Monday, July 31, 2006

Mild Crisis

I have to admit to some anxiety these days. The planet feels suddenly so small. There’s nowhere new to go. Nowhere that hasn’t been touched and likely ruined. Nothing that you can fully trust, not even food. I can’t stop thinking about the inevitable doom of humanity. And you think New Orlean's was a bad situation? The Earth has been uncharacteristically calm. Wait until Yellowstone blows (it's apparently long overdue).

I say, so what about Israel and Lebanon? It doesn’t matter. In a million years, humans will be nothing but the thinnest layer of sediment in earth’s history, to be uncovered by a species of (hopefully) higher consciousness.

What is the bloody point of living on? Here’s where I oscillate. On one hand, I question even having a kid. In their lifetime, they have a good chance of witnessing the swift decline of our planet. Maybe I already love my kid and his or her kids enough not to bring them into this bloody mess. “Our children are the future.” Yeah, but there’s not much you can do when you’ve been bequeathed a load of shit. There will be no other planets. This big ball of miracle is it.

On the other hand, I really like cold beer on a hot day and other such moments. Meaning, perhaps we will be the last enviable generation and I should focus on doing future generations proud.

Either way, it’s getting harder to do things that I don’t care to do.

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Sunday, July 30, 2006

On Meteors

Unfortunately, I don’t think this possibility gets me out of doing the dishes.


I asked them how much warning we would receive if a similar hunk of rock was coming toward us today.
“Oh, probably none,” said Anderson breezily. “It wouldn’t be visible to the naked eye until it warmed up, and that wouldn’t happen until it hit the atmosphere, which would be about one second before it hit the Earth. You’re talking about something moving many tens of times faster than the fastest bullet. Unless it had been seen by someone with a telescope, and that’s by no means a certainty, it would take us completely by surprise.”

(…)Even if we did manage somehow to get a warhead to the asteroid and blasted it to pieces, the chances are that we would simply turn it into a string of rocks that would slam into us one after the other in the manner of Comet Shoemaker-Levy on Jupiter – but with the difference now that the rocks would be intensely radioactive.

--Bryson, Bill. A Short History of Nearly Everything. Canada: Anchor Canada, 2003. Pgs. 202-205.

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Friday, July 28, 2006

I'm Looking Over Your Shoulder Right Now

TREV: sorry. just being distracted by the new assistant editor. he's so fucking creepy.
WORKING: yeesh.
TREV: he's not creepy in the usual sense. he's a very nice guy. young, married, newborn. he just....hovers.
TREV: and if there's anything that would drive me to commit mass-murder, it’s hovering.
WORKING: Don't I know it.
WORKING: Can I blog that?
TREV: sure. just don't hover.

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Thursday, July 27, 2006


WORKING: Did you read the part about going to get my hair cut soon?
TREV: no
WORKING: Well, now you know.
TREV: you're getting a haircut today?
WORKING: Yup. And a dye job. Gave you seen my roots lately?
WORKING: Terrible.
TREV: bah
WORKING: Okay, I gotta boogie. I must shower.
TREV: so what time will I see you?
WORKING: 7pm'ish?
WORKING: What do you want for dinner?
TREV: I have no clue. Chicken I guess
WORKING: I was thinking kabobs. With that peanut sauce.?
TREV: do I need to pick some up?
WORKING: No, I'll get it on my way home. I have to get stamps anyway. Lots and lots and lots of stamps....
TREV: ha...true
WORKING: Okay, I have to shower NOW. BRB.
TREV: ok

* * *
WORKING: I'm back. Fresh as a daisy.
WORKING: Are daisies really so fresh? I mean, they grow in dirt and dogs pee on them.
TREV: I guess they just look fresh. People always say, "oh look, fresh daisies."
TREV: you could say "fresh as a skinned dear"
TREV: fresh as a head wound
TREV: skinned deer, I meant.
TREV: what a way to wreck a joke
TREV: I was gonna go on, but I ruined it

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Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Love Those Atoms You're Wearing

So Close linked to this site featuring before and after pregnancy pictures, I guess in an effort for women to feel better about themselves.

After viewing the site, I was walking the dog and listening to the following passage*. It seemed somehow relevant:

…(It is a slightly arresting notion that if you were to pick yourself apart with tweezers, one atom at a time, you would produce a mound of fine atomic dust, none of which had ever been alive but all of which had once been you.) Yet somehow for the period of your existence they will answer to a single overarching impulse: to keep you you.

The bad news is that atoms are fickle and their time of devotion is fleeting – fleeting indeed. Even a long human life adds up to only about 650,000 hours. And when that modest milestone flashes past, or at some other point theabouts, for reasons unknown your atoms will shut you down, silently disassemble, and go off to be other things. And that’s it for you.

Still, you may rejoice that it happens at all. Generally speaking in the universe it doesn’t, so far as we can tell. This is decidedly odd because the atoms that so liberally and congenially flock together to form living things on Earth are exactly the same atoms that decline to do it elsewhere. // The only thing special about the atoms that make you is that they make you. That is of course the miracle of life.

--Bryson, Bill. A Short History of Nearly Everything. Canada: Anchor Canada, 2003. Excerpt from Introduction, pgs. 1-2.

* In other news, the string of crappy audiobooks has ended! Dog ecstatic over renewal of long walks! House possibly getting cleaned this very week! I mean, Bryson's audiobook is
17 hours long. I may shingle the roof, too.

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Saturday, July 22, 2006

A Lovely Evening... Up Until the Movie

The one and only redeeming quality of “Must Love Dogs” was…. Nope. I can’t think of one single thing.

Man, my movie karma sucks this weekend.

P.s. 10 year-old scotch really improved the taste of those almond-stuffed olives, though.
P.p.s. Trev, I.O.U. some 10 year-old scotch.

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Trevor's In the Prairies

Last night I ravaged half of a store-bought BBQ chicken (ugh), a bag of dill pickle chips (where's the pickle these days?), a container of almond-stuffed olives (harsh), and the last bottle Steamwhistle (always reliable). I watched Coronation Street (good), Cheers (all right) and ‘9-5’ staring Dolly Parton, Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda (meh, but I liked the clothes).

After finishing the latest Peter Robinson (excellent), I slept fitfully. Every time we heard a sound, Charlie and I would tiptoe upstairs in the dark and listen very carefully (Charlie needs her claws trimmed). I actually wondered which one of us would do the fighting if we had to.

He’s only been gone 12 hours. And he'll only be gone approximately 30 more. Seriously. I gotta get a grip.

Update to add: Just finished watching 'The Terminal'. Mr. Spielberg, do you honestly not know when to roll credits? Jeezus. He leaves the Terminal. THE END.

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Thursday, July 20, 2006

Found Note

to kiwi

you should be nicer to me and not laugh at me because i ripped my dew claw off from my leg it really really hurt, you know


p.s. i am not stupid you are stupid your stupid eye is stupid and you are a faker

Okay, that’s enough, kids. Let’s not make this into ‘a thing’. Your foot hurts and Kiwi’s eye is infected. You’re both equally injured.
Love (equally),

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Ode to Our Corrie

Can you love a show too much? I think you can. Maybe you go around stalking actors, thinking they are their characters? That's a little overboard, right? And if you’re doing that, maybe you need to think about taking a vacation? (That doesn’t mean a vacation to go do more stalking)

I admit it, I have a bit of a passion for a show. But it’s a really good show, is ‘our Corrie’. I mean, four plus decades and still going! I like a show with history and so many threads. Those writers will pick up a thread, run with it a bit and then suddenly drop it. If you like American-style soaps, this show isn’t for you.

If you like chips and lagers and expressions like “sod off!” and “yew whot?”, you might dig this show.

On Tuesday, we had the pleasure of attending an annual Corrie gathering at a local pub. I had the fish ‘n chips and Trevor had bangers and mash because we're nerds (sorry, love, but it's true). And apparently I don’t want to fit into my wedding dress (which doesn’t actually exist yet. I should probably get on that).

One lady dressed up like Bet Lynch. The organizer pasted stickers on our back that had character names on them. It was a 20-questions thing. Trevor and I turned out to be long-standing rivals Ken Barlow and Mike Baldwin (Note that Ken Barlow (actor William Roache) has been on since the very first episode in 1960).

Feel free to send me your Corrie questions. I now have access to a whole new batch of real experts. Thanks to them for throwing a truly fun evening. On the night of Cilla's wedding, no less! I mean, that's memorable.

I want to know: Has there ever been a show in your life for which you would completely 'nerd out'? I mean, attend a convention or pub night? Come on, fess up.

Now, Corrie Quotes for your reading pleasure (found on IMDB):

Cilla Brown: Owt you've got to say to Les, you can say to me! Got it?

Janice Battersby: Well, what if I was going to say, he's going out wih a fat, ugly, useless trollope. Bin it!


Sean Tully: Think... think. What would Angela Lansbury do in this situation?

Isn’t it just devine?

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Tuesday, July 18, 2006

A Story by Kiwi (Edited and Translated by My Human (GV))

I am licking my balls on the shag carpet in the middle of the floor. It was a long night and it’s bloody hot outside. All the time, now. I didn’t bother doing much except keep an eye on that skunk and some raccoons and chase that annoying Fat Cat away. Man, is that guy fat. Oh, and Big Cat tried to beat me up again but he’s scared of me now because I only have one eye that opens. I’m like a pirate.

But it’s nice in here anyway. The stupid Dog is too dumb to stay inside. She rolls in dirt with her stinky, slimy ball, not even caring that mulberries are mashing all over her. Man, that dog is stupid.

There is My Human (Girl Version) setting something on the floor. It’s that carrying case thing! I haven’t seen that thing in a long time, maybe since The Big Trip, when I was stuck in it for a day and I peed all over myself. Despite that, I like it a lot. I like to crawl into it, where it’s dark and close and I look out at the world.

See? I’m in it now. So nice. Wait, the door is closing. Why is the door closing? Why are we moving? Is this a joke? Ha ha, let me out.

Out of the kitchen, down the hallway, out of the door, down the stairs into where it’s really hot. Down the street. It is happening so fast. I'm being jostled. I’m confused. A bus is coming right for us and I panic. Then all I can see are feet and the ground is moving so I start to howl. My Human (Girl Version) sticks her fingers though the holes in the sides but I turn my back on her. Big fat help she is.

* * *

I’m in a new place that has a lot of smells, including a dog who's obviously just died. A New Lady is talking and talking and poking at me. She smells like other cats and the dead dog, which makes me nervous, but she knows I like a scratch right here, under my chin. She keeps pulling my eye apart and I hate that. My eye wasn’t even bugging me that much anymore – I just liked the look.

Suddenly, the New Lady is scooping me up. I’m in a different room and I can’t see or smell My Human (Girl Version) anymore, which scares me because I think she’s my only way out of here. I’m held down, restrained, I can’t move. I'm terrified. I'm blacking out and the only thing I can hear is howling, growling and hissing. I think it’s me.

* * *

I memorize the landmarks I can see out the window of the car driven by a man who smells like too much human. Just in case we aren't going home. But turns out we are.

My Human (Girl Version) opens the door and I take my time, smelling the edges of the cage just to be sure. It smells like old mulberries and Dog. It is home. I exit, keeping low to the ground because I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone stick pokey shit in me anymore.

I feel shaky and woozy. I go back to my carpet. The dog is smelling me, smearing her cold, wet nose along my fur. She stops at the place where they put the pokey things in, burrowing her nose in my fur. Normally, her slime bothers me. But now I just feel sick. If I just stand it for a minute, she’ll bugger off. And she does.

Edited to Add: All this drama for annual shots, blood tests and micro-chipping? I swear to God, Kiwi. It’s me who spent $300. It’s me who should be f*cking ‘sleeping it off’ today.

Glad your eye is looking better, though.
Love, Mummy

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Monday, July 17, 2006

Wedding Plans: The Spa Day

WORKING: Do you want in on the spa the day before our nuptials? "For the Groom: 60 minute Body Massage and Scalp Treatment.”
TREV: does it come with a "Happy Ending"?
WORKING: Oh for God's sake.
TREV: ha!
TREV: sure, count me in
WORKING: Really?
TREV: sure
TREV: why can't I have a spa day?
WORKING: Do you want that massage or would you prefer nails and toes?
TREV: massage.
WORKING: Oh, it comes with Hand and Foot relief. I wonder what that means?
TREV: probably nothing dirty...
TREV: darn it.
WORKING: No, I checked. It's a manicure and pedicure. But I guess calling it "relief" makes it way manlier.
WORKING: Do you feel manlier saying it that way?
TREV: yeah. It implies I've been working hard. Working hard with my hands and my feet.
WORKING: I'm blogging this, BTW.
TREV: I'm sure you are.

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Friday, July 14, 2006

Friday Stinks and Here's Why:

“Has the compost truck come yet?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“What’s that smell?”
“Skunk dead on the road.”
“Oh. If they haven’t come already, I think I’m going to transfer some of that other compost.”
“What compost?”
“The stuff extra stuff in the garbage that obviously should be in the green bin. The stuff that’s been smelling so bad.”
“Be my guest. I’m not touching it.”

* * *

“There. Done. Just in time, too – there’s the truck.”
“How was it?”
“Not bad....”
“...except for the maggots."

Editor's Note: I was disappointed to see there were so many fewer maggots upon my return to take this picture. I guess they don't like light and are now burrowed into old dogfood. But you get the idea. Isn't Science fun?!

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Thursday, July 13, 2006

Carbs in the Baggie

WORKING: How you holding up? (Neither of us slept well last night*, and he didn't sleep well the night before and he still woke me up at 6:30 to say he was off to work. The insanity!)
TREV: meh, not bad. you?
WORKING: Good. Getting lots done.
WORKING: Hey, I found the poop baggie... bag... hanging on a tree at the edge of the park!
TREV: right where you left it.
WORKING: Someone must have found it and hung it up for me to see.
TREV: so you didn't have it on the way home afterall.
WORKING: I HAD it on my way home, I just lost it shortly after I knew I had it.
TREV: ah.

* Funny story - We’re doing the high protein, no carbs thing. You know, for the wedding. I know, I know, how typical and conformist when we promised to be different. I’m not having a bouquet, if that helps?

ANYWAY, last night Trev came home bone-tired and a little down so I suggested we do something to raise our spirits. He requested Thai food. He loves Thai food. We’ve been really good about eating well and exercising so why not a little treat?

Well, the sudden carb injection was something else. Picture chugging a couple of litres of coffee before bedtime and you will understand the kind of tossing and turning night we had. Point of the story - always make sure you have an extra poop baggie handy. That's all I'm saying.

Dammit, I over-steeped my tea again. Blast and hell!

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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Rain Day

It’s raining again. I’m entertaining the dog by hiding her red ball around the house so that she has to find it. Once found, she lays there blissfully chewing on it. It’s made of the same material as those Crocs, so her gnawing emits a loud, rubbery sound. She has a look like she’s just done a hit of ‘the good stuff’.

Kiwi is beside me on the couch. He’s an affectionate cat in that he has to be near all of us. He runs to greet us when we come home and comes to his name. But he’s not one for a lot of cuddling. He sleeps with us, but at the end of the bed.

One of his favorite things is sitting on top of the fridge, watching Trevor cook. Trevor says he’s gathering information for his great escape, in which knives will be used. Kiwi goes outside whenever he wants, so I hardly think this is realistic.

This has been a big year for him. He got lost in the neighbour’s basement. He had a chunk ripped out of his ear in a fight. And the other morning he came home covered in shit. Not shit as in ‘stuff’, actual shit. Species unidentifiable.

Charlie’s ball just rolled silently across the room and came to a stop. She’s gazing at it as though she’s too stoned to go after it, she will simply appreciate its stunning beauty from afar.

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Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Ten Calls in Ten Minutes

EDNA: Hi, Working? This is Edna the babysitter.
WORKING: Where are you? They needed you on set, like, 10 minutes ago!
EDNA: I’m walking west on King. You told me King and Spadina.
WORKING: Yeah....
EDNA: So I got off the streetcar but I think that it is too far from here. You told me building number ###.
WORKING: Oh no. I gave you the wrong address. Can you catch a cab?
EDNA: Okay….
WORKING: Keep the receipt.
EDNA: Okay.

EDNA: Hi, Working? This is Edna the babysitter. I’m at the building but there is no door.
WORKING: No door?
WORKING: Okay, I’ll call someone.

WORKING: Hi Edna? It’s Working. Go to the side street.
EDNA: I did. I am here with the security guard. But I don’t have a key.
EDNA: To get in the elevator.
WORKING: Ask the security guard to let you up.
EDNA: Okay.

WORKING: I’m sorry?
WORKING: Hello? Hello? Heeelllllooooo? Click.

EDNA: Hi Working? This is Edna the babysitter. The security guard won’t let me in.
WORKING: Really? Okay. Have the security guard call the suite to buzz you up.
EDNA: Okay.

WOMAN: &%$# YOU!!! #@$#
WOMAN: GET OUT OF MY #$%#^ WAY!!! Honk, honk!

EDNA: Hi, Working? This is Edna the babysitter. The man in the suite said he didn’t know an Edna.
WORKING: Are you kidding me?
EDNA: The security guard wants to talk to you.
SECURITY GUARD: Hi Ms. Working. Edna here needs to go up to suite ###?
WORKING: Yes. They need her on set. Any chance you can let her in?

WOMAN: YOU %$%#$$@&^#$%--
WORKING: Oh no you don’t.
Dials back. Voice mail.
WORKING: Hi. This is Working at ###-###-####. Your cell phone keeps calling me and when I pick up, you’re swearing like a sailor at traffic. I thought you should know.

EDNA: Hi Working, this is Edna the babysitter. I’m at suite ###.
WORKING: Oh good.
EDNA: But there’s no one there.
EDNA: No one will answer the door.
WORKING: Are you kidding me? Okay, I’ll call you back.

WORKING: Hi Edna. Working. Turns out they’re on lunch until 2:30. I didn’t know.
EDNA: But you told me to be there at 1:00pm sharp?
WORKING: I know, I know. I thought, well, anyway, I messed that up. I’m so sorry. Er, can you go to lunch or something?
EDNA: I guess so.
WORKING: Thanks Edna.
EDNA: Okay.
WORKING: Keep the receipt.
EDNA: Okay.

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Blog Pirates!

One of my favourite blogs was hijacked today. The hijacker has implied that s/he would delete the blog with one push of a button.

Mistress Matisse, as classy as ever, has asked that readers refrain from commenting. She clearly doesn’t want anyone giving the bastard any attention.

Certain things suggest it's a personal gripe and won't be that harmful. However, this could serve as a minor warning, especially for you more popular bloggers. You might wanna back up / print / save your writing.

And I may be naive about how the Blog Pirate did it, but maybe change your password every once in awhile. Of course, our wireless password is 26 characters and I'm beginning to think we have a signal bandit. Something is sucking up the so called “Ultra High Speed” bandwidth and we couldn't download that much porn if we tried.

Robbers and pirates. It's a crazy world, people.

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Saturday, July 08, 2006

Like A Long Awaited Belch

Aleksi showed up around 11AM. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I almost called it off so many times. I knew for a fact I had nothing in me. I was going to fake it all day. Trev made himself scarce, likely for his own protection.

We stalled for at least 40 minutes, talking about how screwed up we are that we can’t even do the littlest bit on a daily basis. We desperately want to, but we can’t. Or don’t. Whatever – the end result is the same. Nothing.

When there was nothing more to say, he slipped off his digital watch, pushed a few buttons and said, “Go.”

To the hum of the air conditioner, we wrote in five-minute spurts. Then ten. Then fifteen. All day. “Again?” he’d ask. “Let’s do it,” I’d say, sometimes already busy scribbling away. We were using pens and paper. Next week, we’ll try this on laptops. You know, to judge the momentum.

Today, I put in three, count them THREE! solid hours of writing. Oh yes. My notebook is half full and my finger is bruised. For the first time in months, all is right with my little world because for once, I got a different end result. And it is freakin’ refreshing.

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Thursday, July 06, 2006

I Laughed So Hard I Broke Another Cup

(I was doing the dishes at the time)

New Charlie and Percy Show:

Yes, we're still around. This one's all over the place, subject wise. But I warn you, only listen to this episode if you're stuck in a long line or just trying to fall asleep.--Trev

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Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Why The Dog Will Never Be The Same

And why I'm seriously out of sorts with Big City Living this morning:

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Saturday, July 01, 2006

Weekend Getaway

It’s T-minus 3 hours until we hit the road for a weekend trip. You can tell because we’re having this conversation:

“Where’s the cable for the digital camera?”
“Why are we taking the cable?”
“I dunno, in case we need it.”
“Why are we going to need it? We’re only going for two days.”
“It’s just a stupid little cord!”
“I hate packing all this superfluous stuff. That’s one thing about you, you pack too much crap.”
“And you never pack enough.”
“I dare you to unplug for the weekend.”
“Come on, leave your laptop.”
“I don’t know! I like having it, okay? Jesus.”
“You’ll never use it.”
“I just like having it. Besides, if we’re stuck in traffic for 8 hours I can work on stuff.”
“I guess. By the way, I can’t find my keys.”
“Great. Which ones are we going to leave for Matt and Adrienne?”
“I dunno… yours? Oh man.”
“You forgot to list me as a driver on the rental!”
“I guess I’m driving.”
“No you’re not.”
“Fine. I’m going to clean the bathroom.”
"Charlie, don’t roll, you just had a bath. DON’T ROLL. CHARLIE! STOP! BAD. DOG.”
“Kiwi just took off down the block.”


"Can I post our conversation on my blog?"

(even more later)
"I found you something at the neighbour's yard sale. As a peace offering."
"Oh. My. God."
"It's R2-D2!"
"I know what it is."
"It's art!"
"What is art, really?"

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