In every generation, there is some political event or time period that defines that generation. For my parents, it was the Cold War. For their parents, World War 2. For their parents, World War 1. Before that? I'm not really sure, but there was something. I'd bet on it. And now it's my generation's turn.
I can't help but wonder In fifty years, I wonder what they'll call all this. "All this" consists of 9-11. Of soaring gas prices, of the most watched election in the history of mankind. Of whatever will happen in the next few months as the market falls and the USA becomes more deeply in bondage to debt.
I don't really think that Barack is a saviour or a swindler. I don't think McCain & Palin are as frightening as some do. I also realize that I know little about American politics.
This news video is pretty much the opposit of Swing Vote. And I can guarantee…
For the first five minutes, I hate my writing class. As soon as my teacher says, "Well, how do we feel about a sounding?" I think We feel stupid. And a bit ridiculous... I can't help wondering why I signed myself up for this.
Singing the scale in Hindi? Concentrating on my chakras? Drawing in abstract what I feel flow from my subconscious?
This is not what I do.
But I do it. Well, sometimes I cheat. Instead of concentrating on my chakras, I think deeply about God. Instead of being lost in the sound of our voices, I try not to listen to the out-of-tune person across from me and think instead of my own voice bouncing of the wooden rafters two feet above my head. I can feel it. I hear it in my throat. Or I think I can.
I cannot subdue my conscious mind well, so my drawing exercise turns out to be tentative, careful, and semi-abstract. But then, as I explain what I think it means, I discover [give] meaning that I hadn't seen before. And I think perhaps my instructor is right…
This was my introduction to Strongbad. And Homestarrunner. Oh, all the fun we had laughing four years ago...all because one of my friends said to me in a weird voice, "Beth looks like a dude." And then had to explain himself.
Another quote from this lovely children's book is "Gregor is a weird name." Which is true. And is a thought that has crossed my mind several times in the past few days. I have started seeing posters for the upcoming municipal election that are encouraging people to vote for Gregor Robertson. Two things caught my eye on the sign. 1. His name is Gregor (and Gregor is a weird name). 2. His photo was quite striking.
He looks like he could be Gilbert Blythe or some sort of sweet leading-man from a film set in the 20s. He looks young. Too young to be running for mayor. But he's not. He's not too young to have a wife and four kids. The eldest is only a year younger than my little brother.
He's also not too young to be the co-founder of a g…
I'm on a bit of an antiques kick. It's the terrible influence of my mom, exposing me to estate auctions and helping me get a steal of a deal on a lovely antique Japanese vase... (Thanks, Mom!)
This weekend I am house sitting, which of course requires me to spend the night and enjoy some solitude and cable TV. There isn't much on during Saturday afternoon (I'm about to watch Dharma and Greg, which I haven't seen in YEARS!). But I did catch The Antiques Roadshow. American and British versions. And now I am thinking of every item in my parents' house, and all the things I sometimes wonder about buying at thrift stores...
I am convinced that everyone has at least one item sitting on a shelf somewhere that is more valuable than they could imagine.
I think a big part of my love for all things old is due to my love of stories. Old stories. Peoples' stories. Lives and moments from the past that we barely even know happened. Connections and skeletons and intrigue and t…
I missed the milestone entry yesterday, apparently. It was numero cinco cente. That is some sort of gibberish for five hundred.
Last night, as I drove home from the airport, I learned two election-related Guelph factoids that made me proud of my hometown. a) Guelph had the longest ballot of any riding in Canada. You could vote for any one of ten candidates, including both the Communist Party and the Marxist-Leninist Party. Oh, and let's not forget the Marijuana Party. b) The new ID rules? Thanks to a Guelph man who, in the last election voted at five different polling stations, just to prove a point. (For the record, he spoiled his ballot at each station)
This morning, I went to my first-ever auction. Four doors down, there was an estate sale. My mom went early to take a perusal of the goods. And there were many. Many, many, many! Time flies when you are spending money, and it is fun to find out what is valuable. $700 for a watch! $400 for a lamp! $75 for a bowl! I now own a few more …
I own a car. It is a silver Civic and it will be mine until the end of May. I currently dislike ICBC and the expensive car insurance rates. Maybe I'm just being cynical, but I think Ontario's is cheaper. I haven't gotten to drive the car yet because its previous owners have it until tomorrow. But on Wednesday! then I get it.
I have a cold and sound a bit manly, but I don't mind because it is better than an evening of vomit.
Ellen is growing on me. I mean, I knew I always liked the show, but watching it two days running made me decide that I would watch it on a consistent basis if I could. She's just so absurd and funny. This is one of the funniest random pranks I've seen in awhile.
That's pretty much my question. I was compulsively searching Wikipedia today, and as we all know, "naked mole rats" are kind of the default weird thing to look at. So I did. Here they are.
But you know what's crazy? The creature is actually fascinating. Yes, it makes me want to barf. But it is incredibly unusual. It lives underground, and has metabolism like a cold-blooded animal, and organizes its social structure similarly to ants and bees. There is a "queen" rat and there are "worker" rats. They eat tubers, and no pain signallers in the skin. They live in eastern Africa.
It is almost bedtime. But first, I really do need to recap three things.
Thing 1: Jungle Jam. I don't really know how to explain this. Like Psalty the Singing Songbook, but somewhat different - with jungle creatures and much more subtle humour. Good Christian values and half an hour of laughs. The first tape we owned was The Singing Cheetah Sisters, where Cheetah Bonita goes solo. It features this song, which I can still sing, more than ten years later. There were two other full-length cassettes (ah ha ha ha ha), and then a series of radio shows, which apparently still continue today. Or at least, you can still download them online. I love that if I said to my brothers, Run, Millard! Run like the wind and never look back!!! we would all burst into giggles, and Stephen would do a Millard-style scream.
Thing 2: Philadelphia. I have not watched this movie before. It is worth it. HIV/AIDS carries such a stigma, and I rarely think about this. Except for the massive cell phones (that some…
Over the weekend, the male population of our house nearly doubled the females. Last week started with one housemate. By the end, we had five. Four boys and a girl. The girl is irrelevant to this particular story (although not the least bit irrelevant in real life). The boys, however - Nick, John, Greg & Connor, are the fascinating subject of today's study.
Two weeks ago, one of them had a brilliant idea: a bike trip down the west coast. In the next fourteen days, they all managed to buy the necessary equipment and get themselves to Vancouver, their starting point. My house was chosen, not because of my lovely smile or the fact that we live in the most beautiful neighbourhood, but because New Roommate Aimee is dating one of these adventurous boys. I really like New Roommate Aimee. So does Nick.
Anyway, this past week has been quite the fun one. I've had many opportunities to extol the virtues of Canada, including poutine, insulin, Douglas Coupland, and the invention of basket…
Sometimes, I get this song stuck in my head. I love it because it is Canadian and it is retro and it has French in it and the best line, possibly of all times: "And she feeds me love and tenderness and macaroons." What more could a man want?
Sweet City Woman (The Stampeders) Well, I'm on my way, to the city life To a pretty face that shines her light on the city nights And I gotta catch a noon train Gotta be there on time Oh, it feels so good to know she waits at the end of the line
Swee-ee-eet, sweet city woman I can see your face, I can hear your voice, I can almost touch you Swee-ee-eet, sweet city woman Oh, my banjo and me, we got a feel for singin', yeah, yeah,
Bon c'est bon, bon bon c'est bon, bon, Bon c'est bon, bon, bon, bon, bon Bon c'est, bon, bon bon ci'estbon, bon, Bon c'est bon, bon, bon, bon, bon So long ma, so long pa, so long Neighbors and friends
Like a country mornin', all snuggled in dew Ah she's got a way to make a man feel shiny and…