Loquacious D

I'm Moving ...

2007-11-01T23:35:00.000-04:00

... to another blog site.

(Ha! You didn't ACTUALLY think I was physically moving, did you? Oh, sorry. That was cruel of me.)

I've been wooed and wowed by the Web site that is WordPress. So I'm going to try something new, just because I don't really like the way my blog looks.

And maybe if I think my blog is good-looking, I'll actually post more.

(I'll let you judge for yourself whether that's good or bad.)

But for now, just mosey on over to the new site by clicking here.

Happy Halloween ....

2007-10-31T17:30:00.000-04:00

With my nose buried in work, I nearly forgot to wish you all a Happy Halloween!

I'm not doing anything much for the occasion. I missed out on last weekend's festivities, so I'm keeping it a bit low-key this year.

But have fun, whether you're out in costume (or watching other people in costume!), giving out candy or receiving it.

I Heart Clothing Swaps

2007-10-24T22:35:00.001-04:00

I can't resist turning this post into a Girly Service Announcement ...

But I now officially LOVE clothing swaps.

Last night, I went to a friend's house for one of her clothing swap extravanganzas. I've been before, but each time I go, they just get better and bigger.

Allow me to give you the reasons why you should either go to one, or organize one:

1. It's the perfect opportunity to get rid of some of your old clothes. Got old t-shirts, sweaters, shirts, skirts or pants that you no longer wear or don't want, but are taking up room in your closet? If someone you know decides to offer up their home for a clothing swap, it's the perfect excuse to stuff all those duds into a huge plastic bag and cart it over to your friend's house. Unless you suddenly grow attached to all the clothes you plan on throwing out, you never have to see them again.

2. You can find new pieces of clothes without even opening your wallet. It's almost in the same vein as patiently going through racks of clothes at Winners or Value Village. If you wait long enough, something in your size will eventually appear from a huge mound of clothes, calling your name. It's weird how you think you won't find anything, and you end up carting back a bag full of clothes. And you don't have to pay a cent.

Plus, you'd be surprised what some people bring. Some items of clothes still have the tags attached. Someone at the swap I was at last night got rid of two pairs of Prada pants. Two! If they were anywhere near my size, I would have tried those on. And you don't have to limit it to clothes - some people bring almost-never-worn shoes.

3. Picking up clothes can also be a democratic process. At the swap I was at last night, if more than one woman wanted a piece of clothing "advertised" by the hostess, they all took turns rolling dice. The one with the highest number won. I personally would like to see a clothing swap where decisions were made via Rock, Paper, Scissors. (It might be long, but possibly interesting ...)

And even if you don't get what you want, there is sometimes a good chance that the piece of clothing you wanted this time around may turn up at the next clothing swap.

4. It's great for meeting new people, and catching up with old ones. Really, who doesn't like an excuse for a social gathering with munchies, wine and conversation?

5. It's usually in the name of a good cause. Whatever clothes left over aren't necessarily tossed in the trash - usually it's carted away to a local charity.

So as the weather gets colder, if you're trying to figure out how you're going to amuse yourself when winter hits, and a plain old wine-and-cheese party just won't cut it, consider this an alternative.

Besides, I just remembered - I've still got a couple T-shirts and a pair of jeans I'm willing to contribute! Someone, please hold one again soon!

The Generation Gap, In An Elevator

2007-10-24T11:26:00.000-04:00

I just went downstairs to get some breakfast before I start my day (yes, it's almost 11:30 a.m., but that's neither here nor there) and I think I just witnessed sociology at its finest.

I got on the elevator, which stopped on the third floor of my building. A bunch of older ladies - whom I've worked with in the past - got on. The elevator descended, stopping again, but on the second floor.

The doors opened, and a bunch of young cats - three tall, gangly guys and a petite girl, barely mid-20s - stood there. Looking. One of them kinda looked glassy-eyed and had this goofy half-smile on his face.

It was probably only about eight to 10 seconds, but it felt like an eternity. It was the longest I'd ever seen a group of people decide whether or not they wanted to board an elevator. Either the little green arrow above the elevator (signalling the direction) didn't work, or it didn't occur to them to look.

One of the women (who I know) said, "This elevator is going down," which sprung the foursome into action.

I watched them while the elevator took its short voyage down to the ground level. I guessed whatever they were talking about before they boarded the elevator was the subject of conversation, because during the ride down, none of them said actual words - they just made sounds, a couple of them snickered, and one of them making a gesture, scratching the scruffy stubble under his chin.

The elevator made it to the ground floor. The doors opened. And the trio of youngsters just stood there. I remember saying in a normal tone of voice, "You can get out now - thanks," but I think it was overshadowed by a couple other people saying, "Get out." I shook my head at the delayed reaction as I went to the food court.

On returning, I saw the same four people. Whatever they had to do was done pretty quickly, 'cause there they were, going back towards the elevator.

Man, I thought. What would be the chances of being in the same elevator?

I was about to find out.

I was sort of behind them, so as I waited - and the elevator arrived - I heard one of them pipe up, "Oh, I hope we get some angry people on the elevator like last time," one of them said sarcastically.

Maybe they knew I was there when we boarded. Or maybe, like the "down" arrow for the elevator the first time they boarded, they were possibly oblivious.

While the elevator doors closed and the car began its assent, one of the guy's friends answered, "If they do, just make a Mr. Bean face," and the first guy said to the effect of, "Yeah, just remind them they work for the Ministry of Truth for Canada," or something like that.

Then the doors opened, and they left.

I was about to say that it must be a condition of my older age, 'cause after I encountered them the first time, I guess I couldn't get over their delayed reaction and I was immediately making mental judgements. I wondered, how many years in age, hours spent listening to high-decibel, ear-splitting music on MP3 players, and joints smoked separates me from them? Good grief!

And then on the way back up, listening to them call the people in the elevator "angry", that kind of annoyed me a bit. They weren't angry in tone at all when they spoke. They wanted to leave the elevator, and that quartet of mini-hipsters just stood there like they had all the time in the world.

I guess it also speaking to our conditioning as office workers - always moving quickly, rushing around because our daily lives depend on, and are determined by, a schedule. The same schedule. Every day. All year.

So - if I were to assume the kids weren't just being snotty after the fact - I can sort of see both sides of the coin.

Too bad either group - who have since had their snarky remarks about the other - won't see it as such.

Thanks, Mayor ... I Guess

2007-10-23T16:29:00.000-04:00

Last night was the big vote for Toronto City Council.

I suppose - as a potential future first-time buyer who doesn't drive - I should be somewhat grateful, as the land transfer tax was actually modified (thanks, Coun. Grimes).

But truthfully, this still sucks for those who are affected (translation: millions of homeowning drivers ... or driving homeowners, take your pick).

On top of which, the land transfer and vehicle registry tax will only generate $175 million in revenue for next year, instead of the $356 million that was forecast. It's gonna be really interesting to see how this all works, considering there were a few other corners that could've been cut to help this cash-strapped city.

For a couple of city columnists' views, check out Sue-Ann Levy's slightly snarky debrief and Royson James's take.

Plumpynut Saves?

2007-10-21T22:26:00.001-04:00

Earlier this evening, I caught a news piece Anderson Cooper did for 60 Minutes, on this pre-packaged food called Plumpynut (you can also see the video on the Web site).

It's a peanut-based paste, made also with milk powder, vitamins and minerals - the equivalent, Cooper says in his item, of a glass of milk and a vitamin supplement. It's used to give some sort of nutritional sustenance to feed malnourished kids (in the case of the news piece, the kids were in Niger).

From what the TV piece suggests - while it obviously can't be given those past the point of no return - if given to malnourished kids, Plumpynut helps give them appetites, much-needed nutrients, and a fighting chance of sticking around a bit longer.

One of the people interviewed in the item, a doctor working at a health clinic in Niger, was asked various things, including the issue of peanut allergies, which is prevalent in Western nations. She said they didn't see it - food allergies aren't nearly the problems they are in developed countries.

In a quick search for news articles I just did, there were about seven references to Plumpynut in the last three and a half weeks.

But checking Wikipedia, apparently this stuff was formulated in 1999 and I suppose has been in use ever since, as a way to rehabilitate famine and hunger victims.

Why are we just hearing about it now? Or maybe other stories have been done about this, but this is just the latest instance.

Either way, interesting. Just thought I'd share.

Random Question of the Week

2007-10-21T21:44:00.000-04:00

Apparently I've not been keeping up with my bloggerly duties of posting frequently so the few of you guys who visit here have something to read.

Truthfully, I haven't really had anything particularly pithy to write about, which I guess defeats the purpose of writing frequently, to practice one's writing. But I feel like anything I write - just for writing's sake - will be lame.

So until I think of something witty to write, here's a random question (which is, I admit, shallow and vacuous, but it's the best I can do):

Is it really, really wrong to be attracted to someone whose face is nondescript, but is well-built from the neck down?

I suppose this warrants an explanation. (What's that? Don't want one? You're getting it anyway.)

Friday night I went out with a friend, to this monthly event. Standing at the bar, I let my eyes wander and pause on this table full of guys. One of them was (I think) one of the organizers. One of the other guys I saw sitting there, I could swear I know or met him several years ago - so let's call him Familiar Guy - and I'm sure I saw him at an event a month ago. but I figured he didn't remember me, so I let it go.

The other thing to understand: the place we were partying was the "basement" level of the bar. It's small, so when it fills with lots of people, it gets really hot.

At one point, I remember glancing over to see Familiar Guy get up to leave the table, and even though he was wearing a plain white T-shirt - which was understandable, given the warmth of the party space - I was gazing at probably one of the nicest physiques in the place.

Hell, who am I kidding? It was the nicest. And it was hard not to stare.

He didn't have a bodybuilder or beefcake build or anything. But he had what I like to call the "Walk into a lampost/bookcase (or any solid structure of your choosing)" physique. Luckily when I saw him, I was not moving.

But his face? Eh. That didn't mean I wasn't looking over when I could, until he left.

This is the second time this year I've met someone like that. The first time was at a friend's rooftop patio several months ago. I actually got to talk to the other guy. He seemed nice, and smart. Again, tall (which gets the silver library bell of approval from me - ding ding ding!) ... with an ordinary face. But nice build. Luckily I was focusing on talking, otherwise I probably would have dribbled down the front of my shirt.

(Come to think of it, I have a theory about the part of the country these guys are from, but I'm not saying here. You'll have to ask me about it.)

So here I am, conflicted. As an adult who considers herself just ordinary looking, I'm thinking, whatever happened to being attracted to one's personality? And the fact that cool people come in all sorts of shapes and sizes? I'm supposed to be a bit above the esthetically pleasing by now.

Besides, when I'm talking to people who look like that, the part I'm verbally communicating with is above the neck!

And yet. Le sigh.

So go ahead, leave an answer to the question. Let the condemnation begin. I'm going to go smother my shame in some vanilla ice cream, if there's any left in the house.

It's Coming ...

2007-10-16T21:56:00.000-04:00

... Grownups Read Things They Wrote as Kids 3, that is.

I'm squealing like a schoolgirl inside.

This is most awesome news, second only to Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings playing the Phoenix the previous week.

November is going to be the best. Month. Ever.

If for some reason you don't see any posts here for the next month, you'll know it's because I've burrowed deep into my parents' basement, rifling through dusty schoolbooks and cheap $5 diaries in search of elementary-school literary gold.

Monday, November 19, boys and girls.

Get ready.

"Where's My Garbage Can?"

2007-10-15T17:20:00.000-04:00

Imagine my surprise when I arrived to work this morning, and sitting under my desk was my recycling bin ...

And an itty bitty black bin attached to it. And no garbage can.

"Where's my garbage can?" was the first thing I asked.

I soon found out the answer: our workplace had implemented this new system where all employees now have to separate their garbage and recycling and toss them into the appropriate bins.

Some people reading this - whose workplaces may already be doing this - are probably saying, "So? Big deal."

To be honest, I grumbled about it for five minutes, but once I did it a couple times, I didn't really think it was an enormous deal. But I've heard other people grumbling about it all day and shaking their heads.

I don't think it's the idea that's bugging people so much as the way it's being carried out.

For example, apparently there was an e-mail sent out about it a few weeks back. I don't remember seeing the e-mail. Then again, I'm sure most corporate e-mails that get sent out through the office are generally ignored, so I don't think I was the only one who missed it.

Secondly, there are stations around the building. But the complaint there is having to get up and walk over to one of these stations everytime you have something that's not paper, that needs to be thrown out. Me, I don't mind, because I like getting up every once in a while to walk around and stretch my legs ... and I also bring my lunch, so I have a Tupperware container to toss out my chicken bones. But, as might be the argument going around, if you have a fruit peel or a coffee cup, you either have to get up and go to the recycling station, or you have to stuff it in the itty bitty bin and hope it gets emptied.

Lastly, when I arrived this morning, there were these itty bitty blue bins with wheels (in my case, two, 'cause I must somehow have a bigger carbon footprint than anyone in my work unit), which each had a pen and a sticky thing with the name and the number of the maintenance company who works for us, plus a little brochure about how the recycling stations work. An issue that always comes up time to time in our company is how we sometimes can't afford certain things, and how we don't have enough money.

Um ... I don't know how much it costs to separate garbage as opposed to just dumping it ... but how much did it cost to buy all those mini blue-bins? 'Cause our company isn't small. There's, like, 2,000 people in the building. One of my co-workers already heard this crazy rumour those little "awareness" bins cost $10 apiece. It's probably not true ... but wouldn't the black bins and brochures have been enough? I'm just sayin'.

I'm sure over time, people will get used to the system and just separate their garbage out of habit.

Or, they might do what one person did when they threw out the plastic cup holding their sundae - spoon, gunk and all - into the organic waste bin ...

Elect not to care as a sign of personal protest.

Swinging the Axe

2007-10-15T00:08:00.000-04:00

So on October 22, Toronto city hall will vote on whether to cut services and implement new taxes in order to raise more money to pay down the city's $400 million debt.

Two issues in particular are a $60 fee to register a car or motor vehicle ... this is on top of the $74 people already pay to do this.

The other issue - which is the big source of contention - is a land transfer tax, which is music to the ears of whichever councillors are in favour, because of the money this would apparently bring in ... but yet another burden on people buying homes. Not to mention a major obstacle for first-time buyers, as well as wannabe first-time buyers like me, who may have to think of coughing up yet another several thousand dollars, in addition to the money being saved towards a downpayment.

Not that I'm a fan or even a reader of the Toronto Sun, but I was alerted to a column by Sue-Ann Levy, who sat down with Coun. Mike Del Grande - who's a chartered accountant by profession - and poured over the city's 2006 annual financial report to see if there were any cuts that could feasibly be made, instead of the ones Mayor David Miller is proposing. I think you'll be able to find it here.

Now, I don't necessarily agree with everything on this list - and I'm sure neither would any of you - but I do agree that there must be some other places to look for cash before shaking down honest, hardworking taxpayers.

I mean, if a journalist and an accountant councillor can find these, why can't the mayor?

"Does It Expire?"

2007-10-13T19:44:00.001-04:00

A couple afternoons ago, a work-mate of mine mentioned she had a bit of a headache coming on and asked me if I had any Tylenol. Normally, I don't, so I said no. I added, though, that one of my other co-workers probably did, as he always seemed to have a mini-pharmacy in his desk for whatever ails. So my friend asked my co-worker.

I quickly remembered asking this co-worker for a couple of Tylenols once, and when I took the bottle, noticed the expiry date on the bottle had passed.

So then I quickly quipped, "Hopefully they're not expired."

My co-worker then told me hard pills apparently don't expire - because, well, they don't really break down (until/unless ingested) and that the expiry dates on the bottles are really just for pharmaceutical companies to cover their behinds in the event of litigation. Probably the only exception to this, he added, were gelcaps, since they're partially liquid anyway. The friend asking for the Tylenols for her headache qualified this.

I remembered this again today when my mom - recovering from a really nasty cold left over from Thanksgiving weekend - jokingly mentioned how she's had this small jar of Vicks VapoRub for so long, she's been unsure whether or not to throw it out. I mean, there's still VapoRub left in the jar, so it's nowhere near finished.

She tried this evening to see if she could read the label for the expiry date, 'cause she's pretty sure the jar is as old as I am, possibly older. I even tried looking at it. We can't make anything out, saved for a couple of faded 2's, only because the writing down the side's been all but rubbed out, probably by so many people handling it just to open the jar lid, and probably by age. So it remains one of life's tiny mysteries in my house.

This got me to thinking: somebody should do a show - or at least a four-and-a-half minute YouTube segment - called, "Does It Expire?"

I mean, you've got "Will It Float?" on Letterman, and "Will It Blend?" on the Internet. I mean, why not? I think it would totally work. People have done experiments on the shelf-life of fast food from McDonald's and such. Why not medicine?

Or alternately, someone should just hold a contest to see who owns the oldest jar of Vicks VapoRub still currently in use ...

I'm just sayin' ...

Flickr Update ...

2007-10-07T19:02:00.000-04:00

So, with Thanksgiving done like dinner (wah-waaaah), I'm still madly loading up pictures from my Spain trip.

Unlike my friends with The Facebook, you can now actually see almost all my pictures in their entirety via Flickr. (If you have an account and I haven't already added you to my contacts, lemme know and I'll add you pronto :) !)

My Barcelona and Valencia pictures are all up there now; I'm still working on Granada, and I still have Sevilla (Seville) and Madrid left. So enjoy!

(One thing I don't understand about Flickr: the pictures that are my favourite get no views at all, but the mundane ones - like the one of the Sagrada Familia with all the construction cranes in the background - get double-digit viewings. That picture got 13 views. Thirteen?! I don't understand. But then again, I'm not a photo buff like a lot of people on there with their state-of-the-art, high-tech equipment. I'm just Jane Schmoe with her vacation pictures on display. But enough digressing.)

Update: All Spain pictures are officially up. Enjoy!

Happy Long Weekend!

2007-10-06T19:39:00.001-04:00

Just wanted to wish all of you folks a happy Thanksgiving long weekend! Enjoy the turkey/tofurkey/pot-roast/fall chicken and take advantage of the last long weekend we all get before Christimas.

For those of you that have to work, I'm so sorry. I'll try not to rub it in too much :). What I will do instead is try to think of something to post so you have something to read about.

I'll also try and post my pictures from my trip to Spain via Flickr so that you can see them.

(Although I just found out that for months and months I've had a free Flickr Pro Account which is going to expire in just under a week, leaving me with the free account that only lets me have three photosets, which I thought I had in the first place. Hmph. Hopefully it'll let me keep whatever I've posted. I've got a LOT of old pictures to upload ...)

Mom vs. The Matador

2007-09-28T22:57:00.000-04:00

It's nights like these when I love the art of discussion ... and putting a bug in my mother's ear and she can't get rid of it.

We just finished this spirited conversation about places in Toronto she doesn't know, or believe, exist.

Actually, it started when I mentioned I was going to miss tomorrow's annual Nuit Blanche event in Toronto. I went last year, and it was pretty good. But I have a wedding to go to the same night, so I don't think traipsing around the city with (a) a change of clothes or (b) a dress and a pair of heels if I don't take said change of clothes, is going to happen.

I added, "And I really wanted to go see the art exhibit they're putting on inside Lower Bay St. Station." The last time they opened it was for the Doors Open event back in the spring.

So my mom was asking all these questions, like where the lower station was actually located, where did it lead to, what was its original use, etc. And she said that, many years ago, a former co-worker had told her about the station, but she didn't believe him and told him he was making it up.

So then I mentioned, "Well, there's lots of places like that around Toronto. Take for instance that place, the Matador."

Anyone in my age bracket or below, who knows their city well, knows what I'm talking about.

The Coles Notes version for the rest of you: The Matador is probably the longest-standing, dive-iest booze-can our great city has to offer. It used to be a dancehall during WWII, then a bowling alley in the early 1960s before two women bought it and remade it as a country music bar. Over the years, it's played host to musicians, bikers, Harrison Ford, etc. Leonard Cohen has written a song about it.

Its most recent incarnation, however, has been the constantly raided, non-licensed after-hours establishment its patrons know and love.

The latest development, via this article: the city is trying to buy the place from the owners tear it down and put up a parking lot, which some advocates say would be great for the YMCA diagonally across the intersection from it.

People who think it's an institution are up in arms and want to try anything they can to stop the possibly impending buyout and demolition.

The co-owners are tired and about ready to sell ... but have rejected the city's offer.

My brother thinks it's a dump and tearing it down is overdue. (He also drives a Volkswagen and extolls the virtue of all digital devices Apple Inc., so you know where his heart lies.)

I've had this burning desire to go there and actually get inside. The closest I got was sometime in 2004, when I made it almost as far as the front door, to find out it was "closed" because cops were circling the area. So I KNOW it exists.

I've told my mother on another occasion about this place. But it was like telling her I saw The Great Pumpkin.

And here's the kicker: way back in the late 1960s and early 1970s, she lived a couple of blocks away from this place. And she passed it to and from work everyday.

For five. Entire. Years.

She can name every OTHER building on every other corner of this particular intersection.

Except this one.

Which, for the moment, makes me her fantastical-liar-crack-smoking-first-born child.

Tonight, I tried again. She didn't believe me. Surprise. She told me what was in the area, and I told her where this place was. Nuh-uh. She opened the Yellow Pages, which comes with handy maps of the city. Nuttin'.

I introduced her to the world of Google Maps and showed her where the building is situated. And then where SHE used to live. I showed her a picture of the sign, for crying out loud. The SIGN. It's old, rusty and dilapidated enough for her to recognize.

"Well, it kind of looks familiar," she said. (Insert forehead smack here.)

I even read part of an article, where people who live, like, 10 doors down know about the place and its reputation for being, well ... quiet for a booze-can.

So I made my case. Although now my mom - who considers midtown Yonge and Eglinton "downtown" - wants to take a field excursion to see for herself if this place is for real. I think she's joking. She says she's going call her friend, who used to live nearby. But she probably won't know, either.

But if she's not kidding, I want to go with her, if only for (1) safety reasons, 'cause I don't want her falling in a dumpster somewhere, and (2) to see the look on her face so I know I've won the argument.

Yes, I'm petty. But I'm RIGHT.

It also goes to show why we need to leave our neighbourhoods and explore our city more often.

(Image courtesy of Spacing Toronto. I hope it's okay, guys.)

Apparently, I Owe You About $60

2007-09-24T13:55:00.000-04:00

Do you remember, way back in grade school, how every so often, your teacher would give you those monthly Scholastic book club catalogues, from which you could pick out books, posters and other literary knick-knacks only elementary students think are oh-so-cool?

One time I remember ordering, in addition to a couple of books, a Garfield horoscope bookmark. I forgot the glowing qualities behind my sign, but I remember the final sentence:

"Do not lend this person money."

I used to laugh at this because I never considered the last line to be true in my case. Well, that, and it was actually supposed to be funny in that cheesy-sarcastic kind of way.

Now, I'm beginning to think the tattered piece of cardboard - which I'm sure has since been tossed in the garbage and has congealed with the leachate of whatever landfill it's ended up in - is fulfilling its own prophecy and having the last laugh (or gurgle) on me.

Ever since I returned from vacation, I feel as if I'm bleeding money. I'm sure I've made more withdrawals than deposits or payments lately. And as I'm slowly starting to pay off the dent made in my credit card, I'm finding out how much money I'm owing some people.

And this is coming from someone who is used to having people borrow money from her.

Apparently I still owe a friend money for expenses from a friend's surprise birthday-party cook-out over five months ago.

And then sitting at the kitchen table with my mom several days ago, she said, "You know, you owe me a LOT of money."

I thought she was referring to the hundreds of thousands of dollars I've probably taken from her in over the last 30 years in diapers, baby food, clothes, lunch money, extracurricular activities, post-secondary education and corresponding student rent payments, so I said, "Of COURSE I owe you a lot. I know that."

"No," she said. "I mean, all those things I bought for you for your trip." And then she made note of the travel-related items she bought for me, plus whatever money I somehow forgot to pay her for other things over the course of the summer. So I was adding it up out loud, and she joked, "I see you're getting better with the math."

I thought, I'd better be. This is costing me a LOT.

So right now, I'm trying to pay off my debt. In installments, mind you. But man, is it ever hurting the wallet.

Spain: The Epilogue.

2007-09-13T23:54:00.000-04:00

So I've been home now for about eight, almost nine days.

This week was was my first week back at work. And for whatever reason, it's been half-crappy. I've started getting those rashes that mysteriously cleared themselves up when I was away.

And it's made me miss Spain immensely.

I miss not knowing who I'll meet next ... and when I do meet those people, what stories they have to tell.

I miss the fact that time actually slowed down, so that a day actually felt like a day. There was more length, more weight. I didn't blink and have the day evaporate. I didn't have to rush anywhere if I didn't want to.

I miss not having a routine or people asking things of me.

And most of all - especially today - I missed the heat.

When I go back in my mind and try to think of images that stand out for me ... there are so many.

Like the tiny, snowy-haired nun who looked up and smiled at me as I let her pass on a narrow sidewalk in Granada, when I felt at my loneliest.

Or the cute little kids who were with their parents everywhere I went.

Or the views of cities from belltowers, or parks high up.

Or the design and architecture of the buildings in the south.

Or the palm trees. Ah, the palm trees.

If I had the language and the gumption, I'd go back there in a heartbeat. I would go to smaller towns to explore and to beaches to sun myself. Maybe I'd write more and Facebook less. (Wait ... who am I kidding?)

I know that, if I had the option, I would have kept going, at least for another week. I wanted to wander and explore, just like all those other backpackers.

This has probably been the first time in the longest time that I haven't felt complacent about something I've done. When people mention travelling, I get excited. I want to hear their stories, and I love it when I pick up pieces of advice for travelling amidst it all.

Now I have to wait until at least next spring to wander again. Maybe this time I'll get to go with a friend.

But who knows what the next six months will hold?

Anything can happen, right?

You Know It's a C+ Kind of Week When ...

2007-09-12T18:37:00.001-04:00

... You're thinking the guy standing ahead of you in line at Starbucks is kinda cute ...

Until he goes and orders the last chocolate chip cookie on the pastry shelf, which you've been eyeing for the last 45 seconds.

(But then Kinda Cute Guy gets a slight upgrade when you find out the barista has more cookies in stock.)

Yes, I'm sad.

Readjusting ... To Toronto

2007-09-07T17:37:00.000-04:00

Hey.

I'm back in the homeland, just trying to readjust to everything.

Actually I'm at work, and in hindsight, I should have called in sick. Oh, well.

In between seeing old faces and attending V-Fest on Saturday, I'll try and write a post-Spain post (or two) soon.

Stay tuned.

Madrid, Concluded.

2007-09-04T18:02:00.000-04:00

Tonight´s my last night here.

I seriously can´t believe it. I don´t *want* to believe it.

It almost feels like that time when I was six years old and went to Jamaica for the first time, and at the end of the three weeks when I was told we had to leave, I cried and cried the night before we left, saying how much I didn´t want to leave. (I won´t cry. Promise.)

But things have been so good. I gained a friend and a sightseeing buddy from the States named Jesse, and we´ve out for the last few days. We´ve been to art galleries, cooled our heels at a park, taken in bullfights and flamenco, and had tapas with fellow travellers.

Today, we became a trio, joined by a guy from Vancouver, named Jeremy. We went to the Royal Palace, where we went from room to room, making jokes and snickering to ourselves. Then we walked on in search of gelato, which we eventually found. SO. GOOD.

Next was shopping ... which was kinda short-lived. I did get a cute sweater from H & M, though.

And we decided between the three of us to cook a huge pasta dinner, so we went supermarket shopping.

Vancouver Dude (Jeremy) and I then accompanied Jesse from Portland to Chamartín train station, but not before having one awkward moment on the metro. A Spanish man, who´d been eyeing our American friend from his seat, approached us, and asked him, ¨Are you American?¨

Sensing a confrontation, Jesse instantly said, ¨Canadian.¨ I didn't get what was going on at first, but later it became clear this man wanted to rant, and when he ¨discovered¨ we were all Canadian, his demeanor changed ... and his ignorance of Canada - based on whatever stereotypes he picked up - showed loud and clear. We just smiled and nodded until he got off at his stop.

We talked about it afterwards, and reflecting on it, I have to shake my head at how much that must suck for genuinely nice people from the States who get harrassed travelling.

Jeremy also experienced an awkward moment trying to buy a couple train tickets. He asked a security guard for help, and asked if she spoke any English, only to have her respond in perfect English that (a) she didn´t speak any, (b) the travel centre was closing, and (c) he could buy tickets either by phone or the Internet. (Hmmm ... you know, if she came to Canada and was in the same situation, no doubt the person she was asking for help would be waaay nicer about it.) In any case, he somehow worked it out and got one of them.

Meanwhile, Jesse is now on his way to Portugal. I think he´s uneasy about the unknown, travelling through the night in a sleeper car, not knowing what he´ll see when he wakes up tomorrow. But I think he´ll be just fine, especially when he gets down to the beach and dips his feet in that Atlantic water.

And now, with a minute to midnight Spanish time, my turn approaches. I am so not ready to return. But perhaps what I return to will be better than what I expect.

And besides ... I´ve already reserved three guidebooks from the library on South Africa. So that might keep me busy when I get back :).

Lost in Sticky, Sweet Seville

2007-09-01T12:09:00.000-04:00

Sorry I´ve not been blogging lately. I´ve just not had the motivation over the last couple days. The intense Andalucian heat here probably has something to do with it.

I guess you could say the theme for my time in Seville was that I got lost, literally and figuratively. The first afternoon when I arrived, and I tried to find the place where I was staying (which was a bit separate from the main hostel), I got a bit lost trying to find my way back. Same with my expedition to and from the grocery store. (And after getting lost so much in Granada, I was getting weary of going in circles.)

I also felt kinda lost at the hostel at first, too. Trying to adjust from being in my own room to a dorm room with bunk beds (and dealing with construction noise at 7am in the morning, on top of the crazy heat) ...

Even trying to fit myself into a crowd of fellow travellers didn´t seem to come as easy as it did in Valencia. This felt like a bit more work involved. I actually almost asked myself, ¨why did I pay the whole amount for this place? It´s not as great as people are making it out to be ...¨

But things slowly started working themselves out. I actually also got a few decent nights out, out of it, and met some interesting people. Two Canadians from Kelowna making a Spanish pit stop in their year-long travels around the world. A Nigerian who lives in Barcelona and decided to vacation in Seville. An guy from Belfast who´s a former journalist but is now a writer (and has a black but wicked sense of humour, to boot). A handful of Australians and a couple Kiwis. And I also ran into a small number of Americans - some living or about to return to the States, others new or recent expatriates.

Sightseeing-wise, I managed to redeem myself in Seville a bit for not seeing as much in Granada. I got to see the enormous Catedral and Giralda (the belltower which was a former Muslim minaret from the Almohad mosque of Seville), and the Alcázar (the royal palace - beautiful!) ... I walked past the bullring, went down to the Guadalquivir River, walked around the Torre de Oro (literally - I couldn´t figure out how to get in!) ... walked in and out of streets covered by these huge canopies to keep the heat off ... saw the Plaza de España ... I could go on.

Two things I didn´t do, even though I said I would:

1) A boat tour of the Guadalquivir River. It would have been nice, but I just didn´t feel like I had the time, or enough energy to tackle it ...

2) I broke the vow to myself to see some real flamenco. The hostel I stayed at had a tapas and flamenco night, but they were all local places, very small. And last night - which would have been the night I would have gone - I spent most of it in the pool on the roof terrace of the hostel, then napping, then out for tapas. I think the travelling and pushing myself to try and do as much as possible finally caught up to me. I couldn´t help it, though. It was so nice just to sit there and feel the sun on my back and legs. Oh well. Can´t win them all, right? I hear there might be flamenco I could try and take in while I´m here in Madrid, so maybe I can fit that and a bullfight in there somewhere. But I have to do at least one of the two, otherwise I won´t forgive myself.

So that´s all for now, kids. I´ve now reached my last destination before home, and am in my new hostel (which is in the city centre, brand new, and really nice from what I can see so far). I really didn´t want to leave Seville just yet, and now I´m trying to process that this trip is almost over for me and that I´ll have to return to reality and all that entails.

Hopefully I can end this trip with a big bang.

Granada...

2007-08-28T15:07:00.000-04:00

I don´t have much time left in this Internet café, so I´ll try and type this as fast as I can.

Granada. The name of this city is actually the Spanish word for pomegranate, and it´s evident everywhere ... from the little posts lining the street, to some of the designs on the plates being sold in the small shops along the street.

I can´t believe how fast it´s gone.

I can you hear you say, get to the point, what did you do while you were here?

Truthfully, again, not as much as I´d hoped - and it was partially heat-related - but I got the highlights. I walked up into the Albaicín district, which was the old Arab area. Very winding, and it´s a bit of a hike upwards. I took a bus tour to see some of the other parts, both old and new. (This was only because after missing the walking tour two mornings in a row, this was the only other way to see the city.)

Today, I saw the Alhambra, the spectacular Moor palace which pretty much overlooks most of Granada city. I know I didn´t do it justice by just giving it - and the splendid Generalife gardens - only about three hours or so. But what I did see was insane. The architecture. The design. The pools of water. The landscaping. The views from just about every angle. Even if it doesn´t change your life, as some people say, it will leave some sort of impression.

After that, I hiked up the other side to the Mirador de San Nicolàs, where you can get the best view of the Alhambra, and the town below. This took me three consecutive tries on the three days I was here to find it. But find it I did. Thank God. I was getting tired of making the hike upwards. But it was worth it.

I also met two people, but not of my own doing. The first one was this guy named Manolo (think like Blahniks, the shoes), whom I met while out alone for tapas last night. He was nice enough. Not much to look at, and smoked like most people seem to do here in Spain, but he was all right. He was passing through Granada on his way to Almerià to see his dad. He is a musician, I think. Loves jazz. He gave me a CD of his and asked me to let him know what I thought of it. I lied and said I had to meet someone elsewhere, so I made my escape.

Today, while looking in shops for something to buy, I met this other man, Eugene. Older, originally from Switzerland, but lives here now. He took me to a local tavern for a drink and a small plate of something to eat, and some conversation. He´s a bit of a traveller himself, and said he had Canada on his list of places to visit. I kind of had my guard up as well at this time. But to his credit, he did point out the best way up to the Alhambra. He said I should call him later afterwards if I was free. I´ll just e-mail him back in Canada to thank him for his kindness instead.

So, here I am, my last night in the Pomegranate City, in an Internet café. Yes, I´m sad. But it´s been the first time since Barcelona that I have been completely by myself. No bumping into fellow travellers (´less you count Manolo). But it´s been not too bad. When I´m not walking around, I´m in my room sleeping off the heat. When I´m not doing that, I´m out at a restaurant by myself reading a book. It can be lonely (hence why I´m e-mailing or Facebooking daily), but that´s part of the journey, right?

Tomorrow, it´s up to Seville, where the heat will be even more intense, and there will be more people to meet. (Man, I hope I meet some attractive people my age when I get to Seville...)

And the best part? There will be a washer and dryer calling my name. My clothes stiiiink.

Scarberians are EVERYWHERE.

2007-08-26T12:29:00.000-04:00

What´s the likelihood of meeting someone from your hometown on a train through a foreign country?

It happens, you´d say.

What about someone from your hometown, from the same part of town, who went to the same high school?

That´s exactly what happened last night (or early this morning).

I lugged my suitcase up into the train, and struggled to my seat. As I was trying to sort myself out, this guy plunked his backpack next to me. I noticed the big Canadian patch right away.

"Canadian," I declared, more than asked.

"Yeah," he said. "You?"

"Me too. Where from?"

"Toronto," he said, looking at me as I also acknowledged it. "What part?"

"Scarborough!"

"Me too! Did you go to Ryerson?" he asked. I said no.

"Did you go to Campbell?" he asked, referring to my old high school. I nodded, incredulously.

Turns out he was two years behind me, which was hilarious. And he and his friends were apparently at the same hostel in Valencia the same time I was.

So I think we spent the first hour of our trip chatting, which was great.

The last time I saw him and his friends was at the train station, where we were all trying to sort out our travel tickets with little or no Spanish whatsoever. I think they were headed for Malagá, then Italy.

But it was so nice to be able to talk to someone from the same place, at least for a little while.

One Day in Valencia

2007-08-25T14:37:00.001-04:00

It´s 20 minutes to 9pm here in Valencia.

It´s been a fairly short stay, but contrary to Barcelona, I seemed to meet more people quickly.

The train into Valencia yesterday afternoon wasn´t too bad. And getting my ticket for Granada took no time at all.

On my way to finding the hostel I was staying at, I hit this small square nearby, and as I was trying to orient myself, this kinda sketchy guy with short dreads came up to me and started talking to me.

¨Hola,¨he said.

¨Hola,¨I replied, to be nice.

Then he started yammering away in Spanish, and then he asked me, ¨Castellano (Spanish)?¨

¨No, Canada,¨I said.

¨Ah,¨he said. I think he said welcome, then introduced himself as Bruno, and his Italian friend, Sebastian, who was standing nearby.

They got close (and this was when I thought, aw man, I´m a sucker who´s gonna get my bag snatched), and to my surprise, both gave me two-cheek kisses. Hoo boy, I thought.

So then Bruno asked me if I had any questions. I asked them where the hostel was. Sebastian, who knew the most English between the both of them, pointed me in the direction, which was really close. And then we parted ways. Thank God.

Unlike my guesthouse in Barcelona, this hostel has been waaaay better, and waaay cooler. Situated in the same complex as a church, it´s four floors of backpacker bliss. When I got there, heaving my suitcase, rivulets of sweat running down my back and front, the front desk was kind enough to give me some water. My room, albeit for two people, really, was HUGE. The bathrooms and showers were communal, but clean. And there´s a kitchen and two rooftop terraces.

Within about 40 minutes, I plunked myself down amongst some Aussies in town for the Tomatina fest in neighbouring Buñol (and others just passing through en route to other places). After a while, I went off the supermarket down the street in search of food (´cause I hadn´t eaten in hours). And I just chilled for the first time in a while.

The rest of the night went fairly quickly. I cooked myself up an omelette, and got to talking to a dude from Philly, now living in Valencia. Went back up to the terrace and talked some more to the Aussies. And then the drinking games began. And then I wondered why I didn´t decide to stay another night.

It was all right, though. I also met a few people from Ireland, and one guy from Norway. After giving myself a hangover and sleeping it off in one of the two soft beds in my room, it was time to re-orient myself again.

I spent today wandering around. I walked up to the Cathedral of Valencia (I think that´s what it´s called), and after the guided tour, huffed and puffed my way 206 stairs up to the Miguelete (or ¨Little Michael¨), the belltower. The view was fantastic, but the wind was crazy. And the bell scared the snot out of me on the way back down.

I found a bus tour, and hopped on. Then I hopped off and went to the Science Centre for a bit. When I resurfaced almost two hours later, it started to rain, so I ran for the tour bus, and then hiked it back to my hostel, where I´m now killing time until I have to leave again for the train station.

So short, but it was decent. If I come back, I´ll definitely try to spend more than 31 hours here.

Now Travelling Really Begins

2007-08-23T15:55:00.000-04:00

Just when I was getting used to things ...

It´s my last night in Barcelona. Man, when I got here almost six nights ago, I didin´t know how I was going to cope, and I wasn´t sure how comfy I´d be with how different everything is ...

Like, how an hour feels much longer in Spain than in Canada. As the Madonna song says, "Time goes by so slowly." (Well, I guess not, since I´m leaving here.)

... Or how much noisier things have been around here ... and how I´m finally sleeping through a lot of it. (And I´m a light sleeper.)

... Or how chaotic it is to cross the street. You think pedestrians and drivers don´t pay attention to traffic lights in Toronto? Try narrow streets here. It´s guesswork - or a game of chicken.

... Or how rich the food is here. It´s so good ... but I don´t think I´ve seen anything vegetable-like in anything I´ve eaten in almost a week. The closest I got was maybe a couple bite-fuls of lettuce from tapas yesterday afternoon, and the spinach in my rolled chicken sandwich today. (Somehow, I suspect I will be gaining weight on this trip instead of losing it :) .)

... Or seeing old Spanish couples hold hands as they cross the crosswalks or walk down the street.

... Or listening to people to speak to other people in Catalan. Or Spanish. Or Italian. Or German. Or any other language we can think of.

... Or just weird it can be, in a city with just under 2 million people - and, it seems, millions more tourists - that you can sometimes run into the same people. It happened two days ago at the Picasso gallery, when I ran into the Canadian girl I met at the airport in Paris on the way here. I ended up walking down near the water with her that afternoon, eating dinner, and then going clubbing with a handful of her hostel-mates. (There was a drinking game and some piggyback rides involved, but that´s another post.)

And it happened again outside La Sagrada Familia, when I ran into a couple of guys from San Francisco, who were on the same Picasso walk as me the day before. We decided to hang out and tackle Parc Guell together. And it made such a phenomenal landmark that much enjoyable.

I don´t think I saw as much as I thought I was going to. But that´s okay. What I did see was good.

A few weeks back I read that, somewhere, there´s a fountain in Barcelona, and if you drink from it, that means you´ll return. But I didn´t get near it to know that I want to come back ... hopefully with more Spanish, at least one other person around, and way more gusto to see other sights and maybe meet more people.

But I should go for now. There´s this tapas bar somewhere on Passeig de Gracia that I want to attempt to find and eat at before I have to head back to my room to pack for tomorrow.

From Solo to Surrounded and Back Again

2007-08-22T14:39:00.000-04:00

It´s funny how things can change in the blink of an eye.

The first couple of days, I´d been adjusting to being alone. I´d also been adjusting to hearing languages other than English (and being frustrated at not being able to communicate as easily) ...
And then, pow! All of a sudden it became sort of easy, because I was suddenly coming into contact with people who would speak English. Well, some, not all.

And I finally got to hang out with some fellow tourist/travellers. And it seemed to all be a matter of timing.

Yesterday, I made it over to Plaça de Catalunya in time for the Picasso walk (only three or four minutes more than the Gothic Quarter walk the day before) and got to talking to this older Kiwi couple while we waited for our tour guide (who were super nice).

At the end of the two-hour walk, we made into the Picasso museum, which had loads of art from his different artistic periods (and yes, there was some Cubism). I was supposed to meet up with my new Canadian friend Priscilla later in the day, and was trying to figure out what time to leave the museum to go back to the Raval to e-mail her when ... there she was, in the exact same room, with two girls she met at her hostel. The timing couldn´t have been better!

After the museum, we went down near the water for a bit of shopping, etc. We did a LOT of walking! I was so tired after that!

But it didn´t stop there ... we parted ways for a bit to rest, and then I took the metro back down to her hostel later on, and we went to dinner. The paella was decent (if a bit small) ... and the mussels were good, too. But the sangria was friggin´HUGE! It was, like, a litre for each of us! But it tasted so good.

We finished it off with some gelato down the street, and back to her hostel to find out what some of her fellow guests were doing.

It was nuts. They started off with a drinking game (and it reminded me how much older I was than some of those) ... then we went out. I thought we´d go down the Ramblas. We ended up walking the long way, along the boardwalk, down to the beach (and I got a piggyback from one of the Aussies in the group - good man, if too brave for his own good) .

The club was typical (although the front door staff gave us grief for not having flyers - those apparently work)... but it was loads of good harmless fun. I ended up having to crash at Priscilla´s hostel, rather than trying to get back to my part of town in the middle of the night, or trying to do the crawl of shame.

The next day, Priscilla and I managed to get ourselves up and we went shopping in my part of town. We also met up with another girl from her hostel, and we just went from place to place. We ended our afternoon with some tapas, as both of them were leaving Barcelona.

So both of them were gone, which is kinda sad. But it was good being around people I could relate to, at least for a little while.

Tomorrow´s my last day. I´ll have to use the time wisely, because Friday I´m going to have to re-orient myself all over again.

Gaudi 2, Headbumps 1, Mullets 0 (So Far)

2007-08-20T14:28:00.000-04:00

I did waaaaay better today than I did yesterday, I think.

I got up early enough, but because I´m slower than a tortuga in the morning, I raced to the tourism office and made the Gothic Quarter tour by the skin of my teeth.

(Note to self: try NOT to do that tomorrow on the Picasso tour.)

I actually quite liked the walking tour. An old city wall here, the remainder of an aquaduct there ... and lots of gargoyles. And I loved the narrow streets. (Well, it was during the day and there were lots of people around - what´s not to love, right?)

Then I wandered around ... tried to get into this "museum" housing collections from whom my travel guide calls "Barcelona´s most celebrated packrat" (and as a fellow packrat myself, why wouldn´t I be interested?), but it apparently doesn´t open Mondays.

But after wandering around and going back the way I came, I got to the cloister of this church, Catedral, which has a fantastic garden, a fountain you can apparently drink from, and geese - if I understand, there are 13 of them (I think) and they "guard" the church.

So after having a lomo sandwich (tasted like chicken, but if someone could tell me what lomo is I´d appreciate it), I decided to make my way up the Passeig de Gracia to tackle my first Gaudi work - the Casa Mila, a.k.a La Pedrera.

It wasn´t too shabby. And the scupltures that have been haunting me the last few weeks (they´re famous ... in pictures and postcards everywhere) - I finally found them up on the roof! I only had two dumb moments: one before the tour, when I went to collect my audioguide and couldn´t understand a word the guy at the audioguide desk was saying (because he was speaking too fast) and the other, when I was in the middle of my tour, and there was a dark room that was supposed to show a 5-minute movie about society in Gaudi´s time and I whacked my head on the far wall looking for a button, something, anything to start the movie. I quickly skipped over that, rubbing my head, and just headed into the Gaudi apartment ... which was great.

After, I went back down the Passeig de Gracia and decided to do Casa Batllo, too. I figured, what the hell - I was already there. And besides, the humungous lineup I saw earlier was maybe half a dozen people by the time I got there. That was awesome. Gaudi was a genius. And I saw the chimneys too ... a must-see if you´ve never been there.

So I think I´m going to call it a day. Supper awaits ... and I have a feeling that´s going to be another sandwich :).

Tomorrow - hopefully a bit of Picasso, shopping ... and tapas!

Day One...

2007-08-19T14:40:00.000-04:00

So here I am.

I´m actually writing this from an internet cafe just down the way from where I´m staying in the Raval district (and man, am I glad I found this place - it´s WAY cheaper than the 6.50 euro pay-per-use set up in my hostel. Boo-urns).

I´m going through my awkward phase right now. My Spanish is barely passable, but I think it´s just because I´m nervous and really don´t want to use it just yet.

I had planned to get up early to try and catch a walking tour in the Gothic Quarter. I anticipated that might happen.

What I didn´t anticipate was the rain. And did it ever rain. It was like the heavens just opened up. By the time I got to Plaça de Catalunya, I was taking shelter under one of those patio umbrellas set up outside, lining one part of the square. By the time I got to the tourist office across the square, I was completely soaked and had to buy one of those cheesy, cheaply-made umbrellas for 5 euros with "Barcelona" written all over it. Could I LOOK any more like a tourist?

No matter. I managed to hop on one of the tourist buses and just rode it the whole time. Then I went back to my hostel, took a loooong nap, then went back out and got on the other route and rode that, too.

So now I have an idea of what Barcelona is like. But how to tackle all this old architecture and history in four days? Wish me luck.

On Terra Firma

2007-08-18T16:51:00.000-04:00

I´m finally here in Barcelona, writing this post from my very tiny hostal room in the Raval area, with the TV airing some Spanish documentary in the background.

I still can´t believe I´m finally here.

A lot of people asked me before I left if I was excited yet.

Truth be told, now that I´m in town, I´m not sure if I´ve gotten excited yet. I think I´m still in a state of disbelief (along with fatigue, etc).

The flight to Paris went fine enough. Turns out there were a bunch of war vets flying to Dieppe for celebrations (which I think are taking place on Sunday). I didn´t really talk to anyone. My seatmate was this Chinese girl who got on in Montreal and only spoke French. And since my French is kinda deplorable, I couldn´t work up the nerve to speak to her. And I got the impression she didn´t want to be bothered, so we sat somewhat silently the entire trip.

I wasn´t sure how long I´d be able to take the cloistered nun´s silence. I think it had been something like nine hours until I was lucky enough to run into another Canadian taking the same flight as me to Barcelona. I just happened to be waiting in line behind her, and she was with her aunt and cousin, who came to see her off. It´s her first trip to Europe and Spain, too.

We were so glad to see each other (and I to just hear English again!) that we decided to change our seats so we could sit next to each other on the plane. That was nice.

We also managed to grab the Aerobus into town to the Plaça de Catalunya. She was supposed to call her friend who was in town, but her cellphone doesn´t work overseas. So after an hour of trying to figure out how to use the phonecards we bought at the airport at the payphones here, she made contact, and he came to get her.

She also saved our hides since she´s bilingual. (You know, I should really look into learning French again, as well continuing to learn Spanish.)

So we´re now at our respective hostels. I hope she´s doing all right. I think I´m doing okay. But I´m still trying to adjust to hearing Spanish and being by myself, more than anything else. I don´t think I´m lonely yet. Just a bit restless. But hopefully that evaporates soon.

If I can have the same luck meeting people the way I did Priscilla, I should be just fine.

Fingers crossed.

On My Way (Almost)

2007-08-17T15:06:00.000-04:00

So today's the day I take to the skies for whatever adventure awaits me in Spain.

I can't believe I'm actually doing this.

Neither, it seems, can my mom.

"What am I going to do for the next three weeks?" she said. I feel kinda sad leaving her - I wish she was a traveller; then we could have gone together.

But it seems there are just some things you gotta do by yourself.

Right now, though, I'm at home, since my flight to Paris that was supposed to leave at 6:15 this evening has now been delayed. Twice.

I really hope they get the plane fixed (or at least get a replacement plane that actually works) and give the passengers something for their trouble. I just hope I still make my connecting flight in Barcelona on time.

I'm not sure when the next time I will write will be, but hopefully it'll be early next week - maybe Monday.

So, take it easy and have a great weekend! I'll write more when I'm somewhat settled.

(Oh yeah - I won't have any pictures posted until I get back, so you'll have to use your imaginations. Sorry.)

High Park Catfight

2007-08-17T00:11:00.000-04:00

After lunch on Wednesday, my friend Lori asked me if I wanted to go with her to the Humane Society to adopt a new cat.

I said yeah, 'cause who doesn't love kittens?

So we were driving through High Park ... and we stopped at this one intersection, which had a bit of construction going on.

We'd both been talking about something pretty innocuous, when we both spotted this girl about two cars down, get out and walk around, in the middle of the street. Her mouth was moving, so she was talking to someone.

"What the hell is she doing?" I said aloud.

Next thing we saw, it looked like she was arguing with someone else. Lori said as much.

"Oh, there's the head-waving," I said, and no sooner had that escaped my mouth than arms with semi-limp fists were flying.

"Oh my God!" Lori and I said simultaneously. A girl fight in the middle of the street in broad daylight!

More girls appeared out of what seemed like nowhere (but probably piled out of the car they were in), and the police officers who were directing traffic (and probably were bored out their minds beforehand) were pulling two of the girls apart. Lori and I both watched wide-eyed, laughing.

One of them, this (from what I could tell) well-coiffed, skinny, frou-frou girl dressed in black, was being pulled by the arm on the sidewalk by the cop closest to us, and obviously trying to justify her part in the slap-fest.

"Aw man," I said, shaking my head. "Why do skinny bitches have to fight all the time?"

But seriously, inside I was gleeful. I seriously can't remember the last time I saw something like that. Yes, I'm base. But it was the highlight of my day.

Ooops - I mean, it was the third coolest thing that happened, after spending lunch with Lori and getting Lori's new kitten. But, like, a reeeeeally close third.

The Countdown Begins

2007-08-13T16:20:00.000-04:00

It's Monday ...

Which means it's my second-last day of work until vacation starts ...

And T-minus four days and counting until I strap myself into the seat of a Zoom Airlines plane bound for Paris. And eventually on to Barcelona.

Gahhhhh.

I'm. SO. Nervous.

I really hope the weather clears up by the time I get over there. I heard today that Barcelona's had some flooding. I can only assume they're talking about the suburbs.

And I STILL have stuff to do. And I can't do a damn thing 'cause I'm pinned down at work. *sigh*

I've been trying to play it cool and not think about it. But one co-worker is kindly lending me a novel about Barcelona by this Spanish author (which there's no way I can read before I leave) and people keep making reference to the trip. Talk about your workmates actively contributing to your lack of focus at work.

And I have to start packing tonight, because at least three people I know want me to hang out with them before I go. And as you know, I have issues with saying "no", so ...

Aw, man. I hope I can get everything done in time.

"Sterilization Time!"

2007-08-06T16:43:00.000-04:00

Speaking of stuff that stinks ...

So my mom's been ever-so-kindly helping me out by finding things I'll need for my trip while I'm stuck at work, like a new toiletry bag or a conversion adapter for those pesky plugs I'll come up against.

Last week, she bought me this cute little wallet. Nothing fancy. Small, green, with a little detailing 'round the edges, and fabric. It was only a couple of dollars (which is fine, considering the potential for me to lose something like that while overseas - heaven forbid).

Just after buying it, she noticed there was a little crusty thing on the wallet. Probably someone before her had sticky or dirty fingers, picked it up, turned it over in the store, and then put it back. I thought, no biggie. I'm sure stuff like that scratches right off.

Yesterday afternoon, I was in the kitchen for whatever reason, when my mom passed by and said - more to herself than to me - "Sterilization time", in a bit of a singsong voice. I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. I just saw her take this thing wrapped in what I could only guess was tissue paper and place it in the microwave.

About a minute later, all I could smell was this burnt odor. I know I've smelled it before, but I had no idea what made the smell ... and then I left the room.

I was upstairs in my bedroom when about a couple minutes later, my mom kinda yells, "Oh no! You're going to murder me ..."

I was like, "What are you talking about?" I came down the stairs. "Why am I going to murder you?"

I appeared in the kitchen just in time to see my mom at the sink, unwrapping the tissue paper to show my new travel wallet. Or what used to be my new travel wallet. The one-minute nuke had burned a hole in the top of it, and warped the Velcro, which made it hard to open. But the culprit of the burning was the plastic foam the manufacturers had put on the inside of the wallet to bulk up the shell a bit.

She looked at me with a bit of a half-wry, half-sheepish expression. "Yeah, Mrs. Clean. I know."

"You put the wallet in the microwave?" I asked a little incredulously. "Why would you do a thing like that?"

My mom said she figured she'd be able to get the stains off the wallet by heat, and didn't think it would be a big deal because it was fabric. If it was leather or canvas, she added, she wouldn't have done that.

Unfortunately, she didn't see the plastic foam inside, which is visible, if you open the wallet.

"So THAT's what you meant when you said 'sterilization time' ", I said, connecting the dots. "How long did you put it in there for?"

"Only a minute," she said. (Seriously, putting anything at power level 10 for a minute in the microwave will make it cook.)

"Have you ever used the microwave before to sterilize something?"

"No," she said.

So now I know what plastic smells like.

But seriously - is sterilizing stuff (that's NOT a liquid) in the microwave a common thing? 'Cause that was news to me.

Let's End July With ...

2007-07-31T18:48:00.000-04:00

This.

BEIJING (AFP) - One of the world's hairiest men Yu Zhenhuan, a rock singer who calls himself "King Kong," has launched a campaign to run in next year's Olympic torch relay, Xinhua news agency said Tuesday.

The hirsute Yu, from the northeastern province of Liaoning, says he is a perfect candidate.

"The Olympics belong to everyone -- those with abnormalities included," Yu was quoted as saying.

"First I am a celebrity, inside and outside of China and secondly, I think my experience in coping with a disfigurement ties in with the notion of Olympic spirit."

With hair covering 96 percent of his body, Yu is pipped in the Guiness Book of Records by two Mexican brothers dubbed the world's hairiest with 98 percent coverage.

His torch relay bid is backed by Olympic champion Xing Aowei, who won a gymnastics gold medal at the Sydney Games in 2000.

"In him, I see the perseverance and bravery of the Chinese people," Xing told Xinhua. "I will help him with publicity and give him some ideas."

The Beijing Olympic organizing committee said Yu was welcome to apply.

"But it is hard to assess his chances, as the recruitment is open to everyone," a spokesman was quoted as saying.

The Beijing Olympics torch relay will pass through 135 cities and cover 137,000 kilometres (85,000 miles) in its 130-day journey around the world, much if it by plane, and through mainland China.

A total of 21,880 people are being recruited as torch bearers for the China leg.

If this guy is picked, I hope he knows to wear something flame retardant when he's running. Burnt hair stiiinks.

Music ... Random Thoughts

2007-07-31T17:27:00.000-04:00

Between thoughts of travelling and boys dancing through my head the last few days, I didn't actually think my bloated brain would have room for much else . But for some reason, my mind has been turning to weird and completely unrelated thoughts about music. For instance:

Songs on repeat. Do you ever remember certain songs from when you were a kid? Not like kids' songs, but cheesy songs that, for whatever reason, were played repeatedly to the point that, they lodged themselves deep in the folds in that part of your brain that deals with memory, and then all you need to do one day 20 years later is sneeze, and it sets them off in your head like faulty firecrackers?

Two songs that do this to me for whatever reason are "Bad Bad Leroy Brown" by Jim Croce and Captain and Tennille's "Love Will Keep Us Together". How cheesy can you get, right? But every morning in first grade, every kid - and I mean, EVERY single one - had to participate in the Health Hustle before they started class for the day. And those two songs played without fail.

I was talking with a colleague today and he made a reference to "Leroy Brown" ... and poof! the memory was triggered. And now, every time a work-mate sings Captain and Tennille at karaoke or I watch those Telus commercials, well, all I can think of are jumping jacks and knee-bends.

Mix-tapes. I was just thinking about this today. Remember back in high-school - before CDs exploded as the method of choice for listening to music - how you and your friends would make mixed tapes for each other? And it would be the coolest thing you could do for someone?

And it wasn't just the effort you poured into taping the songs onto the cassette. If your friends were really creative, they'd like, decorate the leaf of thin cardboard that went inside the case with letters and pictures they cut out from magazines. I still have the one my friend made for me, which says "SOLID GOLD PRESENTS GROUND CHUCK" on the front.

Word up. Kids these days just don't understand what they're missin'.

Colourful tunes. I don't know what made this come to mind ... and perhaps this is a freaky thing that only certain musical people might understand .... but I remember when i was younger, I'd sometimes see colour when I'd hear certain songs. No, I'm not nuts or stoned right now. I mean, when I'd hear certain music, it would make me think of certain colours. Although when I really liked a bunch of songs, they'd sometimes all be the same colour.

And to this day, I've only come across one person - an adjudicator at a music festival I went to as a flute player in junior high or high school - who actually used colour when describing a musical passage. I actually got excited about it (but you know that you can only silently get giddy about these things for fear of totally singling yourself out as a weirdo).

It only happens to me once in a while nowadays when I'm listening to music. But seriously, if there's anyone that reads this who gets what I'm talking about, lemme know. Otherwise I'm declaring myself officially weird right here, right now.

"Seasonal" songs. There are always certain songs that I remember hearing growing up - even now - that I'd consider "summer songs". They don't necessarily have the word "summer" in the song, but you might hear them in the summer, and from that point on, you just associate them with summer. Like, it would just be weird to hear them at any other time in the year. Do you have any songs that you personally consider a "summer" song? Just curious.

Okay, weird post over. Less than 17 days before I jump the pond and kick it, Spanish-style.

Le Sigh, Part Deux

2007-07-27T17:09:00.000-04:00

Yes there's more, if you've read the post below.

If you haven't read it, scroll down one first.

Okay. So, I got invited to Real Nice Guy's party and The Twinge came back. Hoo, boy. What awkward timing.

So my friend (Birthday Girl #1, Real Nice Guy's close friend ... not Birthday Girl # 2, who went out with him) and I went to the party. It was good, but kinda weird. I didn't really know anyone there - there's an age gap - and I tried my best to talk to people here and there where I could.

We did talk here and there, though not very long. I was just trying NOT to act like a complete goof.

Then Birthday Girl # 1' s boyfriend came over, and they hung out for a bit.

Then it was time to go. I thought it would be a bit like the last time.

I went to say goodbye, and then he decided he wanted to try and dance with me. I'm horrible with dancing that involves another person's hands, feet and coordinated steps. I tried, awkwardly, and laughed, a bit embarrassed.

After we hugged and said our goodbyes.

And that's where things stand. He's right now somewhere in southern Africa, and by the time he returns, I'll be over in Spain. So I probably won't see him until September.

And by then, it could be a completely new ballgame.

I just hope when I return I get a chance to play the field, instead of riding the bench like I normally do.

Le Sigh.

2007-07-27T16:28:00.001-04:00

I'm sure it's the dog days of summer really setting in, but I've been feeling restless all week. It's like my brain, amid all this self-inflicted panic and worry, has decided it can't wait three weeks for my vacation and decided to take a bit of a mini-vacay for the time being.

But I know that's not the only reason.

Remember Real Nice Guy? I'm sure he has something to do with it, and I'm hoping it'll pass soon. In case you don't have a clue what I'm talking about, read this first to refresh your memory.

Here's what's happened - or not happened - since that last post:

A week after the night my friend - Birthday Girl # 2 - and Real Nice Guy hit it off, a small group of us, including them, went out one night back in June (for North by Northeast) 'cause his roommate and their band was playing.

Even though I knew what the score was, I was dying to hear it from the horse's mouth. She hadn't said a word about it since that weekend.

So a bit later on in the evening, when she and I went to the restroom, she gave me the Coles Notes version. They went out a few days after the "magical" night (which apparently involved them talking until the wee hours of the morning). She says she liked him and vice versa. But ...

But?

Apparently the confidence he'd had with a few drinks evaporated a bit when the two of them were sober. And so she got the sense that she'd intimidated him a bit, so she was playing it cool for the time being.

So, there I had it. Or so I thought.

We listened to the band in the packed room. "We" being myself, and Real Nice Guy. Birthday Girl # 2 and our other friend retreated to the bar to sit and chat. That was pretty much where they stayed the rest of the entire set.

The plan after that was to go en masse to his place and hang out there. But my friends were still talking, and they said to me, "Oh, you can go ahead. We'll catch up." My face was like, "are you sure?" and I said as much, but I then I thought, okay, whatever. So off I went with the rest of them.

Back at his place, a group of us were just hanging out, drinking and talking. Soon a couple of African drums came out, and away they went. I tried to learn how to play, but I was embarrassed at the lack of coordination and stopped after awhile.

Sometime later, my friend called Real Nice Guy and talked to him for a couple minutes.

Then he passed his cell to me.

She told me she and our friend wasn't coming ... and that she decided that she wasn't going to pursue anything because of what had happened earlier in the week. She added, "I think you're more suited for each other. So you can get to know him better and chat with him until sunrise."

???

I don't think I processed what she said at first. I left a little while later (but not before getting one of the warmest hugs ever. Sigh).

The following day, I wrote her back. Eventually she responded: yep, she said what she'd said the night before.

But then I started feeling weird about the whole thing. I mean, deep down, I'd wanted a crack at him. And then when I didn't get one, I got frustrated. So when I had that conversation with my friend (Birthday Girl # 2), it was as if I wished that things wouldn't work out and then it actually happened. So in my mind, it almost felt like it didn't happen fair and square.

My big hang-up about it was the age gap between us. He's not the older one of us two.

Even my other friend who was there that night out at NXNE, was telling me on other occasions that she thought that he liked me ... and that I should do something about it.

Then I started feeling really weird about it ... maybe I was just nervous ... and I think I stopped liking him because of that. I remember him inviting me to something a few weeks later. Then I got sick, and by the time the event rolled around, I didn't even have the strength to go.

Fast forward to last week. So Real Nice Guy decided to have another party and invited me. So I said sure, since I was feeling loads better. I didn't think anything of it until I read the invite again.

He was going travelling for a month and wanted to hold a shindig and stay up all night so he'd sleep on the long flight over.

He's travelling? I thought. And then I felt a twinge. I thought it was my envy at his impending adventure. But after a few moments it kinda felt like the one I felt the night of the party back in May.

The Twinge.

Plan It or Wing It?

2007-07-24T23:24:00.001-04:00

So after the brief catharsis I had late yesterday ...

A work colleague happened to pass by my desk early this afternoon and ask me how the trip planning was going.

I was in the middle of telling him what my next plan of action was when he said, "You may not want to do that - you may get yourself in trouble."

"How so?"

"Well, you may not want to lock yourself in, in case you go somewhere and decide you want to stay somewhere for an extra day or two."

One of my senior colleagues - who's been well-travelled since childhood - was sauntering by and, and overhearing our conversation, agreed with him.

If *I* wasn't such a novice, I'd also have concurred. But a whole new panic set in.

I totally understand their point. One should leave oneself open for possibilities. What if I decide to spend a day at the beach along the coast instead of hopping a bus or train for Granada? What if I decide I want to head back up to Barcelona instead of soldiering on to Seville?

But at the same time, I'm travelling. By myself. And I only have 17 days. I just want the security of knowing I'm going to be able to get from one place to another, and find somewhere decent to stay when I land there. What if I don't plan where I'm going to stay next and then spend 3, 4, 5 hours trying to find a place to stay, instead of taking in the sights, the food and the nightlife?

So I started asking a couple other people at work. And in using the power of Google to find out what there was in terms of hostels with walk-in spots, stumbled across the archived experiences of the lovely Zsa Zsa Zsu (thanks for Gmailing back!). So I was slightly less panicked.

And then before I left work, I spoke to someone else who is an expert traveller. He's kind of put me at ease a bit more (and I hope it's not misguided).

So I might try to plan half my trip, and wing the other half. But I'm still deciding. Only time will tell.

Ebb and Flow (or Calm and Panic)

2007-07-23T22:57:00.000-04:00

So, it's a bit trying for me the last week or so.

I mentioned briefly that I decided last weekend to go to Spain alone.

Since then, it's been a series of fits and starts. Mainly because I'm not happy at the amount of money I'm spending. But mainly because of my fear of the unknown, and my anxiety that this won't be the vacation everyone keeps telling me it's going to be.

Really, all I care about is meeting people, not getting robbed or worse, and having a well-rounded experience in a country I've always wanted to visit. I just don't to be one of those people who complain on those online travel reviews about how someplace sucked or that people were unfriendly or indifferent.

But I think the hardest part has been charging the ol' credit card. Last week, I sucked it up and bought my airfare. Between yesterday and today, I dropped another wad on accommodation - and that's only for the first two places I intend to visit (I'm supposed to be going to five locations over 17 days).

But so far my panic's been briefly counteracted by a brief calm of having gotten the hard part over with each time I finish booking something. And it's also been helped by people who have been supportive of me taking the plunge, and even more so when people who have been over there (or at least to Barcelona and Grenada, so far) have been enthusiastic and willing to give me information.

I think the excitement of it all won't sink in until that last booking has been made and I can sleep at night knowing that the hard part will be over.

Ripping off Writers ...

2007-07-20T15:15:00.001-04:00

Is not cool, no matter how you slice it.

I received an e-mail from a friend of mine yesterday, with a link to an article I'd read in Maclean's a few weeks ago.

The premise: Canadian newspaper columnist Rebecca Eckler wrote a book, Knocked Up: Confessions of a Hip Mother-to-be, which was released two years ago in the U.S. She'd been looking into the possibility of selling the movie rights when last year, she found out that a movie of almost the same name as her book was going to be released the following year. Turns out the movie in question has been a success in the theatres this summer.

It also turns out that - according to Eckler - the movie has way too many similarities to her book. So for the last year, she's been seeking legal action against the writer/producer behind the movie, as well as the film studio.

(Click here for the link to the Maclean's article, in Rebecca's words.)

My friend says she was going to go see the film, but held off due to the controversy. She has opted instead to watch the film online illegally, so as not to support the company backing the film.

I'm of two minds whether to see it at all, whether legally or not. Not that I'm a fan of Eckler's, but as someone who one day wants to write books, this situation bothers me a bit too much.

Not that I'm an expert in the legal wranglings or formal protocol of the movie business. But from what I understand in this day and age, if a film company really, really wants to make a book into a movie, they usually go through the proper channels of asking to buy movie rights. Right?

If this Judd Apatow guy really wanted to make this movie based on Eckler's book, why didn't he just do that instead? I mean, he works for a studio that's not doing too shabbily in the revenue department. And I'm pretty sure that whatever costs were involved in buying movie rights wouldn't even put a dent in the amount of movie sales this film has pulled in so far.

Whether the truth will emerge about whether this guy actually, wilfully stole Eckler's story for his own commercial gain remains to be seen.

But for someone who works for quite a while on a piece of fiction - especially if it's their first - it's kinda scary to know that when you share it with others, you're taking the risk of having someone use it in another medium withour your expressed consent and try to pass it off as theirs.

Sure takes the sting out of all those "plagiarism is bad" lectures you get in school, doesn't it?

To Review ...

2007-07-17T23:33:00.000-04:00

Okay, so remember back on January 1st, when I spoke of all the things I'd like to try and do this year?

Let's see where I'm at, shall we?

I said I wanted ...

A better job. And I guess you could say I got it. Better hours, better pay, smaller (and nicer) staff. I do have my bad days, but as far as I know, they're not as bad, now that I've set up a routine for my job. It's not the be-all and end-all, but it's definitely a step in the right direction. (I could do with a bit of overtime, though. Or the equivalent of a few days of time in lieu. Maybe in the fall.)

To be more aggressive with saving money. Ehhhhh .... I'm trying. I still lapse often. But I'm making that concerted effort to sock away money to reach my personal goal of a downpayment next year. Still a work in progress.

To learn something useful. I've been enrolled in a once-weekly Spanish class since mid-May. I like my class and my teacher. But I think I may have kissed the old university work-ethic goodbye when I graduated more than seven (!) years ago. I'm tryin', though. I also got a new learner's permit for driving. At the very least, I have new ID when I go to bars. Heh.

To do something I've never done before ... and go somewhere I've never been (respectively). This turned out to be a 2-for-1 deal. I mentioned I always wanted to go to Spain. On Sunday, after weeks and weeks on waiting on friends who dropped out or went AWOL, I threw up my hands and decided: I'm going to Spain. By myself.

So far I've booked my plane tickets. Now I just have to work on accommodation and travel details. This could be the trip - and the much-coveted belated 30th birthday present - I've been waiting for. Or it could be the stupidest thing I'm about to do.

To fill my one-date quota. Um, check. You can re-read it here.

7) To get a piggyback ride. And I did! Woot! My friend Mia is the strongest woman under five-foot-five I've ever met. Carrying me around her friends' condo during a party, after 1 a.m. in the morning, and NOT getting a hernia, warrants an award of some kind. Thanks - I love you :).

So I'm fulfilling basic requirements on most of my "wishes". Now I'm hoping this is the part of the year that provides the extras.

To The Suburban Cyclist ...

2007-07-13T12:42:00.000-04:00

A word to some of the cyclists who live in my area:

I officially dislike you. Immensely.

There's a reason those raised pieces of cement off the main roadways, sometimes fringed with plots of grass, are called SIDEWALKS. NOT sidebikes. It's for people like me who use plain old pedestrian power to get around. NOT for you guys.

I do NOT appreciate the fact that, not only am I taking a huge risk crossing street corners, even WHEN I have the right of way, but also when I'm walking along on the sidewalk, and you're too lazy to ride AROUND me.

I can understand little kids riding on the sidewalk because it's too perilous for them to be on the road unsupervised. But grown adults?!

And yes, I'm specifically talking to you, Mr. Almost-Ran-Me-Down-Last-Night-As-I-Got-Off-The-Bus. On two wheels, you move a lot faster than I do running, and I'm pretty sure you saw me get off the bus and had enough time to find a way to bike around me. But you didn't. You scared the crap out of me with your, "Excuse me!", almost mowed me down, and then proceeded to try and nervously smile and make some lame-ass small-talk.

What's that? You don't know HOW? Well, then you shouldn't be riding a bicycle.

Otherwise, if you want to indicate to me to move to one side (which I shouldn't even be doing in the first place), then get a bell or a horn for your damn bike.

And I don't care about your personal views on preferring to run me off the pavement because you don't want to hurt the grass. You should have thought of that sooner.

Now, not all cyclists in the suburbs are like this. I'm sure there are those who use the road, or reserve their bicycling to parks and whatnot.

For the rest of y'all, take some lessons from your fellow cyclists who bike downtown all the time, alongside just as many - if not more - cars on the roads ... use the street.

Better yet, since we're in suburbia, use the bike lanes where they're provided. And believe me they are provided - the city even offers maps. See? That's what they're THERE for.

Just stop using sidewalks if you're skilled enough to pedal, stop and steer. I should be more concerned about the outside chance a car might jump the curb. Not you guys.

Bits and Bobs

2007-07-11T17:04:00.000-04:00

I have to apologize for the lack of posts. It's been a bit nuts, and that's due to a bunch of factors: the weather, burning the candle at both ends, getting sick, etc.

I don't know how diligent I'll be this month, but I'm certainly going to try and make an effort. But here's a selection of random, unrelated happenings I just haven't gotten around to sharing with y'all ...

Summer sickness sucks. So as I might have mentioned in an earlier post, I was recently ill. It lasted almost three weeks. No, it wasn't the flu. And it definitely wasn't stress. I had no idea WHAT it was. It was awful. I felt uncomfortable all the time. I dropped five pounds. I was convinced I'd finally either (a) gotten that ulcer my mom warned me comes with much worrying, or (b) contracted that killer tapeworm that was going to eat me to death.

The doctor had me take a blood test and provide lab samples (the type I'm not going to disclose here because it's, well, gross). And then they said, "We can't find anything." That was last Tuesday. And very dissatisfying, since I'd been convinced that I had some kind of bug.

Today, however, there was a development. Turns out they were premature in telling me they couldn't find anything in my lab sample. Because lo and behold, about a couple days later, a germy little guy that'd been having a party in my sample decided to rear its ugly head. Turns out I had - say it with me boys and girls - Giardia, also known (unfortunately) as "beaver fever" among the camping and backcountry set. But I haven't been camping. I also haven't been in a nursery. So chances are I either ate or drank something that was contaminated. Anti-dining-out-movement, 1. Me, zero.

He's baaaa-ack ... oh, and so's he. The night before I started coming down with The Fever, my friend and I were walking home after a night out. (Well, she was walking home; I was walking east to reduce my cab fare home.) As usual, our conversation drifted on to the subject of guys - why occasionally there's a spark in a chance meeting with someone, and then it proceeds to never work out. I made mention of 59a (who I will now refer to in future as Actor Guy - click the link for the back story) and how it sucked that he went to L.A.

My friend said, "Oh, he's back now."

"What?" I asked. "Are you f---ing kidding me?"

Apparently - and not being in the TV/movie business, of course I wouldn't know - he went down for show pilot season. I guess he worked on a bunch of pilot episodes for a potential new show, and he then came back here, where he'll stay until or unless he gets word the show gets picked up by a network.

So he's since been back and has been playing soccer with my friend and their actor/theatre buddies.

I haven't seen hide nor hair of Actor Guy for proof of this return, and I probably never will. But who knows? (This is one time I REALLY want Fate and Circumstance to prove me royally wrong.)

On the other hand, someone I hoping NOT to hear from for a long time surfaced in e-mail. Shakespeare (remember this, this and, oh yeah, the second section of this?) dropped me a note to send me the latest installment of the online poetry newsletter he publishes monthly - and because he wondered what happened to me.

"You simply disappeared," he wrote. "I was hoping to see you on MSN ... but no way!"

Truth is, I finally blocked him on MSN this winter (because of a meeting last June which I won't get into - but is partially explained in the third link above - but it completely alienated me, to say the least). And now I'm never really on it, anyway. There's been no time. And my computer at home's broken, so there you go - legitimate excuse.

Perhaps it's shallow and immature of me to still be so rigidly opposed to any sort of friendship. However, I've never felt comfortable with him, because in my eyes, he set the standard for that discomfort. Where I gave a cautious inch, he tried to take a foot. And it's not something I want to deal with after being free of it for over a year.

This may not be the last I'll be hearing of him. He says he'll be letting me know when he's next in Toronto. I'm hoping it'll be much, much later than sooner. He's threatening to appear in September. I'm hoping to make myself scarce. Or at least unavailable.

Summer daze - it's really here. I think that mid-summer glaze everyone gets on their brain has finally set in. Monday morning, after waking myself long enough to don my gym clothes, eat some cereal and get all my essentials for the day into my ginormous backpack, I managed to make it to the bus stop on time. Work ID? Check. Metropass? Check. Keys? Check.

The bus arrived, and I boarded, flashing my card to the driver as I passed him. It was only when I sat down and settled my belongings that I looked at the card in my hand. I had shown the driver my gym pass, which looks NOTHING like my Metropass, and has my name and picture on it.

I was instantly embarrassed. I was debating going back to the front of the bus and sheepishly apologizing while showing my proper card when I realized: the bus driver didn't stop me.

Hope you're enjoying your summers so far!

Happy July 1st!

2007-07-01T13:37:00.000-04:00

Just a quick post to say Happy Canada Day, everyone!

(Except for Quebecers - in this case, I'll say, Happy Moving Day!)

Hope everyone enjoys whatever they've got planned!

And if you're abroad where there's an expatriate population, revel in the celebrations!

The Best-Laid Plans

2007-06-24T16:29:00.000-04:00

Call it the axiom that never seems to fail.

I should be out in the fantastic June weather on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon, atop the enormous deck of a friend in Kensington Market.

Instead, I'm indoors, as I've been all weekend, trying to recover from some mysterious stomach bug - not the flu - that I've had since last week.

In addition to that, it's looking like the trip to Spain for four has disintegrated into a solo trip (unless I magically get sick again by then, too. Heaven forbid).

One of my friends dropped out long ago, due to finances. Another dropped out of sight, period. I'm chalking it up to a series of changes in her job, living arrangements and life as of late. But an e-mail or phone call would be nice.

And yesterday evening, the last buddy pulled out due to a family illness. That's sad to hear, but understandable.

It probably wasn't meant to be. But damn if it isn't downright poopy.

I realize that this happens to everyone at some point or another. But isn't it the weirdest thing, when it does happen to you, that you feel as if life is going as it should for everyone else? Selfish, I know. But still.

I'm sure the universe will unfold as it should. But for now, as i look out the window and look at the breeze passing through the pine tree next door, I can't help but think:

"Le sigh."

A Rock-n-Rollin' Good Time ...

2007-06-17T17:10:00.000-04:00

I'm normally not one for sporting events.

But last night was pretty cool.

A bunch of girls and I went out to a west-end sports arena to take in some roller derby.

That's right, folks. Two teams of tattooed women in team uniforms and co-ordinating skirts and roller skates, pushing, tripping and jostling each other for points around a flat track, for three 20-minute periods.

It was awesome.

Up until a week and a half ago, I had no idea the league even existed. But I'm glad when a friend suggested taking in a bout (not a match), I took up the offer.

It was great! Just seeing women glide, and occasionally whip around the track was fun. And of course, you had to say, "OHHHHH!" every time a girl fell, or took down a couple of other skaters in the process. The audience was just as cool, yelling, and banging on the fibreglass windows.

In between periods, Toronto's Pillow Fight League kept crowd interest with fights of their own. You might think it was just two women in short shorts, fishnets, and wrestling-styled boots whipping each other with regulation pillows. But there were a few wrestling-styled tackles and pin-downs involved, too. Pillow fighting is not to be underestimated.

And the arena was definitely old-school, right down to the old signs, the royal blue seats, and the nostalgic aromas of equipment, co-mingling with the smells of concession stand foot and sweat.

The two teams we saw - the Smoke City Betties and the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad (or D-VAS for short) - are just two of a six-team league being run in Toronto, which only started last year.

And from what I hear, Toronto's flat-track league is currently the biggest in North America. There are leagues in Hamilton, Montreal, and Burlington, with news of others springing up across the country.

But really, don't take my word for it. You can go to the Derby's Web site. They've got matches on between now and the end of August too. It's totally worth checking out, if only at least once.

Wedding Season

2007-06-14T12:20:00.000-04:00

Until about five or six years ago, I'd never been to a wedding in my entire life.

This year, I might be making up for that. It seems like 2007 is the year a lot of my friends are taking the plunge and tying the knot. At last mental count, I think there are about eight weddings that I know of, between now and the end of October.

Not that I've been invited to all of them or anything like that. But the air in my world has been pungent with talk of it. Some people are exchanging vows right here. Others are doing it overseas. There will be big ones ... small ones ... civil ones ... religious ones ... it's dizzying.

It's also one of those things that's both a joyous occasion, but a sobering reminder of adulthood. With that single rite of passage, things change. People change a bit because life changes. (Okay, not an earth-shattering thought, I know. But in my mind, I still think I'm about 20 years old, with a few more pounds to my frame, bodily pains, and spider veins.)

But it should be fun. So far, I've got a wedding to go to in town here in July, which will be so much fun, I'm sure.

I also just got an invite for a wedding at the beginning of August. In Dubai. I'm still mulling it over (since my official vacation is in the middle of August).

But just being part of one of the most important days in my friends' lives is really all that matters to me. If I'm invited and can make it, I'm definitely there.

It's 30 Seconds, Not Five!

2007-06-08T00:05:00.001-04:00

Continuing in the spirit of not writing anything original ... here's a little proof that a post-secondary education in North America isn't in vain ...

Behold the newest reason for foodies to celebrate, as explained in South Florida's Sun-Sentinel yesterday:

Dropping a piece of food on the floor and then picking it up and dining on it is a germaphobe's nightmare.

Streptococcus. Staphylococcus. E.coli. Oh, my!

But how bad is it?

A college professor and her students are challenging the prevailing wisdom of the so-called five-second rule, which for generations has governed how long little morsels can remain on floors uncontaminated.

The window, the Connecticut team has concluded, really is 30 seconds.

"We wanted to look at a real-world situation," said Anne Bernhard, assistant professor of biology at Connecticut College in New London, noting the difference between her team's work and that of an earlier researcher.

In 2003, Jillian Clarke was a high school intern at the University of Illinois when she confirmed the five-second rule after painstakingly coating floor tiles with E.coli, then dropping gummy bears and cookie pieces onto them.

But as with all findings in science, there was room for challenge.

Most people, Bernhard said, do not smear their floors with E. coli.

And therein lies her "real-world" research. She and her two students, Molly Goettsche and Nicole Moin, chose the college's busy cafeteria as a test area.

Instead of gummy bears and cookie pieces, Bernhard and her students chose apple slices and Skittles.

"The students wanted two different types of food sources: a wet source and one that was a dry food source, to test any differences," Bernhard said.

"You would think that a wet food source would be more likely to attract bacteria very quickly."

Each food item was dropped in triplicate for specific intervals that ranged from 5 seconds to 5 minutes.

"We did this experiment in the main dining area and about 2,000 students traffic through that area," Moin said yesterday.

"So you'd think there would be a multitude of bacteria on the floor."

But in the first set of tests, in which moist apple slices were dropped, the students were stunned to find they had blown the 5-second rule to smithereens.

What they saw after 5 seconds were pristine morsels. It wasn't until the 1-minute interval that they found bacteria developing on the apple slices.

It took 5 minutes for organisms to colonize a Skittle.

The conclusion, Bernhard said, is that instead of a 5-second rule for moist foods that have fallen, the standard should be 30 seconds: As long as you eat a moist food within 30 seconds of its fall, you're very likely to be in a zone of safety.

For dry, less porous foods, she added, you might be safe even if you allow them to stay on the floor for 1 minute.

Each of the foods was picked up after its allotted time on the floor and placed in a petri dish.

Bernhard said the object was to see whether colonies of bacteria grew in the dish within 24 hours.

"I can say only one thing," added Moin, who is going to veterinary school in the fall.

"This is really testimony to the great housekeeping at our school."

Still an open question for any scientist willing to take the challenge is the longstanding "kiss it up to God" rule.

So when you see me pick up that half a cookie I dropped on the floor at work, know this: It's me exercising my democratic right not to waste good, germ-free food.

I am prepared to deal with the fact that I may lose friends after this.

Even BETTER Than Nintendinitis.

2007-06-06T17:24:00.000-04:00

Yes, fools. I'm at work and I'm not getting any work done.

Just read the story.

BOSTON (Reuters) - When Dr. Julio Bonis awoke one Sunday morning with a sore shoulder, he could not figure out what he had done. It felt like a sports injury, but he had been a bit of a couch potato lately.

Then he remembered his new Wii.

Bonis, 29, had spent hours playing Nintendo Co.'s new video game in which players simulate real movements. Bonis had been playing simulated tennis. It was not quite tennis elbow, he decided.
"The variant in this patient can be labeled more specifically as 'Wiiitis,"' Bonis, a family practice physician, wrote in a letter to the New England Journal of Medicine.

"The treatment consisted of ibuprofen for one week, as well as complete abstinence from playing Wii video games. The patient recovered fully."

Wiiitis -- pronounced "wee-eye-tis" -- is the latest ailment to develop from the video game era, beginning with Space Invaders' wrist in 1981, which was caused by the repeated button mashing required by the popular arcade game.

Nintendo's Wii game can captivate for hours and "unlike in the real sport, physical strength and endurance are not limiting factors," Bonis of the Research Group in Biomedical Informatics in Barcelona, Spain, wrote.

"What convinced me to send the case report was that a friend of mine, after playing 'Wii Sports' suffered from a similar complaint," Bonis told Reuters in an e-mail. "I have not found other cases in my clinical practice, but it is probably an underdiagnosed condition."

It is not the first time Nintendo has received attention in the medical field.

In 1990, a Wisconsin doctor characterized the thumb soreness brought on by pushing the buttons on a controller as "Nintendinitis" after it affected a 35-year-old woman who played a Nintendo game without interruption for five hours.

With virtual golf, boxing, baseball and bowling already on the market, "future games could involve different and unexpected groups of muscles," Bonis said. "Physicians should be aware that there may be multiple, possibly puzzling presentations of Wiiitis."

Bonis said he still plays the games, "but I try to use it with moderation. Sometimes it's hard to do!"

Wiiitis be damned. If I ever get a shot at playing this beautiful game system, I'll play it till my pretty brown eyes burn out of their sockets.

I'm Becoming A Bitter Young Spinster ALREADY.

2007-06-06T15:45:00.000-04:00

It's that time of year again ...

When April and May's spring fever are giving way to June's summer delirium ...

The outdoor patios will soon be overflowing with people and festivals of every stripe will explode into being ...

The barometer is shooting up and the layers of clothing are starting to disintegrate ...

And young men and women's thoughts are turning to many things. Cottage weekends. Love. More cold beers and mixed drinks. Parties. Lust. Camping.

And for unfortunate souls like me, visits from the Green-Eyed Monster.

I am a grown woman and am ashamed to say that today, I had an episode of jealousy, like a child.

(Well, not really ashamed right this minute. But I was just before this ...)

The scenario: I went to a double-birthday party two weekends ago. The birthday girls, my friends, who are also roommates. Lots of people ... chatter ... alcohol. There was this one guy, a friend of the friend I'll call Birthday Girl # 1, who seemed nice. By the end of the evening (and a couple copious glass globlets of rum-and-coke) real nice.

Last week, I missed out on two opportunities to go partying with my friend. And him.

Earlier this afternoon, I e-mailed Birthday Girl # 1, to see how she was doing (and how the fun weekend was).

She responded, and mentioned that Real Nice Guy and her roomie (Birthday Girl # 2) had hit it off.

"Hit it off"?

I felt my full lips set themselves in a line. My eyes narrowed a bit. And if I was a cartoon, you probably would have been seeing steam coming out of my ears a couple minutes later.

And then, my eyes started to water. And they kept watering. And watering. And watering.

I couldn't believe what I was feeling. I should be inwardly squealing like a schoolgirl for my friend. But I was getting angry. Over a dude who doesn't even remember what I look like.

I'm trying to remember the last time I felt this bitter. Right now the only thing I can equate it with was that one time in second grade, when my science project on electricity got passed over for first prize for a first-grade classmate's project on garbage.

(Okay, sure - at the time, I didn't really understand that I was supposed to do the entire project myself, rather than have my dad make the model transformers, and help me write out the written portions mounted on the board. But he wanted to help me. Tell me, how does an eight-year-old turn down homework help from Daddy?)

I don't think I even got an honourable mention ribbon. Just a pat on the back from teacher for finally bucking up and - at her strong suggestion - walking over and congratulating the wee winner for a project well put-together. But I remember the little lips set together. And the eyes watering.

It's made me realize how neurotic and pathetic I can be, simultaneously.

But I think this also means I'm becoming what I've feared:

A young spinster.

All I'm missing is the hair in a tight bun, a drab floor-length skirt devoid of any colour, and a matching blouse with some kind of high, ruffled neck, long sleeves. And a lace dickie.

I'm sure this will dissipate from my system in a matter of days. I know it's completely unreasonable.

But do me a favour? If you've happen to read this and you run into me a couple days from now, please don't tell me that I'll get over it. Or that there will be others. Or that stuff will happen when I least expect it.

I'm not trying to be snarky or mean. But as The Pepetually Single Friend Who Likes Being So Most Of The Time, and hearing these lines from my friends or acquaintances for more than half my life, it's like the equivalent of trying to tell me Santa still exists.

Buy me a drink instead. Rum-and-cokes preferred, but also willing to accept glasses of white wine or gin-and-tonics. It's way more entertaining for everyone involved.

My Introduction to Low-Budget African Cinema

2007-05-27T22:54:00.001-04:00

Yesterday afternoon I traipsed on over to my hairdresser's salon to get my hair done.

What I expected was that she'd call me into the chair, and I - as I usually seem to do often - would nod off as she did my hair.

Not today.

As I was waiting my turn, I was trying to read my travel book to Spain when I kept getting distracted by the DVD she had on. At first, I thought it was a music video. Turns out it was one of those low-budget movies filmed in Africa. (Ghana, as it later turns out.)

I listened to the bad dialogue. I watched the bad acting. But I couldn't turn away.

Thus began my introduction to African cinema. In this case, Beyonce: The President's Daughter.

Although I walked in part-way through, I think I got the gist of it:

Boy meets girl. Boy hears girl singing at the local club he goes to and is mesmerized by her. Boy tells girl he thinks he loves her. Girl says she thinks he's crazy, but doesn't exactly turn him away. And hence boy and girl start a romance (which is somehow illustrated by all the scenes of them shopping at the local grocer's or department store).

But wait, it gets better. Amidst all this, boy meets another girl. Girl happens to be the daughter of the president of the country. Boy hangs out with girl lots, but doesn't really see her as girlfriend material. Girl has other ideas.

Somehow in all this, girl talks boy into sleeping with her, and girl falls hard for boy. Keep in mind that Girl # 1 and Girl # 2 know nothing about each other.

Throw in some jealous possessiveness, a materialistic mother and sister, a convoy of SUVs and bodyguards, an acid attack, a couple of broken legs, some reconstructive facial plastic surgery and you've got, well, a reeeeeally bad, over-melodramatic, soap opera.

There is nothing redeeming about this movie. They named their main female characters after American R & B singers. The musical score is ridiculous and doesn't really match the scenes. Some of the continuity makes no sense. And did I mention how bad the dialogue was? And this movie comes in several parts!

But the train wreck was doing its job. I was completely hooked. I almost missed a party because I wanted to stay to find out what would happen. Would Raj find out that Marcy was really his sweetheart Ciara, whom he was told died in the hospital? Would Ciara keep her identity a secret, or die trying to face off against Beyonce? And would Beyonce get what was coming to her, or get away with murder?

So many questions, and no time. But one of these days I'll have to swallow my dignity and get my hands on a DVD copy of the movie to find out.

Diagnosis: Meh.

2007-05-18T16:20:00.001-04:00

So yesterday, I went up to see an orthopaedic specialist - who's a surgeon - about what the hell's going on with my back, and what he thought should happen.

The drive there took about 40 minutes.

The wait, about 4 or 5 minutes.

I saw the doctor for all of 3 minutes.

His diagnosis of my MRI: I have normal wear and tear. I don't need surgery.

Great. So now what?

Well, essentially he said he would phone my doctor with some options for managing with the pain.

But basically it boils down to: strengthening my core muscles, keeping my weight down, and essentially not doing anything that'll re-injure my back.

Other than the "don't need surgery" part, I almost feel as if that appointment was a waste of my time.

Le. Sigh. And so it continues.

The In-Between Post ...

2007-05-12T02:35:00.000-04:00

So much to say, so little time ...

I was struck with a few good topics to blog about this week.

But between the crazy gerbil wheel that is my life, and the imminent arrival of a relative this weekend, I'm not sure when all of this said blogging will occur.

But I'll try my best. Stay tuned.

Sphygmomanometer?! Re-DONK-ulous!

2007-05-07T23:12:00.000-04:00

It's only Monday and already I was introduced to two new(ish) words ...

While hanging around after work with a friend and her co-workers, I was privy to a brainstorming session, in which they were trying to decide on a graphic for a story they were working on for the following morning's show.

I guess the subject of images came up - particularly regarding the blood pressure cuff doctors and nurses will use on patients to check their blood pressure - because before I know it, my friend Kristy says, "It's called a sphygmomanometer."

(Yeah, I know. I didn't know that was the official name for it, either. Don't even ask me to try and say it.)

We all turned to her and blinked, and then proceeded to mangle the word just trying to pronounce it.

And then after that, we teased her for a few minutes. Yes, we were all incredibly mature.

Earlier this evening, when I got home, I mentioned it to my mom. Being a former registered nurse, she had to point out to me that a sphygmomanometer isn't just the blood pressure cuff we all know and love. There's another part attached to it that's actually the tongue-twisting term in question. So apparently my friend was kinda right.

The other word came up, while a co-worker was talking about something, and then he said, "That's redonkulous!"

This is probably the second time I've heard it in a week. And at the risk of sounding really unhip and old, when something is redonkulous, does that mean it's more than ridiculous? Or is it something that's just so bonkers and ridiculous at the same time, that neither word will really quite do?

I just don't want to be the one who gets laughed and pointed at for using it in the wrong context. 'Cause then you know what follows. That's right - high-waisted pants, sweaters with iron-on images of wolves on the front, and white socks with my shoes. Nuh-uh. Not me.

Going it Alone

2007-05-06T22:58:00.001-04:00

I was puttering around in my bedroom earlier, listening to the radio, when the DJ brought up the subject of doing things alone - going to the movies, to concerts, clubs, bars, etc. - and then inviting people to call in with their opinions.

Of the few phone responses I caught, a few people were of the opinion, "Why not? I do it from time to time, and I'm just fine with it."

It made me wonder about my own social habits.

For the most part, I meet up with friends to go for meals, or for drinks, or just general twenty- and thirty-something debauchery.

But I have gone out on occasion by myself to do things. I remember the first time I did it. I was 19 or 20, and it was Thanksgiving. I couldn't go home because I had to work. So instead of eating the food in the cafeteria, I decided I was leaving campus. So I went to Swiss Chalet, got a table for one, and happily ate while reading a book.

Another time, I went to an independent movie that I really wanted to see. I never bothered asking any of my other friends, either because (a) they probably wouldn't like or relate to the film, and (b) if I waited on someone to have some free time to see the movie, it probably would have done its run.

So I made the decision one day, went downtown, bought my ticket, made my way to the theatre. I'm not going to lie. It did felt weird at first, sitting at the back of the sparsely-populated theatre while other people sat in seats in front of me with friends. But I forgot about it long enough to watch. I once remember saying, "If people were meant to always go to the movies with friends, then they would be selling tickets in pairs." And one day, I finally decided to practice what I had been preaching (mainly to myself).

Another time, I decided, on a whim, to attend a social event I was invited to, by someone I met at a party a couple of weeks prior (held by a couple of friends getting married). It was kinda weird in parts, but I did it nonetheless.

Last year I went to two concerts by myself. It wasn't bad at all. I put in my earplugs and moved along with the songs, singing out loud to the lyrics I knew. I'd probably do it again.

Some people might think, "Big deal. People do stuff by themselves all the time."

But that's just it. I don't know a lot of people who actively go to social events by themselves. I can understand why the thought of going somewhere, into a situation where you don't know a soul, would be daunting. You don't want to attract crazy people. At the same time, you don't want complete strangers coming to the conclusion that you're some sort of loner, either.

But those people who do things by themselves, hats off to them. It's all about self-confidence and independence. And it could be entertaining and enriching.

I think, though, once you do it a couple times, you get over the discomfort of being alone in a crowd quicker and quicker each time.

One thing that I haven't done is travel by myself. I hear it's one of the scariest, but one of the best things, you can do, if you have the chance. I've been told you really learn about yourself as a person. And maybe I'll do that one day.

What do you think? Are you the type of person that just goes out and does stuff alone on a regular basis (and I don't mean shopping or banking, either)? Or do you prefer doing things with friends?

Funny random sidebar: The picture I used from this post is actually a painting from the Web site for actress (and artist) Eve Plumb, a.k.a. Jan Brady. No, seriously! She paints! And she's good, too - I thought a couple of these were photos. Go here and look for yourself.

Happy Birthday!

2007-05-06T21:08:00.000-04:00

Hey folks!

Well, just a quick note to mention that today marks two special dates.

Today's my friend Christine's birthday - happy birthday!

But as well, I started this blog exactly one year ago today. I'm not sure how far I've come since posting that first entry all those months ago, but hopefully it's not as sleep-inducing as it once was.

(Or maybe it still is. Who knows?)

In any case, just wishing everyone a belatedly loquacious day and a just as loquacious week!

Welcome Back, May!

2007-05-01T22:11:00.000-04:00

Wow. I can't believe it's May. I thought it would NEVER get here.

Sorry I haven't been as witty with the posting as I usually am. I think I go through some kind of funk between mid-March and the end of April. And tax season doesn't help, either.

I will hopefully write more on the weekend (and publish a couple posts I haven't gotten around to writing yet).

But I just wanted to mention that I went to this awesome event (in my humble opinion) last night.

My friend Dan hosts a reading series called Grownups Read Things They Wrote as Kids. Essentially it is what the name implies - people dig up old journal entries, poems, creative writing stories, letters, etc., they wrote as schoolkids (or teenagers), bring it on down and read some of their handiwork to a willing audience.

I decided to go this time because I unfortunately couldn't make it out the last time, and it turned out to be a huge hit. It generated a column in the Globe and Mail (if you can't access it, lemme know and I'll just send it to you), as well as a mention in the LA Times. No joke.

Last night was good, too. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard until my eyes watered. (Although I'm sure it hasn't been THAT long.)

Of course, now the geek in me wants to take part in the next one, whenever that may be ... so much so that, upon arriving home, I immediately went down to the basement and started unearthing my carefully packed boxes with schoolbooks from days gone by and started mining, (This was at 11:30 at night, of course.) Already, I may have spotted a couple of kooky gems.

I also managed to find my old diaries (and had to jimmy the lock on one of them with a hairpin. I may have busted the lock). Those writings? Mmmmm ... not so much. I much more scatterbrained as a child than I thought.

But whenever the next GRTTWAK night comes up, I'll be armed and ready with some elementary school ramblings.

Ah, The Weekend ...

2007-04-28T00:33:00.000-04:00

I'm so glad the weekend's finally here! What an insane week!

Aaaand it's almost the end of April.

And - as if you didn't have any more incentive to enjoy this weekend - Sunday is International Dance Day.

Again, I'm not lyin'. Go to Wikipedia, and if that doesn't convince you, then Google it.

Seriously, if there isn't a strong case to create a National Piggyback Day, then I don't KNOW what it'll take.

Have an awesome weekend!

"Your Mama!"

2007-04-21T17:59:00.000-04:00

The other day, my mom was talking to my brother, who was at work.

He mentioned how his co-worker - who I'll call "M" - had this habit of responding to a lot of what my brother would say to her with, "Your mama."

If you're under the age of 40, you automatically get the reference - and whatever jokes come along with it.

But my mom didn't really get it, and was intrigued.

She said, "I don't understand. What do you mean, 'your mama'?"

From the way my brother explained it, it didn't matter what he said, or didn't say. He could be rounding a corner, and run into his co-worker, and the first thing she would say is, "Your mama!" No provocation. No nuttin'.

My mom said something to the effect of, 'Oh, really? Tell her thanks for thinking of me!"

My brother said, "I'm not telling her that!" And apparently she was sitting nearby.

The story could end there. But not just yet.

Next week my mom is going to send "M" a card.

You think I'm kidding? I'm dead serious. It's got a picture of a robin red-breast perched on a branch, watching over a nest of sky blue eggs. I guess that's supposed to symbolize a mother fiercely watching over her brood.

And, as the official proofreader, I got an advance copy of what "M" will be reading when she opens said card:

Dear M,

Greetings!

I bet you are surprised hearing from me. I heard you speak of me often. So I just want to thank you for keeping me on the forefront, so _________ doesn't get a chance of forgetting about me.

Thanks a lot. Now I feel like I know you. I like a good joke and this is purely in jest - so have a great day.

Love,
----- 's "Mama"

Kids, this is why you should never engage in flagrant overuse of the phrase, "Your mama".

Happy Belated National High Five Day!

2007-04-19T23:04:00.001-04:00

You think I'm kidding?

Find the proof here. I'm saying "belated" since, as I'm writing this, it's pretty much over ...

MAN! No wonder I thought today was such a good day. It wasn't just the weather, or that things went right at work for a change.

It was 'cause it was the most awesomest days EVER!

EVERY day should be National High Five Day.

So if I run into you, don't be surprised if I try to give you a high five. It's the gift that keeps on giving!

Now, if they only had a National Piggyback Day ... hmmm ...

Reason Has Been Restored

2007-04-19T18:37:00.000-04:00

It has finally happened.

Sanjaya was kicked off American Idol last night.

Hallelujah! It's about time.

He'll probably still be hurting ears after the show ends and the newest batch of wannabes goes on tour. But at least now my ears can stop the bleeding and start scabbing over.

I also decided to check on Hunger Strike Girl. Seems - at her doctor's insistence - she had to stop her protest 18 days ago. But I'm sure she's relieved. And she had a buddy who picked up the baton in her absence. I'm pretty sure he's done now, but if I can find a link to this guy, I'll let you know.

And with this, I end yet another post of meaningless fluff. Now onward to things of more substance!

Settling? Don't. Please.

2007-04-17T13:32:00.000-04:00

Settle.

The word has so many meanings. It's a noun. It's a verb.

But it seems lately, it's one of its many meanings that makes me unhappy. Unsettled.

Perhaps I'm only perceiving this as such, but it seems as though a couple people - one of whom is family to me - seem to be settling. Not settling down. But just making do. And it's making me upset.

It also makes me ask the question: why do people settle? Why do they stop reaching for number one and just make do with whatever (or whomever) is placed before them?

I have a family member, whom I recently found is engaged. Great, except when I hear her future beloved described to me, it makes me scratch my head. Apparently this guy was a former drug addict, has a litany of health problems, has NO job and no sort of financial support coming in, and doesn't seem to be doing anything to help himself. And she is taking care of him while barely keeping herself above water. They weren't together when all of this happened, which would be understandable. He was in this state when they got together.

My aunt (my cousin's mother) hates him, and of course, instead of finding a tactful way of broaching the subject, seemed to verbally attack it head on, driving a wedge between her and my cousin in the process.

From what other little bit I've heard, it doesn't sound to me as if she's head-over-heels. It almost seems as if, at times, she's maybe talking herself into it. I don't know. I brought it up with a friend recently, asking, "WHY is she settling?" (Although my friend astutely suggested that maybe the question is, "Why is she taking this on?")

Another friend had been in a relationship where it seems to me that the guy never really treated her the way she should be treated. It took her a couple tries, but they're not longer together. She still has the odd pangs, but I think she's doing better. ("Think" is the operative word.)

I remember reading a discussion about the subject of settling online and putting my two cents in. Someone says that some people settle because of low self-esteem. I think another suggested that people like what's comfortable.

Perhaps I'm still extremely naive and haven't yet been beaten down by the world to understand where people like my cousin are coming from. Perhaps she is suffering the long-term effect of low self-esteem resulting from family who have told her, for whatever reason, that she couldn't do things, or wouldn't be good enough. Or maybe I've just been lucky to be in a relatively positive environment.

I just think it's unbelieveably sad at how much easier it is to tell someone, "You're not good enough" repeatedly enough to make them believe it, than it is to say, "You're good enough" and "You can do it" enough to elicit just as much influence.

And I wonder if there can be any way to change or reverse this. It's a momunental, likely impossible thought to answer.

But - and I don't know where exactly this comes from ... perhaps my upbringing ... but you shouldn't just put up with something just because it's there. Maybe it would be okay for a little while, but after that, I would think that the heart would yearn for something more, something better. Perhaps I am settling in my daily life right now, and either don't know it or won't acknowledge it.

But also know that, deep inside, there's still a voice ... sometimes strong, sometimes faint ... that tells me every so often, "Never settle." Whether it's in work, or wanting to find a place to live, love, whatever. I hear it. And when I hear updates about my cousin, that voice grows stronger, and more persistent.

And it's what is driving me to not end up settling for less.

Grrrrrrr!!!!

2007-04-13T14:10:00.000-04:00

Maybe I spoke too hastily and Friday the 13th is, in fact, telling me to suck it.

So it seems the hospital wasn't dragging its heels in diagnosing my MRI results.

As it turns out, they did send out the results by auto fax.

TWO AND A HALF WEEKS AGO.

I found out this interesting tidbit after calling the nurse at my doctor's office on Wednesday to see if she made any headway.

She called back Thursday. When I returned her call, she said she had problems navigating the phone system, and then when she got a human being, they told her the results weren't ready.

Since I'm already in the process of harrassing people by phone, I offered to add to the deluge of calls to see if I could make some progress.

So I called first thing this morning. I think I pressed three touchtone buttons on the automated phone system and got to a human voice within a minute of calling.

And that's when I found out.

The lady on the other line was quite nice and offered to fax another copy to make sure they got it.

So I immediately called the doctor's office to tell them of the impending fax. I think they dug up one of the previous copies faxed to their office, because the receptionist on the other end (not the usual one I deal with) said, "Oh, here it is!"

I told her to make sure the nurse gets it, and hopefully the doctor will see it sometime next week (when she feels like it, is what I'm guessing).

Even after all this, I still don't know what the results are yet.

It's great to know that incompetents are contributing to the decline of my health, instead of helping me seek treatment, like MOST OTHER DOCTORS do for their patients.

And my problem isn't even that bad.

Yet.

UPDATE: So, the Coles Notes version of my results ... According to what the nurse told me (not the same one as before), I've basically got a pinched nerve, plus something called "degenerative bone disease", which people apparently get as they age (but I'm willing to bet someone's going to tell me I've just got it earlier than most people). I really don't think that's the whole story. But whether I get it is another tale entirely.

Luck Be A Lady Today ....

2007-04-13T01:05:00.000-04:00

I do believe that today is the first Friday the 13th of the year! Yay!

I dunno. I don't believe bad - or even freaky - things happen on days like this.

Rather, I'd like to think that the complete opposite happens. Then usually, either good things DO happen ... OR the defiantly good vibes I try to send out cancel out whatever perceived bad luck might happen. Which might just amount to a mediocre day.

But whatever. It's Friday the 13th! If a black cat crosses your path, go ahead - look it dead in the eye.

Spill some salt? Don't toss it over your shoulder! Clean it up like an adult!

See a ladder? Saunter under it ... well, only if no one's on it. That's got danger potential all over it.

Okay I'd better stop now - it's late, and I'm running on peanut-M&M-auto-pilot.

Have a good day. And just tell the bad luck to suck it.

MRI Watch, Week 4

2007-04-09T18:03:00.000-04:00

So, I'm approaching week 4 and - zip.

Zero. Zilch. Nada. And all I got was a phone call to prove what I've been finding out: medical institutions are sloooow.

Today, my mom got a call from the nurse at the doctor's office, asking me to phone her.

I didn't phone back right away. Considering how long they've been letting me wait and wait for results that shouldn't have taken that long AT ALL, I figured, I can wait a few more minutes.

Well, it seems like that was in vain. When I called her back, she said, "I was just calling because I didn't understand your message ... what was it you need again?"

So I explained to her - while mentally counting to 10 - that I was looking for my results. She said she'd look into it.

I don't understand what's taking the hospital so long to release the results. You'd think, being a 24-hour facility, they'd spit those things out pronto. This is totally unacceptable.

And so it continues...

Out Like A Lamb ...

2007-04-01T14:54:00.000-04:00

So March is over ... what a month, y'all.

And April is finally here.

This is the time of year where I start feeling alive and in Technicolor again, because I know the good weather is just around the corner.

Today's also April Fool's Day. I'm not one for playing pranks - I've never taken the time to come up with creative ways of messing with people.

But if you've ever played one, I wouldn't mind hearing about the best one you've played.

I'm not looking to copycat your ideas. I just love a good story.

Sweet Jesus...

2007-03-31T03:20:00.001-04:00

So an art gallery in Manhattan had plans to exhibit this life-sized chocolate likeness of Jesus in the window of its art gallery for two hours each day during the Easter season, on Monday.

But guess what?

A Catholic organization - the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights - angrily boycotted the exhibit, called My Sweet Lord. According to a League press release, the artist had invited the public to visit the exhibit and take a bite out of the cocoa Saviour when the piece made its official debut at midnight on April 1.

And there also were plans in the works to boycott the hotel - which the Catholic League called "morally bankrupt" in a press release.

"The Roger Smith Hotel will rue the day it sought to declare war on Christian sensibilities”, said the press release published March 29.

In the end, the gallery scrapped the showing; the Catholic group dropped its planned boycott of the hotel, delighted they got what they wanted.

On top of that, the gallery's artistic director, to protest the exhibit's cancellation, has tendered his resignation.

Everyone's entitled to their opinions and beliefs.

But just a sec. Is the offense here the fact that it's a chocolate Jesus? Or the fact that it's a naked chocolate Jesus? What if he had a little chocolate loincloth? Would the cries of indignation be as loud?

Or was it the fact that - if the press release reads true - the sculpture, on top of being naked and chocolate, was going to be possibly be eaten, mouthful by mouthful?

I can't speak for the Son of God ever. But think about it: the holiest of men made out of (in my opinion) the holiest of foods?

If someone wanted to make a likeness of me out of chocolate, I wouldn't stop them. I'd consider it the sincerest form of flattery.

I'm not sure about the whole anatomic correctness part ... but a chocolate Loquacious D? A real one?

I'd probably eat my likeness if I saw it!

It could've been a lot worse. It could've been a Jesus made out of animal poop.

I'm just sayin' .

Sanjaya Must Be Stopped

2007-03-28T20:46:00.000-04:00

(Epic Post warning ...)

So I'm going to admit two things I should probably be ashamed of:

1) I watch American Idol (when my work-commute schedule allows).

2) I want that guy off the show.

For people who watch, he needs no introduction. For the rest of you who have no clue (and thank goodness I took my meds before writing this, or else I'd be covered in hives), that perma-grinning contestant is Sanjaya Malakar. He's one of two 17-year-old contestants on this season of American Idol. And he can't sing.

I've never professed to be a singer, period. But I'm pretty sure I could sing better than him.

Now, I know I'm probably going to get rained on by from 11-year-old girls and other members of Team Sanjaya (including my dad!), who think I should be ashamed of myself for even saying such things, 'cause he's just doing his thing, etc.

But for some reason that boggles me and many others who feel this way, every week, he gives what would be a middle-of-the-road, mediocre performance. And every week so far, someone who sings way better than he does gets kicked off the show.

And in addition to his crazy tapioca warbling, there's another thing driving me absolutely batty.

His hair.

Yes, there are guys out there with long hair. It's not a new concept. But seriously? He looks like a girl. If it was shorter, or if he had a bit of facial fuzz, I could probably deal. But no. And not just his hair. It's the things he does with it. The picture above is usually how he wears it. But lately, he's been messing in a whole 'nother type of wrongness.

A few weeks ago he decided to dabble with a man-perm probably not seen since the days of disco (or Wayne Gretzky in his early days as an Oiler):

Do me a favour. Please. Do NOT call this a 'fro. I have a 'fro. I (and millions of other people like myself) have earned the birthright to the 'fro.

And you don't mess with birthrights.

If I hear someone ever use that term sacreligiously to describe this mess, I will hunt you down and smack you. I have ways and means.

And these days, that includes Facebook.

LAST night, he had the audacity to do this while completely mangling one of the few No Doubt songs I really like:

Everyone called it a faux-hawk. I call it the Seven Ponytails of Hell. And because of it, he caused host Ryan Seacrest to create a new verb when tonight, Seacrest came out in a fake wig in the same seven-ponytail design and proclaim: "I've been Sanjaya-ed."

Whatever he's doing, it's causing enormous numbers of people amongst the tween set (and maybe his five dozen relatives) to pick up their phones and start voting furiously when the lines open for audience members each Tuesday night.

He even made this 13-year-old girl cry uncontrollably last week for an entire hour :

The story I read says she was overjoyed when Sanjaya hit the stage.

Really?

NEVER make this girl upset.

But he's doing more than making little girls cry. He's making people like me grouse about this to their fitness trainers, dentists, co-workers, podiatrists, doctors, falafel-stand owners and taxi drivers.

He's even given a woman in New York the most bizarre reason to go on a hunger strike, now in its 12th day. She even has an explanatory You Tube video.

Forget global warming and obesity. This will kill us all first, starting with that girl.

Since it's evident no matter what he sings, he'll continue to crush fellow contestants in his wake, I have a theory and a solution to end the madness:

My theory: It's not his voice keeping him on the show. It's his hair.

So someone, in a stealth operation, needs to take an electric shaver to his head.

It's totally Samson and Delilah. Fuh serious. Samson had his strength in his hair. And Sanjaya's carrying his luck somewhere in that shaggy mop.

No need to shave him completely bald. Just give him a stylish, not-so-shedding-on-the-carpet coif. That way, once people can see his face, they'll come to their senses.

Boy is probably overdue for a haircut, anyway.

Even now, he's done enough damage to secure himself in the Top 10 and a place on the tour that takes place when the show is over.

But for right now, I want to be able to see and hear properly when I watch TV on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. For the love of God.

The Planning Begins

2007-03-26T15:26:00.000-04:00

So, if you can recall, almost three months ago I made a wishlist of things I wanted to happen or see happen this year.

Fast on the heels of my one-date quota, it seems another goal of mine may be starting to realize itself.

As of last Friday, three friends and I officially started planning about going to Spain this summer.

Yessssss!

We're aiming for mid-August, mainly because that's the only time we would all be able to take time off at the same time. Also because there's the chance I could potentially be going to a wedding in Dublin around that time (but we'll see what happens).

We're still in the early stages. We met at a bookstore last Friday, trying to pore over travel books and make heads and tails of things. We started making a list of places we'd like to see on our travels. And we've already got a fairly good list.

We definitely have a list of cities to choose from: Bilbao, Barcelona, Valencia, Seville, Madrid, and Grenada. And let's not forget Gilbraltar.

Tonight, I bought myself a travel guide, and right now I'm trying to do everything in my power NOT to stay up late at nights, reading it obsessively.

It's also hard NOT to get caught up in the romantic idea of Spain - the culture, the siestas, the late-nights. And in the case of my friend Jeannie, all the paella she can get her hands on.

I'm trying to be level-headed -- thinking about looking into potential hostels and guesthouses to stay at ... how the hell I'm going to get from Toronto to possibly Dublin and then on to whatever our first stop in Spain might be.

But just the thought that I could be doing this makes me giddy.

So, if you have any advice on where to find good accommodations, or the best way to travel, both by air, and around Spain, holla at me. I'll happily take suggestions, being a novice and all.

The (Dis)comfort of Silence

2007-03-25T02:51:00.000-04:00

I have to give props to The Catalyst on this bit of food for thought ...

Blog-hopping, as I tend to do fairly frequently, I was reading the latest entry, in which my fellow blogger was writing about the effect our techno-gadget-crazy society is having on us, the way we communicate ...

And then she wrote:

The other downside of this whole technology blackberry, instant messaging, text messaging, cell phone phenomena is, I miss the silence.

It sent my mind reeling backwards to Friday night. There I was, just finished my shift, hanging out with a couple of work friends (albeit at work), eating and talking.

And I just remember at one point just not talking. Which is when I heard it. No one audibly talking within earshot. No TVs blaring. Maybe just the big whirring sound of the central air system, plus whatever computers were on and buzzing. It was like this pocket of soundlessness.

And I just turned to my friend and said, "It is ridiculously quiet right now."

That statement now makes me ask the question: since when did silence become ridiculous? Unnerving? Unnatural?

It's not weird to have silence in the dead of night, or while I'm asleep. Why is it so, during the day?

I do remember the days before technology took hold. And the scary part is, it wasn't that long ago.

I remember when people didn't have cellphones. Hell, there weren't touch-tone phones - they were rotary! When you wanted to talk to someone, there was no texting, no instant-anything. You called them. If they were farther away, you wrote them a letter.

When I was a bit older, if I was going out to meet friends and had to call someone, I used a quarter for the payphone (which I sometimes didn't have, despite the "always have a quarter!" mini-lecture I'd get from my mom). Otherwise, you were late, and figured things out when you got to where you were going to.

I don't remember being in front of a computer for anything other than video games (ah, the Commodore 64 and Atari days!) until sixth or seventh grade.

And at nights when I was trying to sleep, the thing that would probably be most annoying would be a dog barking somewhere in my neighbourhood or the noise of a car or motorcycle as it drove past my street.

But there was more silence back then.

And it makes me realize how much noise there is now, whether by way of my environment, or because I put it there. I always make sure my cellphone has different ringtones for different friends. On public transit, I fill my ears with music from my MP3 player to drown out whatever sounds are around me - like a sonic self-medication. Work is constantly noisy. Even at home, I notice that I always have the TV or my radio on in the background.

And when I'm at home alone on a weekend morning, and it just happens that there's no one home, the silence - the few moments before I fill it with noise from the radio - are almost eerie.

Am I afraid of silence? And if so, why? What do I think will happen if I shut everything off and down?

How much silence do you get in your week? Do you take it as it comes? Do you take the time to make sure you incorporate it into your daily life? Or can you just not stand it whatsoever?

A Scent-sitive Subject

2007-03-24T15:46:00.000-04:00

As my mom and I were driving home this afternoon, I was listening to the radio and the host of the particular show on at the time, recalled a story she came across a bit earlier:

A woman in Calgary was kicked off a bus on Friday because the driver said he didn't like her perfume.

The driver had apparently given her a warning the day before not to wear the perfume again or he wouldn't let her ride. Nonetheless, she boarded the bus the next day, and - true to his word - the driver told her to get off.

His reason? He said the perfume interfered with his ability to focus and operate the bus.

The woman said she felt she was being unfairly singled out, just for trying to smell nice.

A city spokeman said the incident was being investigated, but it appeared the driver may have overstepped his bounds.

I'm not sure exactly what to make of this. But I guess my first question would be: exactly how much of the stuff was she wearing?

I'm not normally a perfume-wearer and nowadays for me, it's a conscious decision not to, because so many people either have or have developed allergies to perfume.

Unless it's maybe the most special of circumstances, I'd put a little on, and even then, it'd be only ever so slight.

But there are people out there who seem to bathe in the stuff - to the point where the scent might remain in the room minutes after the person wearing it has left.

I remember, working my first part-time job in high school, having to deal with a customer who made my eyes water because she was wearing so much perfume. At the time, I thought maybe something burning in the area was causing my eyes to water. I didn't clue in until she'd left and my eyes stopped tearing.

I remember a co-worker telling me a few months back about a colleague of ours who'd been wearing enough perfume to cause another co-worker to cough and feel unwell because of it. And when she was told, instead of understanding the situation, she actually took offense, going so far as to say it was part of her identity, and why should she have to change?

Um, isn't one's identity comprised of things like, oh, personality? Intellect? Beliefs? Individual style? Smelly water can be a part of one's identity? Not at the risk of someone's health-related reaction, I don't think.

Wanting NOT to smell like B.O. is not a crime in the least. Sure, who doesn't want to smell so-fresh-and-so-clean?

But if people are having physical reactions to your fragrance and they have to tell you to dial it down a couple notches, they're not doing it to be mean. It's 'cause you're wearing so much, you don't even realize it! Or maybe you're not wearing the right one suited to your physical chemistry.

I think wearing perfume is an exercise in subtlety. One should wear enough so that the slightest whiff causes a head or two to turn and wonder where that heavenly scent is coming from.

Your scent shouldn't be causing people to pinch their noses and cover their faces.

What do you think?

Desculpe!

2007-03-19T23:57:00.000-04:00

Hey folks,

Sorry I haven't been as good with the posting as I usually am. Life's been nuts the last few weeks, hence the sporadic writing.

I've been bookmarking drafts of things to write as I remember to, so right now, I think I may be up to date with my posts at the moment .. feel free to scroll down to catch up on a few of my thoughts and ramblings.

But be forewarned - as always, they're a little long-winded (but it could be because the writing space is so skinny anyway!).

So make sure you're on lunch break or at home chillin' if you care to read on ...

Charisma: Dangerous?

2007-03-19T23:41:00.001-04:00

cha·ris·ma (kuh-RIZ-muh). Noun.

1.Theology. a divinely conferred gift or power.

2. a spiritual power or personal quality that gives an individual influence or authority over large numbers of people.

3. the special virtue of an office, function, position, etc., that confers or is thought to confer on the person holding it an unusual ability for leadership, worthiness of veneration, or the like.

(Source: Dictionary.com)

I was completely exhausted when I hit the hairdresser's chair on Saturday, as you might recall.

It was crazy. I was practically asleep the whole time while she did my hair.

But for some strange reason, I remember hearing her co-worker and friend - working on another head a few feet away - gabbing to someone on the phone. And when she got off, she was talking about this friend of hers, who I guess was a charmer. I don't remember all the words being used to describe this fellow. But for some reason when I came out of my haze ever so briefly, the word "charisma" was tossed in the air.

And all I remember saying was, "Charisma can be a dangerous thing", before slipping back into my nap-like state.

The others all had a good laugh about it.

Perhaps it was one of those nanosecond, subconscious declarations my intellect had, without me really thinking about what I was saying when I said it.

But now that I'm awake, it kind of has me thinking: charisma's that one quality a lot of people are drawn to in a person, or other people. Except for perhaps the hardest of the heads, the most cynical of cynics, most people can't completely resist a charmer.

If it's used for good- no harm, no foul. That person is just a nice person who has the gift of attracting lots of people and captivating their attention.

But think about it: how many times have you read stories - in books, newspaper articles or magazines - about leaders of organizations or religious sects. Aren't they sometimes referred to as "charismatic" leaders? The word sounds alluring, but the connotation in that context never really sounds positive.

I just did a search on the term. According to Wikipedia, the German political economist and sociologist Max Weber had a special term, called charismatic authority, which he defined as "resting on devotion to the exceptional sanctity, heroism or exemplary character of an individual person, and of the normative patterns or order revealed or ordained by him." And he applied the term "charisma" to:

"a certain quality of an individual personality, by virtue of which he is set apart from ordinary men and treated as endowed with supernatural, superhuman, or at least specifically exceptional powers or qualities. These are such as are not accessible to the ordinary person, but are regarded as of divine origin or as exemplary, and on the basis of them the individual concerned is treated as a leader [...] How the quality in question would be ultimately judged from an ethical, aesthetic, or other such point of view is naturally indifferent for the purpose of definition."

I've not an expert or widely read on Max Weber, so I'm not going to pretend I am, or get into an even longer post about it. But, according to the list I found on Wikipedia, if his criteria were applied to leaders in history, examples of charismatic leaders would include people like Churchill, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Jesus, Bill Clinton, or Lech Walesa.

So also on that list are people like Jim Jones, Adolf Hitler, Saddam Hussein or Sukarno.

I'm sure the way I grouped these leaders, it's up for debate how people feel about them. And that's the other thing about charisma. Whether they're still here, or maybe after they've departed, they probably still elicit strong feelings.

But make no mistake - charisma is definitely a quality that can be used as a powerful tool, or as a weapon, if placed in the wrong hands.

One-Date Quota: Filled

2007-03-18T17:45:00.001-04:00

And way ahead of schedule, I might add!

Earlier this month, I mentioned that one of my friends sent me a proposition via e-mail: would I be interested in going on a blind date?

In the past, I would have emphatically said, "No!" outright. Nope. Not in a million years.

But considering my dating life the last decade and a half has resembled a dry desert with parched, cracked earth and the occasional tumbleweed ... I agreed. 'Cause even a desperado wants a change of scenery once in a while.

My friend fed me the odd detail. He works fairly near to where I live (and lives relatively close to me, as it turns out). And she couldn't stress enough how hot he is. I admit, that's where I felt a bit of uneasy pressure. I mean, meeting a complete stranger being hyped by your friends is one thing. But while I appreciate her not starting the sentence with, "He's got a really good personality", it kinda makes me nervous. 'Cause everyone's standards are different. What if I think he's good-looking but he doesn't consider ME attractive?

And then the other things: How to make good, witty conversation? What if I think he's dumb? What if he thinks I'M dumb? And so on.

But then the wheels really set themselves in motion. My friend gave Mystery Man my number. He called me the day after that. I didn't return his call until the day after that (due to work-related business). He left it in my hands to decide where to meet. I finally decided on a place to meet and then called him back.

Finally after all the to-and-fro-ing, yesterday was the big evening. As it was, I was exhausted from the night before, having only gone to bed earlier that morning. I was practically asleep for most of my hair appointment that afternoon. I managed to get home in time to eat dinner, putter around for way too long, and then had to race to get ready.

And when I opened the door, I managed to be dressed and not covered in deodorant and toothpaste stains. My make-up was minimal - I think I had enough time to smear some lip balm on. And off we went.

Looking back on it, I thought it went fairly well, a lot LESS painful than I expected. We made really good conversation (for two strangers, anyway). He seemed really nice, told me a bit about his family, what he does for a living, what he does outside of work, etc. We talked about movies, music, just stuff in general.

And I'm going to e-mail him tomorrow to thank him for the evening and say that I hope we'd maybe meet up sometime in the near future.

But I'm not going to be putting my eggs in one basket (like some of my friends, who are ALREADY asking if they're going to meet him ... a bit much!).

This was definitely a start, though. I'm hoping maybe this will give me the confidence to make this the first of many coffee dates, and other types of dates, too.

We'll see if I actually come out of my shell and take another dip in the big pond.

UPDATE: I ended up e-mailing him Monday; he e-mailed me tonight (Tuesday) to say, although I was a nice woman, he didn't really feel enough of a spark to carry it forward. At least he was honest. And truthfully, I didn't feel much there, either. But hey - that's the world of dating, right? Next.

Weird Facebook Moment # 1

2007-03-18T00:51:00.000-04:00

Happy belated St. Patrick's Day!

I was just updating my Facebook profile, responding to friend requests and generally writing on people's walls when it just occurred to me:

Within the last three weeks or so - in addition to being contacted by old classmates - my friend list now includes a former boyfriend, and two previous crushes.

For all I know, they'll probably just end up being FFiNOS (Facebook Friends in Name Only). But it's still kinda, sorta weird, making my world that much smaller.

A Pre-Emptive Ass-Kicking ...

2007-03-15T14:50:00.000-04:00

So remember all that talk a couple weeks ago about I think March may just kick my ass?

Well, I think it may well have, with a little help from me.

This week has been kinda off all week so far. Work-wise, Monday and Tuesday were mediocre to me (Tuesday a bit more so, only because I had to be up for an MRI appointment at 4:30 a.m., so my daily pattern was a bit screwy.)

But the pinnacle was last night, when we had a major screw-up on air and went to black for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about 30 seconds. In any case, it was not good, and by the end of work, I was ready to meet up with my friends at a bar down the street.

And MAN, was I ready to pound back a few rum-and-cokes to blot out the blunder. More so than I thought, as it turns out.

It started out calmly enough - I got to the bar, found my friends sitting in a big group at the back. Eventually I ordered my first drink, and also got an appetizer to stave off the hunger.

Well, the one drink multiplied into three, followed by a shot, my friend's unwanted drink, and I think another shot in between that.

By the time I left to go home, I think I may have committed the alcoholic equivalent of what happened to ol' Julius Caesar in 44 BCE.

I was SO sick on the way home - dry heaves, the whole nine yards. By the time I got inside my house, I just dropped my things everywhere, hurriedly changed into my jammies and curled up in a ball in my bed for about five hours.

Today was worse. I really didn't think I would actually make it to work. I felt like complete garbage, hoping, just praying someone would take one look at me and send me the hell home.

And I know I wasn't the only one. Some of my friends were in various phases of the same death we inflicted on ourselves the night before.

I was better by about 4 p.m., but I'm telling ya, I wouldn't be surprised if I never wanted to drink again after this. I honestly don't even know how I'm going to make it to the end of the week, which includes MORE parties to go to.

And now I am a COMPLETE believer in the Ides of March. If someone tells me at this time next year to "beware", I'm gonna duck and cover for a week.

Sound Off: FINOs...

2007-03-07T23:06:00.000-05:00

There's something that's reeeeally beginning to annoy me a bit about Facebook (and maybe life in general).

You know those people who request to add you as one of their friends, and then proceed to never talk to you, or leave a message on your wall? Nothing?

They're in this new special category I've created, which I call Friends in Name Only, or FiNOs. (Or, in the case of Facebook, they'd be called FFiNOs.)

WHY do they DO that? I know it's tempting finding all these people and adding them to your lucrative list. But it's not a contest. And believe me, I actually understand that you can't talk to everyone all the time.

But once in a while, holla at a sista, yo?

I'm sure you could apply this concept outside Facebook as well. I'm sure there are tonnes of people who are like that. They say they're your friends, but then don't do anything, or are never around.

And I don't mean periods of time where they're around you lots, or here and there, and then disappear because of work, life, or whatever (because I'm sure I'm an extremely guilty party in that respect).

I mean, they're NEVER. AROUND. You "befriended" them in 1999 and, even though you might exchange a "hi!" in passing them that one time every three years or so, you now only hear about their lives through other people, who basically tell you stuff as if you still do talk to them regularly (even though the truth's to the contrary). That's the only reason you know they're even still alive.

I think I may have one of those circulating right now. And maybe they have their reason for doing so. Maybe they ARE just busy. Or it's part of the psychological game they like to play with certain people in their lives.

But if this is true, I'd rather that they didn't add me (or have me) as a friend in the first place.

If I Had One Of These ...

2007-03-06T00:13:00.001-05:00

So I've been at my new desk at work for just under four weeks now. I have pretty much the essentials: (some) desk surface to write on ... a functioning computer with Internet access (heh) ... I even got my own pencil sharpener.

But despite this, and a few knicknacks I keep to make my desk more "me" like (ie. miniature gnome I got in a workplace Secret Santa last Christmas, the magnet I got from my boss on his return from Turkey, and the stress cow I keep for special occasions), something is still missing.

I mean, one of my co-workers has pictures on his desk. Another has not one, but TWO globes of the world perched up on hers. What the hell do I have? My workspace really doesn't have any character, no identity ... nuttin'.

And then, while cleaning my desk earlier this week, it hit me. I need something to store my pens and pencils. But not just in anything.

I need a pimp cup. With my name on it in big, shiny, gems.

You know what I'm talkin' about. Those iced-out magic goblets crunk and gangsta rappers (and sometimes, their wives) use to carry their "crunk juice" (not to be confused with Michael Jackson's "Jesus Juice") in.

I think there are SO many pros to having one. Aside from it being the most kick-ass pencil-and-pen holder ever, it would definitely be a talking piece to anyone that would visit my workspace. And no one I know of that works in my building has one. (And if there is someone who does, we're going to have to have a discussion.)

Plus, I'd be able to use it on special occasions when someone decides to open a bottle of wine.

And potentially best of all - it could also work to my advantage in work situations. Say I don't want to do something. The pimp cup could give me an excuse to be totally obnoxious:

Co-worker: Hey, could you go and get this news item from our satellite desk. We need it for our show.

Me (grabs the pimp cup and empties out the contents): What?

Co-worker: I said, could you please go and get the news -

Me: What?!

Co-worker: (looks at me strangely) Are you deaf? I need the -

Me (stands, holding pimp cup to one side): WHAT?!

Co-worker: (exasperated sigh) Oh, forget it. I'll just go and get it myself. (Walks away)

Me: (Raising my pimp cup) O-KAY!

See? So many advantages. I think L'il Jon and the rest of them may have been on to something.

So, potential Secret Santas, consider the biggest hint EVER as to what I want for our gift exchange in December. Take a good, long, hard look at it.

Now get to workin'.

A Baby And A Dog

2007-03-04T13:16:00.000-05:00

Sometime last night, I had yet ANOTHER dream ...

I was living by myself, and had this baby I was taking care of - about three or four months old and really cute; she kind of looked like me, so I'm assuming she was mine ...

But then there was this dog - a mutt, I think - and there was something wrong with one of its front legs, so it was limping.

And all I remember was running around, trying to find an after-hours animal hospital to seek help for this dog - and finally finding one - all while trying to remember to feed, take care of, and generally not neglect the baby.

Man, it's times like these when I'm glad I don't remember what I dream about most of the time. Weird.

Couldn't Resist ...

2007-03-04T00:23:00.000-05:00

At home trolling the Internet on a Saturday night/Sunday morning, you evenutally find some cool things.

I first swung by StrictlyLampin, which I give props for finding this beat-boxing flautist.

... Which THEN reminded me of this awesome guy my friend Kristin directed to me on You Tube a few weeks ago. Beat-boxin' brilliance, I say. It's insane.

Enjoy the rest of your weekends!

For The "Are you KIDDING?" File ...

2007-03-03T23:02:00.000-05:00

Proof that I watch way too much TV and too many commercials ...

'Kay, anyone remember those Geico commercials with the cavemen who'd get offended at the "So easy, a caveman could do it" references?

If not, watch these. And this (only because I like the cheesy lounginess (?) of this song).

If so, read THIS.

And if you're too lazy to even click the link: There's apparently a comedy pilot being developed about these Neanderthals. I'm not sure how one would translate a concept for 15- and 30-second TV spots into a half-hour show, but I'm willing to see them try.

Kinda helps numb out the pain of never seeing Reason 59a again. Just a little. *sniff*

A Pot-Pourri of Stuff ...

2007-03-03T21:58:00.000-05:00

Wednesday: Out for a late dinner with friends after a stressful day at work, my friends (two women, one guy) and I chatted, mostly about the whole business of dating. How DO you meet people in this city in a non-online manner? And when you do, how do you approach it in a way that'll get across whether you just want to date around, or if you want something more serious?

It was an interesting conversation nonetheless, and at the end of it all, one of my friends decided to send me a Web site link to this group that she's a part of. I don't know if I'll embark on it or not. It's a Chinese-language group.

Thursday: During one of the few periods at work where I was at my desk for more than five minutes, I decided to check my e-mail. Combing through it, I skimmed the digest for this social group I'm a part of, when I saw my name come up in someone's note from Tuesday. I immediately went to the group site and read the message in full. Someone was asking if I was interested in being set up on a blind date.

I have never EVER been on a blind date. In the past, I would have emphatically said no. But rather than tell you what I've decided, I'm not going to say anymore about it for now. All I'll say is that this came as a complete surprise to me.

Friday: Remember Reason #59a as to why I'm a loser (as if I haven't hit you over the head with it enough times already)? It looks like it's met a bit of a sad conclusion (to me, anyway).

While out at a bar last night with friends, some long-lost acquaintances from the acting/TV/movie scene showed up, chief among them 59a's cousin (who, in his own right, is an awesome individual, and I was tickled pink to see him anyway).

We were dancin' up a storm, getting out the week's frustrations, and I - stalker that I am - asked him, "So, how's your cousin doing?'

Once he registered who I was talking about, he said, "Oh, he's living -" and then said something I couldn't make out 'cause the music was so loud. I figured it out, though, when he said, "It's so sad. All my good friends are now either in L.A. or Vancouver."

So, yeah. L.A. Sad indeed.

Oh well - guess I really do have to close the chapter on this one, don't I? I wish I could find a way to keep it wedged open. To me, he was too walk-into-a-bookcase cute NOT to have a crush on.

Le sigh.

Today: I've been thinking about something a friend of mine said to me last night on our way to the bar. We were talking dating, and she said, "You should just get out there and date as much as you can. Sign up on Lavalife and just get out there."

She added that she's done it in the past, because how else do you meet people in this city? And who has time, outside of busy jobs like ours?

I know she has a point, and I've actually been mulling that over. But that would violate a personal policy of mine: That I like to meet people in person, in social situations - spontaneous outings, parties, gatherings in general.

The online thing - which, to its credit, has come a long way since its early days - has never really appealed to me. For one, you're at your computer at home or whenever, instead of out and about. And everyone nowadays is a bit cautious about who they get tangled up with. You just are hoping that they're not creepy.

I know some people will probably argue that online correspondence takes away the pretense you'd get out at bars or wherever. And that is probably true.

And my other question: dating people as it is, is a crapshoot. But is there a happy medium with online dating sites? Don't people either go onto these sites in search of a relationship (one extreme) or sex (the other)?

Forgive my ignorance if this is not the case. But this is stuff I'd love to have cleared up before I decide to either give this a try or stick to my tried-and-true method of both organized and last-minute, haphazard social situations.

The Strangest Dream, Night Two ...

2007-03-02T08:23:00.000-05:00

As if last night's tiger dream wasn't odd enough ...

I really must not be getting enough sleep, because I had another weird dream last night.

I was a student again, and I was applying for some special prize or the other. On this particular day, there was some sort of special test.

I just remember entering the room, really pissed off about something - I don't even know what. I nudge past this tall-ish man in a suit; I mean, I brushed past him and didn't care.

And then I hear a voice say, "Excuse me, are you ... ?" and he says my name.

I turn around, and it's the tall man I just brushed past. He's got kind of an English accent, and for some reason, he looks like he's sweating. I look down at the bottle he was holding, which had a red label, and looked like it was full of water. It seems like, in brushing past him, I caused him to spill his drink.

I apologize profusely and jump to get him some serviettes.

Before I know it, the people are gathering for this test. As it turns out, Tall Man is one of the important people related to this test - he sits down at a small rectangular table of equally official-looking people. Great.

And there's a long table, almost as if it's set up for a panel discussion. This long table is apparently where the prize candidates doing this special test will be sitting.

We get our tests, and as we're looking at them waiting to start, this girl on my left says to me, "Oh look - it's like a library test. I did these back in high school."

"Library test?" I asked.

"Yeah", the girl replied. "Haven't you ever done this before?" The guy on my right and I give each other an, "are you KIDDING me?" look, and mutter no.

Then the test starts. The official-looking people from before have disappeared. But the adjudicator looks like this woman who's my assignment editor at work in real life.

Everyone else is scribbling, some furiously; i'm thinking about how to answer the question. I notice our test sheets are these tiny rectangular cards. I finally go to fill mine out and notice it doesn't look like the others at all.

The adjudicator says, "Don't spend too much time on it. Just get it done as fast as you can."

Perplexed, I turn my card over and over, and finally ask for a new one.

But I notice that the adjudicator and I are the only ones left in the room. Everyone has up and left. But how on earth ... did everyone finish and leave while I wasn't looking?

And that's all I remember from the dream. I dunno what this means? Am I being left behind in some respect in my life. Am I GOING to be left behind unless I do something? And if so, what am I supposed to be doing to prevent this?

At This Rate, The Ides of March Might Kick My Ass

2007-03-01T22:15:00.000-05:00

Well, well, well. In like a lion, indeed.

Just when I thought things might actually be mild enough not to wear those horribly thick-soled boots I've been using for the last couple of months, Mother Nature decides to take a pile driver to Toronto.

It's RIDICULOUS out there right now ... blizzarding like it's my birthday. And it's not even over - apparently we're due for some ice pellets, if we haven't started getting them already.

You know, come to think of it, these past couple of days have just been weird for me in general.

So far:

- Work has been absolutely mental. I have never run so much in the hallways at work in my life.

- Yesterday my uncle's mother checked out of the country club called Life on the same day his new grandson checked in. Apparently both of these events happened in the morning, and in Florida, where that part of my family lives.

The little squirt's name is Uriah - sure it's an old biblical name, but coincidentally, it also just happens to be the name of my cousin's father. Not coincidentally, my cousin HATES her father. So she had a bit of a conniption when she found out her little cousin's new name.

- One of my other cousins in England got beat up by his father (due to cowardice, not drugs, alcohol or what have you) and my cousin had to call the cops. (Yes, my extended family is dyfunctional, like quite a few people.)

- Last night, I dreamed a tiger was licking my hand. Okay, not quite. I mean, there was this guy pretending to be a cat at what I think was some kind of TV show or party. And I remember being told to close my eyes, and then having this warm tongue licking my hand. The tongue definitely WASN'T human, and when I opened my eyes - voila! A big, white tiger.

I read one online analysis about the symbolism of tigers and I have no idea what to think, or what this could mean. And I rarely have dreams where I actually remember anything.

And the weather just capped it off.

I know it sounds like none of those things are particularly related to one another, but I just found all that bizarre.

I really hope that "beware the Ides of March" business isn't actually something to take to heart. Otherwise I'd better start wearing a bulletproof vest just before St. Patrick's Day.

Doctors: Love or Loathe Them?

2007-02-25T17:37:00.000-05:00

The past week and a half has just shown me why some people hate doctors. Or why other people make it a practice to visit them as little as possible.

For well over two years, I've had chronic back discomfort, the combined result of a minor back injury I suffered about a decade ago lifting a box the wrong way, and an even worse injury suffered at the end of a softball game. Things haven't been the same for a long time.

I've gone to a sports clinic, had chiropractic care, tried an herbalist's dietary supplements (at my dad's insistence) and am currently going to physiotherapy (almost for a year as of March). I've had two sets of X-rays, which haven't shown anything unusual.

Last September at my annual physical, I mentioned to my doctor that I was still having the discomfort. She replied she found it strange that it was still going on for this long, and added she'd look at my file and see if I was eligible for an MRI. I filled out the questionnaire on the requisition form that would be faxed to the nearest MRI clinic, and signed it. The receptionist gave me a number for the hospital clinic and that was that.

In October or November, after not hearing anything, I called the doctor's office to inquire. The receptionist said she'd put a reminder on my chart and would make sure the doctor would look at it.

Fast-forward to the week of February 12. I'm suffering from a stiffness in my lower back and discomfort I haven't had in months. It's prompted me to think: hey - what about that MRI request from September? I haven't heard a peep.

I made a special trip down to the office that Friday afternoon to inquire in person. The receptionist pulled my chart, and opened it to show me that, in the five months since my physical, the MRI requisition form was STILL sitting in my file.

In another dimension, my doctor could have faxed off the form, prompting the hospital to send me the forms to fill out; I could have sent back the complete forms; gotten an appointment; gotten the MRI done; and probably have gotten the results in the same amount of time.

I'm shopping around for a new doctor. I have one prospect, who I'm supposed to be seeing this coming Friday.

Meanwhile, I phoned twice this past Thursday to find out what happened to my requisition form. The clinic (FINALLY) called me back Friday, just to tell me the form was faxed off. My doctor - who I've NEVER gotten a personal phone message from the entire time I've been her patient - left a message on my cell phone to tell me she faxed the form off last Tuesday; and would like to make an appointment to see me to see how my physio is going (um, pretty good up until, like, two weeks ago) and to discuss other options (for treating my back, I'm assume).

While I should be glad she's FINALLY taking a concern, and should understand she probably has a couple hundred patients, I'm annoyed that I have to poke and prod her for medical care.

I'm not a hypochondriac. Outside of my annual physical, my visits are minimal. If there's something which has the potential to greatly affect my ability to function day to day, shouldn't I explore all avenues of investigating and pinpointing what the problem is, and solving it as soon as is needed?

And the worst part is, there are people out there who are suffering from pain and discomfort worse than mine, who are doing the same thing, day after day, week after week.

Just a thought.

Servant of Time

2007-02-21T23:36:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how, as some of us get older, we - knowingly or unknowingly - fall subservient to the tick-tick-tick of the 24-hour clock.

I've realized this even more so lately, given the recent change in my schedule because of work, appointments, etc., how dependent I am on having to be at a certain place, doing a certain things by a certain time.

Take today, for example. I barely caught the bus near my house, which usually begins the long trek I make to work each day (albeit at different times). The bus doors, which just closed, opened for me, and breathlessly, I made a point of saying thanks to the bus driver, to convey my gratitude for letting me on, and not driving off as some tend to do.

The bus driver instead replied with an unnecessarily snarky, "Time to get a watch." As much as I wanted to say something in response, I let it go and proceeded to find my seat.

My morning routine, which is a complete blur in my mind, consists of working out at the gym with my trainer, followed by showering, dressing, putting my big clunky boots and huge winter jacket, lumbering to work, unloading my things, inhaling breakfast in the nearby food court, and plunking my body at my desk in time for the start of my shift at work.

From then on, I spend the next eight and a half hours working with - or, as I see it, constantly fighting against - time.

For a huge chunk of my day, I wear a stopwatch around my neck. To time how long things are. Where things stop and where they start. I'm constantly watching the wall clocks to gauge how much time I have, or have left, to complete tasks.

All this leads up to our show, which airs in the evening. The last hour and a half to show time always feels like a quarter of its worth, and yet it never feels like it's enough.

The show itself is 26 minutes long, with a four-minute commercial break. But the first 15 minutes of that show feel like three.

And before I know it, it's all over. But time doesn't seem to slow down until about 20 minutes after that. When it finally does, it's time to make the trek home again ... which takes about 90 minutes. And then when I get home, instead of getting right to the tasks I have to do before I go to bed, I dawdle - much like I'm doing right now - and I end up hitting the pillow way later than I should.

Just thinking about what my day is like should depress me, a lot. But it only gets me down a little, because at the moment, I have no choice. I think my commute has a lot to do with it, because I often wonder what life would be like if I had a little more time.

But perhaps time is, in a way, like money - that no matter how much I have, it will never be enough.

Modified Speech: Kinda Catchy, No?

2007-02-20T23:26:00.000-05:00

connect-a-neck: A term to describe a person's slight weight gain, which is visibly apparent in their facial profile, most notably where the neck connects with the chin; not yet approaching double-chin status. (Source: MTV Canada)

I heard this term one weekend afternoon watching some MTV Canada (because that's the kind of exciting life I lead, when not stalking people on IMdB.com). It was part of the "after-party" following the first episode of the new season of the of the reality series, "The Hills". The two VJs were dissecting the breakup of the main character and her boyfriend at the end of the summer.

In the midst of their analysis, the male VJ points out that the now ex-boyfriend had a little something he referred to as "connect-a-neck" - suggesting he'd gone a little soft and lost whatever strong male jawline he may have had, possibly because of no exercise and one too many beers. Then, to illustrate the point to his fellow female VJ, suggested that he had a bit of the same "condition" going on, turning in profile to the camera and tracing the region with his top of his ballpoint pen.

It's stuck in my head ever since. Don't ask me why - I just like the way it sounds. Like the verbal equivalent of a small pair of castinets.

vajayjay haze: What happens in some women, when sexual urges are so strong it impairs the ability to properly focus or concentrate on any tasks whatsoever, until said sexual urges are sated. (Source: Loquacious D ... partially)

Walking home with two friends from a party, one of my friends was talking about the booty call she was going to have later on that night. In recalling her week, had mentioned that it had been a while since her last booty call, so it was making it hard to concentrate on the work she had been trying to do that way. The only way she'd be able to concentrate, she said, was if she took care of business.

"Ah," I said. "That there is what I call the vajayjay haze."

I can only take credit for the "haze" part. Thanks and apologies are due to Grey's Anatomy creator Shonda Rimes for coming up the first part. If not for the skittish American networks, who squirm at hearing the word which kinda sounds like "angina" more than once during a medical drama, I could not have found a venue to use such a great made-up word in a sentence.

I do believe my work is done for another week.

The Case For Napping, Exhibit B

2007-02-13T21:19:00.000-05:00

Thought I was plain delusional when I posted this a couple of weeks ago?

Keep reading. Imma let this article speak for itself:

CHICAGO – New research on napping provides the perfect excuse for office slackers, finding that a little midday snooze seems to reduce risks for fatal heart problems, especially among men.

In the largest study to date on the health effects of napping, researchers tracked 23,681 healthy Greek adults for an average of about six years. Those who napped at least three times weekly for about half an hour had a 37 percent lower risk of dying from heart attacks or other heart problems than those who did not nap.

Most participants were in their 50s, and the strongest evidence was in working men, according to the study, which appears in Monday's issue of Archives of Internal Medicine.

The researchers said naps might benefit the heart by reducing stress, and jobs are a common source of stress.

It's likely that women reap similar benefits from napping, but not enough of them died during the study to be sure, said Dr. Dimitrios Trichopoulos, the study's senior author and a researcher at Harvard University and the University of Athens Medical School.

Heart problems killed 48 women who were studied, six of them working women, compared with 85 men, including 28 working men.A daytime siesta has long been part of many cultures, especially those in warmer climates.

Mediterranean-style eating habits featuring fruits, vegetables, beans and olive oil have been credited with contributing to relatively low rates of heart disease in those countries, but the researchers wanted to see if napping also plays a role.

"My advice is if you can (nap), do it. If you have a sofa in your office, if you can relax, do it," Trichopoulos said.

Exactly how stress is related to heart disease is uncertain. Some researchers think it might be directly involved, through unhealthy effects of stress hormones, or indirectly by causing people to exercise less, overeat or smoke.

The researchers in the latest study factored in diet, exercise, smoking and other habits that affect the heart but still found napping seemed to help.

Previous studies have had conflicting results. Some suggested napping might increase risk of death, but those mostly involved elderly people whose daytime sleepiness reflected poor health, Trichopoulos said.

His research team studied a broader range of people, ages 20 to 86, who were generally healthy when the study began.

Still, it's possible that study participants who napped "are just people who take better care of themselves," which could also benefit the heart, said Dr. Marvin Wooten, a sleep specialist at Columbia St. Mary's Hospital in Milwaukee.

"The guy ... who doesn't take time out for a siesta in their culture is probably the guy who is extremely driven and under a lot of pressure," which could increase heart risks, he said.

Siestas aren't ingrained in U.S. culture, and napping usually is equated with laziness in the high-charging corporate world, said Bill Anthony, a Boston University psychologist and co-author of ``The Art of Napping at Work.''

Still, some offices allow on-the-job naps, and many workers say it makes them more, not less, productive.

Yarde Metals, a metals distributing firm, built a nap room at its Southington, Conn., headquarters as part of an employee wellness program. With two leather sofas, fluffy pillows, soft lighting and an alarm clock, it's the perfect place for a quick snooze, engineer Mark Ekenbarger said.

Ekenbarger, 56, has an enlarged heart artery and said he frequently takes half-hour naps on the advice of his doctor to reduce stress.

"It really does energize me for the rest of the day,'' Ekenbarger said.

"It would be really encouraging if employers across the country really embraced that philosophy that napping is a good thing. It makes a big difference in my life.''

I rest my case. Vive les sommes, mofos.

A Strand of Old Age

2007-02-10T19:37:00.000-05:00

My mom was helping me take out the twists in my hair this morning, in preparation for my trip to the hairdresser later in the afternoon.

As we were talking and she was helping comb out one side of my head, she suddenly said, "Oh, look - you have a golden hair."

"Golden hair?" I said, wrinkling my nose. "What are you talking about?"

You know when you have that nanosecond where you think you have a clue as to where the conversation is headed, only to be brushed aside and forgotten just as quickly? Well, I thought, either my mom is saying I have a blond hair or a grey one. Or maybe just a different colour.

Didn't matter, because half a second later, she yanked out the hair in question and gave it to me.

At first, I said, "Nah. This looks like a piece of lint." Then I had another good second to look at the wavy, curly strand in question.

Lint it was not. It was white. White, white, white.

"No," I said. "A gray hair, already? This is not good."

"Oh, it's okay," my mom said. "Your brother has a couple of them, too."

"No it's not," I said. "And you pulled it out. Don't you know that for every hair you pull out, two grow back in its place?"

My mom just poo-pooed it. But maybe this is just the start. Today it's one strand. Tomorrow, it's, like, a whole patch. My dark, undyed hair is one of the few physical things I pride myself on (even if the stuff I comb IS the dead stuff).

Sure, I want one of those sophisticated white streaks, but when I'm, like, 50. Not NOW.

Happy Birthday, Bob!

2007-02-06T12:24:00.000-05:00

I had all sorts of grandiose plans to try and blog every other day this month in tribute to Black History Month. but then I got tired ... and busy ... and lazy.

So consider this my first post.

Happy Bob Marley Day, everyone!

If you can, come in from the cold ('cause it's coooooooold!) and lively up yourself.

(Happy belated, Melissa!)

New Month, New Posts Coming Soon

2007-02-04T01:34:00.000-05:00

Hello my babies,

Happy February!

Sorry I haven't been posting in the last little bit. I lost internet access at home last week, so I was going through withdrawal big time.

I also found out a couple days ago that I'm getting a temporary posting to a new job, starting in about a week's time. So that's exciting (and hopefully NOT regrettable!).

It's late, but I'll try to start posting again soon.

Why I Should Consider Moving to France ...

2007-01-31T08:34:00.000-05:00

... or at least why I should now double my efforts for a "Oui to naps!" campaign and petition in my workplace, if THIS actually comes to fruition:

PARIS — The French already enjoy a 35-hour work week and generous vacation. Now the health minister wants to look into whether workers should be allowed to sleep on the job.

France launched plans this week to spend $9 million this year to improve public awareness about sleeping troubles. About one in three French people suffer from them, the ministry says.
Fifty-six per cent of French complain that a poor night’s sleep has affected their job performance, according to the ministry.

“Why not a nap at work? It can’t be a taboo subject,” Health Minister Xavier Bertrand said Monday. He called for further studies and said he would promote on-the-job naps if they prove useful.

France’s state-run health insurance provider will send letters explaining the importance of good sleep. The Health Ministry’s Web site offers tips on how best to get a good night’s rest.

The ministry’s online “Passport to Sleep” recommends cutting down on coffee, tea, colas, and athletic activity after 8 p.m., shunning TV time or working late in the evening, and listening better to the body’s own sleep signals, such as yawning.

Bertrand said sleepiness causes 20 per cent to 30 per cent of highway accidents across France each year.

Okay, so forget about the rest of the story about the tips on how to get a good night's rest ...

Now, think about all the crabby or scatter-brained people you encounter on the road, or run into throughout your day, or work with ...

And then picture what some of them might be like if they had a nice little nap in the middle of the day.

Hypothetically speaking: Slightly happier people ... possibly fewer traffic accidents ... fewer misunderstandings in general ... see the logic? Who's with me, now?

Vive les sommes, mes amis! Vive les sommes!

Childhood Flashback # 1

2007-01-30T10:27:00.000-05:00

So, as I was updating my Facebook profile with some of my favourite books, my thoughts wandered back to some of the books I read as a kid.

And then before I knew it, I hit Google and came across this little story pictured at left.

Oh. My. God!

You really don't understand many times A WEEK I had this book read to me when I was three or four years old. It was just your run-of-the-mill, cheapie supermarket Little Golden Book. But I'm sure I drove my mom crazy every time I wanted to read this. It's just so cute, I had to share.

And now you have yet another piece of insight into what makes me the weirdo I am today.

You can actually read the whole book here.

Monday Props

2007-01-29T14:02:00.000-05:00

Hey you guys,

Hope you all had a good weekend. Mine was :) .

In any case - and I hope she doesn't mind, since it's actually on her blog now - but my friend's husband has just finished a CD. You can read more about it, via this link here.

Enjoy the rest of your day!

Facebook = Freebase

2007-01-27T17:11:00.000-05:00

In addition to reasons 59 and 59A as to why I'm a complete loser and have no willpower, I also now have a Facebook addiction.

I only set up my account last week. But I find myself checking my account to see who poked me, who's written on my "wall", oh, ALL THE TIME.

I'm afraid if someone had to monitor me as part of an experiment to see how many times I logged in a day, in addition to the average number of minutes that elapsed between logins, I'd be very, very afraid.

I'm getting the distinct feeling I'm going to be shopping around for a rehab program by the end of next week.

Or get myself into major trouble.

Hoo, boy.

Christine, You Were Right.

2007-01-24T16:09:00.000-05:00

To my friend Christine:

Remember way way back, in our early 20s, when you used to joke that drinking coffee was a cardiovascular workout?

Well, so happens there's a story that backs up the "coffee is healthy" argument:

http://www.earthtimes.org/articles/show/22691.html

And, as it happens, BBC posted this story in 2003, long before this blog was born.

So, I apologize for doubting your premonitory brilliance. I was wrong.

(Dammit.)

But I'm still not drinking the stuff.

Oscar Nominations Announced ...

2007-01-23T09:10:00.000-05:00

So the Oscar nominations were just announced a little while ago (although it took me over 14 hours to post them, but whatever) ...

Here are the nominations that matter ...

Best Picture: "Babel," "The Departed," "Letters From Iwo Jima," "Little Miss Sunshine," "The Queen."

Best Actor: Leonardo DiCaprio, "Blood Diamond"; Ryan Gosling, "Half Nelson"; Peter O'Toole, "Venus"; Will Smith, "The Pursuit of Happyness"; Forest Whitaker, "The Last King of Scotland."
Best Actress: Penelope Cruz, "Volver"; Judi Dench, "Notes on a Scandal"; Helen Mirren, "The Queen"; Meryl Streep, "The Devil Wears Prada"; Kate Winslet, "Little Children."

Best Supporting Actor: Alan Arkin, "Little Miss Sunshine"; Jackie Earle Haley, "Little Children"; Djimon Hounsou, "Blood Diamond"; Eddie Murphy, "Dreamgirls"; Mark Wahlberg, "The Departed."

Best Supporting Actress: Adriana Barraza, "Babel"; Cate Blanchett, "Notes on a Scandal"; Abigail Breslin, "Little Miss Sunshine"; Jennifer Hudson, "Dreamgirls"; Rinko Kikuchi, "Babel."

Best Directing: Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, "Babel"; Martin Scorsese, "The Departed"; Clint Eastwood, "Letters From Iwo Jima"; Stephen Frears, "The Queen"; Paul Greengrass, "United 93."

Best Foreign Language Film: "After the Wedding," Denmark; "Days of Glory (Indigenes)," Algeria; "The Lives of Others," Germany; "Pan's Labyrinth," Mexico; "Water," Canada.

Best Adapted Screenplay: Sacha Baron Cohen and Anthony Hines and Peter Baynham and Dan Mazer and Todd Phillips, "Borat Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan"; Alfonso Cuaron and Timothy J. Sexton and David Arata and Mark Fergus and Hawk Ostby, "Children of Men"; William Monahan, "The Departed"; Todd Field and Tom Perrotta, "Little Children"; Patrick Marber, "Notes on a Scandal."

Best Original Screenplay: Guillermo Arriaga, "Babel"; Iris Yamashita and Paul Haggis, "Letters From Iwo Jima"; Michael Arndt, "Little Miss Sunshine"; Guillermo del Toro, "Pan's Labyrinth"; Peter Morgan, "The Queen."

Oooh man, I can't WAIT for the office pool to start ....

Why I'm A Loser, Reason # 59

2007-01-22T22:38:00.000-05:00

I now officially have no willpower for anything.

Okay, know how you can go to IMDb.com if you wanted to look up information on pretty much any movie or actor you want, for useless trivia, quotes, actor stats to settle bets, etc.?

Well, I pretty much used it in vain today. But see, you have to understand, I was bored ...

So there was this guy I met a long time ago, like twice. He was an actor. And he was fiiine. And I was smitten, and probably have been ever since. (Reason #59a why I'm a loser.)

But the one thing I'd never let myself do is a Google or IMDb search. 'Cause that's borderline stalker-ish and I'd have to admit to myself that I have a serious problem. One that I probably haven't had since primary school, when I seriously loved off this one guy from third- to sixth-grade ... And there was that other guy during my second-year of university ...

In any case, for months, no matter how great the temptation, I said, NO. IMDb to me is like Waterloo was to Napoleon. I give in, it's ALL over.

Today, I met my Waterloo.

I was sitting there this afternoon, waiting on a phone call, trying to focus on work-related Web-surfing, and before I knew it, I veered right off track - checking e-mail, etc.

And the The Temptation hit me full blast. It'd been niggling away at me the last day or so, and I'd mentally swat it away.

Today, I was like, oh hell, I'll just check. It's not like he's done enough to be on there.

I put the dude's name in the search engine, but I didn't even look at it right away; afraid of what I'd see, I looked at another Web page. Finally about four minutes later, I clicked on the page, scrunched up my face and prepared myself for what I might see.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Dammit.

His picture. (Forehead smack.)

His birthday. And pretty much everything he's been in since I don't know when. Plus a big, globbed-together bio.

And then I closed down the page.

Lesson learned, right? Nope. I went back. Again. Briefly. I couldn't help it!

Sweet Shilpa Shetty. I think I officially became an IMDb stalker this afternoon. I'm so embarrassed.

This must be what they refer to as cyber-masturbation. Because while I felt kinda good doing it, I mostly squirmed in my seat at letting myself do it. And I then I felt dirty.

... Aw sheeit. I just did it again. Okay, this stops here.

Excuse me. I have to go do penance for this ridiculous, loser-ish thing I've done. Good night.

My 100th Post! (Or, Why I'm an iPoodle-In-Training)

2007-01-22T21:48:00.000-05:00

So, just when I thought I had my social-networking-Web site-management problem under control ...

My friend Lori goes and introduces me to Facebook.

I'm already on Friendster because of one friend, who's NEVER on when I am. And I should've just said, "No. Nope. Last time I took up your offer of invite onto a social site, I never used it for months, and when I did, I discovered some 25-year-old was hitting on me."

But, no. I couldn't resist the power of online networking. The groups. Creating my profile ... oh, the possibilities...

And here I am, about three days later, with my own Facebook profile, signed on to a network, plus three groups, "for fun". Forget getting ANY work done in the afternoons. The temptation is too great.

At least the friends that I know on Facebook poke me when they're online.

I like being poked.

Modified Speech: New Year, New Words?

2007-01-21T18:34:00.000-05:00

I meant to do this earlier in the month, but I didn't have a chance to get around to it ...

The first Wednesday of January, I bought a National Post on the way to work (because they were all out of Globe and Mails) and they had this kinda neat little section which read, "What better way to start 2007 than with some new vocabulary?" And you could go to their Web site and vote on the best one, or introduce your own word.

There were about 16 of them on the front, but here are the ones I liked the most and may start using, (if I haven't already). Don't say I didn't warn you.

Googley moogley: adj.
The frustration point you reach when the world's most popular search engine can't find what you're are looking for.

Hangry: adj.
The state of crabbiness that sets in when you haven't eaten.
(So far, my favourite.)

iPoodle: n.
A person who shamelessly jumps on every new technological fad.

Schadenfreudian slip: n.
Accidentally admitting that you wanted someone to fail.

Shpants: n.
Women's dress pant that are not quite clam diggers, not quite capris but also not quite shorts.

Wussam: v.
A response to a question indicating that you were, and still are, in the same condition.

Where Do the Stupid People Go?

2007-01-20T20:28:00.000-05:00

Call it bizarre, but I've had this question burning a hole in my grey matter the last couple days ...

Okay, so if you believe - or were taught when you were a kid - that people "go somewhere" when they die, the common belief is (or was) that good people go to Heaven, Paradise, whatever ... and bad, evil people go to Hell.

So where do the stupid people go?

No, seriously. I thought about this the other day, when news kept resurfacing of that woman in California who killed herself drinking too much water, to win a contest that was giving away a Nintendo Wii.

Think about it. She drank herself to death. For a machine. How stupid IS that?

I'm sorry if you think it's mean-spirited or cruel of me to say so (which would probably mean I'll be heading to hell when it's my time) . But WHY would you DO that? NO piece of video game equipment - being offered for free, as a prize - is worth that.

And then there are things like the Darwin Awards, which document people who have killed themselves doing crazy things in the name of ... who knows?

I can't imagine the vast numbers of people who have died due to stupidity. Not due to an accident. Or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or getting what they deserved. Or dying unjustly. Because they did something without using ANY of their brain cells about what the end result might be.

And I can't imagine, what these people are doing right now, wherever they may be.

I have to stop here. My head hurts right now from thinking about this.