!), so there wasn't much that could be done to mess this up. Ever the kind hosts, they prepared our pizzas first.
It is important to note here that there is a dispute in their house about a pair of oven mitts. Green and Silver, S. was convinced that my sister was making a grave error by putting them on green side down, and he lightly admonished her for it. She responded by having no problems pulling our pizzas out of the over without incident. As we ate, their pizzas were in the oven. While we waited, we rehashed the late pick-up and confirmed that I had indeed given her the correct time--she had written it down on the all-knowing calendar wrong. At this point, as the mocking continued, S. put on the oven mitts--silver side down--and went to pull the pizzas out of the oven. I have no idea what happened next because of the angle we were sitting at, but it seems that as he pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven, he got burned through a whole in one of the gloves, and the cookie sheet took a spill. Baby K.'s pizza was unscathed, but the toppings and cheese from S.'s pizza slid off, right into the oven element.
The decision was made to leave the cheese where it was and turn on the oven's self-cleaner. Poor S. grumbled his way through his pizza and took our mocking in stride because for once, it was him doing a Bad in the kitchen, and there were witnesses. Suddenly, S. jumped up and cried "Fire!" The oven element was on fire where the cheese was.
Here, things went even more sideways, as Baby K. maintained that there was supposed to be a fire--it was burning off the stuff on the element--while S. argued there wasn't supposed to be a fire. And this hilarious scene was repeated as the self-clean cycle was turned on again (after the fire was put out)! Baby K. was one for two: she missed our pick-up, but for once, she wasn't responsible for a kitchen fire while cooking :)
After the excitement settled down, Baby K., Etienne and I went downstairs to watch TV, where we stumbled on the local public access channel's showing of 'Knife Knews.' I can't explain this show to anyone who lives outside of Yellowknife, it's probably best to just to google the program and watch the YouTube clips.
Psycho-pussy...
...Wish you were here.
It's been more than three years since my last visit, and it's Etienne's first time North of 60. What a day!
I'm a terrible morning traveler, and I absolutely hate early morning flights. I get so anxious the night before, that I have trouble sleeping, and often I only manage maybe a couple of hours. Like last night. I think I managed three or four hours, but then I woke up in the middle of the night because, of all things, I started thinking about something at work. Fuck me! Seriously?!
So my day was already not starting off on the best note. Our first flight to Montreal was at 6:30 a.m., so I got up and showered at 4:30, knowing it was a futile effort. When I don't get enough sleep, my body goes into hyperactive mode, and as a result, I feel sweaty, grimy and slimy all day. This shower was a token effort.
We tried to get to the airport for 5:30, but various slowdowns such as a quick repack and the cab not arriving as quickly as I'd hoped conspired against us. We arrived at 5:40, and couldn't check in at the kiosks. The ticket counter attendant told us it was because we were late. It looked really bad for a moment, but she asked where we were going, and when I told her Yellowknife, she picked up the phone and called the gate to see if we could still check in. She told us she wasn't supposed to even do that, but we got the okay, and we made our way to security. The problem with early morning flights is that they all go out at the same time, so that means hundreds of people needing to clear security. We just barely made it before they were announcing last call for our gate...all the way at the very far end of the airport. Ottawa's a small airport, but it seems to go on forever when you are late. Yeah, this definitely increased the sweat/grime/slime/stink factor, in case you were wondering. I was offensive even to myself.
We raced to the gate, and in less than an hour, we were in Montreal. I was worried that our bag might not have made it on time because of our late arrival, but I couldn't do anything about it (except fret). Our time in Montreal was uneventful, and we boarded the flight to Calgary. Now, the other thing about me as a traveler is that I can't sleep. Whether it's driving or flying, I just can't sleep. I might doze off for a few minutes, or if I'm really lucky (as I was on the flight from Montreal to London in October), I might manage a fitful hour or two, but generally, I just can't sleep. I knew I needed sleep today, but I also knew my limitations. I put on a couple of short movies (Funny Face, The Big Wedding), and tried my best, but the guy in the window seat took my arm rest (and his...jerk), so I spent the flight uncomfortably shifting positions.
Finally we landed in Calgary, and I went for my last Starbucks until Monday. Yeah, Yellowknife's the 'big city' up there, but it's not "Has a Starbucks" big. As we waited for the Yellowknife flight, I waited in the gate lounge to see if I recognized anyone, or if they recognized me. While I saw a couple of faces that were familiar, it was largely an anonymous event...that's what happens when you've been away from a growing city for 15 years, I guess.
At this point, I made the point of
As we flew north, the landscape started to look more and more familiar, and by the time the Lake came into view, I started to get anxious. I love my sister and her family, but Yellowknife is a part of my life that I've put to rest for the most part, and it's a real mix of emotions whenever I go back. Once we crossed the lake, I noticed an uncontrolled forest fire on the north shore, and I knew I was back. The winds were taking the smoke south, but I knew it could shift any time, and that familiar stench of burning landscape in August would come rushing back.
Etienne's impression of what he saw from the plane was that it was pretty. I've often been asked if it's pretty up north, and my response usually goes something to the effect that a lot of tourists say it is, but growing up there, my impression is quite different. It's a real frontier town, which is something that can be viewed as romantic or tragic.
So, we landed at precisely 3:20 (as scheduled--this is important), and walked into the terminal building.
Is the suspense killing you? Will she be there?
She was not.
Heh. Some things never change. My sister not being the best at keeping track of details is one of those things (I tease, Baby K, and there's nothing but love behind it, but we know it's true).
We waited for the pokey little conveyor belt to end my suspense of whether the suitcase would be there or not, and for a time, I despaired, but then that ugly green case popped out onto the belt.
Still no sister.
Etienne looked at me and asked if we should call a cab. Yeah, let's call the Sister Taxi Service :D
I called at 3:48, and the first thing she said was, "You're early! You're flight landed already?"
"No, we're right on time. And we've got our bag,"
"When did you land? Just now?"
"Our flight landed at 3:20 as scheduled"
"WHAT?! But you told me that you land at 3:45."
"No, I said in the facebook message that it's at 3:20."
After a bit of playful guffawing on both sides, she told me she'd be there in 7 minutes. Yes, in Yellowknife, we can say that. It's 5 from her house, if there's no rush hour traffic. The funny thing is that even if our flight had landed at 3:45...she'd still have been late!
She and my brother-in-law (S.) came by and collected us quickly, and we went back to their place where we were offered a lot of food, a shower, and a nice bed for a nap. I took a quick shower because by this time, I was unfit for human company, and Etienne napped a little before joining us upstairs to prepare for supper.
Now, if you know my sister or are friends with her on facebook, than you know that her culinary skills are the stuff of
It is important to note here that there is a dispute in their house about a pair of oven mitts. Green and Silver, S. was convinced that my sister was making a grave error by putting them on green side down, and he lightly admonished her for it. She responded by having no problems pulling our pizzas out of the over without incident. As we ate, their pizzas were in the oven. While we waited, we rehashed the late pick-up and confirmed that I had indeed given her the correct time--she had written it down on the all-knowing calendar wrong. At this point, as the mocking continued, S. put on the oven mitts--silver side down--and went to pull the pizzas out of the oven. I have no idea what happened next because of the angle we were sitting at, but it seems that as he pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven, he got burned through a whole in one of the gloves, and the cookie sheet took a spill. Baby K.'s pizza was unscathed, but the toppings and cheese from S.'s pizza slid off, right into the oven element.
The decision was made to leave the cheese where it was and turn on the oven's self-cleaner. Poor S. grumbled his way through his pizza and took our mocking in stride because for once, it was him doing a Bad in the kitchen, and there were witnesses. Suddenly, S. jumped up and cried "Fire!" The oven element was on fire where the cheese was.
Here, things went even more sideways, as Baby K. maintained that there was supposed to be a fire--it was burning off the stuff on the element--while S. argued there wasn't supposed to be a fire. And this hilarious scene was repeated as the self-clean cycle was turned on again (after the fire was put out)! Baby K. was one for two: she missed our pick-up, but for once, she wasn't responsible for a kitchen fire while cooking :)
After the excitement settled down, Baby K., Etienne and I went downstairs to watch TV, where we stumbled on the local public access channel's showing of 'Knife Knews.' I can't explain this show to anyone who lives outside of Yellowknife, it's probably best to just to google the program and watch the YouTube clips.
Psycho-pussy...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
August 6/13
That feeling when you leave work for the last time before a vacation, and you just *feel* the weight come off your shoulders and your step get a little more bounce in it.
Yeah. That...
...Wish you were here.
Yeah. That...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, August 5, 2013
August 5/13
Bannock is a tricky biscuit. It goes stale quickly, so you want to make sure that you are making it as close to the time that you need it as possible, or that you know it will be consumed quickly. I had to hold off on making bannock for that reason, and tomorrow we'll be packing and taking care of last minute details, so there is no time to bake then. Tonight it is!
Well, if I'm going to make Bannock using my Gramma's recipe, it only makes sense that I should also engage in other nostalgic activities that remind me of her and of growing up. I'd had Etienne pick up a Patsy Cline Greatest hits album on vinyl last week, and now just seems like the right time to put it on for the first time. Elbow deep in all-purpose flour, with Patsy crooning her sad tunes, it should have been the perfect moment of nostalgia.
But my house was not cooperating.
Our current kitchen has just a pathetic amount of counter-top space, and can't accommodate the space needed for making and rolling dough, so I had to move my operations to our polished granite dining table. Yeah, this is where I discuss how bannock and polished granite do not work well together. There is not enough flour in the world to make that work.
And, I didn't have any wax paper that I could tape down to make this easier.
Nor do I have a rolling pin.
Hm.
Necessity is the mother of invention, or some such silly platitude; I solved the rolling pin situation by using a roll of tin foil. Yeah, not my finest moment, but if I do say so myself, it was quite resourceful. And hey, it worked okay. But yes, I will be looking into a rolling pin ASAP.
The table situation though...far less easy to solve. I remembered too late that I have a clear plastic cutting sheet, but by this time, I couldn't tape it down because of the state of the table, the dough, and my flour-covered arms. Before I remind myself that it's a lesson learned, I note that our new apartment has oodles and oodles of counter-top space, and with the right tools (e.g. rolling pin), I could bake bannock to my heart's content.
The bannock turned out mostly great, but there were some burned bottoms because the oven's element is a bit wonky, and heats a little higher than the other side does. It's always something.
I think Gramma would have been proud (and amused) to see how I handled this goofy situation.
Gramma...
...Wish you were here.
Well, if I'm going to make Bannock using my Gramma's recipe, it only makes sense that I should also engage in other nostalgic activities that remind me of her and of growing up. I'd had Etienne pick up a Patsy Cline Greatest hits album on vinyl last week, and now just seems like the right time to put it on for the first time. Elbow deep in all-purpose flour, with Patsy crooning her sad tunes, it should have been the perfect moment of nostalgia.
But my house was not cooperating.
Our current kitchen has just a pathetic amount of counter-top space, and can't accommodate the space needed for making and rolling dough, so I had to move my operations to our polished granite dining table. Yeah, this is where I discuss how bannock and polished granite do not work well together. There is not enough flour in the world to make that work.
And, I didn't have any wax paper that I could tape down to make this easier.
Nor do I have a rolling pin.
Hm.
Necessity is the mother of invention, or some such silly platitude; I solved the rolling pin situation by using a roll of tin foil. Yeah, not my finest moment, but if I do say so myself, it was quite resourceful. And hey, it worked okay. But yes, I will be looking into a rolling pin ASAP.
The table situation though...far less easy to solve. I remembered too late that I have a clear plastic cutting sheet, but by this time, I couldn't tape it down because of the state of the table, the dough, and my flour-covered arms. Before I remind myself that it's a lesson learned, I note that our new apartment has oodles and oodles of counter-top space, and with the right tools (e.g. rolling pin), I could bake bannock to my heart's content.
The bannock turned out mostly great, but there were some burned bottoms because the oven's element is a bit wonky, and heats a little higher than the other side does. It's always something.
I think Gramma would have been proud (and amused) to see how I handled this goofy situation.
Gramma...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
August 4/13
No sooner did I pull the last batch of cookies out of the oven last night and get the kitchen in some sense of order, we were out the door to the Lieutenant's Pump to meet people for drinks.
It was not the usual suspects. Indeed, the group and setting was somewhat unusual. When Etienne's work colleagues in his old directorate decided to go for drinks after work, they would all collect at one of the local bars and restaurants across from our oversized government complex. The grouping could be as small as four, or as large as 15, but there tends to be a core of individuals who always showed up.
Many people were out of town for the long weekend, (or if you work in Quebec like us, just the weekend--not having a long weekend in August is just fucking brutal, by the way), so those left behind were Etienne and me, his colleague, Colin, and one of the casual terms, Keegan. Colin is around the same age as Etienne and me, but Keegan is quite a bit younger than us, so our conversations can sometimes get a bit all over the place as the generations relate (or don't!). We four don't normally hang out without others in the group being there as well, so this could (and did) prove to be interesting.
Drinks proceeded, hours passed, and around us, bar patrons came and went. Somewhere in there, the table beside us went from a group of young drinkers around about our ages gave way, as those revelers moved on, to a table full of single, heavy-drinking women in their 40s. They didn't bother us as they buzzed around the one man at the table. While this went on, a drunk Keegan tried hard to convince us to keep going (the strip club kept coming up), but it was already almost 2 a.m., and we were resisting.
Then I got up to go to the washroom.
I was gone all of three minutes, but that was enough time for the unoccupied women to turn cougar and immediately go after the guys at my table. Including Etienne.
If you're thinking "Uh oh!", let me assure you, I found the situation funny. My view as I returned to the table was the woman sitting nearest to me making her best effort (under the alcohol-loaded circumstances) to entice Etienne, and in that instant, I could only giggle..."Yeah, you are so wasting your time, lady, but Imma let this play out."
That was until I arrived at the table. Drunken Cougar wouldn't move out of my way to let me sit down. Her back to me, she didn't notice I had returned. Her friend sitting opposite was working hard on Colin, (who had given her the name "John" because he wasn't interested in her advances), and somewhere in her efforts, she and her friend got tangled, and my water glass went flying, water spilling all over my seat and the table. Etienne's Cougar drunkenly laughed it off, "No one's sitting there anyway!"
No one?
Bitch, please...
I pushed my way past her, growled at her to go get a towel instead of laughing, and at that point, told Etienne my night was over. Better over than ending with me getting into it with the Drunk Cougar. He was about done anyway, so we hightailed it out, abandoning "John" and Drunk Keegan to their own escape plans. I hope they got out alright!
I don't know if the four of us will ever try this again ;-D
A night on Elgin...
...Wish you were here.
It was not the usual suspects. Indeed, the group and setting was somewhat unusual. When Etienne's work colleagues in his old directorate decided to go for drinks after work, they would all collect at one of the local bars and restaurants across from our oversized government complex. The grouping could be as small as four, or as large as 15, but there tends to be a core of individuals who always showed up.
Many people were out of town for the long weekend, (or if you work in Quebec like us, just the weekend--not having a long weekend in August is just fucking brutal, by the way), so those left behind were Etienne and me, his colleague, Colin, and one of the casual terms, Keegan. Colin is around the same age as Etienne and me, but Keegan is quite a bit younger than us, so our conversations can sometimes get a bit all over the place as the generations relate (or don't!). We four don't normally hang out without others in the group being there as well, so this could (and did) prove to be interesting.
Drinks proceeded, hours passed, and around us, bar patrons came and went. Somewhere in there, the table beside us went from a group of young drinkers around about our ages gave way, as those revelers moved on, to a table full of single, heavy-drinking women in their 40s. They didn't bother us as they buzzed around the one man at the table. While this went on, a drunk Keegan tried hard to convince us to keep going (the strip club kept coming up), but it was already almost 2 a.m., and we were resisting.
Then I got up to go to the washroom.
I was gone all of three minutes, but that was enough time for the unoccupied women to turn cougar and immediately go after the guys at my table. Including Etienne.
If you're thinking "Uh oh!", let me assure you, I found the situation funny. My view as I returned to the table was the woman sitting nearest to me making her best effort (under the alcohol-loaded circumstances) to entice Etienne, and in that instant, I could only giggle..."Yeah, you are so wasting your time, lady, but Imma let this play out."
That was until I arrived at the table. Drunken Cougar wouldn't move out of my way to let me sit down. Her back to me, she didn't notice I had returned. Her friend sitting opposite was working hard on Colin, (who had given her the name "John" because he wasn't interested in her advances), and somewhere in her efforts, she and her friend got tangled, and my water glass went flying, water spilling all over my seat and the table. Etienne's Cougar drunkenly laughed it off, "No one's sitting there anyway!"
No one?
Bitch, please...
I pushed my way past her, growled at her to go get a towel instead of laughing, and at that point, told Etienne my night was over. Better over than ending with me getting into it with the Drunk Cougar. He was about done anyway, so we hightailed it out, abandoning "John" and Drunk Keegan to their own escape plans. I hope they got out alright!
I don't know if the four of us will ever try this again ;-D
A night on Elgin...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
August 3/13
We're only a few days from our trip to Yellowknife, so it was time to swing into action and finish the final preparations: it's time to get my bake on.
My sister's boys love their gramma's bannock, which I totally get because it was MY Gramma's bannock, but my sister is...uh...(I love you, Baby K)...well, she's a bit of a disaster in the kitchen, so it's best that she not get involved in the chaos of baking something that doesn't come in a box. So, whenever it's the case that members of our family head north, when possible, we come bearing backed goods for the boys.
Tonight, it was chocolate chip cookies. Mostly because I wanted them, but I figured that no one in that household would complain if I turned up with some nummy cookies.
I'm less prone to disasters in the kitchen than my sister, but that doesn't mean I'm any better at managing the baking process. Sometimes I look at the consistency of my cookie dough and wonder what the fuck went wrong, but they always turn out just fine in the oven. Then there's always the mess and the clean-up, and usually a few 'What the fuck am I doing?'s thrown in for good measure. I love the end result (the cookies), I hate the process (getting to the cookies).
And it occurred to me that the reason why it bothers me that I don't like baking is because I'm generally quite process-oriented. In most endeavors, I thrive during the process, and though I keep my eye on the end result, it's much more interesting to shape it through the process phases. If you have a solid process in place, it means the end should generally take care of itself, with maybe some minor alterations. Yet when it comes to baking, I go batty and just wish the damn item was done already so I could enjoy it. Whoever said 'Patience is its own reward' wasn't likely someone jonesing for a cookie fix.
Someone to bake cookies for me...
...Wish you were here.
My sister's boys love their gramma's bannock, which I totally get because it was MY Gramma's bannock, but my sister is...uh...(I love you, Baby K)...well, she's a bit of a disaster in the kitchen, so it's best that she not get involved in the chaos of baking something that doesn't come in a box. So, whenever it's the case that members of our family head north, when possible, we come bearing backed goods for the boys.
Tonight, it was chocolate chip cookies. Mostly because I wanted them, but I figured that no one in that household would complain if I turned up with some nummy cookies.
I'm less prone to disasters in the kitchen than my sister, but that doesn't mean I'm any better at managing the baking process. Sometimes I look at the consistency of my cookie dough and wonder what the fuck went wrong, but they always turn out just fine in the oven. Then there's always the mess and the clean-up, and usually a few 'What the fuck am I doing?'s thrown in for good measure. I love the end result (the cookies), I hate the process (getting to the cookies).
And it occurred to me that the reason why it bothers me that I don't like baking is because I'm generally quite process-oriented. In most endeavors, I thrive during the process, and though I keep my eye on the end result, it's much more interesting to shape it through the process phases. If you have a solid process in place, it means the end should generally take care of itself, with maybe some minor alterations. Yet when it comes to baking, I go batty and just wish the damn item was done already so I could enjoy it. Whoever said 'Patience is its own reward' wasn't likely someone jonesing for a cookie fix.
Someone to bake cookies for me...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, August 2, 2013
August 2/13
Strike. Fucking. Two. Starbucks.
This morning, Etienne had an appointment near our place, so instead of heading for the Campus station, we walked along Elgin to the Starbucks at the Lord Elgin hotel, where I bought him a coffee before we parted ways. I don't care for this location, as they make Caramel Macchiatos with a chocolate caramel sauce, which just ruins the drink, so I figured I'd stop at the Starbucks on Slater and Metcalf on my way to the Transitway. It's not a store I frequent in the mornings (or indeed, at all, really), so I was prepared for the inevitable name-game (see yesterday).
When I placed my order, the cashier asked my name, and I gave it; for good measure, I pointed to it on my gold Starbucks card. He got it right away. But then he called the order to the barista, who made him repeat it several times because of the busy din of customers and coffee grinders. He said it clearly all three times.
I picked up my drink.
Oh, fuck you Starbucks!
This morning, it read "Fanty."
No, seriously...fuck you, Starbutts.
A better policy...
...Wish you were here.
This morning, Etienne had an appointment near our place, so instead of heading for the Campus station, we walked along Elgin to the Starbucks at the Lord Elgin hotel, where I bought him a coffee before we parted ways. I don't care for this location, as they make Caramel Macchiatos with a chocolate caramel sauce, which just ruins the drink, so I figured I'd stop at the Starbucks on Slater and Metcalf on my way to the Transitway. It's not a store I frequent in the mornings (or indeed, at all, really), so I was prepared for the inevitable name-game (see yesterday).
When I placed my order, the cashier asked my name, and I gave it; for good measure, I pointed to it on my gold Starbucks card. He got it right away. But then he called the order to the barista, who made him repeat it several times because of the busy din of customers and coffee grinders. He said it clearly all three times.
I picked up my drink.
Oh, fuck you Starbucks!
This morning, it read "Fanty."
No, seriously...fuck you, Starbutts.
A better policy...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
August 1/13
Yeah, I know have one of those unusual names, and I should be used to people not getting it. The conversation usually goes something like this:
Them: Can I get your name?
Me: Fancy.
Them: Fanny? (Or Nancy?) (Or Francie?)
Me: Fancy. With an F.
Them: *quizzical look*
Me: F-A-N-C-Y.
Them: Oh, Fancy. Sorry.
And I really wish I was exaggerating, but this conversation can and will happen as many as five times a week. Especially if I go to Starbucks for coffee.
You see, more than a year ago, Starbucks dreamed up this hideous torture for anyone not named 'Joe': they insist on asking for a name for your cup. Does it prevent some drinks being taken by mistake? I have no doubt. But really, I think it's a secret plot by an evil corporation that is hellbent on fucking with me at the start of my day. I'm at my least charming and patient in the morning, so this is really not the time to go fucking with me.
Today, I went to the Starbucks at Chapters on Rideau, and ordered my usual beverage and croissant. When asked for my name, I hesitated (as usual), and then gave it. The floating barista didn't bat an eyelash and started writing. I knew she thought she was mishearing me, and instead of clarifying with me, she continued writing and passed my cup off to the bar barista.
I knew there were two drinks ahead of mine, and they were not similar, so I knew when my drink was being called, it was for me, but as I suspected, the drink was called for 'Nancy.' I ignored it. The bar barista looked worried, and peered over the counter for 'Nancy' before she noticed that it was for me. Unsure, she meekly called the drink again, "Caramel Macchiato for Nancy?"
I took the cup and snapped at her that the drink was mine, but my name is Fancy, and why is it so hard to get right. She offered a meek apology, looking at her colleagues for some help with the situation, but before she could get any, I told her it wasn't her fault, muttered an apology and stalked off to get on the bus.
You know, I have a friend who has recently completed his Ph.D. in Philosophy, and he once discussed his work on (and I know I'm going to fuck this up because I was tired and drinking, so, sorry in advance, O!) the value of an individual's name in identity. It's research that struck a chord with me because of the tormented history of my name interacting with society. I think of this whenever I'm asked why I don't just go by another name.
But at 8:30 am, before I've had my coffee and breakfast, all I know is that it's my fucking name, and if you are going to ask me for it, then get it wrong, I'm going to respond with a level of irritation that will make everyone uncomfortable.
Starbucks, any time you want to stop fucking with those of us with unusual names, I'm ready for it.
There has to be a better way...
...Wish you were here.
Them: Can I get your name?
Me: Fancy.
Them: Fanny? (Or Nancy?) (Or Francie?)
Me: Fancy. With an F.
Them: *quizzical look*
Me: F-A-N-C-Y.
Them: Oh, Fancy. Sorry.
And I really wish I was exaggerating, but this conversation can and will happen as many as five times a week. Especially if I go to Starbucks for coffee.
You see, more than a year ago, Starbucks dreamed up this hideous torture for anyone not named 'Joe': they insist on asking for a name for your cup. Does it prevent some drinks being taken by mistake? I have no doubt. But really, I think it's a secret plot by an evil corporation that is hellbent on fucking with me at the start of my day. I'm at my least charming and patient in the morning, so this is really not the time to go fucking with me.
Today, I went to the Starbucks at Chapters on Rideau, and ordered my usual beverage and croissant. When asked for my name, I hesitated (as usual), and then gave it. The floating barista didn't bat an eyelash and started writing. I knew she thought she was mishearing me, and instead of clarifying with me, she continued writing and passed my cup off to the bar barista.
I knew there were two drinks ahead of mine, and they were not similar, so I knew when my drink was being called, it was for me, but as I suspected, the drink was called for 'Nancy.' I ignored it. The bar barista looked worried, and peered over the counter for 'Nancy' before she noticed that it was for me. Unsure, she meekly called the drink again, "Caramel Macchiato for Nancy?"
I took the cup and snapped at her that the drink was mine, but my name is Fancy, and why is it so hard to get right. She offered a meek apology, looking at her colleagues for some help with the situation, but before she could get any, I told her it wasn't her fault, muttered an apology and stalked off to get on the bus.
You know, I have a friend who has recently completed his Ph.D. in Philosophy, and he once discussed his work on (and I know I'm going to fuck this up because I was tired and drinking, so, sorry in advance, O!) the value of an individual's name in identity. It's research that struck a chord with me because of the tormented history of my name interacting with society. I think of this whenever I'm asked why I don't just go by another name.
But at 8:30 am, before I've had my coffee and breakfast, all I know is that it's my fucking name, and if you are going to ask me for it, then get it wrong, I'm going to respond with a level of irritation that will make everyone uncomfortable.
Starbucks, any time you want to stop fucking with those of us with unusual names, I'm ready for it.
There has to be a better way...
...Wish you were here.
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