a little touchy

in my den i have a tri-light that's activated by touch. it's a floor lamp, and you can touch it anywhere and it gets turned on (ooooooh, kinky). i rarely go in the den right now (i'm trying to root myself into my couch, become the ultimate couch potato, you know) - but, almost every time i walk by, the light's on. now, you might think that i'm just complaining about the light always being on ... but .. i turn it off every time. and then next time ... it's on again. i first thought it was my adorable little munchkins (kittens will be kittens, afterall) - but, it appears that the light goes on even if the kittens haven't been in the room. i'm confused. and it being hallowe'en eve ... a little concerned and spooked out.

melpie, the bubble tease

if i were to write an autobiography, it would most likely be entitled "adventures in embarrassment" - or that's what i've decided at least. snippets from my life that would provide endless entertainment to others. and of course, would make them feel better at their relatively low levels of klutziness.

so, today's episode? well, it has to do with bubble tea. after a happy fun day of medicinal discoveries, i was sitting down for this delightful treat with a friend. i hadn't had this scrumptiousness for some time- and it brought back wonderful memories of university.

sucking back the bubbles is of course the essence of the bubble tea experience. these balls were dewy with honey goodness (please - no laughing - this is completely innocent, completely pg ... well, so far ...). how delicious!

anyway - we were chatting, sipping our teas and enjoying the tapioca pearls. i made them dance up the straw, marvelling at the movement. but then, somehow .. one popped out. heck, it didn't just pop out, it popped out of the top of the straw and landed smack dab into the middle of my cleavage. right down the front of the shirt. of course, the only reasonable thing that i girl could do in this situation is to .. well, fish the thing out. sadly - it was a slippery little sucker.

so there i was - in the middle of the tea shop - hand down my shirt - searching in vain for a tapioca pearl. but, i exaggerate. it wasn't in vain. in less than a minute (but probably close to - i found it! now i know how the pirates felt when they found the buried treasure.

the challenged-ling

i've been re-reading some old entries. it suddenly occurred to me that i used to tell much better anecdotes. what has happened to these light-hearted tales of my endearing klutziness? am i just lazy? am i more self-conscious? is my mind wanting to write things that are much too serious and close to the heart? in the 30 seconds that i've been pondering, i've decided that i should write down some more of these stories.

the first of which, i shall call "adventures of the wide-legged pants" or perhaps, "lessons learned, off the cuff" ... anyway - it's not really important. the title can come later. now this is a story that combines one of my great loves - shoes - with my every day goal of walking without tripping. of course, i've finally managed to get pretty good at staying upright (while sober, at least) in shoes of all styles, heel heights and on all sorts of surfaces - flat, stepped, slanted, rocky, smooth, etc. so - once you've mastered something, it's good to throw in a new twist, a challenge, if you will - to keep things interesting.

my challenge - unbeknownst to myself - is the wide leg pant with the large bottom cuff. they seem innocent enough, swaying no the hanger - but once you get these suckers on ... er, i should say, once *i* put these suckers on ... you never know what's going to happen. the first such incident happened one day as i was descending the stairs at work. to ensure my pants weren't dragging on the ground, i was wearing a sizeable heel, a very slender pretty one at that. i was navigating the stairs with much skill when, without knowing, i stepped into my pants - the heel sliding neatly into the small fold between the pant leg and the cuff. of course, i found out very quickly as i went to take the next step down and ended up hurtling head first down the last few stairs. luckily, my reflexes aren't horrible and i was able to cling for dear life onto the bannister. but, even with my cat-like quickness, i ended up bruised and battered. (sadly, i was unable to wear skirts for a while - and i do love my skirts - and they're apparently much less dangerous for me).

sadly - i did not learn from the first mishap. i've had a couple more going down steps (once in the subway station - again - my amazingly quick bannister-grasping ability saved me) ... and more recently one time walking up steps. all of these incidents involved the stiletto. but ... yesterday - i reached new heights. i was wearing ballet flats and managed to trip in my cuffs. not because i stepped on my pants - but because i stepped in my pants.

so ... lessons learned?

1. stop wearing dangerous pants;
2. stop wearing dangerous pant/shoe combinations; or
3. wear knee pads under dangerous pants.

i think i may adopt number 3 ...

senseless

i thought they were overreacting at work. suddenly the boardroom is locked and you can only access by asking for the key. there are few supplies in the supplies room - you have to go and ask permission to get a new notebook, for crying out loud! but ... apparently there's a reason. (i'm always somewhat reassured when there is actually a reason) - apparently things have been going missing. moreso - chairs from the boardroom have been disappearing. i know they have wheels - but they don't spin on their own. and these aren't even nice chairs! i just can't understand - and as one who embraces logic with every ounce of her being - well, it just boggles.

this takes me to what i really want to talk about - people with signs supporting the liberals have been targeted in two toronto ridings. there's been some vandalism - but on top of this, slashed tires and cut brake lines. one great thing about canada is the freedom we have, our democratic process (no matter how laughable the current times may make it) - violence is something completely unexpected. and further - violence against the centrist party? what kind of sense does that make? the liberals sit on the fence to not offend anyone and they somehow managed to offend someone so much that it resulted in cut brake lines? but still - this violence worries me. we need more open dialogue and discussion about the policies that could perhaps once again really stir people to pride in their leaders .... and instead, we get the opposite. (more alarmingly, they are targeting federal liberals while complaining about mcguinty - if your'e that angry about politics, at least get your enemy right)


(as a final aside - it's wrong when my reaction to a conservative commercial is laughing out loud, right?)

happy birthday, mr. keith

if you change the b's and g's in blogger (the route of the blogspot site), you get globber. how do i know? well - i switched the letters ... where did it take me? well ... no where, really. but - if i wanted to spice this post up ....

but, i won't go there. we gotta keep this place disney-friendly, right?

the second of two days of my writing exercises - and the second of two where i have nothing to say. let's cross our fingers for something good for day three.

turning, turning

when i'm driving somewhere by myself, i like to listen to music. but - not just any music - music that i can sing along to. but when i say sing - i mean like, belt out at the top of my lungs. and when i say music - i mean show tunes.

specifically - i've been focused on les miserables. i used to listen to this incessantly (often while cleaning up the kitchen) when i was younger - and still, all the words are there at the tip of my tongue.

now the dilemma comes - i am going to be taking the thanksgiving weekend. however - i will not be alone. can i still bring the show tunes? or should i be talking to my road trip mate? with two- we could do duets and plays different parts! it would be so fun. perhaps i should forward him the music and lyrics now so that he can learn for the weekend ....

(ok - so this is all pointless - but i'm trying to make myself write again... so dribble that's more useless than usual will likely be the norm for the next while).

what to do

it's like an ice rink. you're gliding along - there's the occasional bump, but nothing to fret about. you steady yourself - arms out to rebalance yourself - and with another stroke you're sailing again. the air is crisp, not cold. the snow falls lightly. you look up and through the starlight, you feel as though you're twirling - like one of those cheesy movie shots - the worlds opens up lovingly around you. you take in a breath and smile, because - you're happy.

but then - someone speeds speeds by - you're spun one way, then the other and for once, you can't resteady yourself. even though you were being careful, even though you were looking over your shoulder - keeping yourself aware - you fall. you never thought you'd be here - but, sometimes it doesn't matter what you do - sometimes the world shifts, things change ... and you're left to pick yourself back up and figure out how to move forward.

you sit up and brush the frost from your knees and check your hands for scrapes. the crowd continues to skate by - laughing, giggling - but sidestepping you. on the ice, the air is suffocating. you look up - expecting a hand - but know that the hand you need is not there. but you can't sit there and wait for something that will not come. it's time to get up - even if you have to stumble.

belatedly, the last assignment

April 11, 2008

Mother Nature needs to take an anger management class. She's at it again, the bully -– I wonder wouldn't play with her this time? I can hear her try to sneak down the hollow of my chimney. But, I'm safe. The flue is shut.

I respect her – fear will do that. My lesson was learned as I stood with my family, in the usual place, watching the Canada Day festivities. Colours burst through the air as we gazed up in childish wonder, safe under the man-made glow. We shouldn't have ignored her. Mother Nature was silent, sulking and then suddenly jealous. A slice of lightning. A punch of thunder. Then it was done. My brother, a few feet away, was on the ground. A screaming world swirled around me. At last, he staggered to his feet and we ran for the safety of the cottage. Mother Nature's laughter rolled through the night - forever Queen of the Playground.

peter's little pet

"It's really amazing how quickly I can feel at home. Already almost one of the natives – partaking in their quaint rituals: siestas in the afternoon, a little vino with our 10 p.m. comida." The hotel's patio overlooking the Mediterranean was his stage. The poor couple across from us, his captive and unsuspecting audience.

Peter and Janet had been there a day, and they were still shaking the last remnants of jetlag here in their tourists' paradise. She knew they had only seen the real Spain as a slide show, scenes changing with the click-clacking of the train from Barcelona. But, Janet would remain quiet. Truth would spoil her self-important boyfriend's needs. The point of the story was always the same: Revel in the glory, the splendour that is Peter. She was free to withdraw and decided to engage in her favourite activity: people watching. As long as she was physically there, he wouldn't miss her.

Janet's gaze had fixed on a sturdy Labrador, bounding around his owner, when Peter's fingers pressed her arm. Her signal to perform, to be "the girlfriend" - to nod, to titter, to agree. She was well trained, Peter's little pet. He would never suspect the boiling jealousy she felt as the dog flashed by, red leash streaming behind, like a flag of freedom. As always, her china doll smile was perfect.

grey

The lines on the article on her desk are beginning to dance off the page in time to the incessant tap-tap typing beyond her work space. She shakes her head and tries to resume reading, but a voice breaks her concentration. "You know it's a bad night when it takes three shots of tequila before you can even pretend she's worth looking at." She swivels in her chair, searching for the source of the disturbance. The walls of her cell mock her. The furnishings - drab, neutral - are adept at hiding the grime that disputes the existence of the regular cleaning service. Her eyes narrow on the owl in the wildlife print that adorns the wall. Is he the one sharing this uninspired tale of inebriation? The foul de-oxygenized air must be suffocating the portion of her brain dedicated to reality. The voice continued: "You know, fat girls are like mopeds: fun to ride, but ..." She sighs. It's just Jason, the pompous foghorn doing time in office 347. The wax paper walls are no match for his twanged drawl.

p.s. i cheated and did not post my poetry assignment - it was pretty horrible - so we'll pretend it didn't exist.

white knights ride donkeys

DING

I bet his mother picked out his outfit. Wait, he’s mumbling something. Charlie Rubble? Oh Charlie, you’re a long way from Bedrock. Are you too shy to look me in the eye? This is so pathetic, yet another computer programmer. If I tune out now, I won’t have to hear him wax poetic about the un-fracking-believable phenomenon that is Battlestar Galactica. At least his shirt is ironed … it really brings out the colour of his eyes. Pure blue, they’re almost unreal. No receding hairline either (that’s a first for tonight). If only he’d muss it up a bit so it wasn’t such a Lego man hair helmet. And that smile, so endearing, so genui --

DING

sleeping senseless

“Where is it? I can’t find it.” My sister pawed through the closet like a squirrel in search of its forever misplaced acorn.

“Huh?”

“Where did you put it?” A dirty sock landed on my face.

“Wh.. what?”

“Where is it? Where’s my necklace? Where did you put it?” The dresser drawers, now the innocent victims of her midnight rampage.

“ … necklace?”

“MY necklace. Don’t play dumb with me. I KNOW you stole it.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I wish you’d make sense. Which necklace – what does it look like?”

She turned, the dumbly contented sleepwalker. “Well, actually,” she said, “it’s socks.”

dye a log

"i want it to be pink," he said.

"pink's so unnatural for maple though!" she said.

if you haven't gotten it yet - class number three was about dialogue. (ok, this is a couple weeks late - but i figure i should let you in on the lesson before i present my assignment).

apparently dialogue can be one of the most powerful part of the prose. it can say so much with what characters say and don't say. a lot of the lesson was about letting the dialogue talk by itself and to take away all distractions. keep simple tags like he said or she said and stay away from things like she exclaimed or he cried, etc. also - adverbs are apparently a huge sin.

the talk about dialogue did make me start to pay attention to the dialogue in books. usually i don't pay all that much attention to dialogue. maybe that's a sign of my introversion - i find the observations and internal musings of individuals much more interesting than their interactions with others. i found when i was writing this week that i really needed to put in more than just the dialogue - i needed more description. (apparently this was somethings i was supposed to stay away from in the assignment - we're supposed to work on things that we're weaker at and not to use our strengths at crutches or something like that).

thinking about it - i really should work on my dialogue more ... although, maybe it'd be better if i practiced talking to real people rather just writing about it ...

pressed time

and time for my good beginning ... although, i must stress that good is quite the overstatement. i wrote this while sick and without any real rest .... but maybe my preface is just an excuse ...

(as an aside before the actual story - i love the fido commercial where the guy has to use his video phone so his girlfriend can tell him which feminine hygiene products she wants him to buy).

------

Thinking back, she’s convinced she saw the crystals of ice before she felt the big hunk of snow break over her head. Startled, she paused, but only long enough to shake the snow from her hair. No, Vanessa could not slow down - she was hurtling forward with unbridled momentum. Her Blackberry demanded that she continue to her next appointment, but something restrained her. Pressure on her shoulder. Annoyed, Vanessa spun around and met his calm, blue gaze.

- Hey, are you okay?

And so she met Len.

a good beginning ...

so i think i might have over-reached last time - i said i'd write a note about my lesson and then give you a taste of what i had written for the assignment that week. well - writing about the lesson seems like a lot of work and i'd have to re-write my notes, plus i feel like it'd be cheating the teacher who had put the notes together. but, i will still give a brief summary - but it's just a summary. and of course, with any of the lessons that we get and rules we're told, it's important to remember that rules are made to be broken - you just have to be aware of why you're breaking them and be doing it for a good reason. a writer must be very aware of what he is doing and ensure there is a purpose for it.

anyway - back to a beginning. what makes a good beginning? we had to bring in some first sentences in books that we thought were good and then discussed some other examples. my favourite was from a molly peacock book and went along the lines of "when i was three, i decided not to have children." ... the example i brought in was from "portnoy's complaint" (philip roth): "she was so deeply imbedded in my consciousness that for the first year of school I seem to have believed that each of my teachers was my mother in disguise."

but what does make a good beginning? everyone seemed to have a different definition - among them, it has to be something to pique your interest, to raise questions - to make you want to continue reading. it could help put you in the time, in the place, meet a character - it can help introduce you to the genre (for example - from "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.")

these discussions are interesting because it really helps you think about what kind of reader you are personally ... after this week's workshop (where we talk about ppl's work) - i realized that i really like beginnings that introduce me to a character. a character can be much more important than a setting. if the character isn't compelling or interesting, how can they take you through the whole novel? although, i do also like beginnings that let me know i'm going to learn something from the novel (i do like the well-researched, historical books).

i would type more - but i'm starting to lose circulation in my fingers. the house was 16 degrees when i woke up - and now the thermostat tells me we've made it up to 19 ... i guess i shouldn't complain. it's still almost 50 degrees warmer in here than outside ...

writing class

so, i've started a writing class. i know some of you (ok, one of you) who reads this blog has been somewhat interested in my progress (as in my writings) as well as what sorts of things i'm learning. so ... in response, i've decided that i will post some of my work as well as some of the notes from the class. excitingly for those of you who have been disappointed with my lack of entries, this means that i'll now be doing about 2 a week for the next 10 weeks or so (although - i must warn you that there are two weeks without class, so - there might be times when i'm making entries less often ... but at the same time, i'm finding myself more inspired to write now, so maybe this will make me write more often period. it's all an experiment ... let's see how it works.

so ... without further ado (wow, i just wrote that as "adieu" .. what was i thinking?), here's my assignment from week number one - to write about a childhood place. i have tentatively entitled it, Ribbit:

The tractor coughs and then sputters before it continues ploughing the field just beyond the rustling reeds of the creek. Peeking out into the sunshine, I absorb the scent of fresh earth. For April, it is surprisingly humid underneath the tiny bridge.

I brush away the flake of cement that has become stuck to my forehead. This old bridge is falling apart. Rory's too scared to play under here. But still, as I explore, the stoic white German Shepherd waits, standing there, ankle deep in the water.

-- Crrroak -- I hold my breath. -- Crrrroooaaaakk -- I squint in the dark and the big, green frog comes into focus. I creep along towards the wily amphibian, crouched down so as not to hit my head. -- Plop -- he tries to sneak away, but I'm not fooled. It's easy to track his hops. I'm going to catch this frog!

The muddy water oozes into my pink rubber boots. Despite my best efforts at stealth, I slosh along. Little by little, I near my prize. Then, the fateful step onto that slippery, slimy stone.

When I open my eyes, Rory's licking my nose. Maybe Mom is right, playing under the bridge isn't safe.

champagne anyone?

so i'm looking up stuff about birthstones and travelled over to wikipedia's page about birthdays. they have a list of special birthdays - including that of the champagne birthday. their example for a champagne birthday? turning 27 on december 27th! i feel like i'm one step away from being cited in wikipedia! that's almost famous, you know!

perceptions

knowledge is powerful. knowledge is indispensable. knowledge is dangerous.

why do i say this? i, the one who is a self-admitted information addict? how can i make such statements against knowledge? what has caused me to turn against it? do i still trust it? do i still crave it?

it's natural to let the knowledge of the past inform opinions of the present. sometimes we have to learn things the hard way and hopefully that experience keeps us from repeating our mistakes. but what about when we learn of the history of others. should that inform our opinions of the present?

i've been reading lately. well, reading more committedly as of late than before ichapod went into his current vegetative state. my books often take place in different times and in different places. lately there seems to be a recurring theme of revolution, rebellion - and of racial division. what's scaring me is that it's starting to make me look at the world differently. in canada, we're so far away from that struggle - from those emotions - from that deep hatred, the passion and need for freedom. it's easy to paint everyone with the same brush. but then you start learning about the past and it changes things. it can make you embarrassed of your own history. it can make you question others' motivations. it can help you understand where others are coming from - but, at the same time, it can make you wonder what's really hiding underneath. what are people not expressing? is everything as open as we would like to believe? does the white snow wipe out the history? how dangerous is our naivety - or should i call it ignorance?

or am i just getting paranoid?

(wow, that's a lot of question marks)

oh, shining torch

after a rather bland fall, the cn tower has once again become a beacon of colour and light. it seems to have really began with the seemingly uncolourful grey cup. the colour schemes that are chosen are usually fairly self explanatory - silver and green for the roughriders, blue and white for when the leafs play, red and green for the coming festive season ... but tonight? yellow and red. am i missing something?

yeah - this is a lame entry - but i was feeling like i wasn't writing enough. i gotta get back in the habit. i'm taking a writing course starting at the end of january. i think i'll have to start now to get those creative juices frozen (they're much like popsicles right now ... time to defrost)

r.i.p., ichapod

i must confess: i do not have the best luck with electronics. or, this is what history is teaching me at least. the latest victim? ichapod - my ipod mini. yes - i still have a mini - it's almost embarrassing to bring out the oversized, yet once so slim and sleek mini. they haven't even made them in over two years.

anyway - a few weeks ago i dropped ichapod, once again. he usually was able to survive these little free falls to the concrete (much more resilient than you or i, for sure). alas - this time was different. after the fall, he started acting funny. i finally was able to get him to turn off - but, when i tried to turn him on again there was nothing. i gave him a couple uh ... taps of encouragement, we'll say - and finally he turned on. but instead of his usual menu coming up - he came up with a rather not good looking face:

i must admit - this was almost as traumatic a thing as when my sim decided to commit suicide. (for the record, i've decided no more virtual people deserve such a fate and have not played the sims since).

now, ichapod has been in this state for a few weeks now. i keep hoping in vain that when i try to turn on he'll be all honkey-dorey (just as when i cross my fingers when i try to turn on my old thinkpad every few months ... you can't accuse me of being totally devoid of hope and optimism).

and what impact has this had on me? well, my walking is now lacking a soundtrack. no pleasant tunes to keep my mind occupied. the result? i think i'm thinking too much. this cannot be good. i think it might be time to bite the bullet and buy a new ipod.