My vacation's finally started...

Had a productive day of shopping and relaxing. Nothing's better than going shopping and getting things you really needed. Well, except maybe helping the poor and destitute. As long as they're clean and not crazy or fervently scratching their nether regions. I guess.

Speaking of which, a disgusting story on CP24 today - appparently, the Second Harvest charity office was robbed. The thugs cleaned house and got away with computers, petty cash, office equipment, a fork lift, and other stuff. I mean, who the hell would go and rob a charity that barely has any cash to start with? I hope the perps end up starving on the street, crawling towards a Second Harvest office while their stomachs digest themselves until their torsos are nothing more than a pool of acid with feet, arms, and an emaciated head sticking out.

But back to non-vengeful musings. Went in for massage therapy with a highly-recommended RMT the ladies at the library aptly named Don "The God" Williams. Very astute. He knew exactly what was going on with my twisted frame. I'll be taking his advice and seeing a naturopath about the tummy problems and talking with a personal trainer about stretching my hamstrings, which Don said were "in the top ten" tightest, stiffest hamstrings he'd ever encountered. I even asked at one point, while he was working on my neck, whether he'd ever said "oh my holy God!" out loud upon discovering a person's condition. "Funny," he said, "you must've read my mind."

So looks like I'm broken. Small, broken, but still good. Uh huh. Yup.

Met up with John, walked down Yonge Street and visited all the used bookstores on the strip. I know it's not a lucrative business, but if I ever won the lottery, I'd open a used/new bookshop with an Internet cafe. They're messy, and sometimes a little oogie (especially the ones that sell used porn... eew), but the stuff you can find! I got a nerly mint copy of Jane Jensen's Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Father for $4.00. Nearly impossible to find except on eBay. Also picked up an edition of Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass for John that I'd never seen before - we're not big collectors, but we sure do like our books.

Also ended up finishing my Sandman graphic novel collection today - yay! - and bought mom Dan Brown's Angels and Demons for Mother's Day. Cuz nothing says I love Mom like a murder mystery about the papalcy. Books books bookie books.

Got some rechargeable AAA batteries at Battery Plus, where the guy barely even let me touch them. All I said was "I need rechargeable AAA batteries," and he said "okay, right here, there they are I'll ring them up for you" and barely let me look at them. He almost sold them to me without the charger! But he had me hooked, so I ended up spending about $60 altogether with batteries and the charger sold separately. Then I went to Radio Shack - which is changing its name to Circuit City - and got new earbud covers for my MP3 player.

Then we had a yumtacular meal at Yummy BBQ on Yonge. If you've never been there, I HIGHLY recommend it for cheap and tasty Korean food. The location at Bloor and Bathurst is especially good. Go with three hungry friends and you can get 5 beers and a huge meal to share for just under $20. And I do mean HUGE. Every animal that walks the earth is on this platter, barbecued up in the Korean fashion, marinated with lots of garlic and soy sauce. Soooo good!

Went to Music World and almost almost ALMOST convinced myself that paying $9.99 for each of The Ewoks and The Droids Animated series and the two Ewok Adventure films would be worthwhile. But then I slapped myself and said, dude, like, they're Ewoks. I know you like the Ewok cartoon theme song, but do you really think buying it is a good idea? (We are the E-E-E-E-E-E-Ewoks/Where the spirits of the forest roam....)

So that's it. I'm hoping I'll have more days like today where I get things done, only don't spend so much money. Probably spend the next few days enjoying my purchases.

Nerds of the world unite!

An excellent post with good comments about genre hating - specifically, how science fiction has been ruined by Star Wars.

This is one of those issues that really gets to me because sci-fi - along with its kissing cousins, fantasy, horror, and speculative fiction - gets a bad rap. After all, only pimply nerds and 40-year-old geeks who live in their parents' basements and watch reruns of Star Trek all day read sci-fi and fantasy, right?

Well, uh, yeah, sometimes, but so has most of the literate population.

Let's just look at a few titles, shall we?

1984 - Orwell
Brave New World - Huxley
Handmaid's Tale - Atwood
Frankenstein - Shelley
Dracula - Stoker
Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Gulliver's Travels - Swift
Atlas Shrugged - Rand
The Chronicles of Narnia - Lewis
Harry Potter - Rowling
The Odyssey - Homer
The Bible (okay, that's a stretch, and I'll probably go to hell for this one, but if you take away the faith part, The Book is a collection of really fanatastic stories)
Farenheit 451 - Bradbury
Dune - Herbert
Alice in Wonderland - Carroll
Jurassic Park - Crichton
The Wizard of Oz - Baum
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea - Verne
Slaughterhouse Five - Vonnegut
The Time Machine - Wells
A Conneticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court - Clemens (aka Twain)
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Stevenson
A Canticle for Leibowitz - Miller

...and so on. For a "complete" list of the "classics" of sci-fi, go here, and look here for more details.

I might add that 8 of the top 10 all-time grossing U.S. films are sci-fi or fantasy based. Same goes for worldwide grosses, though the titles differ slightly. Notice how kids' fantsy content ranks fairly high worldwide - so sci-fi and fantasy must be doing something right ifthe kids like it so much.

So what is it that turns people off about the genre? And why does it consistently get shelved with the romance, erotica, or Westerns section? (Yes, there's a Westerns section in some libraries and bookstores.)

The same question goes for graphic novels, (or as I prefer to call them, kah-ah-mics!) Since the spate of comic books-turned-blockbuster movies, critics have been acknowledging the graphic novel as a legitimate piece of adult fiction and not treating it merely as the adolescent piece of ass-wipe paper featuring a superheros in tights. Even school libraries are getting funds to infuse their collections with these much-deserved pieces of literature.

Even so, the stigma remains, even among "educated" school librarians who turn their noses up at any book whose pictures aren't either drawn by Beatrix Potter or A. A. Milne. The sheer snootiness baffles me. Have they ever even read a comic book, or is Judy Blume the be-all and end-all?

I could go on, but let's face it, the bottom line is this: go read a book. Genre-hating is like any other form of discrimination, and it only goes to show how ignorant you are.

May I present to you...

Jodi Avery and Brad McLean, married couple. Together at last in matrimony and financial assets. Congratulations guys!

It was a beautiful wedding, regardless of how jaded I am towards these things. Lovely, heartfelt speeches by all, lots of tears from all the wedding party, giggles from march down the aisle to first dance. Almost makes me want to have a wedding of my own. As long as there are Ewoks and Imperial Stormtroopers there. No droids though. We don't serve their kind here.

Unfortunately, John started burning up with a fever, so I took him home when the dancing started. I may be coming down with it too - I can feel the tickle in the back of my throat. So Carly, if you or Eric or anyone else comes down with anything, you can blame John, even though he tried very hard not to shake anyone's hand. (Thanks for reading!)

I think part of my personal resistance to the whole concept of weddings is that in most modern day relationships - where the couple lives together and consummates their relationship before the big day - there's very little change in the situation after the fact. And people spend exorbitant amounts of time and money arranging these days, and often end up in debt afterwards. They force relatives and friends and other acquaintances who may not get along well to sit together for hours, awkwardly, if not drunkenly. (No, not you Jodi and Brad, everything at your shindig was perfect.)

It's all well and good, I suppose, if you're in a situation where you haven't ever seen your partner naked, or when you don't live together. Weddings act as the group acknowledgement to the two of you having sex. "Cheers!" They whoop as they drink to your future boot-knocking. "You may now shtupp as much as you like!"

Of course it's not all about the money or bad relations. I'd love to have a big party to celebrate - I just don't want to do the white dress and walking down the aisle and having bridesmaids and speeches and flowers and what not. Tradition is the killer of invention, imagination, and innovation.

For me, it would be enough if John accepted me for his wife 'til the end of days. I mean, isn't that enough?

Well, maybe that, and if Elvis were to preside over the ceremony. With Wookiees as witnesses.

(P.S. John, if you want to have a wedding, I would very much love for you to plan it. Maybe a giant lan party? Where we get to shoot Nazis until a beer and pizza dinner is wheeled around to us? By Imperial Guards, no less! Man, that would be so FREAKIN' COOL!!)

Oh. Dear. God.

My good comrade in arms, Flocons de Mais, has somehow managed to find a link to the nearly complete Star Wars Holiday Special. Starring the original SW cast, as well as Chewbacca's hirsute wife and son.

And Carrie Fisher sings.

*shudder*

One Man Nerdom!

All I can say is BRILLIANT.

The One Man Star Wars and One Man Lord of the Rings shows last night were spectacular. Charles Ross ripped through 3 movies, hundreds of characters, dozens of scenes, and even did all the music to the Star Wars Trilogy and the Lord of the Rings trilogy, each in under an hour.

If you get the chance to see his shows, go. He has an uncanny gift for imitation (though his Yoda sounded a bit Irish for some reason) and did a perfect job of portraying characters like Luke Skywalker, Samwise Gangee, Frodo Baggins and more.

Now, go see it.

VACATION TIME!!!

I'm on vacation!

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYY!!!

A whole 10 and a half days for me to do NOTHING!

So expect very little blogging. Or maybe lots. Depending on what my mood is. Oh who cares, I'm on vacation so NYAH-NYAH-NYAH-NYAH-BOO-BOO! *raspberry*

Going to see the One Man Star Wars show and the One Man Lord of the Rings show tonight - welcome to nerdfest '05! A post about it to come.

Also, the first of my friends' wedding is taking place Saturday. Some plithy commentary on how beautiful/corny/overhyped weddings are in general (still trying to get over my sister's 2003 wedding) will ensue.

In the meantime, what the hell is with Dufferin Mall? It's so OOGIE. I was just there to pick up a few things at the Wal-Mart and ended up having Mclunch in the food courtarium. Horrible horrible horrible! Granted, Dufferin Mall's done a lot to improve itself - lots of renovations, new washrooms, more big name stores, etc. Yet it retains that if-I-ever-worked-here-I'd-slit-my-wrist-in-three-weeks kind of feeling.

(For a really cool site on these types of malls, visit deadmalls.com.)

I once read an interesting article about the invention of the shopping mall, the different categories, and how shopping centres, from the suburban plaza to hugungous megamalls, evolved. I can't find it online, but it basically outlined how shopping centres are classed according to their main draws: major department stores like Sears and the Bay, grocery stores, lower-end outlet department stores like K-Mart and Zellers, and so forth.

In my mind, I think there are only two basic classes of malls: the malls that deliberately separate the people with money from the people that don't; and the malls that don't have bookstores and usually have birds living in them.

Dufferin Mall is of the latter. Of course, it doesn't have any of the ooginess that either the Promenade Mall (the one at Dupont, not Thornhill) or Gerrard Square have. Now THOSE are ghetto. It comes down to this: if there are more dollar stores or crap stores than, say, washrooms on the first level, it's a ghetto mall. To take a page from John's musical life:

"In the ghetto mall...
the poor man walks to the dollar store/
and he learns how to steal off the sales floor/
in the ghetto mall...."

Understandably, these craptacular malls reflect the clientele and the neighbourhood they're in. I saw groups of old men who obviously didn't do much more than meet and yak all day in the food courtarium; teens with too much makeup and dead looks; and the ubiquitous mothers with crying screaming kicking children in tow. I wonder what would happen if the mall were to be filled with health food stores and clothing co-ops? Since so many people tend to spend so much time in these places, would regular exposure to wholesome things change them?

Probably not, but in my universe...

Look! Up in the Sky!....

Well, she can't fly, but she has X-ray vision...

If I could have a superpower, it would be to make snack cakes appear out of thin air. That would be cool. Speaking of which, Twinkies turn 75 today.

Hooray! Cream-filled-cakey goodness! YUM!

Happy Passover!

Okay, I'm a little behind in the celebration, but here's my shout-out to all my Jewish friends.

Johnnie's coming home! YAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!

My goo boo mafoo schmoo is on his way here!

YAAAAAYYY!!!!

In light of this, light blogging will ensue. Don't even know if there will be time to go to the gym over the next week or so. Besides, I'm on vacation as of Thursday afternoon: I plan to do more than just sit in front of the computer all day.

Happy Birthday Hubble!

The Hubble telescope is celebrating its 15th birthday!

See some of its coolest snapshots of the universe here.

My favourite is the one with lots and lots of galaxies, like handfuls of diamonds and emeralds and rubies and sapphires in an inky pool of darkness...

...Oooh, shiny.

Holy Mackeral

As Wedge would say, "Look at the size of that thing!"

If I may give you a little preview...

May the Farce Be With You

In the May issue of the Village Post - a community magazine - there's a little article asking three of the city's politicians which Star Wars character they identified with most. David Miller said he was Luke Skywalker, Jack Layton said Yoda, and John Tory said Obi-Wan Kenobi.

My John was quick to point out to me that Layton is much more like Emperor Palpatine, since he has proposed to dissolve the Senate. And possibly build a grand army of the Canadian Republic using clones. And can probably shoot lightning from his hands.

Other politicians who should identify with Star Wars characters:

Deputy Mayor Joe Pantalone as Wedge Antilles:



If Mayor Miller is Luke, Joe has to be Wedge. Joe Antilles has been in the Star Wars universe as long, if not longer, than Luke. Though he's had his own series of comic books and novels, Joe will sadly never get to be the real hero in the Star Wars universe. He just doesn't have the glitz and glamour a Jedi knight does.

Prime Minister Paul Martin as Admiral Ackbar:



Think of Martin's recent speech about the sponsorship scandal. Then think about Ackbar yelling, "It's a TRAP!"

Opposition Leader Steven Harper as Grand Moff Tarkin:



Dude just scares me. Sure, we all thikn he's kinda cool, but in that bad be-my-friend-or- I'll-beat-you-up kind of way. I fear what Moff Harper would do if he could get his grubby little hands on a Death Star of his own...

Bloc Quebecois Leader Gilles Duceppe as Jar-Jar Binks:


You have to respect Duceppe - he's a man with integrity. Then Episode 2 proved that Jar-Jar Duceppe's absence really didn't do much to affect the overall suckiness of the film. Besides which, I think we all want to hear him say, "Meesa French!"

So those are my picks - what are yours?

Ace of Clubs

Just came back from a rare night of debauchery. Well, a night on the town after a VERY long Saturday at work, anyhow.

My friend Jodi is getting married - woo hoo! So her bridal party threw her the mandatory girls nite out with lots of drinking and dancing. I don't know about naked men since I wasn't around for the first part of it, but I'm sure there were enough gross-tacular men at the club for all of us.

The club is a very interesting scene. One which does not often get enough analysis. Not in blog form, anyhow. Then again, I don't read many blogs, and I'm rather djrunk with a j right now, but... what was I saying?

Club etiquette is one of those things you learn in the "hidden curriculum" as my teacher sister likes to call it. No one really tells you how it's done, or what to do - you're just expected to know.

Not being much of a clubber, I observed some key points to a successful club night, even through my exhaustion and somewhat tipsy stupor, and here I will share them with you all.

1. Get drunk. Not crazy fall-on-your-ass drunk: just drunk enough so that the swaying of the crowds matches the swaying of your head. If you walk in more sober than Jesus during Lent, head straight for the bar and down the easiest-to-drink cocktail you can. Then follow it up with a sipping drink of your choice - wine, beer, cooler, whatever.

The best drinks to have on the dance floor are bottled, so they don't spill everywhere. If you must have wine or a cocktail in a big-mouthed glass, drink it down to at least below the 2/3 filled mark, otherwise it's bound to splash as you make your way through the undulating forest of bodies and back to your circle of friends.

2. a) Bring as little baggage as possible. Having no more than a small shoulder purse, or better yet a hand purse, prevents extra jostling on the dance floor. Check everything you can at the coat check, including sweaters, umbrellas, scarves, etc. This goes for clothes too - it may be only 10 degrees Celcius out, but inside it's a balmy body-heat-induced 30. So yes, tank tops are enough. Check that extra pullover in at coat check.

When it comes to footwear, I've found that sandals at the club, while cute and pretty, really aren't practical or necessary, mostly because 1) the floor gets lots of spillage from dancers' drinks as well as broken glass, and 2) no one can see your cute little pedicure in the dark anyhow. Might as well don those comfy dress shoes and keep your little piggies from being stepped on.

b) Be nice to the coat check people. I almost lost my leather jacket tonight as it had been misplaced, but getting angry and swearing and yelling really doesn't help get anything done faster. Most coat check people get stuck into a horrible little area and are forced to pack in hundreds of heavy leather coats in sequential order on a limited number of racks.

If they really do lose your coat, check around for a sign that says "we are not liable for lost of stolen items." If there isn't one, you have a case to bring to the manager. It's that simple. They'll pay for your jacket if you have a receipt or something (I keep my receipt for my leather jacket because it's under warranty) and won't hassle with you if you even mention a lawyer. In any case, I got my jacket back by being smily and patient. Smiles and not swearing at people should be applied to all the club staff - bartenders, bouncers, bathroom attendants, whatever. Think about it: they'll never be able to relax and unwind at a club like you are because it'll be just like work. *Shudder.*

3. Dance! Most of the standing room you're occupying is dance floor. In fact, at most dance clubs, there's nothing but dance floor. So don't just stand there sipping your drink: shake that booty. Otherwise, you'll 1) look like a total stick-in-the-mud, and 2) probably end up spilling your drink if you don't sway with the crowd.

When it comes to dancing, I find it's best to just do what you do, even if you think you look like an idiot. How do you know if your dancing sucks? Well, if people keep staring at you, pointing, and laughing, then that chicken-dance you're showing off probably isn't going over well with the crowd. Try planting your feet in about the same spot and just gyrating your hips, shoulders, knees, hands, whatever. When the swaying of the crowd is in sync with your own swaying and the room looks as though it's stopped moving, you're in the groove.

4. Avoid dirty men. These are the guys who creep into the centre of your circle and try to grind with each and every one of you and your friends. These guys are prowlers: men looking for nothing more than a quick cheap feel or - heaven forbid - a tumble in the hay. You may be drunk, but don't encourage them. If you feel even remotely uncomfortable, ignore him and turn around and start talking with a friend. If he persists, tries to touch you or talk to you, stop all dancing, frown at him, roll your eyes at your friends, do something to indicate to others around you, "I don't like him, let us push him from the circle." It will become an unspoken - or sometimes loudly spoken - understanding among your group. The dirty man will leave. If he doesn't, that's what bouncers are for.

5. Have fun! And if you really aren't having fun, stop torturing yourself and the people around you, give up your 2-foot-by-2-foot dance floor space and gracefully bid all a good evening. Go home, shower, cuddle up with a good book, whatever turns your crank.

So that's it. I'm exhausted now and pretty sobered up, so to bed I go.

Fiona's finally out of the ER

...except that her colonoscopy won't happen now until... well, probably never.

She was told by the nurses that she was fine and that there probably wasn't any reason for her to stay any longer. So just as she was about to leave, the GI specialists come and tells her she can't leave and that her colonoscopy is scheduled for tomorrow.

If I stay another day, Fiona asked, is the 'scopy guaranteed to happen? No, of course not, they replied. Then I'm going home for a shower, she said.

So that's that. More than 82 hours in the ER being fed nothing but liquids, jello, and a hearty helping of seeing the city's most injured come in and out, and no word on what's wrong.

It almost - not quite, but ALMOST - makes me think a two-tiered health care system would work. Except that no one in my family would pay for medical attention. Bah, broken leg? I have another. Vaccines? Who needs 'em. I don't have the disease now, I'm sure not going to get it later. Am I right?

Fiona's STILL in the ER, part II.. and milkless me, part 1 of 8 turned on its side

Yep, still there, and her colonoscopy has been postponed yet again.
I didn't go to see her today - I was cleaning up the house in anticipation of her return. I'm sure the last thing she needs to see at home is a giant mess.

Meanwhile, on the subject of bowels, I think I've determined that I am lactose intolerant. I've had various stomach problems most of my life, ranging from the gut-wrenching pains like those Fiona has, to mild indigestion, gas, bloating, and the like. I decided after one particularly uncomfortable bout to heed the suggestion of a few websites and start eliminating things from my diet, starting with wheat. Milk was second, and its elimination proved to substantially lessen my overall queasiness.

Problem is, I really like milk. I have cereal 6 days a week. I really like cereal. Now I'll have to eat it with soy milk, or something weird like that. Flocons de Mais will probably suggest beer. Unfortunately, beer definitely contributes to my oogy-tummy feelings.

I don't know why I'm discussing my tummy problems openly on the net. Then again, I discuss them with anyone who will listen, or at least not walk away while I'm talking at them.

Blogs sure are fun that way...

Fiona's STILL in the emergency ward...

...along with the drunks, crazies and now, a lot of old hurt people.

The ER was BUSY tonight. There were four stretchers with people in them. Lots of old people, including a woman I was sitting next to in the waiting room who had broken her leg. I could see the bones in her ankle and shin had been shattered pretty badly. It was lumpy and pale like oatmeal. Yet she did not complain - maybe it was her other leg. Who knows?

Fiona remains where she was, more than 40 hours after her arrival. She told me she had a bad night's sleep with doctors flitting in and out of her curtained-off cubby, checking her blood pressure and taking blood samples. Thank goodness the pain and bleeding have stopped. She was scheduled for a colonoscopy today (collective AAUUGHH!!!) but it's been delayed until tomorrow, which means another night in the ER.

We've made her as comfy as possible with blankets and pillows, comic books, school work, music, toiletries - we'll be moving in furniture pretty soon if she doesn't get out of there fast. She's been allowed clear fluids here and there, but not 12 hours before the 'scope, so oral nourishment of any kind is as sure as rain in the desert at this point.

The IV drip is pretty gross. The nurses keep missing her veins, so her arms are covered in bloody holes. At one point we were watching how quickly the bag was dripping and jokingly remarked that Fiona must be hungry. About an hour later the nurse came by and was rather shocked at how quickly the flow was, so stemmed it. Heny and I felt stupid for letting Fiona's IV arm get so swollen with saline.

("I am tired of people making fun of my enormous hand. It all began in 1975, when I was born...."The nurse looked at me funny and edged out of the room backwards. She probably thought I was the crazy lady a few cells down.)

I could write a post about how crappy our health care system is and about the long wait times in the hospitals, but I really don't feel strongly about anything going on there, knowing these doctors are overworked and underpaid. I do, however, mind the gaggles of staff - nurses, doctors, technicians, paramedics, etc. - that seem to gather about in little knots and just yak it up for hours, doing not very much else. I mean, aren't there people you could be, I don't know, helping? Couldn't you just go out into the waiting room and hand out some packs of gum and juice boxes or something?

At one point, Fiona wandered up to a random doctor in the ER and asked for a Tylenol. He said rudely, "I don't know who you are," and walked away. Luckily, one of the nice nurses - the same one who quickly edged away from me after the giant hand story - went and checked to see if Fiona could have the painkiller, got her one, and settled her.

Now, if all the doctor had said was, "Sorry, I can't get you any drugs unless we check if you can have it first. Let me ask the nurse to check," I would not have taken his stethoscope and given him an emergency colonoscopy...in my head. Fortunately, there are good people who make up ten-fold for the bad ones. They make this planet worth saving.

Anyhoo, poor Fiona has to stay another night.

One more thing before I end: the public washroom is exactly next to Fiona's cubby in the outer hall. Whenever the toilet is flushed, it sounds exactly like a man going, "WOO-HOO!"

More on this later.

Mmm, yummy

Just finished watching Coppola's The Outsiders. Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, Tom Cruise, Emilio Estevez, Matt Dillion, Ralph Macchio (that's right, the Karate Kid had another role!), and C. Thomas Howell, all before they got old, wrinkly and funny-looking.

I especially liked the scene where Darell Curtis (Swayze) is changing out of his itty-bitty black t-shirt and Rob Lowe walks out of the room wearing a towel and a smile. And before any of you who haven't seen the film think something's Sam-and-Frodo about them, I'll disappoint you now: they're brothers in this flick.

I give this movie 6 abs and an unattainable eighth up.

Fiona's in the hospital... again

I awoke and found no one in the house. Several open bottles of various stomach medicines. So I thought, "Hmm, either they've gone for dim sum without telling me, or Fiona's in the hospital."

She had gut-wrenching pains and blood in her stool. Heny took her to the emergency room at Toronto Western Hospital this morning at 4 am. They're keeping her overnight for observation and more tests. That really sucks.

What sucks worse is that right now she's still in the emergency ward - a big room with curtained off cubbies, each filled with other emergency patients. There were several drunks who had been in car accidents. One needed a skin graft for the front of his body. Fi said he was still puking and farting and getting over the alcohol even as we spoke.

Then there were the crazy schizophrenic ladies, and various other people in different states of mind and injury. Many of them djrunk with a j.

Lovely. Thank god she's being moved to a room tonight.

I'll keep you apprised - we hope it's nothing serious, but this time it could be worse than usual.

Too much money

You all know of the infamous list of stupid things my boss asks me to acquire. Well, just so you all understand what he's like, here's a little story.

Once upon a time, Boss bought a 20GB iPod. Or maybe it was 40GB. Possibly even 60GB. Who knows? He had that kind of money to spend, so he might have had all three.

Months after proclaiming its glory and superiority over all things cool, whisperings of a smaller, prettier iPod, the 4GB mini-iPod, were heard among the techno-gadget geeks. "I MUST have one," he declared, and promptly discarded his 20GB/40GB/60GB-whatever iPod and preordered two of the Minis, one for himself and one for his wife. He did this twice with two different employees, perhaps because he did not trust either one to do it right. Or perhaps he had simply forgotten he was spending $400 to $500.

Fate - or Apple, as we sometimes call it - delivered the shiny new fashionable players to Boss's doorstep. He loved them and caressed them and treated them as third and fourth children, just as he had with the previous old dog, the original iPod.

And all was good until the circles of nerds stirred and rumour of an even smaller player - the 1GB iShuffle - made its way to Boss's ear.

Can you guess what happened next?

And so it went, with smaller and and niftier and more useless gear passing through Boss's hands until one day, he realized he could have spent that money on his kids' tuition, or perhaps a scholarship fund for students in need, or maybe a donation to a homeless shelter, or a cash gift to the cancer society, or as a gift to a certain disgruntled employee, or....

Depression Away!

Just realized that my last few posts have been rather dark - not that it's unusual for me anyhow - but I'd better post something fun and happy before someone thinks something's wrong.

And oldie but a goodie - Lions! - and from the creators of Lions, BADGERS!

And if this doesn't make you smile on a Friday night, well then, you're probably as depressed as me...

[collective morose sigh]

The only thing they're 'Ultra' in is being asshats

An excellent commentary on CBC's site about how the recent soccer riots in Turin, Italy were caused by major soccer fanatics known as ultras. They go around doing REALLY stupid things that are definite causes for RAAAARRRRGGGGHHH. Like waving Swastika flags at games, and making monkey calls to black players.

Humanity is very strange this way. A small handful of violently psycho fanatics always manages to ruin the reputation of a much larger group of less psycho fanatics.

Why can't we all just... beat up the idiots?

Whoa, jinx-tacular

I came across this while searching the web to confirm whether or not the actress who plays the Ben Stiller's fiance's sister from Meet the Parents did die recently. And she did. Of pneumonia. That was misdiagnosed three times by different doctors. Boo-urns.

Now, normally I'd embrace the morbidity of this site, but something about it dosen't quite sit right with me... it makes death too REAL or something, I don't know.

Why I prefer to be cremated

Obviously, I don't want to have even the slightest chance of waking up in my coffin a la Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 6. But here's yet another good reason. And besides, can you imagine the real estate prices when I die?

Better than cremation, how about turning me into bling? I like shiny objects.

And stay dead

Good riddance.

Not that I condone violence, murder, or anything that leads to unnecessary death. Therefore, I propose that whoever gets convicted for the guy's death should, as part of his sentence, eat the remains, just so we can say he didn't waste the meat.

(Anyone out there want to donate a deep freezer for the cause?)

Go-go-go-go-goooooooooooaaalllll!!!!!

I was watching the Italian news and saw footage of a guy getting bonked on the head with a magnesium flare. Ouch.

More flares were thrown, riots broke out, people wearing bandanas were rushing police lines. I thought it was footage of a great political uprising in Turin, Italy, over something important.

But alas, no. It was Liverpool vs. Juventas.
If the Pope were here, I bet he'd be angry. "Jesus H. Christ, it's a football game!" he'd yell.
Or, as North Americans call it, soccer.

Hey Liverpool/Juventas: calm the heck down or the Pope's going to come back and lay some holy smackdown on y'all.

Ann Coulter

Thanks to Michelle, my favourite passtime has just gotten easier.

Vic is ok. That's me in anagram! And anagrams don't lie. Ever.

And now for my favourite anagram subject:

Ann Coulter=

Cunt loaner (I figured that one out all by myself! I'm so proud!), A runt clone, A con let run, Lace on runt, Clean or nut?, Unclean rot, Central Uno, Not nuclear, not unclear, Nun locator, Cartel noun, Rectal noun, Clan en tour, Neo Clan rut, Our Clan net, No true clan, Can our lent, Can't rule on, Can't lure on, Orca tunnel, Taco runnel, Lone car nut, Act role nun, Lone cat run, Cat nun role, Lean con rut, Lean cot run, Nonreal cut, Learn no cut, Real on cunt, Real cot nun, No real cunt, Real con nut, Real cot nun, Earn no cult, On near cult, Non cult era, ultra nonce, An ulcer ton, Ran to uncle, Rant no clue, No cruel tan, Cruel on tan, Lone tan cur, No uncle Art, Rat on uncle, Tar on uncle.

John Michel McGrath (cuz he's my schmoo)=
Major mech hatchling, Hmm he can jilt ho crag... you know, there are so many of them, you'd better go look for yourself.

Another cause for RAAAAARRRGGGGHH!!!!

Now, as much as I like Ray and understand where he's coming from (and that he's saying this all in relative jest), his beef with the TTC is mostly unjustified.

Dude, like, you gotta lay off the TTC workers. I'm kinda miffed that I have to taxi to work on Monday too, but it's not the bus driver's fault. They work under a union and it doesn't really represent the wishes of each individual TTC worker.

Think of the teachers' union: if we kicked teachers in the head everytime they proposed strike actions because they want a little time for prep, my sister, who is often opposed to striking, would get a big boot to the noggin'. That, and no one would be around to watch the brats between 9 and 4. And The Fonz says that ain't cool.

(end address to Ray. Begin address to the masses.)

We can't blame TTC worker for their grievances. Think about all the shit they have to put up with every day: dumbass customers who don't know where they're going, a large sundry assortment of crazies, people throwing themselves in front of the trains, punk-ass kids who frequently forget their student pass, aging buses and streetcars, working 12-hour days and on holidays and weekends, tracks that desperately need repair, an administration that makes them all look like idiots by investing in stupid ideas like the Sheppard Subway line, and so forth.

Yeah, sure, you can say all you want about a secure, cushy job sitting on your duff all day, and you can argue like many do that the points of contention are "all about money". But the people who are getting paid "well" in our eyes are the people who often have to put up with tons of shit. What would happen if we only paid TTC workers $30K a year? How well do you think the system would run then, with massive turnover and even more unfriendly workers who couldn't give a rat's ass if you got off at the right stop?

Over the past 25 years, the TTC has only gone on strike for a total of 10 days. That's 10 days out of 9,125. That's 1.09% of 25 years, for all you mathmaniacs out there. And I gotta say, 99.9% of time in service ain't too shabby.

There's no one place we can lay the blame. The TTC has had to endure funding cuts along with a decreasing ridership. People say they hate the TTC because it's crowded, it's late, it's not reliable, etc. Well why the hell do you think that is? Let's break it down, shall we?

Not enough money = (less funding for mechanics who fix buses + less money for drivers & other TTC workers) = fewer buses on the roads = less frequent service and more delays as stupid people jam into subway doors as they're closing = more angry people = fewer riders and more drivers on the road = more traffic congestion (= more air polluition) = even more TTC delays as buses try to get into traffic (that's why they have a by-law that gives buses the right of way, but no one seems to be heeding it) = MORE angry customer = fewer riders and less funding for the TTC = Not enough money = ...you get the idea.

Public transportation is vital to so many aspects of urban living. It's one of the only means of long-distance travelling for the lower class (like me!), it cuts down on pollution with fewer vehicles on the road, it keeps taxes down by decreasing traffic on high-maintenance roadways which cost millions to repair every year... do I have to get Suzuki on y'all now? Pollution causes asthma, which taxes our health system. Oxygen-making, air-cleaning green space is being paved over for parking lots and space-wasting suburbs. Gas prices are soaring because there's less and less of it every day. Cars that wouldn't be on the road except for the fact that the drivers "don't like public transit" run over kitties and puppies and sometime kids.... I could go on forever.

So what am I supposed to do? Cram into the subway and leave my SUV at home? Or, heaven forbid, bike or walk?

YES, you moron! You may have to endure standing next to someone who doesn't smell as pleasant as you do, but the discomfort you'll feel when you're 60 and breathing with a ventilator that you paid a fortune for because every day's a smog day will be much, much worse.

And if you think privatizing the transit system will make things better, decrease fares and so forth, well, I might just point to privatizing Hydro as a stunning example of stupidity.

So my message for today is this: forgo that drive to whereever the hell it was you were headed, and take the transit, bike, or walk. Don't accept offers for drives down to the store unless the driver was headed that way anyhow. If you have to take your car out, do everything you possibly can to make the most out of your mileage. And for good measure, don't leave your car stalling.

It's WAAAY better than my birthday!!!

I came home to find my new MP3 player and my new stylish vinyl purse I got off eBay had arrived in the mail! On top of that, my previously broken CD/DVD ROM drive has been replaced by Senan. Yay for Senan! Perfect timing!

Finally, the nightmare of leaving my room to be entertained is over!

He-llooooooo video games! Did you miss me?

As I am now filling my happy little eyeshadow-compact-sized player with the contents of my CD collection, I am amazed at how far technology has come since I was 13. The coolest thing back then was to have a chunky yellow CD sports walkman that everyone could see, and you had to save games and files on 3.5" floppies.

I remember most of the games I loved - the Sierra games that you can now download in a matter of minutes online - would take up 5 or 6 of those floppies, and they'd all have to be inserted in at some point, and they were text based with graphics... I learned how to type playing those games!

*Sigh*... meeemmm-or-rieeeess... of the daaaays we use to knooooooww......

I have an evil suburban twin

...and her name is Michelle and I hired her to take my old job.

Isn't there a law that says if you meet a version of you from a parallel universe, you have to do battle until one version of you defeats the other and sucks her life force dry so that the winner becomes the most powerful version of you?

I'm pretty sure it was a Jet Li movie. But if Michelle knows Neil Gaiman as well as she says she does (actually, I have no idea if she does, but she does link to him) then she'll know where else this notion came from...

*Vicki throws gauntlet down*
MICHELLE! I CHALLENGE YOU TO GAIMAN TRIVIA!

(*nerd trumpets sound*)

An addendum to the previous post

I would also like to announce that I have secured tickets to the One-Man Star Wars show and the Once-Man Lord of the Rings show. Hooray for me!

John's lucky to have such a nerdy girlfriend - at least I don't drag him to chick flicks and craft shows. Okay, maybe once I took him to a craft show. And I make him go shopping with me. And he's frequently forced to look at shiny objects. But comic book shops and G.I. Joes make up for all that, don't they?

Nerd it up, fangirl...

And do it the only way you can - in STYLE!

I MUST GO SEE THIS! They're only playing two shows in Toronto on June 5 at Roy Thomson Hall. MY DREAM HAS COME TRUE!!!

Go get tickets.

NOW!

...And tell 'em Boromir sent ya'!

One more bundle of newsprint we don't need

It's called Dose. It's a daily flyer paper affiliated with the National Post which also has outlets in Vancouver, Ottawa, Calgary, and Edmonton. It's geared towards the 18 to 34 crowd, and looks a lot like eye or Now. Today is its third day on the streets.

Dose's design tries to be fresh, using mostly stylish sans-serif fonts and grey scale boxes to separate stories and sections. But the content on each page is so dense and blocky, it's hard to tell where one story begins and another ends.

As for content, Dose's identity is "offspring of 24 Hours/Metro after a group orgy with eye/Now." I imagine the "word gurus" pulled fresh out of Journalism school were probably directed to spin out as much snappy Salon-ish content as possible in as few words as possible so that a college freshman with a 60% average out of high school can sound really smart in front of his buddies.

One of the najor problems is that the one-liners at the top of each page try to tie a whole story together, but they end up making no sense, and frequently go off topic. For example, this Apr. 6 edition's theme was "No one can keep a secret." The paper has stoies here and there about secrets, keeping them, what's not a secret, publication bans, etc. But it does it in such a condensed way it reads like a drunk sporadically ranting about his favourite topic while also talking about his wife until he pukes all over the pages.

The paper is replete with factoids and condensed features whose topics - though intriguing and not quite run-of-the-mill daily news material - really need much more than 250 words.

For example, an article about the use of biogas technology in Uganda went on long enough to explain how it workedand where it was "successfully" in use. But it didn't bother to explain why the hell we're not using it here.

Of course, this Coles-notes feature style is where Dose is likely to shine. Their target readership doesn't have time to read a whole article about anything important - they've got to finish reading King Lear or The Last of the Mohicans by next Thursday! And with it's sleek, urban, I-also-own-an-iPod slim design, it makes an excellent alternative to its bulky sires, eye and Now. Its the perfect thing to take with you to Tim Hortons and leave on the bus.

At this stage, I can't say I welcome yet another flimsy daily that will clutter up the recycling box and fill our drinking water with more runoff from the pulp and paper mill. Hell, I work at a magazine, and we probably kill at least one tree everyday. The only good thing about this paper so far is that the National Post has removed many of its rarely-filled, beaten-up distribution boxes to make room for the shiny new black-red-and-white Dose boxes. (There's a moratorium from the city right now that's restriciting any new publication boxes on the sidewalks.)

Sorry, didn't mean to go on so long about this, but if you're reading this last line, it probably means you skipped everything in between. (See? I was right about people not wanting to read about anything important!)

Now make it say "I like women's underwear!"

Talk is cheap. Gobble gobble gobble gobble...

Peter Jackson did it the hard way

Watch this, this, this and this.

Can't get enough? Then see the rest of them here.

"What my parents tried so hard to keep from me" - OR - "This explains a lot"

We had gathered to celebrate my sister Fiona's 30th birthday (happy bday, older-not-bigger!) and were discussing her natal day, the freak winter storm that closed Toronto schools that April 4th in 1975, and subsequently the birth dates of my younger sister, Jenny (hang in there, kiddo, school's almost done!) and my own.

Granma (Dad's mom) arrived from Hong Kong on the day of my birth just hours before my mother went into labour with me. Once she was in the hospital and my father had settled my Granma in at home, he got the call. "We had a girl," Mom said.

"Hey Ma," Dad yelled to Granma in Cantonese, "We had another girl. What should we call her?"

My Granma shot my Dad a look as if it were obvious.

"Number Two, of course!" she said.

My Chinese name, So Sik Yee, means "great, plentiful and suitable." Great. Now I can finally add the word "poo" to that particular descriptor.

Man, I always knew I was a great big heaping pile of shit.

Thanks Granma. And subsequently, thanks for fattening me up and chasing me all around the house with spoonfuls of food whenever you were bored. Now I'm a shapely lemon of a girl with bright yellow skin and great big birthing hips. THANKS.

Dad said that before she went back, she really wanted to see me take my first steps. Only I was too fat to stand upright. I think the sound he made at the dinner table to illustrate this point was: "BAL-LUMBP!"

See, Granma? That's what you get for making such a fey-fey-dey (fatty-fat) kid!

(Granma died more than a decade ago...I never met her, but really folks, I am grateful. Please don't kill me Dad.)

Trying to get someone sued...

I was reading Get Fuzzy today online, then later came across another strip in Metro, the commuter paper, called Pearls Before Swine. And I thought to myself, I feel a great disturbance in the Force.

So, who wants to sue who first?





(April fools!)

When I grow up, I wanna be...

A LADY WINGMAN!

Sign me up!

RIP Terry Schiavo

May she finally rest in peace.

What can I say that hasn't already been said?

Except, of course, that God would be one ironic fella if the Pope were to lapse into a permanent vegetative state.

(Dear Lord: I'm not a religious woman, but...)

I know, I know, I'm going to burn in hell, etc.

The Chinese have done it again!

Well, actually it was the Germans. But it would have been cool to add this to the list of pasta, gunpowder, and paper.

Now there's finally a solution to my plastic bag problem.

RIP Johnnie Cochran

OJ's lawyer has died.

Next on Fox: The Johnnie Cochran Story, starring Will Smith as Johnnie Cochran, as Samuel L. Jackson as Snoop Dogg, and Neil Patrick Harris as the ghost of Tupac Shakur.

The Appalling Race Roundup

From former Ray vs Denise champion, Denise Ing:

***

Thank you to everyone who hosted an event for Raymond vs Denise 2: The Appalling Race. It was truly challenging to both Raymond and myself as evidenced by the close scores throughout.

11AM - Effie created an impressively elaborate scavenger hunt that had Raymond running away with a victory. In contrast, I ran into some branches and cut my lip. I quickly turned this to my advantage by telling everyone Raymond punched me in the face. Nonetheless, the score was Raymond-3, Denise-2

1PM - Met for competitive lunch in Koreatown. Joined by Jon, Amy, Jenn and Edwin. Elaborate Rock,
Paper & Scissors rules were quickly thrown out the window because Raymond was "starving". Raymond got the non-spicy appetizer and spicy main dish. I got the spicy appetizer and non-spicy main dish. No points were awarded but Raymond and I both got our rewards when we left our "friends" to deal with the bill. Thanks, guys!

2PM - Outdoorsy Fiona and Heny decided to test our survival skills. For almost an hour, Raymond and I struggled to start a fire with a piece of flint and an Ikea butter knife. Raymond created a single whopping fire that soon died out. I created three fires that died out even more quickly. Unclear on who was more pathetic, Fiona and Heny awarded equal points to us. Raymond -5, Denise-4.

3PM - In the true spirit of The Amazing Race, Jennifer and Edwin allowed us to choose our task: count or calculate. I chose to count tiny shell pasta. Raymond chose to calculate the income tax return of Harry Potter. Points were awarded on accuracy. Equal accuracy meant a tie except for the fact that Raymond finished first. Raymond-6, Denise-4. Special note: Jenn and Edwin had spent 3 hours counting tiny shell pasta in preparation for the event. It was worth it!

5PM - On arriving at Jennie and Jason's, Raymond did not find an early arrival bonus. Instead, Raymond and I raced up the stairs to the 31st floor to see who would get the bonus. Instead, we became lightheaded and exhausted at the same time. We were then ushered to a dual Scrabble/Puzzle game. Again, Raymond and I came out with equal points - previously unheard of in Scrabble. Raymond-8, Denise-6.

7PM - A relaxing round of Simpsons trivia awaited us at Joe's place. I prevailed with knowledge of Flander's store (The Leftorium) and Germany (The Land of Chocolate). Raymond lost due to ignorance of Radioactive Man's sidekick (Fallout Boy) and Apu's last name (who really knows?). Raymond-9, Denise-9.

8PM - Back to Jennie and Jason's for an unexpectedly elaborate challenge: The Tin Chef. With a budget of $20 each, Raymond and I had to create edible/tasty dishes with oranges! With little experience, Raymond and I managed to impress judges with bowels of steel (Fiona, Jason and Jennie) with our creativity and nerve. Raymond's chicken and orange stirfry impressed both the judges and Raymond. But my whopping five dishes of orangey goodness won the judges over. Raymond-11, Denise-12.

10PM - In the final event, Jon and Amy boldly snubbed the embarrassment rule and had the opponents eat chocolate pudding without their hands. Raymond demonstrated that "it is not about speed, it's all in the rhythm" and won by a longshot. Final score: Raymond-15, Denise-12.

Again, thanks for all the effort and enthusiasm. Be sure to catch this summer's blockbuster: RVD 3, a cheap cash-in on the first two installments.

Denise

Walktopus

Suddenly, I have a craving for calamari to go.

The article about this octopus behaviour here.

RIP Andre Norton

RIP Andre Norton, the estranged - but always friendly - auntie of sci-fi.

Norton passed away March 17 of a congestive heart failure at the age of 93. She was a prolific sci-fi writer of more than 200 books and short stories.

I've never read any of her work, but it's going on the list. Meanwhile, (not to yuk it up too much now, it's a sad time after all) , I feel sorry for the page at the Merril Collection (my old stomping grounds) who must now undergo the task of entering the death date manually onto the file cards.

Don't forget: 2005. PERIOD.

Raymond vs. Denise II

And now you ask, "What the hell is...?"

Last year, my older sister's wacky friends, Ray and Denise, held a birthday competition where they each performed a series of tasks/stunts and earned points based on their completion and the quality of completion. For example, points were awarded to whoever threw up the most after going on a few rides at Wonderland. Points were given out for whoever could get into a stranger's photos. And so forth.

Think of it as The Amazing Race... only stupid.

Denise was last year's champion. Now Ray plans to topple the Empress of Everything and claim the Throne of Thrills and the Footrest of Follies for himself.

But this year, it'll be more difficult. The two titans will go head to head and race around the city to various destinations - i.e. their friends' houses - where they will perform gruelling tasks the likes of which you've never seen.

Stayed tuned for it folks - and god, I wish I were joking - it's THE APPALLING RACE.

And you'll get all your RvD2: THE APPALLING RACE coverage here, only on OF NO IMPORT.

And now a message, paid for by the Associates of Raymond Chow.
(I shit you not, this is what I got in my email. Why are my sister's friends so much more interesting than mine? No, not you John. Nor Teri, Cindy, Yee Lee, Susan, Janny, Cristina, Karen. And whoever else is reading this. Bah, who am I kidding!? You'd never do this, would you?)

(Dark ominous music.)

Narrator:
"Denise Ing claims to be a proud 'Canadian'.  Why then does she claim to be a proud
Chinese and a proud Catholic?  Which statement is true?  Is any of it true?
Can you trust an RvD winner who flip-flops her demographics to please any special
interest group that comes along?"

Narrator:
"Denise Ing claims to support education and healthcare.  Why then are school
teachers on the verge of a strike, and hospital emergency rooms pushed to
capacity?  Since Denise Ing won RvD1, your healthcare and education have not
gotten better.  They have gotten WORSE."

Narrator:
"Denise Ing claims to be a champion of the little guy.  Why then does she
still maintain economic ties with her family's Dutch banking conglomerate:
'ING Direct'?  A company that has admitting to doing business with the
Nazi's during World War 2?"

(Happy music begins.)

Raymond Chow:
"On March 27th, we have the opportunity to speak our voice.  Let Denise Ing
know that one year of Denise Ing as RvD champion is one year too many.  My
name is Raymond Chow, and I approved this message."

From the depths of late-night work hell....

I write this nearly 3 hours after everyone has left the office. It's production week here, and things need to be done. This is second time this week I've stayed this late. But at least I get free dinners out of it.

Is it a bad sign when you actually enjoy working late because there's no one else around? Am I really getting more anti-social?

Let us Pray to the Goddess of Technology...

Computers are like spouses: they are both the most wonderful thing in the world and the most infuriating thing in the world. (But I still love you, John!)

So I have no idea what's happened, but my DVD-ROM/CD-R drive won't work. I've been buring things lately and the drive has just gotten slower and slower since I started. Now it won't read any disc at all.

Help! Anyone out there have a solutionn apart from mine, which is to break the tower open and scold the first component I see?

Genie Awards

Now, I'm all for supporting Canadian film and art, but I've got a beef with the Genies.

Mainly, does anyone know what a Genie looks like?

Oscar has the naked man with the sword. Grammy' Gemini: two facs got little gramaphones. Golden globes: golden globes. MTV Movie Awards: gold popcorn.es. I can even tell you that the Motor Trend Car of the Year award is a gold caliper. So what the hell is a Genie?

Well, this is. That's right, the symbol of great award-winning Canadian films is a strangely androgynous chair back with a J.Lo booty and an extra ass for a head.

Now with all due respect to the sculptor, couldn't we have something that's not so... ambiguous? I'm not saying we should have a big ol' film canister with a reel of celluloid sticking out of it wrapped around a maple leaf, but maybe something a little more classic and memorable. If I saw that on someone's shelf, I'd have assumed it was picked up at a trendy Queen Street furnishings store and not some great honour won through dedication, hard work, raw talent, and a very low budget that didn't allow the actors or directors to eat for a month.

But perhaps the Genie statue's design isn't the problem. (Again, I'm no professor of art or design, so what the hell do I know?) Maybe it's that after 25 years, this honour means little to the Canadian public. We try to make it out to be a big deal, an opportunity to wave our flag around and loudly mumble the words to our forgettable anthem. But how does the Canadian public see the Genies?

In a recent conversation, friends jokingly said that anyone could win a Genie, and that it was like the "actor's welcome package". I myself laughed and said it was a step above winning a Razzy.

Now that I ponder on it, I think the Genies need more pizzazz, better PR, a bigger green room, a longer red carpet, a nicer take-home gift bag, something! But as Canadians, we just don't dig that scene. We don't have two hours of Genie countdown with commentary on what who is wearing and who they're with, etc.

I guess the bottom line is that the Genies AREN'T the Oscars, that Canadians AREN'T Americans, and that's the way we're going to keep them.

Still, what a gawdawful statue. Can we at least get rid of one of the asses?

That reminds me... what does a Juno look like?

I love Toronto

It was a gorgeous Saturday to walk around the city.

Had dim sum with the folks, did a little tour of Chinatown and Kensington Market, headed down to Queen Street West and perused the many eclectic shops in the neighbourhood. Haven't been down in a while, so I've missed out on a lot of great new things.

They opened a Nutty Chocolatier, and it was aboslutely gorgeous in there. Lots of Gelato and ice cream all ready for the first day of Spring! And free truffle samples! YUM!

Sadly, the used bookstore is closing down May 22 - yet another victim of the Heather Reisman Chapters/Indigo empire. But I picked up a pile of books for the family at half off.

But coolness to the max: Bakka has reopened a location on it's home street of Queen St. West, aptly called Bakka Phoenix, at Markham Street. The shop isn't as homey as the other two stores were, but it's still the most awesome place to get sci-fi and fantasy.

Another cool shop on our voyages was the iconic shop that had all kinds of keen imported trinkets including food and floral miniatures and these wicked custom handmade steel figures of all kinds of sci-fi charaters like the Aliens from the Alien movies, Star Wars characters, Godzilla.... they're made with bike chains and things you find in the hardware store. So cool.

Had pizza at Amato's - YUM!! Shortly thereafter, we had dinner with the family in Kensington Market at this new place that barbecues everything in a wood-burning oven. Very keen. They're still in their first month, so they haven't worked out all the kinks yet, but it's worth the visit.

I dunno why I'm suddenly a big ad whore for these places... I think I just miss walking around the city I love so much. Thank gawd for Spring.

Kisses and hugs for all of you!

Well, not for all of you, just for John, really. But you sad people will take what you can get, right? (I might pont out that you are reading my blog...)

Now onto serious topics:
Is there nothing beer can't solve?

I've just come off a horrible day at work. I started the day cranky, I ended it crankier. I was so tense that my hands were shaped into permanent claws. My spine has a giant knot stuck between my shoulders just below my neck.

So I had a beer and chugged it down as quickly as I could. (Which is to say quickly for me - I'm a tiny one, I am.) It didn't hit me until about the last 1/7 of the bottle. At which point I relaxed and went "ahhh, no more pain and anxiety knots."

Then I sobered up again, and the pain began again. So I went home and had another beer. But this beer, being of rather poor quality, didn't do anything to relieve the back pain. It only makes my head spin slightly.

So here I am, trying very hard to concentrate with a giant kink in my back to write this post.

All I actually wanted to say was that this week, my boss made yet another request of me to add to the list of bat-shit crazy stuff he wants.

He asked me to remind him to call someone about buying a truck. A broken truck. That doesn't drive.

Your challenge this week is: can you guess why?

The person with the correct response earns 1,000,000 Vicki points to be redeemed at your local Vicki outlet*.

*(Some restrictions apply. Not available in Quebec, Nunavut, the Northwest Territories, Manitoba, Saskatchewan, the Yukon, Ontario, Alberta, British Columbia, or the Maritimes. Vicki points are to be taken under strict professional medical supervision. Vicki points may cause blindness, werewolfism, diarrhea, the condition known as hot dog fingers, gigantic eyeball, and various other symptoms. Use only as directed.)

Dear LOTR, they can't....

Let me get this straight.

Peter Jackson made a masterpiece trilogy of movie that took 7 years to complete, millions of dollars, thousands of man hours, and innumerable pairs of silicon hobbit feet, and the Mirvishes want to debut a two-hour MUSICAL version of Tolkien's classic?

Poor J.R.R. He's probably spinning in his grave like a top right now.

Now here's a fun game - write your own LOTR lyrics!

Aragorn!/He's a ranger!/No one could be stranger!/Though he'll keep us out of danger!/
Aragorn!/He was born/to take the seat as King!/He'll free us from the Ring!/The ring of power!

Legolas!/He's got nice ass!/Even for an elf he's fair!/(Gimli likes his underwear!)

Gandalf likes the hobbit leaf/though it makes his mind quite slow
He won't go without the grass/(not the kind you mow!)

Boromir/you're not strong enough/so in scene three you'll be killed off!

Merry and Pippin/we didn't need you/to be in this show/we couldn't afford you/so we changed the story a little bit/and made the Fellowship seven/don't worry our great lord Tolkein/is singing your praises in heaven....

Sam and Frodo/don't know/Mount Doom is easier to get to/on eagle-back/You'll get through/the perils of the laaaannnnnd...oooffffff...MORDOR!

Things that make me go RAAAARRGGHHH!!!!!

My new favourite thing to fantasize about is setting people on fire with lighter fluid and strike-anywhere matches. It used to be breaking people's knees with a baseball bat, but I retired it after I realized I had lousy follow-through and kept hitting my own knee with the momentum of the back swing.

So I'm on my way home, and I woman on the corner is begging for change. "Spare change?" she calls repeatedly. Then a couple of big guys waiting on the corner for the light to change respond.

"I haven't got enough change to change my mind!" Says one loudly.
"No thanks, got some." Says the other gruffly.
"Haha! Good one!" The first one laughs.

Now, I don't have the right to say they were wrong to deny the woman a little money, considering I don't give handouts myself, but something about these two really irked me. Maybe it was because they were fat, greasy white trash boors in beer t-shirts and trucker caps with bad moustaches and thinning mullets.

Not 20 feet away on the next block, a woman slowly passed a biligual bank machine and loudly pointed out to no one, "They're in Chinese now!" and muttered quietly to herself, as though waiting the be acknowledged for her brilliant discovery.

This, too, irked me, being of Chinese descent. Now, she didn't go outright and say it, but I think the message was clear from her tone: the chinks are taking over and they're starting with the TD bank machine!

Horrors! The yellow peril is upon us! Hide your ruddy-skinned sons and daughters from these devious slanty-eyed Chinamen!

So I did it, twice, within the span of 30 seconds. I took out my imaginary bottle of lighter fluid and made ready my imaginary match in my palm. I walked up, sprayed the offending hunk of flesh with the pungent fluid and before the creature even figured out what was happening, I sparked the head of the match with my thumbnail and tossed it at them.

And the world was suddenly bright with the light of humanity's waste aflame, their wild writhing a dance to the gods that made them, and the screeching was their music.

And by the music and the dance and the new light of the dark world, I felt cleansed and at peace.

In my head.

Yeah, some of you are probably going, "CUKOO! CUKOO! Call the men in white!" and others are probably googling the Possible-Dangerous-Offenders Tip Line right now. But I felt the quiet rage pulsing in my veins tonight after these encounters. Why?

Maybe I saw each of these passerbys as representing everything I deem is wrong with North American society. Maybe I hate racism (if that was indeed what it was) and neanderthal moronity enough to want to burn it out of our collective, even if it meant getting rid of individual human beings.

Does that make me a bad person, or a sane one? Or does that make me a potential despot who should never be allowed to hold office?

The bottom line is, they bothered me. So naturally I wanted to set them on fire and watch as they tear through the streets clawing at their burning flesh. Naturally. (Admit, you do too.)

Super innuendo

From the animated series, Justice League Unlimited, The Cat and the Canary:

[Black Canary talks to Green Arrow in the gym.]

BC: "You happy punching the bag, or do you want to go a few rounds with me?"

How did the censors let this one slip past? I choked on my own breath laughing.

Bunny Kitty movie, part 2

If you liked the first part of this cute little flash, you'll love the second.

Evil cartoon clone

Sir Richard Branson. Multi-billionaire with a penchant for technology and spending money on interesting projects often involving flight. Considered one of the top 100 Britons of all time.

David Xanatos. Multi-billionaire with a penchant for technology and spending money on reawakening winged creatures known as Garagoyles from a thousand-year-long enchantment. Travelled back to the 10th century to pull a Biff/Griff a-la-Back-to-the-Future to later become one of the richest men and most influential members of the Illuminati in the world.

Coincidence? I think not.

Here's a scary thought...

What if everyone in the world were forced to write a blog entry everyday?

Apart from the dictatorial overtones, I can only imagine the good that would come from having every single persons thoughts broadcast through a medium that could technically be accessed by just about anyone in the world.

Of course I'm not saying that everyone should just write whatever they think, like "Boy, would I ever like to bludgeon my boss to death with a dead tuna," or "Today I made a big poop that was the colour of creamed spinach and it smelled like Apple Jacks." Unless that kind of thing floats your boat.

But imagine this: everyday, every man, woman and child over the age of 6 would have to write a blog entry. Nothing long or meaningful. They could just leave one word if they wanted to.

But imagine how much thought people would put into it. No one ever says just one word, especially if the public's around to hear it. People would be forced to put a cohesive thought together and write it out in a sentence. And think about the improvement in grammar and spelling! Nobody wants to look like an idiot (and even if they do, they do so wittingly) so they'd be forced to think about the spelling of they're and their and there.

And once you get past the grudging "Oh, fine, here's my mandatory blog post of the day", they might even start to talk about interesting things, like "Today, I almost killed my boss, but decided the repercussions were too great, and I hate the Jello they serve in jail."

Stress relief! Just like diaries, they would allow people to release some tension and (anonymously) gripe about their lives.

Sure, enforcing this system would require major revolution in the computing and identity industries, but I still think it'd be neat. Maybe if everyone earned Internet access time based on the length of their blogs, anoymously tracked through email accounts. I dunno, I'm no wizard, and barely practical when it comes to revolution, but a girl can dream.

Office Space Case

Co-workers, god bless em, can be a major source of your daily peeves.

Considering you probably spend more time with your co-workers than, say your family, friends, or loved ones, this comes as no surprise. Not all of them are bad, of course. I lve all my co-workers, if only for the terrific stories I get to post here. Just some worse (stupider/noisier/more annoying/lazier/pickier/etc.) than others.

Among my least favourite noises coming out of people's mouths are the words, "Vicki, just to let you know..." followed by one of the below phrases:

1. "...there's no more paper in the printer."
2. "...we're out of paper towels."
3. "...we're out of milk."
4. "...the fax machine is flashing and I don't know what it means."
5. "...there's a tea bag in the back of the dishwasher. Just to let you know."

Just to let me know. Huh.

Those are all real lines, by the way, spoken to me by real human people who are much older, and who make much more money than I. Here's how I responded to them:
1. "What you mean to say is 'Vicki, could you please help me fill the printer paper tray?'"
2. "They're in the supply closet. Where they've always been."
3. "Uh huh. And you want me to...?"
4. "It means 'my moron-o-meter is going off because no one will read the digital display that clearly says OUT OF PAPER.'" (Inside my head, of course.)
5. "...[long, agonzing stare]...So, instead of reaching in and taking it out yourself, you walked all the way over to my office and used up precious oxygen to inform me that there is a lone teabag inside?"

Is it so difficult to just tack on a couple of extra words to that phrase and change a couple of punctuation marks so that instead of informing me of the state of things, they can simply ask, "Vicki, we're out of milk, and we're too lazy buy more, so could you please go out and buy some for us? Thanks, you're the sweetest girl ever and I'm naming my first-born after you. Have some money."

The other phrase I cringe at is, "Vicki, I don't know who else to tell, but..." followed by, 1) "...the toilet's backed up again"; 2) "...there's a dead thing in my filing cabinet"; 3) "...I keep getting all this junk mail? And, like, I don't want to see it? Y'know? It, like, makes me crazy?"
But at least with the "I don't know who else to tell" line, I can see that the person is sorry for bugging me and understands that I am not necessarily the office plumber/janitor/tech-person, but I will know who is.

The boss is the worst, because he uses this line to cover himself:
"[NAME], could you get someone to clean up the kitchen/take out the garbage/clean up the bathroom/etc."

Someone? You mean, like, me? Or whoever [NAME] is?
So you end up shovelling shit for a hour, and he comes back and says "Oh, I didn't mean YOU. Go ask [NAMES] to help you." Now, maybe I'm too nice and take on too much alone, but why would I go and hand off this horrible job to someone else when you decided to come directly to me and basically tell me to do it? Do you normally go to the nearest person and say to them "could you find someone to take care of this big pile of shit? 'Cuz I know you have nothing better to do here than hopelessly run around and discover just how low on the food chain you are."

Fortunately, I don't have to deal with as much of all this anymore, though I do get the occasional winner. Like today, someone said to me, very pointedly, "Vicki, I missed tea time."

As if I could have roused you from your office, sat you down in the kitchen, then siphoned a gallon of tea into your maw through a garden hose. How about I make another pot, just for you? No, no, I don't mind doing it if it will keep your flapping noise hole shut. I'll do you one up and flaggelate myself with said garden hose for not having served the tea directly to you in your office on a silver tea service cart with fine china and sugar cubes. AND THEN I WILL HUG AND KISS A POISONOUS SNAAAAAAAKE!!!!

Now that's sarcasm!

Again, love the co-workers. No offence to anyone who's reading this from my workplace. Chances are none of these people are you. I bear no ill will, and y'all probably know that I keep my rage close to the surface. Very close. Just under my skin. Like a spandex catsuit.

Me love you long time...

Just finished a great book by someone who is the person I aspire to be.

Kim Wong Keltner's The Dim Sum of All Things was given to me as a Valentine's gift from John. He said it was about a Chinese-American girl who falls for a white guy at work, so he had to get it for me.

Little did he know, the main character, Lindsey, is my evil American twin. She's 25, barely speaks Cantonese, works at a magazine where she's forced to clean up after everyone (*ahem*), and she quotes Star Wars!

The best thing about the book is all the Cantonese words that are spelled out in English, and the family members in Lindsey's life, from her Bruce-Lee-loving brother to her mahjong-playing grandmother.

All I can say is that every CBC should read this book. It's lots of fun, and easy read, and doesn't get too Amy Tan on you.

Go read it. NOW!

More ways to waste your time

This fits into my category of "ooginess".

ooginess: [ooo-gee-nez] n. 1. that which makes you feel oogy [adj]; 2. a state of bewilderment, disorientation, and in extreme cases, nausea and dizziness, usually elicited by visual media. e.g. movies include Labyrinth, Legend, Willow, The Dark Crystal, and various other fantasy films from the 80's.

By So Sister definition, oogy movies are those that make you ask yourself, "Have I been asleep for the past hour and a half?" or alternatively, in extreme cases of ooginess: "Did I just do a kilo of coke and not realize it?"

- From The Big Book of Oogie, by Fiona Kwong, Jenny So, and Vicki So.

More than meets the eye...

Everybody's cashing in on Transformers.

Who'd thunk it'd be good for more than just selling toys?

Misery...

I am home from Ottawa and after a l0ng day at work, I've decided life sucks.
Not that I'm not grateful for all the things I have - television, a job, running water, a malaria-free environment, etc. - but bare with me whilst I whine.

I miss my Johnnie (hi my cutie! I wuboo!!). We've been together for 54 months and 5 days now. (Yay! Happy montha-penta-day-versary!) And having just spent four days and three nights with him, waking up next to him each morning and having him lavish me with affection and tea, I am now bereft of his presence. I sob at the black void left in his wake. I cringe at the hollowness of heart and the emptiness of my soul. I wail in despair as I realize that today is the first day of the longest period of time before I get to see him again.

In short, WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Thus, I shall howl at the moon until he is returned to me.

Awwwwwoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0000!!!!

Okay, feelin' better.

From the Toronto bus terminal...

I am writing this from a very awkward pay-Internet station within the bus terminal. So I gues Bell does have a fallback plan for replacing the revenue lost from disappearing phone booths. Keen.

Except of course that this thing is horribly unergonomic. And not terribly cheap either. I put in $2 for 10 minutes with the option of adding each extra minute for 20 cents each. And the corner that they put this station in is filthy - dunno if I should have used this thing now that I think about sanitation.

But anyhow, my bus just pulled in, so I better get on it if I want to get a good seat.

Only 65 cents left anyhow.

Going to Ottawa - Bye!

All I want for Kwanzmaskah....

Never too early to start shopping! Here's item number one on my Christmas/Wedding/Bat Mitzvah gift list.

Get your skis shined up...

Grab a stick of Juicy Fruit. Cuz' that poor guy who gets his guitar smashed up by various people worldwide works at Leoni's Italian Kitchen.

Yep. No joke. He was our waiter last night, and he was recognized by more than one table of customers.

Nice guy. But I can't imagaine how much he must hate his life.

Superman is a dick

No, really, he's a dick.

Not in the dirty way. Just take a peek. You'll be looking at it for hours.

It brings to mind my favourite comic book - a Detective Comics books with Batman and Robin on the cover squaring off against "The Wasp" and "The Raven."

Batman: "Great Scott! Another bizarre character with a fantastic weapon!"

...Yeah, that pretty much sums up most of the superhero comic book industry today.

BE A MAN

Laughed my ass off.

This guy is genius. He's got the accent down to a tee. He sounds exactly like Wok with Yan.

Disney sucks

Not that I have a huge grudge against them for any reason, but with the exception of the stuff they've done with Pixar, Disney hasn't produced anything remotely original or interesting in terms of animated feature films. I guess that's why they bought Studio Ghibli's stuff.

Now, I absolutely worship Miyazaki. He's a storytelling genius and he doesn't impose saccharine morales or cultural and societal values (aka the "beautiful Princess gets the handsome prince"-syndrome) into his work. He's a genius artist and super-talented writer, like Neil Gaiman and Alex Ross rolled into one. I guess I can't begrudge him for going to Disney for distribution. But I think it says something about the state of American-made animation.

Disney, for one, has fallen onto the easy buck: making "II" movies that are so poorly animated they give me cancer. Sure, the II movies have their moments: Aladdin and the King of Thieves wasn't so bad. And Disney had its first ever break-up in Pocahontas II: a new white guy to shag.
But overall, they haven't had an Academy-award-worthy major film with song and dance since The Lion King. (I would vouch for Lilo and Stitch, my fave of the Disneys, but it doesn't have that BIGNESS to it the Aladdin, Beauty & the Beast, or even the Little Mermaid had).

Instead, we've been getting those half-assed hour-and-a-half-long tales like Brother Bear, and Treasure Planet that are just...okay.

What happened to "wow, that was an amazing movie! I can't believe it was a cartoon!"

I'm sure I could rant more on this, but I have no proper way of organizing my thoughts my I'm junked out on my medication just now. And I feel dizzy, so more later.

Feelin' ill

Still sick, hard to move, everything hurts or isn't right.

Think I'm about to have the worst week of my life as I'm due for the "50-dollar bill". "The crimson tide". That "time of the month" when "I'm not at my best" because I'm "bleeding from my vagina."

So on top of being dizzy, weak, congested, full of phlegm, barely able to speak, sneezy, coughy, and all the other hospitalized dwarves, I'm also going to be moody, messy, and downright dislikable.

I've decided that the worst part about this is that I wake up every morning with a giant headache. And I smell like feet. So I shower, pop a tylenol, lie down again, and break out into cold sweats. And smell like feet again.

Ugh.

Okay, too much time at screen, must go back to horizontalness...

Flu shots don't work

Feeling moderately better today, enough so to go to the doctor. Turns out I have a flu. A relatively mild one that Good Ol' Dr. Tang says will probably hang on for more than two weeks. Great.

The worst part right now is that my throat is shredded into ribbons of pain. Can't talk much, and when I do, I sound like Marlon Brando with laryngitis. Lovely.

Meanwhile, my thought for the day: can we stop making plastic bags? I have so many bags now I can't put them anywhere. Someone must want them for something... any takers out there?

It's the tiny bags for CDs and trinkets I can't stand. They aren't good for anything, except maybe putting other little bags into. I've stopped taking bags whereever I can, and I'm just throwing stuff straight into my purse or knapsack.

Maybe someone should accept plastic bags as a recycling program and turn them into bricks with which to make affordable housing with. Or tents, or something. Surelu we have the technology to do that, no?

*Sigh*
Just coughed up something nasty, so I'm going away now.

The worst thing about a cancelled NHL season...

...is that I won't be able to wear my new Maple Leafs jersey I got for my birthday.
Waaahhh!!!!

The body has surrendered

I'm sick at home today - can't sleep, can't do much of anything. Everything hurts.

I've been dealing with a head cold all week since Sunday, after being stuck on the meat packing truck that is Greyhound for five hours on my way home from Ottawa. I thought I was getting better til the cold moved into my throat and lungs.

My mouth tastes like oysters.

So here I am, fluctuating between fever and chills.
Can't look at the screen anymore, so maybe I'll post more later.

Boss character

Those of you who know me have heard me rant on about my boss. It's not that I don't like him... *ahem*... in case he ever gets a hold of this blog...

Anyhoo, he has this tendency to send employees - myself especially - off on wild hunts for things I cannot fathom he'd have a use for.

Here's a short list of things he's asked for from me over the 2 years I've been there, in no particular order. I've put a * next to all the ones I've managed to acquire for him thus far:
- Pilgrim hats*
- A fridge door (just the door)
- Interesting washroom door signs, like cowboy and cowgirl
- A crane (to which I had to clarifyhis meaning. Did he want the bird, a giant machine, a toy, or the carnival crane like the one in Toy Story with the claw and the aliens. The answer is the latter.)
- Mirrors; a full-length one for him*, and smaller desk mirrors
- A jewellery carousel
- Bulgari hair conditioner from France*
- Tamogotchi*
- A take-a-number system*
- An antique chalkboard
- Camping plates (must be plastic, dishwashable, microwaveable, and preferably green)*
- "Cool, weird, wacky" signs for the office
- Christmas lights (he's Jewish...)*
- A dozen butter tarts and a dozen chocolate bars (for his wife on Valentines' Day)*
- A mini iPod (he gave up his 20GB iPod for it... talk about BetaMaxing yourself)*

... the list goes on. It goes on for so long, that I've dedicated two files in my drawers to his requests: requests, and bat-shit crazy requests.

See, I've learned something very important from working with him, or any other crazy boss, and I pass it along to you now:

When you're asked to do something, don't do it. Write it down, and wait until you're asked twice or three times more. Guage the urgency of the request. Only when the words "I need it now now now now now" come into play should you act on an insane request. Especially if it's for a wild goose or holy grail.

And in case you're reading this, boss: my mandate is to be fired in the most spectacular way possible. As in, out of a cannon. Hee hee!

Fun for everyone

I sometimes think about what to say, just for the purpose of making coherent mouth moises. (I guess that's what this blog is all about, after all.)

I often think about those awkward situations when you're with someone you don't really know, say, on a date, and the two of you are sitting across from each other, staring vacantly across the room, wondering why you're there. Books containing dating tips that give you topics to talk about usually have the same old crap, including "talk about your favourite music/books/movies".

So in my cranial boredom, I came up with a fun game you can play in the car.

I call it "Hollywood Producer". Cast a movie that's already been made with the most inappropriate people you can. But they can't be completely far-fetched, and they still have to fit the role, so no casting Jack Black as Luke Skywalker or anything. John came up with this cast for Lord of the Rings. He forgot to add his idea to cast Jack Nicholson as Elrond. Hee hee!

Here's my list:
Aragorn - Johnny Depp
Legolas - Keanu Reeves
Boromir - Vin Diesel
Gimli - Jack Black
Gandalf - Sean Connery (note: he actually turned down the role to star in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen... everyone now! Worst career decision ever...)
Frodo - Jimmy Fallon
Sam - Seth Green
Galadreil - Paris Hilton

Conversely, you can play the conventional "Cast a movie from a book you've read" game, which isn't as fun, but good while drinking.

Happy Lunar New Year's Eve!!

Yay! My favourite holiday of the year is upon me! Tonight, we feast on every animal that walks, crawls, swims and flies. Yum! Tomorrow, I get to collect ly-see (red pockets) from my elders, eat lots and lots of food, and buy things! Yay!

Best of all, I don't have to go to work!

I say let the western hemisphere join in the celebration - a majority of the world's population is taking the time off. Besides, North Americans could use the breather between Christmas and Easter, and a little extra time to plan Valentines' Day.

Anyhoo, I'm home now, and I've got to prepare the grub. I'm off work for the next few days, and I'll be off to Ottawa on Thursday, so no posting for a while.

Happy Year of the Rooster!

Wither art thou brain, Future Shop?

Not that I have any major problem with this gi-normous electronics chain, but I'm suffering from a major flabbergastation right now.

My boss asked me to order two 512 MB USB keys for the office. I went to Futureshop.ca and ordered them online using his company American Express. I was later informed that I'd need to call them because there was some discrepancy in the information on the card. They insisted on speaking to him personally, except that he is on vacation.

Fine. So I had my other boss use his company credit card to order the keys over the phone with the Futureshop.ca phone rep. Then he left for the day. They called not two hours later to speak with him to confirm the shipping address, but got me instead. They insisted they speak with him. So I asked, very politely, how they could expect it was indeed the cardholder speaking to them and not some guy off the street. The rep said they could only hope the person on the phone was telling the truth.

So instead of getting the items shipped off to me in a timely fashion, getting their money, and calling it a day, they have to jump through the flaming sphinctoral rings of bureaucracy to confirm something that might not even be true.

Hmmph. Okay then. If you want to play that game, let's play...

THE DEVIOUS INTERIOR DECORATOR COMMANDS YOU...

BUY A SUSHI PILLOW.


Because Neil Gaiman told you to.

Arrrrghhh!! Hulk Smash!!

I saw the stupidest thing on CP24 today: it was one of those phone-in surveys asking whether teachers should be allowed to strike. The poll was split 1000-odd no, to 600-odd yes. Morons, all of them! I think people who voted that teachers shouldn't be allowed to strike are people who don't want to deal with the inconvenience of thier own children. I mean, hello? You want to take a basic democratic right away from the people who will affect your child the most next to the parents. Why not just send your children straight to the military? That way you'll never have to find a babysitter, AND they'll learn how to make their own bed!

Arrgh, I get all green and lumpy whenever I think about it...

I remember when Ernie Eves proposed that striking be made illegal for teachers when he was campaigning. Moron! Anyone who thinks teachers shouldn't be allowed to strike should have their voting priviledges stripped from them. Then they should be made to teach at the elementary level for three years and see what it's like.

Teachers are often over-worked, underpaid, and, more often than not, are at-odds with enraged parents, problem students, and an administration that does little to help these situations.

Moreover, teachers themselves get a bad rap. People don't seem to realize that they're represented by a very strong union that is trying to bargain for the bare necessities. And when the union comes to the bargaining table asking for something as simple as more prep time for a split grade class, the public goes nuts and says "those greedy teachers, they want more money, they want more time off, they get summers off, what more could they want?"

My sister has been an elementary school teacher for more than 7 years now, and young as she is, she comes home with her share of stories. She teaches a split grade 1 and grade 2 class. Sure, it sounds like you have fewer students of each grade to teach, but try preparing activities for two (or more) different levels, then marking and assessing their abilities.

And don't get me started on the special needs students! Since funding was cut, special needs kids – kids that don't talk, kids that can't read, kids who piss themselves, and so on – have been left trailing behind the rest of the class.

You know why you don't see a lot of teachers posting blogs? Because they're too busy marking assignments and preparing things for their classrooms.

Arrgh... Anyhow, that's my rant for the day. I have plenty of horrible teacher stories to share, so stick around for them.

On Gabriel Knight, and other obsessions

I love adventure games. I've always been a big fan of Sierra's classic third-person quest games, including King's Quest, Hero's Quest, Space Quest, Police Quest, and of course, Leisure Suit Larry.

Those of you who've played any of these games are familiar with the get-this-to-do-that method of these quests. But more recently, I've discovered Sierra's gem series, Gabriel Knight.

I won't go into too deeply into it, since I'm sure you can Google it and find out more. Basically, a guy from an ancient line of demon hunters does good.

In my opinion, the best of the series is the latest, Gabriel Knight 3: Blood of the Sacred, Blood of the Damned, released in 1999. I picked it up for a couple of bucks at the CNE this past year. Wow. Amazing storyline eerily crafted by author Jane Jensen. The best part is, it follows the mystery of Rennes-le-Chateau -- for those of you who've read the Da Vinci Code, you know where the story goes.

Interestingly enough, Jensen based the idea of GK3 on a book called Holy Blood, Holy Grail. The authors of this book are suing Dan Brown for lifting their research and ideas. I wonder if Jensen will say anything about it...

Anyhoo, just shooting the shit. I'm surprised you've even read this far.

Next time: more ways to waste your valuable time.

In the interests of edu-macation...

This, by my boyfriend John. He's my smarty-pants and I love him. 8 )

So does anyone else think Osama bin Laden doesn't actually exist and is just some guy the CIA hired from New Jersey to play "the foreign terrorist"? I mean, how can this guy still be on the loose, unless THEY don't want him to be caught?

Yeah, I know, I'm a crazy left-wing conspiracy nut who also believes in the Illuminati, Freemasons, Santa Claus and Jesus Christ. Truth is, the latter two are one and the same.

(Oboyoboy, do I ever have my place reserved in Hell.... there's a little placard there in the pit of boiling oil and everything...)