Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Merry Ho Ho


I'm sitting alone in my apartment in Sherman Oaks, California and will be doing the same tomorrow morning. This year I've chosen to spend Christmas alone. This year, even though I have to be in Vancouver - near family and friends - on Jan 5 and the industry here has shutdown and there is no need for me to still be in Cali.... I am in Cali.


It sounds so very martyr-ish but I assure you, I am thrilled. The holidays have never been a happy time for me in fact they are dreaded. My family puts the FUN in Dysfunctional. And I don't blame the fully - I add to the dysfunction by becoming this version of myself that I hate everytime I am around them. I don't know why or how to stop it so this year, I am avoiding them all together. They will be better off but more importantly I will be.


My plans included hiking Fryman Canyon, making an yummy eggs and hasbrown breakfast with my favorite Trader Joe's Authentica Salsa, heading to the beach with the dog, coming home eating junk food and watching Gale Harold movies until I pass out.


However according the the weather reports, the Weather Gods seem to have alternative plans. It's suppose to pour rain all day tomorrow. And judging by the overcast sky I see out my bedroom window, I believe the meteorologists are dead on this time.


Well I have news for the Weather Gods..... I'm a Canadian girl. I've lived in Montreal through ice storms and Vancouver through an almost 30-day downpour. Whatever you can throw at me in California I can handle. I know how to use my windsheild wipers. I own 3 umbrellas and a pair of rubber boots. My Chihuahua has a gortex raincoat.


So bring it on Weather Gods. I'm going to have the Christmas I dreamed of whether you like it or not.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

A Little Story

I wrote this a year or so ago. Thought I'd share it here:

NOTHING DRIES IN A BASEMENT

Day 37
I am still waiting for my laundry to dry. The clothes I washed two weeks ago are still hanging limp and lifeless in the bathroom desperately trying to shake off the last dregs of moisture. Even the towel I removed from the dryer two days ago, the one that was so dry it had become like a black hole for moisture - all dampness within its vicinity sucked into it and none able to escape - has succumbed to the creeping wetness. I have decided to limit myself to no more than two showers a week lest I start to grow mold.

I can hear the wind through the treetops outside, gentle breezes tickling the fat green leaves of the chestnut trees. I know there is sunshine as well as I can see tiny slivers of its golden majesty creeping around the base of the high windows.

There is no chance for me to explore the outside world as the spiders have barricaded the front door. I no longer sleep for longer than 10 minutes at a time for fear that I be wrapped in their gossamer threads, paralyzed by terror and silk.

The other day I held one of the woolen sweaters that my mother made for me so many years ago. I cried a little, remembering the cold arctic winds of my youth that would dry your skin clean off your bones if you weren't properly attired. I dream of the sterilizing winters that would blanket the world in nocturnal bliss and the roaring fires that would burn away whatever pests and pestering thoughts managed to crack through the hard shell of winter.

Day 56
I did battle with the spiders today. It was a hard fought battle and while the war is not won, I have most definitely taken a large chunk out of their numbers and their morale.

For the first time I have used my biggest enemy to my advantage. While taking my bi-weekly shower I noticed a group of spiders in the upper right hand corner of the stall. I could see them looking at me, moving furtively around, planning their next attack. I stole from the shower and dipped into the kitchen all the while leaving the shower running. I returned to the bathroom with a medium sized bowl. While standing outside the shower, I filled the bowl with water and flung the contents upward into the nest of arachnids. I could almost hear their screams of surprise and before they had chance to understand what was happening I mercilessly attacked over and over and over again, not giving them a moment to gain footing or shoot webbing to save themselves or their offspring. With the drain cover removed there was no other option but for them to be flushed down into the bowels of the sewer system.

I can see the spiders in the corners of the bathroom that are furthest from the shower creeping further back, knowing that venturing to the stall for life sustaining water will surely end in death.

I hear rumour of an apartment in the west end, fifth floor and south facing windows. I want to believe but I fear, like so many other stories of above ground, well-lit apartments before them, this one too is pure fiction.

Pray for me.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Joke

I like practical jokes.
The way I see it, in these tough economic times a person needs a joke they can rely on, not one of those luxury jokes that will fall apart in a month.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Bully That

I've been thinking about bullies a lot lately. I wasn't ever bullied as a kid, I was teased a bit by my friends but never bullied. It seems that the older I've gotten the more I've encountered bullies in my life. I believe that 9 times out of 10 it's easier to ignore and move on than to fight back. Perhaps it's that attitude that has drawn the bullies to me, somehow making them think that I'm a pushover and an easy target. The bullies in my life (and those thinking about becoming part of my life) should realize that just because I avoid conflict it doesn't mean I won't defend myself when push comes to shove. And honey, I know how to shove.

I've realized that bullies are just jealous - I know to some of you that's not news but to me it is. You have something they want. When you were a kid it was something tangible like a toy or your lunch money but the older you get the less defined the thing becomes. The bully now wants your job, your pretty hair or your easy spirit.

The Modern Day Bully (for lack of a better name) will sneak into your life with the subtlety of a Trojan Horse. You'll know something big has just walked into the room but you won't know what it holds until it's too late.

At first the MDB will be just like anyone else and you will genuinely believe that they want to be your friend and there's a good chance that they do but there's a better chance that they're just looking for kinks in your armor.

The MDB will use kindness to get from you what they want. They don't understand that what they are trying to steal is not something that can be taken (and yet had they asked, MDB would realize it was something you were willing to give away freely) so they will feel like kindness has failed them. It is at this point that they may decide to destroy what they can't have.

Chances are at this point the MDB is a part of your day-to-day life (having bullied their way in and all) so you may not feel comfortable abruptly cutting them out of your life. This is when they move on to Stage 2: Mean Face.

Mean Face involves being mean to your face but sweet as pie to your friends. This is not them being overly mean but just throwing little clumps of emotional dirt at you. Sometimes you will notice and sometimes you may not but either way, it's been ground into the fabric of your self. This sets up a divide and conquer tactic for the MDB. You are now slowly being isolated, you can't complain to your friends about MDB because "What?! Are you kidding me? Mean? I just don't see it! They're just so sweet!" is most likely the reaction you will get. This sets them up to move into Stage 3: Stabby Mc EgoPop.

Stabby McEgoPop involves MDB bringing Mean Face into public view. You'll start to get jabs from MDB when you're out with friends. Some jabs might slide by, some of your friends may even laugh along. Be warned, if you retaliate you will most likely be met with "What?! I was just joking! Can't you take a joke? Sheesh!". MDB is now setting up your friends to see that you are weak, spineless, worthless and can't laugh at yourself while slowly chipping away at your ego. MDB knows timing better than the best Swiss watchmaker. They know when you've been dumped, had a bad day at work - remember they are technically still your friend at this point - so their jabs will come when your defenses are down.

MDB is now in a position where they feel they have the upper hand. A good friend once asked me "Do you want to be right or be happy?" Most times it's nicer to be happy, even when you know you're right. I've found that being happy tends to deflect a lot of the negative effects caused by MDB and will thwart some of their plans to dominate and destroy your life.

At this point you have realized that you have a full blown MDB and are trying to figure out how to rid yourself it. One easy way is the phase out. Stop returning every call, take your time responding to their emails, have plans more often than not when they want to go out. There may be some backlash and MDB may even try to steal your friends. Sometimes they will succeed. Don't be too sad about the loss, 7 times out of 10 the friends they steal will take on your role as The Bullied and will see the err of their ways and come back. The other 3 friends? Meh, you're better off without them.

An easier way to get rid of them is the MDB Self-Destruct. This takes no effort on your part whatsoever. MDB will see your passive, happy behaviour as an open door to your life for them to take and take and take some more. At some point they will believe that they are All Powerful and Indestructible, which, most of us know, is the ego equivalent of washing down a handful of Pop Rocks with a bottle of Coke. KABOOM! Eventually they get too big for their britches and everyone around them sees that the MDB wears no clothes.

If you're lucky you'll see the early signs of MDB when you meet them. I have a tendency to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and while it hasn't always worked out best for me, I'm not going to stop any time soon. But I now know what to look for so I'm walking a little less blindly through life.

Monday, November 3, 2008

American History


It's a very historic time to be living in the United States. Tomorrow night may be the night that America elects their first black President. It's also the first time a female is listed on a ballot as Vice President.
Now I could go on and on about the Presidential race and list a thousand reasons why Obama-Biden is the only hope for America and why McCain-Palin would be as big a nightmare as Bush, but I've got another election issue I'd like to address. One that hasn't been getting sketches on SNL.
I live in California and there's this little thing that Californian's are voting on called Proposition 8. Proposition 8, if passed, would change the California Constitution to say that "Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid in the state of California."
Like with all the elections issues there have been a barrage of advertisements for and against this Proposition. Here is an example of a Vote Yes on Prop 8 commercial - a girl comes home from school and tells her mommy that today in school she learned that "a princess can marry a princess and a prince can marry a prince." The mother looks completely horrified and broken. Then the ad claims they are "Restoring Marriage & Protecting California Children."
(I thought about linking to the actual ad but I do NOT want to give it anymore airtime than its gotten. If you want to see it, it's on youtube).
"Restoring Marriage & Protecting California Children."
Really?
Restoring marriage to what...... the blazing glory of the 52% divorce rate heterosexual people have given it?
Protecting children from what? THAT is something I have been really bothered by since seeing the first ad. If my grade 2 student or even my kindergardner came home one day and told me a prince could marry a prince and a princess could marry a princess I would do the following: Tell them that yes, that's right. And then maybe make them an afterschool snack.
If there are any parents out there reading this - can someone please explain to me what would be so horrifying if children knew this little tidbit of information?
If you don't think schools should be teaching children about marriage, okay. Fine. Then make a Proposition that says "California's public education system should not be allowed to teach children about marriage"
But here's the kicker, your little prince or princess is probably going to have a classmate who has 2 dads... or 2 moms. Why not let kids know that their little buddy Johnny isn't a freak because the 2 people that care for him, and love him and look out for him are both women or both men. Taking away johnny's moms or dads the right to be married means your also taking away Johnny's rights to have 2 legal parents. So how, precisely are you protecting children?!
The only thing that's being protected by Prop 8 is ignorant, scared people's right to promote discrimination and hate.
If you're voting in California, please VOTE NO on Prop 8.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Tea and Peeve

I drink tea at work, a lot of it. We have a nice kettle that I dutifully fill and boil several times a day. Most times when I make tea I'm in the middle of doing some Very Important Work and I can't stand and watch the kettle boil so, I leave my mug with the teabag inside in front of the kettle and I go back to my desk and continue on with my work.

My desk is close enough to the kitchen that I can hear the 'click' noise the kettle makes when it's boiled (no high falootin' whistlin' for our office!). Several times (many times) someone else who drinks tea has come up while the kettle is boiling and stands and waits for it.

Now here's what gets my goat - they, those who have been waiting for the kettle, completely ignore my mug with teabag inside and fill their own mug and walk away. Uh? What?! How about I WAS THERE FIRST so FILL MY MUG TOO!! I'd do that if I took my mug up and the kettle finished boiling and there was a mug sitting in front of the kettle.

I understand that sometimes a person really, really needs their tea but if there is only enough water for one mug. Please then do me the kindness of re-filling the kettle and setting it to boil again. Have the courtesy to imagine that maybe I also really, really need my tea too. I'd do the same for you.

I know, it's a small thing but it's like someone taking your stuff out of the dryer when it's just finished. Like, give a person some leeway to get back to the laundry room before you go fondling their dainties (and not so dainties). Don't stand there like a vulture waiting to scoop up whatever kettle or laundry carrion that you can get your talons into.

I thank you and my tea habit thanks you too.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Dedication



I saw the Sarah McLachlan show at Roy Thompson Hall on Saturday night with an old friend, and it was simply wonderful, of course. Not only for Sarah (who was, as always, spectacular) but more in fact, for the opening act. Her name was Meaghan Smith, and she was sweet, funny, lovable, engaging, smart, pretty and a Truly Great Singer. I was in laughter and in tears throughout her entire set, and can't recommend her show enough if she comes your way (Victoria, I think she'll be in California next week, heads up!) .. this one goes out to Auntie Jennie.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

School Daze




I love school. I love school in ways that are gross and obsessive and juvenile but I don't care. I love it. I had a great high school experience, which I've been told is unheard of. I loved my friends, my social position, my looks, my boyfriends, my teachers (Mrs. Shaunessy and Mrs. Gas being the only real exceptions) and I loved homework. (Well, in the classes I gave a shit about like English, history or drama).


When University rolled around I majored in English, and then did a post-grad in journalism and because I was taking what I wanted, I got way better grades than high school. I graduated from my final degree with honors. But that said..... there was one scholarly dream that went unfulfilled.

I have always wanted to go to an American College/University.

When I was little I wanted to go to University of Maine because I spent my summer's in Maine and loved it there. Then I wanted to go to Yale because I wanted to be an actress and they had a great drama program. I bought everything and anything I could - during a 2 year stretch of time - that had a Yale crest on it.

For a brief moment I wanted to go to University of Arizona because they had an olympic-sized pool in the middle of their quad. What? That seemed like a perfectly good reason at 17.

As I approached high school graduation I realized how much it cost to go to a US university. My grades were definitely not good enough for a scholarship. I thought about, and could have gotten, a partial scholarship to a Texas university for............ cheerleading. However a partial scholarship + foreign tution (because I was not a citizen of the US) would leave me with a bill of about $22,000 a year.

$21,666. 19 is what it ended up costing me for a BA and a graduate degree from 2 Canadian Institutions (and that includes dorm fees and meal plans). So fiscally Canada wins even if my dream died..... well hybernated. I tend not to let my dreams die.

But tomorrow, at 36 years old, I become a student at the University of California, Los Angeles. Granted it's the "extension program" which is adult/night school classes, but it's still UCLA. And it's for TV screenwriting, my true passion in life, so.... I'm thrilled. (The pic above is the actual building my class is in).

So tonight I've been rushing around downloading course materials, printing off campus maps and parking info. I bought a spiffy new notebook, a pretty pen and a nifty folder to keep my scripts in and....... and I even picked out my first day (night) of class outfit.

I am in heaven.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Sex for Money

I found this site that allows you to send in a week's worth of you and your partner having sex - 1 hour a day, so 7 hours total - and they'll pay you $2000. I was all prepared to hate the thing and get all reactive and feminist about exploitation blah blah blah. But I watched the short bits they have of each couple on the promotional page, and was, in spite of myself, completely and utterly charmed. These are (for the most part) really sweet people. Funny, silly, both smart and stupid.. all human. I can't for the life of me get pissed off about it.

Something else, harder to put my finger on. The simple joy and goofiness these people seem to have in their relationships with each other.. it opens a window into what a relationship could possibly be, once you scrape all that self-conscious, egotistical, judgemental crap out of the away. Is that sort of thing only possible when you're really young and in love? When we get older, do we start to expect too much out of people, and somehow suck all the possibility of joy out of everything, trying to make perfection happen?

Just wondering.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Fall Food

It's getting colder out, becoming that time of year when a young woman's thoughts turn to curling up under blankets with a good book, listening to the winds howl outside, strolling throught the leaves in the cool light of a late afternoon sunset and cooking food that keeps the soul warm until the crocuses start to poke their tiny heads through the frost towards the sun.

I love a good fall and along with a good fall I love a good chili. My personal recipe is a hard one to write down for others to understand. It involves some stewing beef and veal, kidney beans, onions, a homemade blend of chili spices, jalapeno peppers, garlic, salt, pepper and a desire to feed the people I love my love. I think I get my cooking habits from my Mom and my Great Auntie Vera.

I was looking around for a new recipe for chili, I thought I'd Vegan Chili a whirl and in my travels somehow I wound up here:

Apple Oven Pancake

Ingredients:

4 apples
3 Tbsp butter
3 Tbsp sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
3 Tbsp flour
1/4 tsp baking powder
salt to taste
3 Tbsp brown sugar
3 Tbsp milk
2 eggs

Directions:

  • Peel and core apples. Slice into 1/4-inch slices.
  • Melt butter in a heavy oven-proof skillet. Add sugar, cinnamon. Mix well.
  • Arrange apples evenly in skillet over butter-sugar mixture. Cook over medium heat for 5 minutes.
  • Combine flour, baking powder, salt, brown sugar, milk, eggs. Beat well. Pour over apples.
  • Bake in skillet in 400°F oven for 10 minutes.
  • Invert onto serving plate. Serve warm, with maple syrup or sour cream.

I'm sure it'd be easy to make this recipe vegan by substituting either Ener-G Egg Replacer or banana for the eggs and margarine or rice oil spread for the butter.

I know what I'm having for breakfast on Sunday. I've got my favourite flannel pjs and a good trashy novel waiting. Fingers crossed that there's a good wind blowing, I'm pretty sure the pressure is going to be low.

The Best Way to Start a Day


I've been hiking Fryman Canyon for the last three days. I intend to make it a daily occurence, despite the pain in my legs that is trying to convince me otherwise. It's honestly not a strenuous hike, I'm just slightly out of shape. And no matter what my thigh muscles are telling me my heart and head are absolutely in love with it.


It cost $1 to park at the lot where it begins. One dollar a day for parking is way cheaper than a gym membership anywhere. And on top of that at the gym you have to deal with people and equipment and mirrors that to me are so detrimental to an actual work out. Who the hell thought it was a stellar idea to stare at oneself while you body jiggles and jaggles every which way and you're sweating profusely? Not me.


The first part of the hike is a steep uphill incline and it's paved. Paved from, I'm guessing, about 1972 so it's all bumpy and cracked and uneven. It's a bit of a strain. But once you hit the dirt path.... it's all golden. Literally. Sunshine, stunning, sweeping valley views, wildflowers, and silence. No gym stereo or aerobics instructor or machines clinking or weights clacking. Just nature and your thoughts. It's a really nice, refreshing way to start my day. Even my chihuahua Gus, who isn't known for enjoying long walks or behaving on them, trotted along like a good little boy the entire way without an issue. He too seemed to be enamored with the place.


The daily hike gives me much treasured, much needed alone time in my head without any kind of distraction I can focus on planning my day, working out writer's block, mulling over new jokes and - just as important - daydreaming.


Fryman Canyon is one of my favorite things about this new home of mine and I thought I would share it with all of you.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Single Mama Blues

being the only child of a single mama, i've had trouble with sharing, my entire life. i don't tend to play well with others, i don't like to lend out my stuff, i always want the biggest piece of cake and if anyone is ever mean to my mama, i kick their ass ON THE SPOT. i've tended to be a fairly possessive partner to my husbands and lovers (in a totally passive aggressive way - i don't think they ever KNEW i was possessive, they just thought i was bitchy) .. regardless, i've always managed to make it work, somehow.

BUT now i've discovered that i'm turning into a possessive single mama. i'm having trouble sharing my kid. how ridiculous. so, here it is :


i must realize that just because frith loves someone else, doesn't mean she loves me any less. love, as the old saying goes, is the only thing you will have more of, the more of it you give away.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Cookies

These cookies are my third favourite thing in the world.
This is also the very first and only recipe I have ever mastered.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Preheat oven to 375

Cream:
1/4 cup butter
Add gradually and beat until creamy:
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
Beat in:
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
Stir and sift in:
1 cup and 2 tablespoons sifted all purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
Stir in:
1/2 cup chopped nuts
1/2 cup chocolate chips

Drop the batter on to greased cookie sheets in teaspoon sizes and bake for about 10 minutes.

Mmmmm...
(courtesy of The Joy Of Cooking)

Kissing

I learned something today.
If you want to be the best kisser ever, kiss from your toes.

Try it.

I dare you.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Something to Chew On

Change is good but sometimes it takes some getting used to.
For instance, say you're force fed beets with every meal for years and years and then suddenly one day, no more beets. It's going to take some adjustment to realize that the beets are gone. You can see that there are no longer any beets on your plate and your fingers are no longer stained red, but the taste of beets will linger on your tongue for some time.

For the next few meals you’re going to be expecting the beets because as far as you know meal equals beets. You may even flinch if there is something round and red on your plate. But slowly, day-by-day, you’ll get used to the beets being gone. It’s very doubtful you’ll ever miss the beets and perhaps, one day, they’ll come back in a different shape or form, but if and when the beets come back it will be your choice to eat them or not.


Green No-Beet Borscht


1 lb Sorrel
1 lb Spinach
1 lb Pork sausage (spicy)
2 1/4 Quarts beef stock
2 Onions, chopped
1 Carrot, chopped
1 Celery stalk, chopped
2 Potatoes peeled and chopped
1 Tbls Fresh Dill, chopped
1/2 Cup Heavy cream
4 Eggs hardboiled, Sliced
1/4 Cup Sour cream
1/4 tsp black pepper

Bring the beef stock to a boil.
While the broth is warming up, brown the sausage in a skillet Drain the fat and pat dry with paper towel to remove as much fat as possible.
Add the sausage, onion, carrot, celery, sorrel, spinach, potatoes and pepper and boil for 10 minutes.
Reduce heat and simmer for an hour.
Remove from heat.
Stir the cream and fresh dill.
Serve with a slice of egg and a teaspoon of sour cream.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Grammar

I find lately that I'm abbreviating my writing style, throwing together contractions where there were no contractions before.
What will becomes what'll, why have becomes why've and who are becomes who're. I only use the last one if someone else has paid for dinner.

Siblings

I'm the baby in a family with 5 children. On top of which I am that late-in-life, we-thought-we-were-done-but-oops! kid. I have a brother 8 years older than me, a sister 11 years older, another brother 13 years older and another 15 years older.

It was odd because it was almost like growing up an only child with a lot of uncles and an aunt. By the time I hit my teens my brothers and sisters had all moved out and I only saw them on holidays. Even now that we're adults, when we all get together, they exchange stories of crazy teen antics I did not partake in and memories of family events I was in diapers for.

That exclusion is a hard part of being the youngest, by a mile. However it's bareable and expected. And being a late-in-life baby for my parents, who are now in the mid 70s means I won't have them in my life as long as my siblings, and I have accepted that. But what has happened that was unexpected and I can't seem to accept is losing my siblings before my parents. My oldest brother died of lung cancer before he hit 40. And now my 44 year old brother is in the hospital awaiting a course of treatment after having a mild heart attack. He'll either have stents put in his arteries or bypass. I'm sure my brother will be fine because this kind of medical issue is, sadly, common nowadays and very treatable, especially because they caught it before a major heart attack. But it still makes me sad for things I can not change and things I'll never have.

I watched my grandmother - at 80 - enjoy Christmas dinner with her brother. They were 4 years apart. It was so neat to watch them interact and share stories about moving from Newfoundland to Montreal with their parents and sister. My favorite part of extended family gatherings was watching my dad and his sisters tease each other. They do it everytime they get together and have a wee bit too much to drink. (which is always). They joke about how my dad used to get his youngest sister to play poker with him every Saturday morning and swindle her out of her allowance. Or how he used to bully his oldest sister's male suitors.

My brother curently in the hospital has 8 year old twins - a boy and a girl. I watched them finish each other sentences and know exactly how to push each other buttons and I envy it. I want to sit them down and tell them how lucky they are and how they should thank their lucky stars for their closeness, both in age and emotion. But I know they wouldn't get it. I really wish I didn't get it either.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The hands say it all.... or do they?


I'm single and in a new country, starting a new life, and I've noticed some gorgeous males lately. It's LA - everything is pretty.

Whenever someone asked me what I notice 1st on a guy, I used to answer eyes. I love eyes. Blue ones to be precise. But nowadays, I notice hands first. Because chances are any gorgeous charming man my age who is straight may also be married. So I go straight to the hands and look for the ring.

There was this charming and adorable actor I met at a fundraiser. Tall, blue eyes, broad shoulders, no ring. But he did have a wife who showed up at the event moments later. I met another one. Real estate agent. Tall, blue eyes, blonde surfer hair and a flirtatious smile. No ring. But *surprise* he was married.

Why no ring?

I never got into a big enough conversation to feel comfortable asking either of them. But if any one out there has a reasonable explanation as to why a married man wouldn't wear a ring or why you, as a wife, wouldn't care if your husband wore a ring, I'm DYING to know.

See, for me the ring is a BIG part of the commitment. I mean, just don't see any reason at all why a man wouldn't wear a ring. And I wonder if a woman didn't want to wear one if it would be as much of a non-issue as wehn guys do it. Something tells me it would be an issue.

Here's the thing about the ring - it lets the rest of the women know not to waste their time flirting with you. (from a single female perspective I appreciate knowing not to waste my time).

And call me old-school or paranoid or what have you but not wearing a ring smacks of "I don't want anyone to know I'm not available"

And so if you marry me you have 2 options:

1) Wear a ring. Gold, Silver, Platinum, Tatanium, Tin foil - whatever

or

2) Get the word MARRIED tattooed across your forehead. (and you don't get to grown bangs, ever).


Am I unreasonable or old fashioned? What's up with the No Ring Trend?

USA They're Oh... What Is That?!

Did I ever tell you about the time I went on a weekend getaway to Buffalo, NY with my two friends Aoan and Japril*?

It was a lovely trip and we had no idea that Buffalo had such a booming nightlife! And so filled with Canadian culture! Everywhere we went we tried to embrace the vibe of American Life but instead at every turn were smacked in the face with our own boring culture - Molson beer, DuMaurier cigarettes, men named Doug and Tragically Hip cover bands (who, as it turns out, may have actually been the Tragically Hip).

For most of our trip poor Japril was suffering from some pretty awful bowel problems and sadly Aoan and I were made to suffer the consequences. Aoan has since filed a grievance with the Geneva Convention - humans no longer being allowed to used chemical warfare and all that. All I can say is thank goodness for power windows and the inability to drive 55.

We enjoyed a fun filled day of shopping and an even more filled fun night of drinking and dancing and a rousing game of Poke The American In The Politics. Truth be told I was the only one that played that game, sometimes I enjoy living dangerously. Six bars, eight different aliases and twenty broken hearts later we were done.

We set off the next morning for home, but not before stopping at Target to do a little last minute bargain hunting.

While waiting in line to use the ATM I realized that my digestive system was beginning to suffer the effects of over-indulgence on American Beer and Fried Goodness. Knowing that I can be very discreet (that is to say, I can fart without making noise) I let go. My sincerest apologies to any and all within a 20 foot radius of me that day. Oh my. I think I may have even caused on unsuspecting woman to go into labour.

Being the kind of lady I am, when asked by Japril "What is that! That's awful! Did you fart?" I politely replied "Oh darling, that was not me, it must have been you. You're the one with the overactive colon my friend."

What gobsmacked me the most was that Japril actually believed me and for the next year-and-a-half would blush, apologize and run out of the room anytime the words, Target, Buffalo, Doug or beer came up in conversation. I eventually let her off the hook and confessed to my crime.

She has since forgiven me and I can still laugh about it to this day though I'm not quite sure she sees the humour in it yet. Maybe I'm not telling it right.

*names have been changed to protect the innocent

Monday, September 15, 2008

An Open Ltr

Dear Emailer,

Thank you for your message, I'm happy that you took the time to contact me.

I feel I must explain that no matter who you are lol, plz, k?thx, j/k and :) (or variations thereof) aren't going to cover up the fact that you're a jerk and they don't make up for it. These symbols and random letters do not an apology make and they don't make your rudeness disappear.

Please stop using these shortcuts and just say what you really mean. If you are too lazy to do your job and want me to do it, if you are asking me because you think I'm a pushover then stop it. I don't mind doing you a favour, I'm a nice person, but if you're trying to take advantage of me I'll see right through it. If you are mad at me then tell me why straightforwardly and honestly. If I have done you wrong I will do my best to make up for it without the use of a semi-colon and a bracket.

If you are angry or upset or happy or joyous about something please don't belittle your feelings with abreviations.


Thank you.

a rough weekend

i've been trying to come to terms with the fact that now that my daughter is in school, i must give up my afternoons and evenings with her to her father.

he and his girlfriend took frith out for dinner yesterday, and when she came home she announced that she wanted to go live with papa and courtney, and she started packing. only the rain turned her back, as she walked past the driveway pulling her suitcase behind her.

the new arrangement means i will see her much less, and i already miss her awfully. she is growing up so quickly, and so much of the time i DO get to spend with her is taken up with running madly to get ready for school in the morning, or shopping for food, or cleaning the house, or driving to visit with relatives clamouring for frith time, or whatever.

it isn't logical, but i am so very jealous of her papa spending every day of the first three years of her life just BEING with her. i never had that chance. and now, i will never get it.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Slogan Hell

Last night it was : JOAN THINK OF A SEXY GREEN PARTY SLOGAN FOR US!

I couldn't, to save my life. The best I could come up with :

1. this election season : green is the new black

or else

2. there's no shame in being green (accompanied by a picture of eve with a fig leaf)

Anyhow .. the first was too racist sounding which was NOT my intention.. has NOBODY read any fashion magazines in the past fifty years? .. and the second just not positive enough.

Any thoughts??

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Oh My Goodness! It’s YOU!!

I just had one of those moments – those moments where you realize that you knew someone before you met them, that you always knew them in one capacity but never fully realized Who they were. When the Person You Never Knew becomes the Person You’ve Always Known.

The first time I remember this happening was when a director I used to work with and I started chatting and I found out that he used to be a DJ at a club I frequented quite a bit. I knew him back then, not as well as others but I could certainly pick him out of a line-up (if that line-up was in a dimly lit, smoke filled bar and I was on my third beer of the night). It wasn’t until that moment that I realized the Attractive Successful Director from my present was also the Hot DJ from my past.

Today I found myself tripping around the internets and consequently being taken down memory lane. I stumbled upon the name of a now defunct clothing line based out of Toronto. When I googled the name I was directed to a new clothing line created by the same designer. Right there, right in the middle of the homepage was a picture of this man who I had always known around “the scene” in Toronto as a friend of a friend, someone I had engaged in conversation with once or twice, shared a dance floor with and most likely drank at the same booze-cans with. All that time I had NO idea that he was Big Designer Man, Friend and Fitter to The Hippest of The Hip. He’d always just been You Know That Guy Whatshisname to me.

I love the idea of someone seeing a picture of me and having that same realization.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

The P Word

I have come to accept that I am the Queen of Procrastination. It started in high school, only back then I procrastinated until it was too late to actually get the assignment done on time. Then in college, when the assignments were on subjects I liked for courses I picked (and more importantly that I had paid for myself) I started to know the joy of the rush of pulling all- nighters and slipping the assignment on the teachers desk with .04 seconds left on the clock. And I also started to know the joy of the good grades, because despite my rushing and blurry 3am musings on Huck Fin or American history or whatever the assignment, I started pulling my best grades ever.

Now, as a freelance writer, I still suffer from the need for speed. The need to wait until the last possible minute to get an assignment done. I truly believe that it makes my work better, stronger and helps me focus..... despite what my mother, and the Girl Scouts, tried to teach me about "being prepared".

Now if you'l excuse me I have a 750 word article due tomorrow at 10am. I've got a nap to take, some TV to watch, a dog to walk, a nose to pick and then.... eventually.... an article to write.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Blue Romance

Today I've spent the better part of my day watching Katharine Hepburn movies. I started with Stage Door (1937) then The Philadelphia Story (1940), Pat and Mike (1952) and now Woman of the Year (1942).

I love Katharine Hepburn. In her movies she always seemed to play the hard-headed, take all risks, pre-Feminism feminist, stand on her own two hands type of woman. In her life she'd battled against the big boys of the Film Industry and won more times than she lost. She was outspoken, brash, crude, athletic, lithe, sharp tongued and seemed glamorous even when being foolish.

What's bothering me is her relationship with Spencer Tracy. Here is a woman who seemed to have it all and all was hers for the having and yet she devoted the better part of her life to a man she could never have. Knowing Tracy, a devout Catholic, would never divorce his wife she still seemed content to be the other woman, second fiddle, the never-would-be. A lot of people look at the Tracy/Hepburn affair as one of the greatest love stories ever told and yet I have to wonder why? True, they were in love but it was a love kept in a closet of sorts. And she seemed content with that. Why? Why not let yourself have all you can in love? Why did she settle for meek, dark cornered, submissive love when she deserved brash, outspoken, hard-headed, light-of-day love?

Maybe for Hepburn having just a part of happiness was better than none at all. As I get older I have to wonder if it's better to settle and compromise to get a part of happiness or stick to my guns and risk no happiness at all.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Nail This

My mother has beautiful, strong nails that she could tear a house down with and still not even get a chip. Since I was a little girl I have been jealous of my mother's nails. Unfortunately I didn't get them in the Great Genetic Divide; I did however get my mother's ability and desire to work with my hands - gardening, sewing, construction and the like. I don't have the girliest looking hands; in fact I have recently been told that I have the "hands of a Welsh miner".

It's a rare thing when my nails will grow and stay longer than a few millimetres past my fingertips. Imagine my surprise when I woke up a few weeks ago to realize that my nails have grown quite long and stayed there. I've been convinced that I will wake up one morning and they all will have spontaneously fallen off in my sleep, typical long nail paranoia.

I've been very good about being nice to my new long nails. I file them delicately, moisturize as often as possible, paint them with clear coat for extra protection, take extra Omega suppliments and avoid tearing apart drywall with my bare hands. Just as I thought my new girly hands might be here to stay, WHAMO! I break one. Not all the way, just a nice jagged, below-the-fingertip tear. It's happened before but this time I thought I'd try a little trick I'd read about years ago.

Take a small piece of tissue and lay it over the ripped part of the nail. Coat the nail with a thin coat of clear nail polish. Once that dries put on two more coats of increasingly thicker clear polish. Once the polish is completely dry use a fine emery board to gently buff the excess from the edge of your nail and voila! A do-it-yourself nail wrap to save the nail.

So far it's lasted through two days of typing at work and all the usual things that should destroy your nails - zippers, dishes, opening soda cans and the occasional nervous nail gnaw. To be sure that I won't lose the nail I'll head to a professional manicurist tomorrow to get a proper nail wrap but the tissue/polish combo sure has lived up to my expectations.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

The Double-Edged Sword

How many times has someone said to you "I've got good news and I've got bad news. Which do you want first?"
I woke up with this on my mind and well, wanted to know other people's answers? Which do you want first? There is rationale for both.

Take the good news first, then when you hear the bad it's buffered by the good. Good news, if it's good enough, can change your perspective on the bad. For example if you boyfriend says to you "The good news is I want to marry you and spend the rst of my life with you. The bad news is I kinda drove your car into a tree." (I personally wouldn't give a shit about the car).

Take the bad news first because then the good seems even better. Also you get the ugly out of the way and can concentrate on the good. For example your boss says "The bad news is we're down-sizing and your whole department is axed. The good news is your severance is 3 years pay."

It's kinda a glass half emtpy/half full question, which I also dislike.

So what are your thoughts - Good news first or bad news first?

My answer: I'll take the good news and you can shove the bad up yer arse.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

You've Got Romantic Comedy

At the end of You’ve Got Mail Meg Ryan's character speaks the words “I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly”. I just realized how bloody insulting that line is. She’s such an idiot that she doesn’t realize that Tom Hanks' character is the guy she’s been chatting with online even though he seems to have a 6th sense about everything the online guy is going to do and say?

After developing a deep relationship with a man who was her sworn enemy and then having an amazing day with him why didn’t she have the guts to say “You know what, I don’t want to meet this mystery man because I’m in love with you”? Or if she did have an idea that Online Man and Sworn Enemy Who I'm Falling For were the same person, why she didn’t have the ovaries to ask him outright? Or if she did know, she was totally fine being strung along and manipulated by him on the slimmest of chances that she would get the fairytale ending she's always wanted?

I’m also annoyed with myself because while I should be working, I have let my train of thought derail so badly that I've wasted over 20 minutes analyzing the end line of a ten-year-old Nora Ephron film.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Law and Order is Making Me Fat

According to new research by a professor at Erasmus University, people who are thinking about their own deaths want to consume more.

As in EAT MORE and SHOP MORE.

Here's the quote : “Consumers, especially those with a lower self-esteem, might be more susceptible to over-consumption when faced with images of death during the news or their favorite crime-scene investigation shows.”

Man. That explains EVERYTHING.

What does Gmail think of you?

So I had a conversation with some girlfriends this weekend and one of them had an interesting revelation. Apparently Gmail scans your emails and picks up on keywords, then they choose the ads they place on your gmail page accordingly. One friend who was recently married said she was seeing a lot of photographer ads and vacation packages. I personally have never looked at the ads beside my emails but became intrigued and went back to look at them.

Here's what gmail thinks I'd be interested in:

Germany's News in English - breaking news, views and chats from Germany.
Hmm... never been to Germany, never thought about Gemany, don't know any Germans. Apparently gmail thinks I need to get out more. travel the world. Thanks for the tip, gmail.

$250,000 Income Potential - Entrepeneurs wanted. No selling. Turnkey system.
Apparently gmail thinks Ijust fell off a turnip truck and am scam-able. Bite me gmail.

Toxic Tort Lawyers - Helping Chemical Exposure Victims.
Really? What? Do you know something I don't gmail??? Should I make Dr's appointment?!

I don't know what words they are grabbing from my emails, but it's not the right ones. I should be getting ads for debt consolidation, immigration laywers and dating websites. Gmail, you don't know me at all.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

The Innocent Compliment

I was watching a video of my best friend’s daughter today and I have to say, I love the distracted way that children take compliments. The very offhanded way they say “yes” when told that something they made is beautiful or the way they sing is lovely. If an adult were to take a compliment the same way some would call it egotistical but the innocence of a child makes it so pure – all they are doing is acknowledging that what you said was fact. No ego, no self-centeredness, no false pretences. They don’t think you’re blowing smoke up their ass, they don’t think that you’re being nice to get something from them and they don’t think you’re just being polite. You stated a fact and they are agreeing; no more, no less.

I have a hard time taking compliments. Somewhere along the way I got it in my head that acknowledging a compliment with a “thank you” or “that’s nice of you to say” makes me self-centered and full of myself. Or that if someone is paying me a compliment they must want something from me or are lying to lower my defences, make me vulnerable and gain the upper hand.

I am going to try very hard this weekend to take every compliment that comes my way as if I’m a 3-year-old. I’ll take whatever it is the other person is saying as an obvious truth, thank them and carry on.

Perfect

I take issue with the photos of perfect love shown on internet dating sites - photos where relationships are portrayed as pure, and clean, and white; unwrinkled, unsullied, blonde and happy.

This is love? These are the relationships we are striving to have? No wonder we always feel so completely inadequate in our own sad, hairy, smelly, squalid, screaming, stained, sordid little love nests. NOBODY'S relationship looks like that indefinitely.

NOBODY'S.

America's Near Miss

I feel theneed to comment on politics. Weird I know but this whole debacle with John Edwards cheating on his wife has me shocked and disappointed. When the whole Monica Lewinsky thing happened with Bill Clinton, I was in Bill's court. My opinion was, his personal life is his personal life - had no effect on his ability to run a country - and it's up to Hilary to punish him not the nation. I didn't judge him. If anything I judged Hilary for not kicking his ass to the curb. But as it turns out, she had her own career agendas and needed him, inappropriate cigar recepticles and all.

Because I didn't judge Bill, I didn't expect to judge John Edwards. But then Edwards opened his mouth. And yeah, I'm judging. And thanking God this idiot didn't get the Democratic nomination. Edwards excuse for cheating wasn't that the marriage was going through a difficult time, or he was growing apart from his wife, or he was lonely on the campaign trail. No it was this: "I went from being a senator, a young senator to being considered for vice president, running for president, being a vice presidential candidate and becoming a national public figure. All of which fed a self-focus, an egotism, a narcissism that leads you to believe that you can do whatever you want. You're invincible. And there will be no consequences."

Holy crap, seriously? You got "drunk with power." That's your big rationale?! That makes it okay to cheat on your wife who has terminal breast cancer? Hey John! You're an asshat!

Being so responsive to the ass-licking that goes on in American Politics I can only imagine that had Edwards become president he would have bended to the whims and wishes of whoever stroked his monolithic ego.

"Sure, I know we should get our troops out of Iraq but the Republicans told me I look awesome today and well, they'll keep telling me how awesome I am as long as I keep letting young boys die in Iraq so we're staying!"

"This is your President John Edwards. I'm having a bad hair day today and Stephen Harper gave me a funny look at our Summit today so we're invading Canada."

"I've decided that all female White House pages should have to go topless on Tuesdays. I can't do that?! Of course I can, I'm the leader. I can do whatever I want! If you don't like it, I'll deport you... even if you were born here. I don't care, I can do whatever I want. Gotta love me!"

It's so sad that this man who seemed to have potential - who seemed to be someone who could bring potential to a country that has had the potential beaten out of it over the last 8 years - could, in one statement, turn into the biggest mistake America almost made.

I honestly think, with an ego that fragile and a morale compass so easily influenced, that John Edwards would have been a bigger mistake than George W ever was.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Matchmaker, matchmaker...

I’ve been watching a show called Millionaire Matchmaker. It’s your average dating show with the added bonus that the men looking for love all have very large … assets.

I've not been watching the show very long but two men in particular caught my attention.

One was a 40-something man looking for a grounded, 30-something, non-actress/model type woman. On the day of his big meet and greet he shunned all of the women he had asked for and chose a 25-year-old actress/model for his first date. He ignored Patti's warnings that it wouldn't go well and went out with the "young chippy". Lo and behold the date was a bust. One snippet of their date conversation stuck with me:
He: “… because it's important to give back. Did you know that thousands of people go hungry in LA every day?” She: “I know what you mean. I gave up carbs”. Needless to say he went back to Patti with his tail between his legs and agreed to her terms. He has now dated the type of woman that he said he was looking for and is very happy.

The second man, again a 40-something never been married, insisted that he wanted to meet women in their mid-20s to early-30s. The matchmaker insisted that he be dating women in their mid to late 30s. The man seemed to balk at this and when told “There is a world of difference between a person in their early 20s and a man in their early 40s” he insisted that “age is just a number” and that he could find a “25-year-old with an old soul”. What baffles me is that he’s using his own logic to deny himself love. If age is just a number than what’s wrong with dating someone with a number closer to your own? I don’t think he’s looking for and “old soul” I think he’s looking for “young tits”.

They say that once you know what you want it's almost impossible not to find it. These are two men who claim to know exactly what they want in a relationship and yet both seem to be going against their own instincts.

Perhaps if these men, and many others, could let their little heads shut up for a second and concentrate on what the big head is saying it might be that much easier find what they’re looking for.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Wine Whine


I have to say I think this woman has too much time on her hands. I understand pairing wine with different foods that aren't considered "high class" but fast food? Seems she's definitely catering to the type of person who would be found "putting rhinestones on their jeans".
I mean, doesn't everyone knows that KFC is best paired with Pabst Blue Ribbon?


That being said a friend of mine and I figured out which reds go best with mint M&Ms when we were in college. Our palates have matured since then. Mint M&Ms with red wine, how silly! We should have gone with a riesling.

Oh For Crying Out Loud

Two quotes from this spectacularly horrifying little column by Miriam Silverberg I found in a free paper called Epoch Times, which I picked up while grocery shopping :



(1) Most women look better with clothes than without.

(2) Being pregnant is a wonderful, glorious time in a woman's life and she can and should look her best. To my mind that does not include accentuating her huge belly.

Bugger off, Miriam.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Selfish and Green

I've been volunteering on the executive for the local green party, and it has started to piss me off - mostly because it feels like we're just not getting through to people. They've always got somewhere else to be, something else to to, and it is nearly impossible to convince anyone to change. They may wish to be noble and good, but when it comes down to the crunch, they look away, put their fingers in their ears, and keep doing things the way they've always been done.

So I had a thought today. Why not appeal to the less noble instincts? Like this :

If you won't do it for the environment, the world, the future.. then do it for yourself.

  • Go vegan because 97% of vegans live longer, get less cancer, are orgasmic, less depressed and more in love.
  • Stop eating meat and using plastic to store your food, and menopause won't hit so hard because your hormones won't be completely out of whack.
  • Stop eating dairy, and your hair will stop falling out, because your body will finally be able to absorb iron.
  • Stop buying expensive processed foods and your bank account will thank you.
  • Stop feeding your children junk food and sugary crap and you'll find them turning back into calm, responsive and loving family members.
  • Use less water and your water bill will be lower.
  • Turn off all those lights - we all look better by candle light anyway.
  • Air dry your clothes and your hydro bill will go down.
  • Quit smoking and your face won't get as wrinkled.
  • Ride your bicycle or walk instead of drive and your body will be more beautiful.
  • Use fewer toxic body care products and your skin will clear up.
  • Donate to green charities and you'll get a hefty tax refund.
  • Donate to the green party and you'll get an even more hefty tax refund.

Do yourself a favour.. live green.

Ducks and Stuff

This is a video of a duck I shot in Lost Lagoon today. I thought it looked like the duck was sitting on the sky:



video


This is a photo of a duck:

This is a photo of a swan:


This is a photo of a stranger talking to and feeding the ducks and swans:


This is a photo of a rose that I thought looked cool:

And that was my morning.

I'm a 10!

I went bathing suit shopping the other day. Why? Because I was feeling way too good about myself lately and the quickest way to depress yourself as a women over the age of 12 is to go bathing suit shoping. Seriously, I live in Los Angeles now, and there are beaches and well... snowsuits don't make for an even tan.

I go into this store that shall remain nameless (because I honestly don't remember the name, but it had the word "swim" in it I think) and I start looking. It's divided up by size. There's an area for size 4, size 6, size 8, size 10, size 12 and size 14. Now this is weird to me because most swimsuit stores I've been in have their stuff sized Small, Medium, Large, XL.

The sales lady visually sizes me up and tells me to look in the size 6 rack. I think that makes sense because in clothing stores I am anywhere from a size 4 to a 7 depending on the store. I grab a few size 6 suits and head to the changing room. I can't get any of the bathing suits over my ass. Not a one. I head back out, confused and look for size 7s. They don't have size 7s so I go to the size 8 rack. I find a few there I like and take them back.

I find one I love that fits.... but it's a little tight. The kind of tight that makes your back fat bunch up under your armpits and gives you the oh-so-not-sexy muffin top. As I am walking back out... ready to wave the white flag on bathing suit shopping and start starving myself asap I see the exact same suit on the size 10 rack.

I'm not a size 10. If I was to wear a 10 in jeans I could pull them on without undoing them. here is nothing wrong with being a 10. I know tons of 10s and they are fine wonderful, fit people. But I am not a 10. It's weird how you learn to identify with a size system but you do and I did and my size has never been bigger than a 7.

Anyway, I pick it up and examine it and for the first time look at the tags sewn into the bahting suit instead of the sizes marked by the store on the racks. I see that although the store has stuck it on the rack marked "10" it actually says "medium" on the tags. I look at the one I had tried on from the "8" rack and it's marked "small". The 4/6 rack are actually "extra small and "extra-extra small".

WTF?!

So I take the "medium" and I try it on and it fits perfectly. It's awesome. I love it - and I haven't loved a bikini since I was 14. So I go to the cash to buy it..... this is the conversation that ensues with the cashier.

CASHIER: So you found something you like?

ME: Yeah, I love it.

CASHIER: I thought you had me put this one back earlier? You changed your mind?

ME: No it's the same suit but a different size. The 6 and 8 didn't fit.

CASHIER: It's a 10?

ME: It's a medium.

CASHIER: Huh, I never would have thought you were a 10. You hide it well.

ME: Wow, way to kick start an eating disorder. Thanks.

I'm 5'7 and 126 pounds, what ,exactly, am I "hiding well"??????

I should have walked out. I shouldn't have given her my money. But seriously, that would mean I would have to go and do this to my self-esteem all over again somewhere else. And that option was way more unappealing than just giving her my money and taking my size "10" (and by "10" I mean "medium") ass home.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Infinity + 1

This is the kind of shit I think about when I walk to and from work. And fart jokes, always with the fart jokes.

Some people say that God is not something outside of ourselves but within us. That God is the Universe and we are made of the same substance as the Universe therefore we are the Universe and we are God, each and every one of us.
At the very heart of the atoms that make up our beings we are created of basically Nothing. We are nothing but pure Energy and pure Nothingness.
If we are in ourselves the Universe and therefore God, do we ourselves not create and control our Destinies?
Perhaps that is true, but what if the Destiny I create for myself is completely contrary to the Destiny of another? Who's energy and destiny wins?
What makes the energy in one stronger than the energy of another?
And if we are to believe that there is a finite amount of energy in the Universe, spread throughout all of us, and that there are more beings on the Earth than at any other time in history, are we in fact weakening the basic energy that controls us all?
Are we stealing energy from others, for every other species that we destroy are we strengthening ourselves or weakening the power?
Are we destroying the Universe? Have we weakened God? Are we slowly killing ourselves by making ourselves stronger?

I have a lot of time on my hands. It's a long walk home.

Infinity

An agnostic : a person who claims that they cannot have true knowledge about the existence of god - but does not deny that god might exist.

From Life of Pi , regarding agnosticism : to choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.

But, it is a given that the universe is infinitely vast, nicht wa? So does it not follow that within this infinite vastness must exist an infinite number of things, an infinite number of possibilities? So, just as there must be a world where people are blue and made of cheese, and another one where my exact double lives a life completely parallel to my own.. is there not a place in this infinity for gods?

Yes, even an old man with a beard, sitting on a cloud.

Not that I believe that, it is so obviously ludicrous. But on the other hand, it seems a little presumptuous to make sweeping statements about what can not possibly exist, in a universe filled with infinite possibility.

Running On Empty

I went for a run this morning. I haven't been running in a while because I hate running. More specifically, I hate runners.
While out for my run at 7:30 this morning, I realized that there are a lot of frustrated and single people in Vancouver.

The kind of people that go running at 7:30am are different than those who go out later in the day. The later day runners are the breed that I hate, they're the ones running to better their health, to live longer, lower their cholesterol, strengthen their immune system. The earlier day or later night runners are the ones I like – mostly because I'm a part of that group – they're (we're) the ones out running because we've got something to run from. You see, no one gets up at 7:30 in the morning to go for a run because they WANT to, they go because something (or someone) has forced them into their shoes and out the door.

We don't give a shit about our overall health, chances are one in five of us smoke and one in three drinks above the moderation level. We run because we don't talk. We run because we're full of frustration and can't masturbate anymore without doing serious damage. We run because we can't stand up for ourselves and ask for what we want. We run because it's easier to run from our demons than to face them head on.

Don't get me wrong, we do all those things we mentioned above. Sometimes we meditate to get it all back into alignment, sometimes we fast away the emotional toxins. Sometimes we paint or write it all out. Sometimes we even fuck our frustrations away. But sometimes, we need to run – run until our heart feels like it's going to burst in our chest, that our lungs are going to collapse in on themselves, like our knees are going to shatter like icicles falling from the eaves on a frozen winter night. There are times that the only thing that will get the crap out from between our ears is to run and get angry and spit and get sweaty and snotty.

I know that I'm not a late morning or early afternoon runner because as I sit and write this I'm enjoying a cigarette.

Some people go to therapy, some people mediate or do yoga. Some people shop or drink or eat to get the crap out. Sometimes I do those things, but sometimes in the early light of a Sunday morning when the Saturday night has been uneventful and full of frustrations that no dream can take away, I get up and I put on my shoes and my toque and my sweats and I run. I throw Sugar Ray into my discman and enjoy some me time with Mark McGrath. Sometimes it's King Apparatus, sometimes it's the soundtrack to the Blues Brothers. Sometimes I'm not even running or walking, sometimes I'm the weirdo who's dancing down the seawall to a soundtrack that only I can hear.

Real Comics Don't Need Underwear Pics

I'm a comic. That means I stand up on stage in front of strangers and try to make them laugh. The requirements for this job aren't much. You need a microphone, a stage, a stool, and an ability to say something funny. But in recent years another tool has become an integral part of a comic's life (and an actor's, and a model's, and a musicians) it's Myspace. I get the benefits to Myspace when it comes to marketing and advertising for people like myself in the entertainment field. It sure as hell beats stapling posters to lamposts everytime you have a show. However this awesome tool has also created something that makes me a little sick. Like that did the dog just kiss me after he licked his ass? kinda sick.

Because Myspace has compelled smart, funny and talented people to forgo the professional headshots and post pictures of themselves in ..... well, not much. I recently "friended" April Macie. April is a comic who was seen on Last Comic Standing a few seasons ago. If you look at April Macie's gallery of photos, she has several where she appears in what can - at best - be described as the underwear of a 5 year old girl. And you can tell it belongs to a 5 year old girl not just because it's frilly and pink but because it apparently doesn't fit April at all. She's even tugging at it (I can only assume in order to prevent it from cutting off her circulation or crushing a kidney) in one of the photos. Pulling on it so hard and pushing it down so low that you can almost see her va-jay-jay. Poor thing.

Not only do I not see the point to wearing a 5 year old's underwear, but I don't see the point to wearing it, getting your picture taken in it and posting it under your comedy profile.

If you are a porn star, a hooker or a stripper and you're trying to get people to; buy your lastest Gang Bang flick, come to your corner for a hand job or come to your club where you can wow them with your amazing lapdance skills, then fine, post that type of picture. It will bring you the type of attention that your career needs. If you're a female comic with underwear shots plastered across your myspace comedy profile, I'm willing to bet people don't look at that and think "Wow, she must be really funny. We should check out her act." Unless of course you have a third nipple clearly visible or better yet a third breast or a penis hanging out of your thong - then you might be considered funny on the merrits of your underwear shots.

And by "funny" I mean "funny-peculiar", not "funny-ha-ha".

I guess some women think that the fact that they are young, thin and hot should somehow help them in comedy,but unfortunately it doesn't. What helps is spending your time writing funny jokes and working your butt off to get stage time. If some of these female comics spent more time doing that instead of shopping in the children's section of Target, maybe they'd have 12,000 people coming to their shows instead of 12,0000 myspace friends and a crushed kidney.