Ghetto Bitch Summer

Bat my lashes for Bat For Lashes

2007-09-03T15:03:00.000-07:00

I'm going to ease myself back into the posting saddle with this musical show and tell. Trust me, Bat for Lashes will pour some musical sugar on you. Plus, the video is low-down cool.

This song takes me back to the musical hauntings of my youth: hiding under the covers and listening to the local university channel to figure out what kind of music I liked, since my high-school musical mileau was all Van Halen and Def Leppard.

Mercury in retrograde

2007-06-09T13:41:00.000-07:00

Promise to myself: Once I finally quit that second job that has been an albatross around my neck, I will start writing my own stuff. Here. Once mercury goes out of retrograde, which coincidentally, coincides with my last day of work at job #2.

Dreaming the sun on my back

2007-05-09T09:54:00.000-07:00

I was packing the trunk of my parent’s old Malibu with camping gear. It was sunny, and I looked down and saw my shoes on the rough grain of asphalt. The sheen of each individual rock in the asphalt mix made me look up at the sky. It was clear and hot, and at the edge of my vision the cherry tree in the front yard of my parent’s house was in full blossom, lacing the sky pink.

I returned to the trunk. I was trying to fit everything I need into it. It was full of primary colours, vivid camping colours like orange, blue, red and green. No purple. I don’t like purple. I had to keep shuffling all the colours around to make everything fit in an organized fashion.

I could feel my back getting hotter as the sun started to wake up from its morning chill. I looked over to the trunk of the cherry tree, saw the powdery orange lines of its pollen wisk off in the breeze. An ant closed its eyes to avoid it.

Dream sequence 001

2007-05-08T13:04:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's because I'm sitting on the cusp of spring, umbrella in hand. But I'm having a hard time feeling the posting vibe — rain, clouds, vitamin D deficiency. I have many excuses and lots of internal guilt lapping the cusp like a declawed kitten. I promised myself I would post at least once a week, and I've failed miserably in keeping this promise over the past few rainy weeks of spring.

So I've decided to repurpose some of the dreams I have been sending the work husband to temporarily shim this lack.

Why have I been sending my work husband dreams? Well, the work environment has narrowed my imagination. It requires me to keep my thoughts simple and literal, which is an interesting challenge indeed, but I'm finding it hard to do this while keeping my ideas at fresh and fantastic. So I decided to flex my imagination with some rogue dreaming —stream of consciousness-style.

My early mornings are filled with fractured dream sequences, moving snapshots of information. The only thread linking these sequences is accumulation — like a piece of discarded sticky tape with the detritus of witnessed events and images, real and contrive, affixed to it in a haphazard way.

A dream fragment remembered:

Angelica Huston proudly sitting on the prow of the boat like she was in Life Aquatic. Close up of her hair. It’s tangled and mossy, filled with objects from my youth (barrettes I used to wear, paperclips, thistles). The view pans down her hair, which extends beyond the surface of the water. And as it pans, the lens (my dream lens) tumbles and falls becoming enmeshed in this fettered web of objects and hair. Now underwater, tangled in seaweed instead of hair. Floor bottom is sandy, and feet scramble to find footing on this soft floor. It turns into grains of wood floorboards. The lens is sleeping on them. In a red sleeping bag. A shiny one with images of moose on its fleecy interior. The lens is sideways, as if it’s sleeping on its side. Two boys dressed as Halloween space men wake the lens up by putting their faces, almost conjoined, close to the lens. Their faces looks sideways.

And that’s all I can remember.

Watching the Thompson River Float By

2007-05-05T15:55:00.000-07:00

Got a coffee. Went down to the river. Sat, cross legged.

Watched the geese. Do an odd and amusing calling/burping/mating thing.

Watched Jackson sniff, ever-so-carefully, each blade of grass and then leisurely paddle around in the water.

~From the desk of Indecisive Libran musings.

Rainy friday fare

2007-04-27T13:25:00.000-07:00

Poignant fun with graphs and numbers. A pie chart of your life.

Look out Ladies!

2007-04-17T20:10:00.000-07:00

Holy shit. This is some straight talk. Keeping it R E A L.
"Don't let every man hit the bottom!"
Public Access TV. Uh-huh.

Formidably fomidable

2007-04-16T19:57:00.000-07:00

Jeezy Creezy. This man's talent is surreal. And I mean talent in the straight-up sense of the word talent. No play on words here, just plays on sound.

Life Affirming

2007-04-15T01:15:00.000-07:00

A beautiful Saturday afternoon, 3pm: arriving home with two bottles of your favorite new red wine and fresh cut flowers.

Let's talk about our feelings

2007-04-12T16:04:00.000-07:00

Let's say this is some stupid pop quiz and you have to select an emotion that best describes the average Vancouverite: Sexy? Guilty? Depressed? Blissed-out? Angry?

Angry seems weird to me, but apparently Vancouver is the third most angry city in the world, according to a website that tabulates "I feel" statements from thousands of web logs across the world. Searching through this site, I expected to see Vancouver's emotions aligned with a city that has just been named the third best place to live in the world. Guilty that we have so much personal space and clean air? Sure. Sexy due to the proliferation of exercise and drugs? Sure. But ...Angry?

Angry about the traffic up Cambie Street? Angry about the lack of good brunch places? Angry that Soma moved? Angry that the hippies on Commercial Drive just seem to keep replicating? Angry that a 500 sq foot apartment nows sells for over a quarter mill?

What's worse...Torontonians are the sexy ones.

What is the world coming to?

The last banana

2007-04-10T19:21:00.000-07:00

I'm sad today. And I am wondering why I can never eat the last banana. I'm staring at my fruit bowl right now, preparing myself to move the most recent last banana to my freezer.

I have a freezer full of last bananas. More than eight. Brown and waiting to be loafed.

What does sadness have to do with last bananas? I don't really know. But I'm sure it's a metaphor for a deep lack of something.

Inspiration/Desperation

2007-04-10T18:46:00.000-07:00

I'm a latecomer to Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth. But I'm a BCer--I know all this shit, right?

My boyfriend/fiancee and I drive a 1982 biodiesel Landcruiser--when we drive. Mostly we both walk and take transit. Before Old Dirty Brownie, we both belonged to The Cooperative Auto Network.

But lately I've felt a greater sense of urgency around my usual attempts at buying organic and being diligent about recycling. Maybe it's because I'm now living in Toronto, where people smoke everywhere and throw their butts at your feet; where they shoulder-check you on a regular basis in the endless, subterranean mallplexes that connect the subway stations; or because I see so many people pitching glass containers into the garbage; or because I found myself, this weekend, recycling other people's "garbage" (a plastic, mega-detergent bottle and a foot-high stack of newspapers--not exactly a recycling challenge) in my building's "garbage" shed.

But maybe it started earlier, when a few months ago I found myself gazing in awe at a Ziploc bag and wondering how I could ever have thrown anything so substantial out after a single use (now I wash them and they hold up amazingly well).

But even more recently, I foundnd myself starting to feel desperate. The closest place for me to buy groceries on my way home (and I live in the densely urban core) is a chain supermarket in one of those underground malls. (Near my home, I try to frequent the developing-worldesque fruit market/bodgeas and the single, West Indian meat market, but in still-Christian Ontario nearly everything closes at 6 pm, near when I finish work).

Tonight, at the supermarket, I found myself quizzing the supermarket produce guy about what I could buy that was grown in Ontario; and finding myself unwilling to do anything other than come away with my local hydroponic pepper, apples and heirloom tomato on offer. I found myself in the liquor store buying Ontario plonk rather than the Australian Shiraz I love.

And then, tonight, I had a date with Al Gore. His film was on a digital movie channel while I ate dinner.

We have to do this: keep refusing bags, refusing to buy things made far away (can I make my own olive oil?), keep refusing our cars and offsetting whatever it costs the planet when we take a plane flight.

I almost feel ridiculous for writing this. But when I put my groceries in my tote bag with my shoes, book, and commuter coffee mug tonight and refused a bag, I thought, some day everyone will be doing this and the clerk won't look at me like I'm insane. (Of course, no Choices clerk in Vancouver would, now.)

It also made me think of my hippie grade five teacher, Marie Orth-Pallavacini (who yes, made us sing anti-war songs and didn't shave her armpits), who made us go to our local grocery stores way back in 1980 with our own shopping bags and refuse the new one on offer (I was so humiliated, but I did it)... And think, my god, we're still in the same place, 27 years later.

Well, watch Gore's movie, and do something radical. I know, he's apparently not so carbon-neutral, but who is? The film has its hokey moments, but from a cinematic perspective even these work, and he's still got it right.

Ghetto Tour 2007

2007-04-09T19:11:00.000-07:00

So Ghetto Girls, where will THIS summer take us? Admittedly, summer is fucking far away from where I sit: it fucking SNOWED here today. I'd settle for bloody spring! Violet's excellent suggestion to clean house in your knickers was done in for me by the fact of the outside temperature (-2) and the fact that my six twelve-foot windows lack blinds. But I endorse the suggestion if you live where spring exists and window coverings allow.

So, summer. I finally feel I'll be able to enjoy it, when it comes (if it comes), now that I have a home, a tiny toehold in this city. It's been hard to let go and just have fun when I've felt so unsettled, so caught up in change. (See home, below. The chartreuse wall will go.)

Now I just want to have fun, post here, explore more, get back to what feels like normal life. (Although I do have lots of painting left to keep me at home: that fumy, addictive, brain-addling chore.)

Some things have changed for me since joining (co-founding, with Violet) GBS. I've quit a job, taken a new one, moved thousands of miles to a new city, gotten engaged and bought a flat. All of which has proven as unsettling as fulfilling. Not that being unsettled is bad.

But it's interesting: getting engaged has completely quenched any desire I ever had for a wedding--the whole idea fills me with disgust, I'm not sure why. I hope I get over it. Uber-busy hipster Toronto has made me long for quiet, green, unaffordable, less hip (but also more hip) Vancouver. Work is great, no qualms there. The new home is also great, but fills me with dread at the idea of paying for it; apparently this wears off eventually.

I guess my point is, it doesn't matter if you are single or coupled or employed or whattever the fuck: what can you do but dance in your skivs in the summer sunshine angling through your window? Provided they're sort of covered? That is the GBS way. I guess I will have to just do it anyway and freak out the old Portuguese ladies if they happen to peek out their dusty second-floor windows.

Here is to whatever adventures GBS Summer 07 brings our way, here's to whatever trouble and delight we make.

I Love Moomins

2007-04-08T22:17:00.000-07:00

We collaged on Friday night with 'movement' the focus. I pasted in a postcard of love-struck Moomins on swings that I got in Japan a few years back. Tove Jansson, an amazing graphic artist from Finland, created the world of Moomins.

Today, I was reading about Acid Mothers Temple, a texturally experimental Japanese band who have a song about the 'Hattifatteners' - characters in the Moomin series that look like ragamuffin socks.
The Hattifatteners are always on the move, with the singular goal of reaching the horizon, communicating telepathically, and assembling once a year when they 'recharge' in lightning storms.
I love it when things come together.

Trains to Brazil my friday off

2007-04-06T10:28:00.001-07:00

Ah, happy friday friends. I'm loving this day off — sun, music, an entire day to laze my way through 20 loads of dirty laundry.

If you're having a lazy Friday morning like me, you should listen to Guillemots' song "Trains to Brazil". I'm not too sure how to directly link to the song, so go to their myspace page and click on the song title in the top right pod.

Or watch the video...

Want to have even more fun? Be foot loose and fancy free like me. Dance around your kitchen to this song in boys' underware and a tank top, 'cause no one is watching...unless you want them to. (Have I mentioned how GREAT solo living is on a sunny morning?)

Isn't the wonderful world of their website smashing?

Hush hush, keep it down now, voices carry

2007-04-05T15:47:00.000-07:00

email from a friend:

the window washers outside right now are having a full-on conversation about getting blowjobs and they have no idea i can hear them...

Fight like a girl

2007-04-04T18:32:00.000-07:00

In the previous post, Mata decided to feature hockey players fighting. I thought — meh, girls pillow fighting is far more exciting.

And then I realized that I haven't said anything about the very Canadian Pillow Fight League. They fight like girls...ruthless.

Here's a link to the official video, where the announcers are impressed that these women "fight like a girl".

Or you can just watch this one...

Bad Day at Work?

2007-04-04T07:34:00.001-07:00

Bad week? Bad month? Just generally pissy?

Let our modern day gladiators of the National Hockey League help you blow off a little workaday agro with some socially sanctioned aggression.

Can't wait 'til game day? Go for hockeyfight.com.

Watch those teeth fly and feel better.

This vid is one of my favorites. Even if you don't condone fighting in hockey, even if you don't like hockey you've got to see this one. Keep watching into the second clip. Fascinating...

Georges Laraque (AKA georges foreman) was wearing a mic during the game. Gives an interesting peek into elite sport.

Thanks to MXC for this Nihilist bumper sticker

2007-04-01T15:59:00.000-07:00

.......................................I brake for nothing...........................................

Queen of chav

2007-03-30T17:24:00.000-07:00

I was reading up on Lily Allen to find out what this precious little sour tart was all about ... and to verify her authenticity.

And what did I encounter but a whole bunch of English slang that I had never heard before. Namely, I encountered the term chav (see the image? that's a chav).

Chav seems to speak to a group of skids that I, in my West Coast Canadian way, call "white yos" (think Surrey boys in gangsta suits). You know, those hard-core yos who talk "street cred" while they're pulling bills from the bank-of-dad.

I'm calling these precious little bits of our social network chavs from now on.

So back to little ole Lily... there's a possee of higher class brits who take on lower class accents for "street cred" (Hello Mr. Jagger!). A few articles on Miss Allen cited her as a pseudo chav. Well, actually, they didn't cite her as a pseudo chav, they called her out as an "overrated queen of chav". I dig this phrase.

Good terms like this equal good times.

So now I'm off to troll Robson Street to see if I can "accidentally" bump into some track-suited hipster and banish him or her an "overrated chav".

More fun terms: chav, scally, townie, ned, kev, yarco, dobber, mallie, meader

Sissie sun on my back

2007-03-28T14:26:00.000-07:00

I'm posting from the middle of Union Square in San Francisco. The sun's warming my back; the slightest breeze is keeping me from overheating. Conditions are perfect. Everything is perfect.

But then perfection is a so easy to handle when its natural — so easy that it's hard to trust it.

Most of the time, I'm at work, walking the tight rope that is perfection and just getting it done. Trusting myself enough to sit here and soak up perfect conditions is making me light headed. I'm trying to ignore the niggling sense that I should leave it — and just find something and get it done.

But I've persevered, and won.

The co-worker I am travelling with had to leave this perfect condition to "get something done". I asked him what he had to do. And he said, "I dunno – something — I should get some shopping done."

I said fine. I'll meet you back at the hotel in an hour. I'm going to sit here for a while. Go have fun getting something done.

Spring in Toronto

2007-03-19T19:14:00.000-07:00

Alas, this is true. On my way to work in the morning the melting snow revealed still-frozen little piles of dogshit. Lovely!

Spring "arrives" in two days: in Vancouver, the cherry (I almost wrote "cheery") blossoms are already in bloom. OK, in fairness, I brought my umbrella to work once in my first Toronto winter: for that reason alone (and because my full-length down and fur parka cost more than my first car) winter here didn't feel at all like a "normal" winter, ie. rain, rain, grey skies, rain. black skies, rain.

Instead, I got sunny crisp mornings, and sparkly evenings when you couldn't actually see the snow, but the air was full of invisible, iridescent sparkles. One evening after a movie (the excellent Notes on A Scandal ) the Ninja and I both noticed Central Canadian snowflakes for the first time (he's from the East Coast, I the West): perfect, flat, sharp-edged and laughably complex little constructions, again iridescent, sometimes landing singularly, sometimes landing x-ed with a fellow snowflake, like happily copulating little snowflakes, always perfect, always sharp, unmelting, decorative in one's parka's fur.

OK. I guess winter here isn't terrible.

Work wives

2007-03-16T20:10:00.000-07:00

Today at work, I had ramen at Kintaro with a new co-worker who shares a similar lifestyle ... and love of bouncy castles.

Amidst slurps of flavourful noodles and juicy smacks of scintilating vegetables done to al dante perfection, he spoke of his former "work wife".

"Work wife!" I exclaimed, honing in on a new GBS phrase,"Tell me what you mean by this."

"You know," he casually gestured, "the person you share stuff with at work – the stuff that's outside of work."

I really love the phrase "work wife" because it befits the bond. You definitely have familial bonds with certain co-workers that lack a proper definition — one that enriches your life, but doesn't transgress. Plus the term is so nouveau '50s...so innocent, yet so Norman Rockwell racy.

Let me define it agan... At work, you have people with whom you are close. With whom you share an emotional bond that transcends the 9-5 boundaries, but never leaves it. This is your "work husband" or "work wife". So work with me: embrace the term and the bond, but not the person.

I think I'm going to make this man my "work husband".

It lifts me up. I need work love...friends, faux husbands, bosses. It makes this capitalist world a more loving place.

p.s. Kintaro has the most amazing ramen in Vancouver. They massage the noodles, and this is good. The noodles are tender, flavourful, and full of love.

p.s.s. The work husband just sent me this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Work_wife

Budgeting Tips for Cash-Strapped Bitches

2007-03-07T20:54:00.000-08:00

Faux-Fendi feeling a little light of late?
Forced to choose between creature comforts and luscious libations?

Let the Ghetto Bitches share the wealth.

We give you the Gala Keg!

The equivalent of five and a third bottles of wine for around $30.

The easy-pour spout means less tipsy dripage.

The vacuum seal ensures freshness, meaning no more partial bottles languishing* to go stale and sour.

*can't say I've ever had this problem but some bitches do claim this is a concern.

And as if the above weren't reason enough to start rockin' the Gala Keg...I have one final feature to tempt you.

When you're done with the wine...
the bag doubles as a bath pillow!

Boop boop be doop, bitches.

Sex and vegetables...

2007-03-06T21:31:00.000-08:00

...are two things my diet is missing.

Redrum

2007-03-06T20:10:00.000-08:00

All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. redrum.

Ghetto boy winter

2007-03-03T21:27:00.000-08:00

Ah, if we're the ghetto bitches, then these two New Zeland boys are definitely our brothers. They're two hard core sissies, that's for sure. Words to our brothers.

(Who knew "Steve" from New Zeland originated Hip Hop in 2001? I sure didn't.)

urban Saturday morning

2007-02-21T08:06:00.000-08:00

Catching a glimpse of a violinist tuning up in the lobby of the Orpheum,

thinking "...I love living in the city...",

I narrowly avoid stepping in someone's regreted Friday nite Fritz binge.

nice.

I love technology — the book

2007-02-19T11:35:00.000-08:00

I wish my technology came with a "live" help desk.

Meh, for some reason the video isn't embedding properly. But it is available here.

Dining with orson

2007-02-17T11:06:00.000-08:00

My friend Matt can eat a whole pineapple.

Go fly a kite

2007-02-14T08:51:00.000-08:00

This morning an eight-year-old boy announced that we had "competing wishes".

"Competing wishes! What wishes are we competing for?" I asked.

"Well, you want a sunny and calm day so you can read outside."
"And I want a sunny and windy day so I can fly my kite..."

...From now on, I want all my challenges to be as simply delightful as this one.

Let's make love and listen to death from above

2007-02-10T18:45:00.000-08:00

Brazil pays homage to Canuck hommes du rock discotheque. A charming homage indeed.

Shinier and happier than a Scientologist

2007-02-10T09:48:00.000-08:00

Slap me silly. I'm having a joyous Saturday morning. The sun's streaming in the bank of skylights angled across my roof. And the squirrel perched on the sill is rhythmically cracking nuts in time with a tap-dancing crow (I'm not making this up).

I woke up Snow White fresh at 7 a.m., leapt off the right side of my bed (and almost dropped seven feet to the floor). Cranked pop music, threw a kerchief on my head, and danced my apartment clean. It's not even 10 a.m. yet, and I've done all my chores and slurped down a healthy fruit shake to boot...

What loco goddess bedazzled this morning with rhinestones?

Huh. Maybe I'm still in bed.

I want a Joy Collective

2007-02-03T17:57:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I posted. In fact, my digital diary has been running amuck in my head too long.

I want a Joy Collective within Violet's City of Memory.

I mean, when is the last time you felt real joy? I take a poll with people now and again. And I don't always hear that it was all that recently.
J-O-Y
Ya, No. Not the earnest crappy wank-fest forced-fun kind.
I'm talking about that joy that comes with feeling the wind in your hair riding bikes down back alleys of foreign streets, drinking from fresh water streams, snoozing in a mid-day hammock under a palapa by the beach, drinking vino with cool fucking friends in a late-night bistro.
We have these big long lives to sort it all out...stages and ages to make our way through, neuroses to climb out of, stands to sit in and watch from for a while. Fights to win. Battles to lose. But what about that which makes us giggle,frolick, wrestle, feel free and thankful and full - of snarky, silly, smart - stuff?
Sometimes it just takes too much energy. I know. But there are times when it feels in line.

I want to plug into the joy-channel for a while.

I give good story

2007-02-02T20:30:00.001-08:00

I want a City of Memory in Vancouver.

Any smart Flash developers out there willing to collaborate with me?

Trust me, it's worth your while: I give really good story.

Vive l'art

2007-01-31T20:56:00.000-08:00

I love you. and what's wrong with that. i'd like to know. 'cause here I go again.

I professionally framed my art! This must mean that I'm all grow'd up. Well, save for the fact that I don't own any new furniture or a car. And I live in a ~~garage~~ carriage house that doesn't have a bathroom sink. So, save for these minor GBS things, I have fucking awesome art on my wall. I'm all fucking grow'd up, dammit.

Whose art is on my walls, you wonder? My charming ex-roomates'. Back in the hazy days of glory that was the 69 Pender Art Gallery, they showed a series of screen prints that melded the spirit of the '68 student revolution with the vapid lyrics of the Wings song "Silly Love Songs", which was written in the same year.

A simple yet poignant statement, non?

Kudos to the sovereign nation of Cameroon

2007-01-29T11:17:00.001-08:00

Violet and I were, not two weeks ago, bemoaning our pitiful lack of new music.*(please note post below: "In Which Mata Begs For New Running Tunes"). But now our troubles are over.

My cry was answered by Cam and although I was not sold on his running music suggestion (Sorry darling, I still need a litre of cold coffee, 2 Ibuprofen and shame-inducing-wailing-black-lady gay house to get my raggedy ass in gear), I was tickled to stumble over his treasure trove of music recommendations in Golden Ears.

My biggest and most heart-felt thank you goes out for introducing me to Miss Lily Allen. Hoorah! Who doesn't love cute British birds on scooters who curse in the Queen's english?

Thanks Cam, now I can host shame-free dinner parties again.

More fondue anyone?

Famous Puppet Death Scenes

2007-01-28T20:59:00.000-08:00

t="350" width="425">

For over 80 beautiful minutes I watched puppets die, over and over again. Die, die, die. It was great.

Some were funny — outrageously funny — and some were sad, a select few were poetically medatative, filled with sobriety, revierie, and gut-busting joy. This Montreal troupe knows how to give death a good time.

Here's the thing: even though I laughed myself blue through all 100 deaths, I was left with an overwhelming sense of melancholia.

Why?

Because I want to live in a city where culture is common, not avant garde. Like Montreal, where I believe artists and non-artists alike talk openly about culture.

Sure. There's arty stuff here a-plenty. But the general public doesn't seem very open to it. I dream of a day when throngs of people flood this city to get drunk on red wine and roam hooligan in the streets, talking openly about the psychological effects of 100 puppet deaths. But I don't think that will happen for some time.

Lateral thought: Would it be funny to see the Molson indie crowd discuss the art of mime?

Amazing, beautiful, and ugly

2007-01-28T20:54:00.000-08:00

The best acceptance speech ever.

Bowl me over you bastard

2007-01-20T13:03:00.000-08:00

I want all my pins rocked to the core. Spring fever is forming a ball of spit in the pit of my pituitary gland. And I want more, more, more — evermore.

My Favorite Christmas Gift by Mata Hari

2007-01-10T13:26:00.000-08:00

My fella gave me a really fun new toy for Christmas. I got the Nike+ shoe fob/itunes integrater thingy that hooks up to your iPod and tracks your runs for you.

I'm sure there is a much more succinct description of it here. Let the marketing heavyweights behind Nike and Apple explain it to you. Read all about it and then meet me right back here, okay?

Pretty cool, huh? (althouth mine didn't come with those tits. hmph.)

I have just recently gotten back into running. It used to be a bit of a chore for me. Something to be done pretty well exclusively for weight loss with little or no redeeming qualities (other than,"It feels so good to stop!").

But in this latest foray into running, things have changed. Maybe it goes along with that whole turning thirty thing but now when I run I feel strong and as a result I feel smug. And I love feeling smug!

It's awful to admit but when I am running I feel better than other people. Feeling better than people really doesn't happen very often in my life so it is a lovely, novel thing to experience. My favorite is running past restaurants full of people stuffing themselves or blowing by people all bundled up, walking their yappy little colour co-ordinated dogs. I live in Yaletown so one of these two scenarios is happening nearly continuously during my runs.

Anyways, so now I have this new toy to play with which adds even more fun to my runs. It really appeals to the OCD/AR part of me. I can track my pace, distance, time etc. and upload each run on to the Nike website where I can see my run plotted out on a graph. Ooow!

Plus you can choose your "Power Song"; when you press the center button on your iPod during your run it will play your own personal "Eye of the Tiger" (mine is currently "Keep Hope Alive" by The Chrystal Method). Go ahead and laugh but I was a raver in my time and was always inordinately fond of anthems, so there:P

However, I am now on the look out for new tunes to add to my running playlist. What music do you workout to? What is your Power Song? Remember, confession is good for the soul.

All quiet on the new year front

2007-01-02T23:09:00.000-08:00

Well. I did it. I spent New Year's Eve all by my self. Well, sort of by myself — me, a mutant kitty and a bottle of cheap Prosecco rang it in together.

2006 was a strange year, bland and yet strangely affirming. I'm sure that in the far off future I will fondly remember it as one one of those pivotal years that moved me to inner peace and joy and a new-found enjoyment for solitude. But at the moment, I think it's been a threshold year. Not quite what I want to be. Not quite where I want to be. But it's somewhere. And I've gotten to somewhere by crawling through the jungle of my mind and making camp in its middle.

So here I am — living comfortably in the middle of my mind. I guess 2007 will be about learning how to move out of it and into this here real world (oh the irony of stating this in an online blog and through a pseudonym).

Here is a list of accomplishments and occurances in 2006:

I moved out of a place I've been living in since I was 18 (minus a couple of years in the middle)
I finally travelled off this continent, rented a bungalow on the beach and read in a hammock
I started a new job that I'm still not too sure about
I staved off gripping panic attacks ... without drugs (it's all about the pinkie, thumb and good memories)
My roomates of 7 and 14 years moved to Berlin
I moved into my own place — no roomates
I was single the entire year
A lovely boy cooked me a gourmet dinner for the first time ever (2007 is about receiving flowers)
I watched friends get married, and it was good
I endured someone say things to his new love that he used to say to me — verbatim — and was able to continue loving my past... after a couple of weeks of hard work, wine and Lost episodes
I deepened friendships
I bought a pellet gun and shot decoy ducks off a houseboat motoring through the Shushwaps
I danced like no one was watching... and didn't blush when I fell
I was treated to expensive champagne, food flown in from Italy, and a flight over the Georgia Strait
I had short hair
I had blonde hair
I started growing my hair long

Sup-er-femme(?)

2006-11-23T10:16:00.000-08:00

So call me redundant, but I must call attention to today's 'word of the day' as displayed by dictionary.com.
"Trencherman= a hearty eater". For some reason this word gives me the utmost delight. Yes, let's celebrate those with a healthy penchant to provide the body with sustenance. Not gorging. Not gluttony. But eating with heart. Enjoying your individual feeding frenzy. I do admit this particular word is too masculine. Let's have a happy word for the female love of food. One that doesn't connote a girl with a problem. Suggestions?

Event horizons

2006-11-15T20:49:00.000-08:00

So I decided to make myself a little timeline today — of all the things I need to accomplish in the next six months. I spread out all my goals along the calendar line, leaving a little breathing room between the marks. Because breathing is one thing I often forget to do.

Then I checked my horror-scope. Just because. And dang if my numbers and the astrologer's didn't match up. Sometimes it's so hard not to believe.

"You may have given up on a special deal, or believed that you'd never get a certain promotion or offer that you dearly wanted, but hang on! The days near November 20 may prove that you should still believe in miracles."

[Maybe I will meet that deadline.]

"If you aim for a bigger job and a better title, the eclipse on March 3, 2007, will probably change your career life anyway in a big dramatic way, so wait until then before making any decisions."

[Maybe I will change jobs. But why worry. It'll work itself out.]

"Romantically, December will be your big month, but you will see things start to sparkle now, the moment the Sun moves into Sagittarius on November 23."

[Maybe I will find love... Okay—I added this to my calendar after I read the 'scope. It was lacking spice.]

True Inspiration

2006-11-08T22:46:00.000-08:00

We started out slow and now we are going steady. I'm at his place everyday, and you will be too in no time. Guaranteed. I'm still waiting for wikipedia to formally define "Sartorialist". It seems in the realm of dandy, fop or popinjay. The man speaks of pocket squares daily! Sigh. I've fallen for him.

NEED ADVICE? WANT TO TALK?

2006-11-08T19:04:00.000-08:00

Need an idiosyncratic, playful, repetitive and oft humorous answer to your burning daily uncertainties? Check out this site for Stein-inspired responses:

http://www.askgertrude.net/

"Either the one or the other is useful and both are so pleasing to the ear and eye.
I have the eye but not the hand of an artist."
G

We are so Sex in the City...on paper.

2006-10-31T16:40:00.000-08:00

Chapter 27: Violet and her Foray into Online Dating

"No. You're the wrong kind of weird."

Cashmere Gathering

2006-10-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

When I was seven, it was Cinderella...

Nowadays, it's more Lady Windermere's Fan...

Getting crafty

2006-10-27T10:32:00.000-07:00

Find your inner craft.
www.etsy.com

Drunken museum, smart Russian

2006-10-27T09:58:00.000-07:00

Russia has opened a vodka museum.

I think Russia just discovered the best and cheapest way to draw a hip, young crowd to museums: drinking. If you promise them vodka, I'm pretty sure they will come to your exhibition.

Shelfari, the virtual bookshelf

2006-10-26T12:12:00.000-07:00

Wow. Shelfari is a rather wikked online organizing tool that let's you show off your shelf, connect with your bookish friends, and talk about what your are passionate about: books.

And yet, I'm worried. All this organizing and sharing cuts in to my precious and scant reading time. As always, online life is ironical.

I love fall

2006-10-25T16:35:00.000-07:00

It is fall; my favorite time of year.

It is cold and wet and when I get home from work I say...

Hello fireplace.
Hello sweatpants.
Hello glass of wine.
Hello couch.
Hello BBC Canada.

and all with out a smidgen of guilt.

I love Fall.

French finance minister got game

2006-10-24T14:29:00.000-07:00

The French government has taken a gaming approach to try and find a solution to the country's financial challenges. Budget Minister Jean-Francois Cope has launched an online Cyberbudget game that allows people to balance the books. The challenge is to ensure the €300 billion budget is spent wisely and that if tax cuts are made then services do not fall into deficit. There are a range of tests to face, including having to present the budget to a virtual parliament. [via Social Impact Games]

I envy the "so fucking French" French. They're hip, cool and vanguard, right down to their finance minister who commissioned a video game that allows chaque personne française simple à posit ones own solutions to common budget problems.

See the pictures below?
Can you guess which one is the French finance minister?
And which one is the Canadian finance minister?

I thought so.

Second Life is the new D+D

2006-10-20T14:10:00.000-07:00

Have you heard of Second Life? It's a 3-D virtual world entirely built and owned by its residents. (Since opening to the public in 2003, it has grown explosively and today is inhabited by a total of 1,049,837 people from around the globe.)

Strange times.

Apparently you can actually buy, sell and set up real estate in this cyberworld, which you exchange via Second Life dollars, AKA "Linden Dollars".

I've signed on as Violet Cydrome (you have to select from a range of last names). My avatar is some cyberpunk babe – shock and awe.

I'm excited about the concept, but a tad suspicious of the economic mandate (you have to pay to play). I'm worried it's a place without the political mores and balance of a "Buy Nothing Day" movement. But I haven't investigated this world. If it hasn't already, I'm looking forward to a time when the political urest rears its monstrous and beautiful head (a predictable future predicated on the past). Avatar heads will roll.

Like I have enough time in the day to frequent another world. This world is really too much with us...cyberoaches.

Reflecting birthday wishes

2006-10-19T14:32:00.000-07:00

You know what I really hate? Sentimental birthday cards with blurry photos of flowers, kitties and/or puppies on the cover, ones that sheath an epic poem of saccharine proporations celebrating all things mushy — like the one pictured above.

You know what I really love? This particular card's inherent irony. Read the text.

The well-wisher might as well have said: "Hey, friend, even though it's your special day, you should thank me for being me — because I'm such a wicked-awesome and unique person... You know what? Screw wishing you a happy birthday. I'm going to celebrate me with this card. And remind you of the fact that you're really lucky that someone as great as me is your friend."

It's Mata Hari's birthday on Friday and Figure8's on Saturday...I'm pretty sure they know how lucky they are to know me, so I'm not going to send them a card reminding them.

Random

2006-10-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

The word random is used to express lack of purpose, cause, order, or predictability in non-scientific parlance.

I wonder if online linking will re-define the term?

Random links, and their transmittal, seem to be predictable these days. You definitely know when some link you received in a random email is going to be a big hit.

Why do you know this?

How do you know that a video of a man bashing a disco record over his head will tickle a global funnybone?

And chaos ?— the primal emptiness of space? Well, the Greeks hadn't encountered our space or myspace when they coined the term chaos.

Certainly there are other words to describe our space. Certainly their are patterns and organization here, in this empty space.

But our interaction with it?

Isn't it rather random and chaotic?

We're viral. And viral always signifies, but does not necessarily mean, social chaos, something we can't control.

I seek random and chaos, but my room is rather clean; my flight or fight of fancy is too highly attuned to negotiate this here rote world.

I really do think I was born a warrior princess who is bored with a world stacked up with too many matresses — too numbed to the peas of life.

Meh. A glass of wine and my world unravels.

p.s. Click on the random link a few times. This wikipedia link will shunt you to random pages. Gawd I love Wikipedia. It's the best random around. So full of it.

Original borat

2006-10-15T18:42:00.000-07:00

My tall 1.84 cm (6.2 feet) My weight 78 kg.

My eyes green .. I live alone !!!!!!!!!

I have home - car ...

Hey, look everybody. It's your boyfriend.

As well as the inspiration for Sasha Baron Cohen's character Borat... I wonder who inspired Bruno?

Family bonding

2006-10-13T19:14:00.000-07:00

My parents visit Vancouver once a year. Or less if they can help it. They don't like 'the city'. My Dad occasionally refers to people here as P.R.C.Ks (yep, sans "i")and gets flustered if there is more than 12 people on the sidewalk. Regardless, I'd say this was certainly our most successful visit. I can't take credit for the lovely time they had, however. To that I must credit the Vancouver Police Department.

The first time they visited I put a lot of time and energy into planning our outings. A trip to the museum of Anthropology, a historical tour of Chinatown, a play. Dad fell asleep in the play and started snoring. I mentioned the walking tour of historic Chinatown and he let out a dark & heavy sigh, "Awwh, do we have to...?"

This trip, however, I let nature have 'er way with us. Screw the road trips up to Shannon falls and the Lynn Canyon. Screw Fisherman's wharf and Go Fish's seething line up. All they really wanted was blood.

Thanksgiving Sunday morning. I've just come back from a run (read slow painful jog). Dad and Mom are at the window exclaiming with glee that there is a policeman with a dog on the street below our apartment. Ha! Yokles, Ha! Ultramaroons. Ha! Hayseeds.

I go to the window and see a policeman and his dog sniffing our street like a pig scenting truffles. The dog forcefully jumps into some low lying bush on the street, squats and begins to back out with all its might. He has a guy by the ankle. An actual guy! By the ankle! The dog-police-trainer-guy starts screaming at the top of his lungs to cease and desist (and the last thing that dog wants to do is let go of the guy) but he finally does. The cops jump on the guy and with a knee between the shoulder blades they cuff him and the coppers begin to compare notes in a jocular way. At this point Mom and Dad are having the time of their lives. It's the best of all possible realities. It's like we are watching TV, but we're not. It's like we're interacting with each other, but we're not. It's like something happen to bring us together, but it didn't. Cool.

Anyway. The result is there is still blood on the sidewalk from where the guy bled all over the place. Who knew dog-teeth wounds bled so much? Why don't they clean that up? Maybe I should call the cop-shop and inquire. I just might do that.

A successful trip all around. I bet my Dad has told this story to his dentist by now.

Me and you and you and me

2006-10-13T15:03:00.000-07:00

So, Heidi Lament can send out group emails, but she can't post on GBS. Shame on her. In extreme retaliation I'm going to post her latest group email game...

Here's what she sent, responses redacted. It's up to you to respond, and/or lie, in the comments section kids... and make up some weird pseudonym that hints at who you are, what you're like, and how I may or may not know you.

Why would you bother doing this? Just to take the piss out of me. By posting one simple little nickname, you will set me ruminating on your being for days — fun for you, hell for me.

A: FOUR JOBS I HAVE HAD IN MY LIFE
B: FOUR MOVIES I WOULD WATCH OVER AND OVER
C: FOUR PLACES I HAVE LIVED
D: FOUR TV SHOWS I LOVE TO WATCH
F. FOUR PLACES I HAVE BEEN ON HOLIDAY (vacation)

Woolf-child Howls

2006-10-13T07:32:00.000-07:00

"Those elderly ladies, who sit on the edge of ballrooms sampling the stuff of humanity between finger and thumb and breathing so evenly that the necklaces, which rise and fall upon their breast, seem to represent some elemental force, concluded, a little smilingly, that she would do."

- Night and Day (1919)

*sigh*
That is why I love Virginia Woolf.

Sucky connections

2006-10-12T19:36:00.000-07:00

Cable Internet connections suck. Just thought I'd take the time (out) to let you know.

Do the capgras for Thanksgiving

2006-10-06T08:39:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving means surviving family gatherings... with only a few minor bruises.

Oh, I know you love each and every one of your family members. I do too... really. I also happen to know that alcohol helps keep these situations loving -- and television too.

But for those of you out there whose gala keg of familial love has run dry and whose sanity is reaching the breaking point, I recommend the following diversionary tactic:

Pick a family member, any family member will do.
Start quietly insisting that the chosen member has been replaced by an identical looking imposter.
At dinner, say things like, "you've never said anything like that before" and "Oh really... how would YOU know that?"
When you talk to your chosen member, really look at them -- hard. Squint your eyes, raise one eyebrow.
Continue alternating steps 3 and 4 until the tryptophan sends the whole lot of them them into coma-land.

The Capgras delusion or Capgras' syndrome is a rare disorder in which a person holds a delusional belief that an acquaintance, usually a close family member or spouse, has been replaced by an identical looking imposter.

Egg full of cartons

2006-10-05T16:34:00.000-07:00

I'm currently sussing out the "center of the world". That's right: I'm currently hanging out in Toronto. And let me tell you, this impromptu trip, which I accidently started a day early, is already shaping up to be just the thing for my "all work and no play" head ache. A little scrambling of the egg carton gets the brain sparking again, I now realize. A rather gemini strategy, I know, but then I am one. So there you have it. I'm at the center of the world.

Delicious nothing sandwich

2006-10-03T22:32:00.000-07:00

What did I do last weekend? So kind of you to ask.

I did nothing. Glorious nothing.

My weekend was one tasty "nothing sandwich".

Let me give you the recipe:

Bread: On Friday I got myself a cheap bottle of wine and a slice of pizza and dragged my processed food items and computer into my room, shut the door and proceeded to watch three hours of MI5. It's just good and bad enough to watch when you are dead beat tired.

Meat: Saturday night I checked out the Junior Boys' early show. (You can listen to some of their songs here.) They're smart, gang-of-four boys who play solid electronic beats for flocks of seagulls. What a trip hearing a contemporary band mashing and recombing sounds from your youth. A heady brew indeed.

Mayo: After the show and some greasy food and strong martinis, Heidi Lament and I trucked off to Commercial drive to demolish a house with the lord of the dance. Thanks Golden Ears for helping me cut a good rug.

Bread: Um. I watched the remaining MI5 episode and finished reading Guy Gavriel Kay's recent historical fantasy, The Last Light of the Sun. Screw being a warrior princess. I want to be Cyngael warrior who calls vikings and wolf dogs friends.

I know it sounds lame, but I feel totally refreshed for having savoured my nothing sandwich all weekend long. Now that I've got the recipe down, I'm thinking about adding veggies... nah.

The scale's fuct in this town

2006-09-27T21:36:00.000-07:00

Vegas.

Big hotels. Bigger city blocks. Even bigger tourists.

Not that I can complain, I looked fucking good down there. Especially according to the the scales in my hotel room, set a judicious 10 lbs lighter.

*Well, maybe I will partake of that international buffet*.

Does anyone really fall for that maybe-you're-not-such-a-fat-bastard-after-all ploy?

Mind you...how often can you get pork dumplings, quesadillas, fish sticks, dry ribs, shrimp cocktail, teryaki and potatoes au gratin all in the same sitting?

oh yeah... and don't forget the PR.

About us, the bitches

2006-09-27T10:53:00.000-07:00

We cherish our style guides
like most treasure chocolate.
And savor bad puns,
etymology and
good, strong coffee
a little more often
than we care to admit.

My hero

2006-09-25T21:22:00.000-07:00

I could talk on and on about
all the amazing spandex costumes
on spandexman.com.

Underroos, fetishes, man-boys,
Plato's notion of true love,
packages, the beauty of
skin-colour fabric.

Or I could just freak out about the "Click to change" view buttons on the site. That, in my humble opinion, really sells these unitards.

So much expression.
They're jaunty and casual and you can tell
these men just love wearing them.
Mega panache.

So je ne sais quois...

Who's dreams? Your dreams? My dreams.

2006-09-21T21:31:00.000-07:00

I met an amazing woman this summer, who, for the most part (if you glanced over the tragic relationship with the man who she was with for 20 years, whom she still co-owned her home with, but did not live with since he had decided to have an affair with the renter of their previous home on the same property about five years ago, but whose son and his girlfriend she still entertains as if it were her own son and guest in the home that his father is not allowed to live in since he still has 'relations' with the new woman), has had a good life. She has a lovely little house with a beautiful garden, pictures of her travels all over the world, and a smile that beckons even the most shy out of the shadows.

I want those things (save the tragic relationship, which, hopefully, is behind me) now. I want to have the intensely satisfying career and the cozy home on the beautiful property and wisdom etched into the backs of my hands from the sands of Morocco and from washing potatoes to store for the winter. I want free time to figure out the best recipe for using up the last of the huckleberries and accolades from my peers all over the world. And I have to wait. I have to wait probably as long as she did, and considering she is 40 years older than me, that might be quite some time.

But, in the age of immediate gratification and lack of patience for developing self, that sounds like a lifetime. Strange thing is, it is. And it probably felt like it then.

No syns for synonym

2006-09-20T10:30:00.000-07:00

So you you intend to type "bacteria" into an online dictionary search field, but key in synonym by mistake. Curious, you think to yourself — is there a synonym for synonym? Guess what.

There is no synonym for synonym.

Paglia snacks on Antoinette

2006-09-19T16:17:00.000-07:00

Heck. I've always gotten a kick out of rubble rousing Camille Paglia. She certainly knows how to get the media's attention — at least she did back in the days of Madonna-styled feminism (which by the way I prefer to the current Britney-styled mommyism).

Speaking of bitches... I have to give her some sort of nod for dishing about our queen bitch "Marie Antoinette and why she is back in vogue..."

Personally, I would have liked to see her take on gen y in this view, but alas, she went the way of post 9/11 times. Everybody's doing it. And Paglia has never really been a vanguard when it comes to theory.

Invisible cake is so much easier to digest. Though not half as fulfilling.

Shadowing art works

2006-09-14T13:49:00.000-07:00

Feed the right side of your brain writing from Vancouver's left side: Doppelganger magazine. They are devoted to publishing lively, intelligent, and critical writing on visual art and literature.

They are interested in boundaries.
Boundaries, they are interested in.
Interested in boundaries, they are.
In boundaries, they are interested.
Are they interested in boundaries?

2006-09-13T21:49:00.000-07:00

Love affairs are like words. If you stare at them too long they deconstruct before your eyes and lose their meaning. It is better to scan them briefly to get the sentence of your heart.

Technological Smackdown

2006-09-12T20:53:00.000-07:00

So the boy has been in Vegas for T=longtime.

Since he's been gone I've learned a lot.

a) I touch my face too much
b) If I let my hair air dry, I really do look like Lou Ferrigno
c) I have WAY over plucked my right eyebrow
d) bathrobe...mmm, hot

Thank you iChat, for crushing my burgeoning self image.

Reptilian hot buttons

2006-09-08T11:46:00.000-07:00

Coco Chanel, the awesome bitch that she is, just sent me this passage...
because it made her think of me:

Rapaille subscribes to the triune brain theory, which describes three
distinct brains: the cortex, limbic, and reptilian. Beneath the
cortex, the seat of logic and reason, is the limbic, which houses
emotions. Camouflaged underneath those is Rapaille's baby--the
reptilian--the layer wired by our biological primal needs like sex,
reproduction, and survival.

"The reptilian always wins"--that's Rapaille's mantra. "So you have to
discover the reptilian hot button, whatever you want to do--design an
airplane, sell diamonds--what is the reptilian brain?" Whereas bad
advertising only taps into the cortex ("Buy this paper towel to clean
up a spill!"), mediocre ads appeal to the cortex and the limbic ("Buy
this paper towel to clean up a spill and reduce stress!"). But truly
effective campaigns nail all three ("Buy this paper towel to clean up
a spill, reduce stress, and satisfy your maternal reptilian desire to
relieve your son's shame at making the spill in the first place!").

I can't wait to locate my reptilian hot buttons. Hisss.

Freshtastic fall

2006-09-07T12:56:00.000-07:00

Something monumental has happened to me this summer — what with a broke-down computer, a move and a wedding to end all weddings — but I haven't had time to think about what all of it means, in the grand scheme of things. I think it's time to pool my thoughts for a spell and just soak in it. Then I will towel myself off, wipe the rot off and move on and on and on and on.

I think last weekend was the final polish on my summer monument, a greasy reality shot if you will. After spending a lovely, trying and reflective weekend with a gang of old friends, I know it's time to wipe the slate — 'cause the slate is chalk full of kack. I think the only way I can shuck the husk is to walk away. Shuck anything that caters to my old self (this is sounding like the premise for a self-help book).

But the job is a sticking point. As is my location in this wide world. I am unsure of how to unseat myself. I guess I just need to dive into the pool and portage myself to Toronto. Voyeur-geur. So if anyone is driving that way in the next couple of months, let me know. I make an excellent co-pilot.

Why cremation is the way to go

2006-09-06T13:12:00.000-07:00

Sex with dead bodies is like so totally taboo. But three Wisconsin Men don't think so. Their theory? If you don condoms, "sex with dead bodies" is the new black... Tres macabre.

And yet, tres blase. These guys are totally "normal" dudes who decided this would make for an interesting way to pass time. How do three people all agree they have a desire to hae sex with dead bodies? Just how do you bring that up as a topic of conversation? The mundanity of it all is what creeps me out the most.

Thanks Drudge for reminding me why cremation is the way to go, when you decide to go.

Nature Podcasts

2006-09-05T11:48:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, I was only allowed to watch a half hour of television programming per day. But I could extend that limit if I was watching a movie like the Wizard of Oz or The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, or Seven Brides for Seven Brothers — stuff my parents like to watch.

Then one evening, my parents decided to amend the half hour rule by adding that I was only able to watch an hour of nature shows or public programming per day. (Even though it seemed out of the blue, I'm guessing my dear mom had tea with the other mothers that morning where they had all agreed that our social health and welfare depended on us viewing killer whales slaughtering baby seals.) Trust me, slow shots of a lion sleeping, voice professional with coma-inducing narrative, and no muppets can kill an ADD child. And make one even more unpopular on the playground.

But now that I am old like my parents I am absolutely into coma-inducing programming that investigates meaningful things — like male infertility, how the brain categorises visual information and and the death of a star.

If you want to get all Nature with me, have a listen to Nature's Podcasts. Learning is cool kids.

In Which, I Show You My Drawers

2006-08-31T20:27:00.000-07:00

I have a drawer.

I have always had it.

Even as a kid, when my dresser was 12 centimeters taller than I was and had 4 big drawers and 2 little ones, I had this drawer. I have this drawer now; even though my dresser is 2 feet shorter than I am and only has 3 drawers that pull out only half way.

My drawer is a rainy day repository.

It has all this crazy, precious stuff in it that I rarely wear...and yet...that stuff has it's very own drawer.

Every once in a while I dip into it...like when I'm feelin' a little sassy or a little sad. Some days you need finger symbols and other days you need mohair socks your mom knit for you. My drawer has it all.

It not just a diva drawer though.

It contains utilitarian pieces as well...like my single pair of add-a-cup foamies (I mean, honestly, who cares if your foamies don't match your bra?) and that extra long, single strap that turns your plain ol' strapless bra into a versatile piece of fashion machinery.

It's a good drawer.

When I was kid it had even better stuff in it. It held silky, polyester scarves and hand-med-down Estee Lauder cosmetic bags with Barbie brushes and Lemon/Lime lip gloss stashed them.

It was great drawer.

That drawer is everything that is great about being a girl...even if you don't pull it out all that often.

Combat karaoke bullies now

2006-08-27T18:17:00.002-07:00

Picture this: you're in a karaoke bar when some random karaoke king approaches you, gin and tonic sloshing all over his hands.

He's in your face, shoving the greasy plasticized playlist up your nostrils while his teeth-nipped fingers pummel the listing for a captain and tennielle song. He's screaming "duet", while he spittles on your decollete. He's using his other hand to madly wipe the steaming sweat off his brow. He's plunging your puny little chest with the golden microphone. He's clawing at your wrists, trying to drag you on stage.

Better think sharp, girl. You've got a karaoke bully on your hands.

There's only one solution to such a common problem: The Zuiikin Gals. They're here to help you fight karaoke bullies. Not only will they whip you into shape, they'll also teach you key phrases that will help you rid yourself of karoake kings, forever.

Watch this video to learn how.

SINKing into consciousness

2006-08-22T12:36:00.000-07:00

If "double income no kids" are DINKS then I guess "single income no kids" are SINKS.

I'm sinking into that state — and sinking from it. Me and my SINK cannot afford to live on our own. We can't really afford to own a car. We routinely let food go rotten.

Being a one, we think, is really expensive, especially in Vancouver – the land of extreme wealth and poverty. I sojourn in the void between the two indefinitely.

Kind of makes you wonder about twos —we're really set up for them, aren't we? The nation is willing to risk anything for babies (products of twos), I guess, if they're willing to foster an army of DINKS.

Clusty the Clustering Engine — Better than a boyfriend

2006-08-18T09:09:00.000-07:00

This search engine is way better than Google: Clusty.

So start using it. Not only does it group your search items into like category folders (tears of joy people, tears of joy). it also has a wikipedia tab and a blogging tab. No joke: Clusty is where it's at. So come be early adopters with me and make it your default home page. Google suddenly feels, oh, outdated and uncool.

So, my computer blew up a second time which is why I've been super incommunicado. And I've been overworked. I tried to quit my part time gig with vitamin v, but they sent me the most beautiful bunch of flowers to my main work place (one day I'll actually get flowers from a boyfriend).

But for now, I have to tell you my bosses are better than a boyfriend: they buy me little black femme dresses, flowers, they forgive me when I'm stressed out, they don't hold my quirks over my head. And they love me.

Yeah, they suckered me back with the flowers and attention.

But I did go on a boat cruise on Shushwap Lakes last weekend. It's like Burning Man on water. I've got to break it down later — when my brain comes back...

The smell of success?

2006-08-12T01:16:00.000-07:00

I saved the soap from the hotel in Freeport so that every time I wash my hands for the next three weeks I will remember the Bahamas...

...but...now I'm not sure why I wanted to remember.

Humidity, 25 cent slots, fried food and big, busted bottles of perfume. Yippee! Sign me up for next year!

I know, I know. Boo-hoo.
I had to go to the Bahamas. Poor me.

But it was very disillusioning. I didn't see tropical splendor; I saw poverty, gluttony, ignorance and feral cats. I am too far left for my own good. Everything, from the welcome-drink vouchers, down to the sycophantic hotel staff, it all weirded me out. Everything was commodified. Call me a socialist but it was fucked.

Part of me longed to stroll along in ignorance...but I was reminded of my privilege (again) and felt too guilty to really enjoy myself down there.

There are times when I feel like I chose the purple pill; I see the world as it truly is only half of the time, but keep changing my mind about which is which.

*Everywhere there's lots of piggies
Living piggy lives.
You can see them out for dinner
With their piggy wives
Clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon*.

It is absolutely official!

2006-08-09T21:41:00.000-07:00

I am now legally Ms. Mata.

Not in the radical-feminist-overalls-and-moon-cup sense but in the I-was-married-but-now-I'm-not sense.

Hoorah!

I must say, I make a much better divorcee than I do a wife. Being a wife totally sapped my libido and my personality.

Now I feel the pull of leopard print mules and tender young man flesh. Prrrrr. *stretch*

I am resisting...but just barely.

So far I have managed to avoid the frightful footwear, but I can't say the same for Prince William television specials or the new Timbaland video.

meow.

Your gal in Freeport

2006-08-07T06:29:00.000-07:00

I apologize for my extended absence from the ghetto (and such bad timing, to coincide with V's CPUke) however this little bitch has been busy.

As much as I have enjoyed my employment hiatus, my cute shoe fund was suffering so I figured I'd better get back to work. I have been doing the resume/interview Cha-Cha. *sigh* There is no quicker way to sap a girl's energy and creativity than to stuff her into "appropriate" clothing and jewelry and force her to be fabulous and charming on demand. *BIGSIGH* However, mission accomplished. I have landed the job and am now free to resume my slovenly and debaucherous lifestyle. Let the chardonnay-and-shake fueled posts begin!

I also had three aunties from TO visiting for a week. "...on your left you will see what is charmingly referred to as Pigeon Park, which you can see is not so much a park as a breeding ground for hepatitis, HIV and bad skin care habits...".

My final and least sympathy-provoking excuse is that I was also in negotiations for a business trip to the Bahamas...which is where I am now.

Cue the Freeport Report:

I have worked three out of my five days here. Oh woe is me! However, you don't really need more than two days here unless you are overly fond of the beach. The beaches here ARE fabulous, but I am of Scottish descent and fry like bacon after approximately 12 minutes in the sun.

The best part of my trip was last night. The Bahamians were celebrating their emancipation day with an activity called Junkanoo.

It was a trip. I recommend Junkanoo as the best thing to see in the Bahamas if you ever go. It was like carnival meets street rave but with an old skool twist. Groups from different towns and neighborhoods compete against each other.

The more elaborate and dynamic the costumes; the funkier the horn playing; the louder the drums and cowbells, the better. It happens 1-3 times a year depending on the island. Seek it out! I recommend taking a chair and several... ehm... Redbulls though 'cause it starts at dark and goes until 3am or well into the next day depending on the island.

Well, the pool beckons, so this girl is signin' off.

Ciao bitches!

Blazer Williams — Console Cowboy

2006-08-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

Well, the shadowy figure named Blazer Williams is no longer blinded by the light, it seems. He's finally got his own blog up and running: Redrooffs.

It's all about a number of my favourite things: "Interaction design, wine, Cocoa, Vancouver, and other observations".

Damn — I hope he talks about chocolate real soon.

Now that I think about it, code probably is chocolate for programmers: they're always thinking about it, they wish they weren't always thinking about it, they can't get enough of it, they're always panning for the bite-size pieces of it, wrapped in gold.

I say, bring back the term "console cowboys". Not only is it a hot term, it's also retro cool — it's the Betty Page look for web nerds.

(Your site looks pretty fine indeed. The leading is fabulous.)

All work and no play...

2006-08-01T17:37:00.000-07:00

yah, you know — makes Violet a dull girl.

I'm dancing on work coals and navigating boxes – the kind you have to think outside. 'Cause that's the funny thing about thinking outside the box: the box is always there, in your mind's eye. The trick is to just think, methinks. Fuck the damn box. If a great idea is inside it, crawl into it and stew.

I'm going to be hauling long hours at work and work this month, so I am going to take a faux haitus from my beloved blog. So sad. For the month of August, I will be posting on Mondays. Hopefully the other bitches will pick up the slack.

12 days without a home computer and counting...

GBS roster doubles

2006-07-26T13:38:00.000-07:00

Look to your right and scroll down. You see? There are three new additions to the GBS posse of... ahem. Please let me introduce you to Dark Whimsey, Heidi Lament and Figure8.

These three GBs are currently ghosts in the machine — silent partners if you will. But they shall be silent no more, dammit. Come on ladies, get thee to thy posting stations. And post. It only costs pennies a day. For serious.

Prodigal dream

2006-07-25T12:04:00.000-07:00

No word yet about my prodigal computer.

But I'm sure she's going to come back to me wearing an amazing technicolour dreamsuit*. It's going to be a teary-eyed reunion that's for sure. We will run toward each other (yes, appendages akimbo) — her dreamsuit flapping in the wind with little musical notes trailing off it like audible bubbles; my Frye boots sprinting the ground like a new-born colt, or fillie, or whatever little baby horses are called.

When we embrace like long lost sisters, it's going to be beautiful.

And then I'll frickin' slap her. And tell her to never ever do that to me again.

I'll cry how could you do this to me? Me — the person who clothed you, fed you, sang you sleep every night and occasionally jacked up your RAM.

*I have no idea what Joseph's suit looked like or why he was wearing one, but I do know that my computer's technical-colour wardrobe will be magical! No more keyboard for entering text — what I think will simply appear... perfectly edited. No more tiny grains of sand in hourglasses reminding me that time is slipping away. No more burning plastic. She will trail the faint scent of lavender or violet, cook me dinners and make my bed.

Mac meltdown

2006-07-21T16:03:00.000-07:00

So, I finally got my G5 imac hooked up to the Interweb and what happens? It has a full-on, stinkin' meldown.

My beloved computer is now officially the wicked witch of the world wide web. Boo.

I don't mind a bloated body, but I do mind a bloated computer chip. I can't afford Jenny Craig for my computer. And it's not like you can take it out and exercise the sucker so it remains a lean, mean blogging machine.

If you google "20" G5 imac burning smell," you get this thread of pissed-off mac users (scroll down to the comments). I guess this burning sensation is a common "issue" with the first-gen imacs. Recall is not an option, as my year warranty expired 4 months ago. (Thank goodness for London Drugs insurance — for once my decision to purchase extra insurance has come in handy.)

I'm so sad right now. So sad. I feel so disillusioned... and out of touch.

Siblings

2006-07-19T22:04:00.000-07:00

Funny that Mata should post about siblings (and dishwashers--god, I want one again so badly). Is it that time of year? I got to be with my two (siblings, not dishwashers) a few weekends ago, for the first time since my brother got married in October. Although Jen isn't my blood sister she might as well be. We met at age three when I walked onto the sidewalk in front of my Kerrisdale house and saw a little girl of my own height. "Want to play?" we asked one another. We've been sisters ever since. My brother I just love. Jen and I used to hold him down (one on each arm) and spit in his mouth. Totally gross, but he seems to have forgiven us and turned out OK in spite of it.

I miss them a lot when I don't see them.

my childhood...7:12pm most every night

2006-07-17T20:16:00.000-07:00

"Girrrrrllls! " *my mother* "Diiishhesss!"

and the negotiations would begin.

My sister hates doing the dishes.

My sister is the only unmarried woman I know who's mates have willingly bought her appliances.
Twice!
Two different boys have purchased dishwashers for my sister. And I understand why.

Nothing can turn that little-ray-of-sunshine (poetic license) into the coldest, darkest day of nuclear winter faster than the prospect of a full sink of dishes. Both those boys knew that a couple of hundred bucks for a dishwasher was a freakin' bargain.

*my sister* "I'm not doing the pots!"

*me* "Why do I always have to do the pots?!"

*my sister* "Well, I'm not doing them!"

*my mother* "Girls!"

*me* "Fine!" *whispered* "but you're doing all the plates, all the glasses and the utensils."

*my sister* "Na-Uh! No way am I doing the utensils too!"

*me* "That's not fair! Why do I always have to utensils?!"

"GIRLS!" *guess who*

This is the point where my sister washes the glasses and the plates, making gross-out faces and gagging whenever her hands come in contact with anything that is not either water, porcelain or glass. Then I follow-up by doing all other dishes in the house.

I'm not bitter. *that's a lie*

I just wish that as an eleven year old I had been bright enough to spend my allowance on a Whirlpool instead of on all those Tigerbeats.

Bob Ross of grammar

2006-07-17T14:50:00.000-07:00

Meet Mary Rackham, retired school teacher and Cosy English Courses founder. She truly is the Bob Ross of grammar.

"Why Grammar?" (.mov).
Orcas for interjection! (.mov)
Her giggles kill me. (.mov)
I can't get enough of her Cosy English Courses video clips.

"It is difficult to be creative at an-knee-thing if you do not have the technique first."

Solar chimney

2006-07-13T13:10:00.000-07:00

It's like all the hot air has been sapped out of me with no cool breeze to replace it.

Still no home Internt machine.
The boy roomate doesn't understand why I requested that he lock the doors when he's the last to leave. (He'll be even more confused when I ask NOT to put his front-door key in the mail box, which is half-a-foot away from the lock.)
The girl roomate and I are having a kitchen party on Friday. Yes it includes drinking. No you're not invited. We're re-arranging the cupboards. I am a wild party.
I got my eyebrows threaded and it now looks like I have had a good cry.
I go to Vegas next Tuesday for a bid-ness meeting. I've heard they sell champagne from Slurpee machines. How GBS is that? I'll toast you all when I'm there.
Men from Chicago think I'm smashing. But those men in Vancouver are seriously lacking. I have learned to love the warm embrace of my pillow.

Posting and Interneting on Monday. Now baby's got to book a co-op car to get the last household dregs from there to here.

Museum of Food Anomalies

2006-07-10T14:20:00.000-07:00

Now playing in the SCI-FI Theater: "IT CAME FROM THE FARMER'S MARKET!"

This sour sucker reminds me of that part in Aliens 3 when cloned Ripley sees the failed versions of herself.

Weird food anomolies at the MoFA... Evil pancakes, ghostly cereal, egg bunnies, placenta sack bacon — I'm never eating breakfast again!

Is your cat a Cylon?

2006-07-08T13:25:00.000-07:00

I have recently begun to suspect that one or both of my cats may be a Cylon agent. The one cat in particular is exhibiting distinctly Cylon-esque behavior.

The cat in question actually belongs to my BF and she hates women. We have always been more than a little dubious of each other, but we have an understanding...I don't look at her or touch her and she doesn't strike at my face. Simple enough, non?

But then recently she has begun to warm up to me. She has even actually approached me for pets on occasion. However, just when she has me lulled into a false sense of fuzzy affection...WHAM! She nails me, sharp-side up!

Ergo, she's a frackin' Cylon.

Do you suspect that your cat is secretly attempting to bring down the human race, starting with you?
Here are some telling signs to watch for:

1. Toys with prey, torturing it slowly before delightedly killing without mercy.
2. Attempts to convince you of it's love and devotion only to wake you up in the night by pouncing on your head and biting your hair.
3. Purrs while kneading your bare flesh with it's claws.
4. Stands on your keyboard, which results in inappropriate email sendage.
5. Shreds new items of clothing or furniture purchased solely to impress prospective employers or mates.
6. Vomits hairballs onto bathroom mat in the night, guaranteeing you step in said hairball in the morning.
7. Refuses attempts to reduce further hairball incidents by clawing, biting and hissing during brushing.
8. Covers all surfaces in clingy, allergen-ridden hair causing friends and family to avoid your home like Wednesdays at the downtown eastside Army and Navy.

Open call for Little Singapore

2006-07-05T09:35:00.002-07:00

May I have your attention please.

STOP SPITTING!!

I have very few civic pet peeves but public spitting is one of them. (The other one is people who ride their bike on the sidewalk but I have occasionally been guilty of this one myself so I will stifle that particular rant.)

I would rather see an increase in public urinating or see people who don't clean up after their shitzus given Caban giftcards rather than see one more public spitter go unpunished. I know all of the justification for laws against spitting; it's unsanitary, it spreads disease, and the like. But I actually don't care about all the SARS and tuberculosis being absent-mindedly horcked onto our streets...I just find the practice itself repugnant and I want it to stop.

Even after the dirty little spitter has consummated his (and yes it is usually boys whom I see phlegm-tagging my streets) act of public defiance, I still have to deal with the remnant spatter. If these little piss-ants want to defile their country why don't they just quietly continue not to vote. Speaking of which, if we must have this painfully conservative government in office, why don't we put their foibles to use for us??

I call for the reinstitution of corporal punishment for all public spitters! Let's take a page from Singapore's book and flay the little expectorators! (Actually spitters in Singapore just get a fine or at worst a couple of hours of community service, but I DON'T CARE! I'm on a roll!) I realize that there is no evidence that corporal punishment has any deterrent effect but I do not care. I just want to smack these little shits...HARD!

I wouldn't want to see our court system bogged down with countless numbers of public loogie-launchers so I propose no legal trappings associated with my plan. Think of it more as a system of negative reinforcement. Citizens now have carte-blanche. If you see someone horck on the street, you will be fully within your legal rights to flick them in the nutsack and scream "Why don't you just go home and watch Miami Ink, ya little malcontent!". In fact it will be your civic duty.

*deepsigh* That feels better.

Alright...as you were.

Off the grid

2006-07-04T18:03:00.000-07:00

No Internet
No TV
No social life...
No GBS service

LiveNudeGirls

2006-06-30T15:59:00.000-07:00

This show featuring Audrey Kawasaki at Seattle's Roq la Rue gallery looks interesting. The opening party is July 7. For some reason I bet there will be hot girls there.

I want to say I'm over the "melancholy/sexy/disturbing/infanta-woman" thing in painting, started, I suppose by John Currin, or Balthus. No, wait, that's not true, as this slightly-strange blog of nude women in art (photos of Keira Knightley and Audrey Hepburn making the only discordant appearances) reminds me. Duh. Talk about a scrolling feast of nipples and curves and pubic hair. I thought the Rodin nude was going to lift her head, toss her hair and look me in the eye.

As for Kawasaki's stuff, it took me a minute before I figured out what this painting:

reminded me of:

I wonder if Egon got them to pose for this, or whether it was uh, more journalistic. Anyway. Enough nipples and curves--it's after 4 on a Friday long weekend and this particular set of nipples and curves are out of here.

It's a cruel (cruel), cruel summah...

2006-06-29T09:25:00.000-07:00

It's that time again. Time to pack more clothes than I am ever going to wear into my backpack, along with too little sunscreen and barely enough music; pile into a friend's over-hot car and drive over the horizon.

ROAD TRIP!

No, it is not going to be some testoerone-fueled-Tom-Greenesque fiasco. This weekend is girls-only and these bitches is classy. (props to KLJ for organizing our asses). Think wine soaked, sun drenched, and estrogen sopped.

I see dancing, gossiping, sun-bathing, croquet-whacking, wine-touring and talking 'til we are so parched that we simply have to crack another bottle of that darling Char.

*soexcitedmustrunaroundincirclesflappingarms*

Reality...I will deal with you in four days time.

Moving on

2006-06-28T08:28:00.000-07:00

Kitchen =
4 boxes, 1 table, 3 chairs, 1 microwave
Bathroom =
1 box
Books =
8 boxes
Clothes =
4 garbage bags
Bedroom =
1 box-spring mattress, 1 small dresser, 1 lamp, 1 table
Study =
2 boxes, 1 computer, 1 lamp, 1 chair, 1 file cabinet
Living room =
zero, zip, zilch
...And there you have it, my life summary.

One day I may live like an adult — one day.