February 28/13

If you're not an ABBA fan, skip this one.

I'm in a strange mood today.  Like there's something, some kind of fact or truth that I need to accept and come to terms with...but I'm only getting a glimpse of the problem, and so I can't really say what that fact or truth is, to be honest.

And to confuse things further, it's like I've prepared myself to accept it.

So when iTunes shuffled on to When All is Said and Done by ABBA a few moments ago, it was sort of that click...yes.  Whatever this is, or will turn out to be...I'm well-armed to deal with it, thanks to a pop-disco ballad from 1982...how deliciously mainstream:

Here's to us one more toast and then we'll pay the bill
Deep inside both of us can feel the autumn chill
Birds of passage, you and me
We fly instinctively
When the summer's over and the dark clouds hide the sun
Neither you nor I'm to blame when all is said and done

In our lives we have walked some strange and lonely treks
Slightly worn but dignified and not too old for sex
We're still striving for the sky
No taste for humble pie
Thanks for all your generous love and thanks for all the fun
Neither you nor I'm to blame when all is said and done

It's so strange when you're down and lying on the floor
How you rise, shake your head, get up and ask for more
Clear-headed and open-eyed
With nothing left to try
Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run
There's no hurry any more when all is said and done

Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run
There's no hurry any more when all is said and done

I'm ready...

...Wish you were here.

February 27/13

My cat, Max, is a very poor communicator.  For instance, tonight, as I had the page open for writing this blog post, he decided he had something to say.  And I quote:

dsssssssssssssssssssss\"}]}dc.

I have no idea what he was trying to say, but if he had something in mind, he's clearly among the worst typists in the world.  I can't think of the last time I tried to type something specific by setting my entire body down on the laptop keyboard.  I don't mean to disparage his message, but I have to wonder what it even is, given his inability to articulate it in any known spoken or text language.


A decoder for Max's message...

...Wish you were here.

(PS - Happy Birfday Mr. BD!  Much love!  Hmmm...come to think of it, maybe Max was trying to say that?  Thoughts?)

February 26/13

So, by now, I think you know that I have a very-public love affair with zombies.  I love the new generation of zombie-apocalypse movies, like Zombieland, Shaun of the Dead, and most recently, Warm Bodies; I do own The Zombie Survival Guide, a children's book called Ten Little Zombies, and an academic essay collection on zombies called Brrraaaiiinnnsss: From Academics to Zombies; my cubicle at work does have a Zombie Caution poster, and a framed picture of a zombiefied Steve Yzerman; yes...I like zombies.  Very much.

It's largely due to the fact that the recent pop culture take on zombies has been to combine the gruesome horror of a zombie apocalypse with sharp, witty, even tender commentary that hasn't previously been explored (e.g. consider that zombies may have some small capacity to love).  I love good satire.

So, you might be wondering how it is that I haven't yet sat myself down and watched AMC's The Walking Dead.  After all, is it not zombies for TV?  Well, wonder no more.  I did.  Tonight, I took some time (before New Girl came on at 9 pm), tested Netflix on the new Blu-ray reader in the bedroom, and watched the series premier. 

Man, that shit is intense.  But I'm unsure about proceeding, because it's a drama.  I might be wrong, but it just seems like it's going to be all desperation, fighting-for-survival, against-all-odds, conspiracy-laden, more-drama-than-a-missing-falsey-in-a-prima-donna-drag-queen's-dressing-room, Capital D Drama. 

I don't know.  But I'm open to suggestion...

...Wish you were here.

February 25/13

I wish I could say that there was something worth talking about today, but I can't.  Today I was practically comatose.  I couldn't function at work; I swear, I read the same page of a deck about 10 times,  and it didn't sink in.  Today was one of those awful days that draaaaaaaaaags on forever.  The time that elapses between moments when I looked at the clock seems to be so long, but I was disappointed to find that what felt like 10 minutes was only about 2 minutes in actual time.

All that, and I was freezing too.  I put on my work sweater, but it was clear that it wasn't going to cut it.  It was a two-sweater day.  The chills suck. 

All signs point to I'm getting sick.  I don't feel any other symptoms (yet), but it could quite likely happen.  Bummer.

Sorry to waste your time today...

...Wish you were here.

February 24/13

And in a rather unfortunate turn of events, the brand new Region-Free, Wifi-enabled Blu-ray player that we got only six weeks ago or so?  Yup.  Broken down. 

Dammit.

Etienne got it for the bedroom, and while he could have just picked up any old blu-ray player, the fact is that about 100 or so movies in our collection are Region 2 DVDs--his collection of movies from his years in Switzerland.  And we are talking about some pretty awesome movies that he's shared with me.  Some movies like Chouchou were a little above my French comprehension level (but it was pretty funny from what I guessed), while others literally tore my soul out and shredded it, like The Graveyard of Fireflies.  I figure that I've only managed to see about a third of his Region 2 movies, and now I'll have to wait until we can find a machine to play them on.

A working Region-Free, WiFi-enabled Blu-ray player...

...Wish you were here.

February 23/13

It doesn't happen often, but once in a very long while, I do get the desire to brush up my pipes and sing in public again.  The rub of it is that my voice is the kind that is designed for choral, classical, or show singing.  I'm a soprano with a higher range, but I was never much of a belter, which is the popular music these days; the public today has a strong preference for mezzo sopranos and altos. 

I blame this episode on My Fair Lady.  Any soprano worth her salt has taken a run at those songs, and who hasn't had visions of being Eliza Doolittle as she dreamily croons her way through a bedtime routine in I Could Have Danced All Night.  I know I have.

But alas, my performing days are long behind me.  I was aiming for a career in the theatre when I left high school, but a traumatic event saddled me with a fear of being seen.  I had already hated being photographed, so that ruled out a career in film and television, but I clung to the hope of a stage career prior to that fateful night.  I'd like to think I would have done alright.  Not a star, but happy in my choice.

Eliza Doolittle...

...Wish you were here.

February 22/13

After a day that can quite easily be labeled as a rollercoaster, the only thing to do really is drink some beers and then go and spend a ridiculous amount of money at Lucky Brand Jeans.  Am I right?

As I noted before, my favourite jeans are borderline, showing signs of weakness, and likely are soon to become a pair of lazy jeans, or maybe even a pair of jean cutoffs.  They certainly aren't going to be good for work soon, and yes, I wear jeans to work.  If I have a meeting, I'll dress up, but otherwise, I keep things fairly casual.  The higher-ups don't seem to mind, or else if they do, they haven't told me as much.  I guess they figure that I'm showing up and doing good work, so it doesn't matter if I show up in jeans.  Policy work is by and large think-work anyway...there are times when you have to do the communications work for which more professional attire may be called for, but as long as I'm providing solid, evidence-based analysis for senior management, it doesn't matter if I do it in jeans, a suit, or a bloody tutu.

With my favourite jeans on their way out, I need new ones.  I prefer just plain old Levis, but wouldn't you know it, there is no Levis store in Ottawa, and to be frank, finding jeans means either buying the uber-expensive designer jeans (I'm looking at you, Nudie Jeans and Rag and Bone), going way down-market to the junk sold at Urban Outfitters or Forever 21, or worse still, buying the Mom jeans.  At the mid-market range, there's pretty much only Gap, and I am not digging on the styles they carry these days.  Call me an old curmudgeon, but whatever happened to a simple, plain straight-leg jean without fake fade washes.  Or even just a boot-cut that doesn't look like a bell-bottom?  Skinny jeans?  Well, I'll keep my black pair, but otherwise, I'm not interested in showing how conical I'm becoming from the waist down.  Oh for a simple, clean pair of jeans!

So this is how, after a morning of being upset, an afternoon of being active, and an evening of drinks, I end up wandering into Lucky Brand Jeans and dropping $250 for a pair of jeans, a belt, and a shirt (the promotion was buy a pair of jeans, get 50% off any shirt; as for the belt, I just got suckered into it, that's all).  I'm a more pliable shopper when drinking :)

A good old pair of Levis...

...Wish you were here.