So M@rla posted a comment at Maspik that linked to Bill Hartman with a really good summation of women's so-called fitness magazines. Mich (at Maspik) has blogged this topic before, but I like the way Mr. Hartman lays out the goods.
Not that I work out anyways, but y'know, I like to stay current.
running and ducking before some fit person hits me with a nerf bat
Friday, March 02, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
We All Scream for Ice Cream
Yesterday I debated the importance of joy and sensuality in food against the idea that food is only fuel.
And today, I feel vindicated by the following study:
Women who included high-fat dairy foods in their diets had less risk of anovulatory infertility.
Of course food is fuel; I don't advocate eating french fries and cake all day. Well, not every day.
However, to feel guilt for choosing a regular potato instead of a "superfood" like a sweet potato, or to always shun peanuts in favour of almonds, 'cause almonds are "better for you" takes away the spontaneity and joy of eating. What if you just feel like eating peanuts? Doesn't our own history as a species indicate just how well the body can survive on limited staples?
Sure, I'll add brown rice to my diet - but I won't give up white rice. And I fight the creeping guilt I feel with all the so-called "nutritionally empty" foods. I grew up with white rice and I was a pretty healthy kid. I believe in moderation and seasonal eating, and above all, enjoyment of food. So go out, have that full-fat yogurt or chocolate shake and think of me.
This is hypocritically pomegranate sorbet, but it's the only photo of ice-cream on my computer.
And today, I feel vindicated by the following study:
Women who included high-fat dairy foods in their diets had less risk of anovulatory infertility.
Of course food is fuel; I don't advocate eating french fries and cake all day. Well, not every day.
However, to feel guilt for choosing a regular potato instead of a "superfood" like a sweet potato, or to always shun peanuts in favour of almonds, 'cause almonds are "better for you" takes away the spontaneity and joy of eating. What if you just feel like eating peanuts? Doesn't our own history as a species indicate just how well the body can survive on limited staples?
Sure, I'll add brown rice to my diet - but I won't give up white rice. And I fight the creeping guilt I feel with all the so-called "nutritionally empty" foods. I grew up with white rice and I was a pretty healthy kid. I believe in moderation and seasonal eating, and above all, enjoyment of food. So go out, have that full-fat yogurt or chocolate shake and think of me.
This is hypocritically pomegranate sorbet, but it's the only photo of ice-cream on my computer.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Original Score and More
Penelope looks sweet in the pink, even though it's an ashy pink. Hugh Jackman is a hunka hunka burnin' love (I said it) as always, but what's goin' on with his hair?
Kirsten Dunst and Tobey Maguire look like they're about to break into a little song and dance number - they're so Cute, both of them. Like they've been teleported from a 1920s vaudeville show. Kirsten's dress is original, and very her, and a nice change from the off-the-shoulder and strapless numbers, but I still don't like it.
A steal for original screenplay - Little Miss Sunshine. Very nice speech.
I received an email with a thumbs-up report of Reese Witherspoon and yes, she looks gorgeous. I still like her Golden Globe yellow cocktail dress more, but the night-coloured ruffled edging on her Oscar dress is a sexy frill to a classy dress.
Better go see Dreamgirls. I like musicals anyways. Beyonce hasn't been spotted in red in a while - looks good. And this song is such a great showcase for her voice! I'm impressed.
Anika Noni Rose's red dress (for the performance) is divine. A little "Night Splendor Barbie", but still, it does what it's meant to do.
*
Checked the "Fug" blog - Naomi Watts is preggers! Oops - that's exactly who should wear an empire waist! "My badliness." She and Liev Schreiber make a cute couple.
The question though (am I just out of the loop?) - is J.Lo officially pregnant?
*
I think certain members of the audience perhaps do not know that Travolta is in Hairspray - maybe they think he just came out?
Queen Latifah's dress is beautiful.
*
Commercials again, so here's what my fortune cookie said:
A loved one's concerns are of utmost importance at this time.
Uh, aren't they always? That's a totally redundant fortune for me.
*
Will Smith just introduced another montage, that I didn't quite catch the director or the point of.
*
Kate Winslet looks well-dressed as always. The mint green is refreshing, though it's not my favourite colour. Not the best dress ever.
Jodie Foster looks divine! A little Sarandon on the bodice, and a little dated Lisa Rinna on the hair, but over all, when she walked on stage, she warranted a wow.
*
Helen Mirren's awesome win - with purse and earring in hand.
*
Diane Keaton looks amazing!!!
*
Oops - got a phone call - and missed blogging to the end. (See, I do have friends.)
*
Forest Whitaker's speech was beautiful and inspirational.
I predicted Departed winning - my phone conversation partner was predicting The Queen.
*
Alright, that's it. Any further thoughts I have on dresses, speeches, etc. will be posted another time. Or never...
Kirsten Dunst and Tobey Maguire look like they're about to break into a little song and dance number - they're so Cute, both of them. Like they've been teleported from a 1920s vaudeville show. Kirsten's dress is original, and very her, and a nice change from the off-the-shoulder and strapless numbers, but I still don't like it.
A steal for original screenplay - Little Miss Sunshine. Very nice speech.
I received an email with a thumbs-up report of Reese Witherspoon and yes, she looks gorgeous. I still like her Golden Globe yellow cocktail dress more, but the night-coloured ruffled edging on her Oscar dress is a sexy frill to a classy dress.
Better go see Dreamgirls. I like musicals anyways. Beyonce hasn't been spotted in red in a while - looks good. And this song is such a great showcase for her voice! I'm impressed.
Anika Noni Rose's red dress (for the performance) is divine. A little "Night Splendor Barbie", but still, it does what it's meant to do.
*
Checked the "Fug" blog - Naomi Watts is preggers! Oops - that's exactly who should wear an empire waist! "My badliness." She and Liev Schreiber make a cute couple.
The question though (am I just out of the loop?) - is J.Lo officially pregnant?
*
I think certain members of the audience perhaps do not know that Travolta is in Hairspray - maybe they think he just came out?
Queen Latifah's dress is beautiful.
*
Commercials again, so here's what my fortune cookie said:
A loved one's concerns are of utmost importance at this time.
Uh, aren't they always? That's a totally redundant fortune for me.
*
Will Smith just introduced another montage, that I didn't quite catch the director or the point of.
*
Kate Winslet looks well-dressed as always. The mint green is refreshing, though it's not my favourite colour. Not the best dress ever.
Jodie Foster looks divine! A little Sarandon on the bodice, and a little dated Lisa Rinna on the hair, but over all, when she walked on stage, she warranted a wow.
*
Helen Mirren's awesome win - with purse and earring in hand.
*
Diane Keaton looks amazing!!!
*
Oops - got a phone call - and missed blogging to the end. (See, I do have friends.)
*
Forest Whitaker's speech was beautiful and inspirational.
I predicted Departed winning - my phone conversation partner was predicting The Queen.
*
Alright, that's it. Any further thoughts I have on dresses, speeches, etc. will be posted another time. Or never...
More Oscars
The babble while the winners go up to the stage is intolerable.
But I'm glad Ennio Morricone is being honoured.
I'm surprised that Clint Eastwood would repeat the common mistake of not wearing glasses if one needs them to read the teleprompter.
I wonder if the price on the Morricone cd set at Indigo will go up now. Hm...
Mais, c'est Celine! Qu'est-ce qu'elle fait ici? I wish she was singing in French. Is it just me, or does Morricone look like he's trying to figure out why someone put lyrics to his tune? Or is he wondering wether the contract served him well for the royalties on every copy that Celine sells? I'm so cynical. The bottom of Celine's dress is un peux etrange. Like she's wearing a bustle. This song is not moving me at all.
Clint should've taken that opportunity to have someone fetch his glasses.
I like the fact the Ennio is not trying to speak English, but is expressing himself in the language he is most comfortable in.
Aw, and his tribute to his wife is gonna make me cry in my noodles.
But I'm glad Ennio Morricone is being honoured.
I'm surprised that Clint Eastwood would repeat the common mistake of not wearing glasses if one needs them to read the teleprompter.
I wonder if the price on the Morricone cd set at Indigo will go up now. Hm...
Mais, c'est Celine! Qu'est-ce qu'elle fait ici? I wish she was singing in French. Is it just me, or does Morricone look like he's trying to figure out why someone put lyrics to his tune? Or is he wondering wether the contract served him well for the royalties on every copy that Celine sells? I'm so cynical. The bottom of Celine's dress is un peux etrange. Like she's wearing a bustle. This song is not moving me at all.
Clint should've taken that opportunity to have someone fetch his glasses.
I like the fact the Ennio is not trying to speak English, but is expressing himself in the language he is most comfortable in.
Aw, and his tribute to his wife is gonna make me cry in my noodles.
Down to the Count
Please don't let Abigail Breslin win. I don't like it when kids win Oscars. It just doesn't make any sense. I think children see acting differently than adults. I think it's a very different process for them, and it's not comparable.
I haven't seen any of these films except Little Miss Sunshine.
Jennifer Hudson is so sweet! I'm glad she won, even though I haven't seen Dreamgirls. And it was moving to see Beyonce tearing up a little, which I'm assuming was out of empathy.
I do want to see Babel.
Eva Green's dress is nice, but choosing the colour putty is a bit evasive somehow. I like the risk of wearing something that looks ethereal and vaguely barnacled. Gael Garcia Bernal looks unsexy, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't invite him over.
;-)
I didn't catch what the short doc that won was about. I'm curious about all of them.
I'm not a big fan of Seinfeld, but he's being alright with his little schtick...no, no, I take it back. I'm anti-litter in a severe way.
More in another blurb.
I haven't seen any of these films except Little Miss Sunshine.
Jennifer Hudson is so sweet! I'm glad she won, even though I haven't seen Dreamgirls. And it was moving to see Beyonce tearing up a little, which I'm assuming was out of empathy.
I do want to see Babel.
Eva Green's dress is nice, but choosing the colour putty is a bit evasive somehow. I like the risk of wearing something that looks ethereal and vaguely barnacled. Gael Garcia Bernal looks unsexy, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't invite him over.
;-)
I didn't catch what the short doc that won was about. I'm curious about all of them.
I'm not a big fan of Seinfeld, but he's being alright with his little schtick...no, no, I take it back. I'm anti-litter in a severe way.
More in another blurb.
And we're back
Naomi Watts and Robert Downey Jr.
Weird - R-Dow is biting Patrick Dempsey's look, no?
Naomi Watts looks rather muted and somewhat ill-put-together. ( Did I just make up a word?)
The yellow is not as good as last year's Willams or Blanchett, but empire cuts are never my fave.
Damn, I hate the orchestra cutting off groups of winners!
Deneuve looks very classy. Is that Watanabe with her? Hott. I love that Isla and Sacha are yakking it up from their seats and yelling "Bravo!" when the camera's on them! (And yes, I am on a first name basis with them. What of it?)
Nice montage - I've even seen some of the films!
I tried to rent The Garden of the Finzi-Contini's once, but it was dubbed, not subtitled, so I returned it. Golly, I have so many films to see. Oh, lord, and the Bicycle Thief always tears my heart out.
Yay, it's CATE! She's a goddess - her and Clive can out-hot Brangelina, I think. Look at'em!
Cate, while again, not at her most dramatic, strikes a nice balance between flowy and edgy in that deep gun-metal colour.
The German director leaping out of his seat made me smile. Oh, he's so passionate - how lovely. Is this the first time someone's thanked Ahnold in an Oscar speech.
And Ellen's changed velour tux. More in a bit...
Weird - R-Dow is biting Patrick Dempsey's look, no?
Naomi Watts looks rather muted and somewhat ill-put-together. ( Did I just make up a word?)
The yellow is not as good as last year's Willams or Blanchett, but empire cuts are never my fave.
Damn, I hate the orchestra cutting off groups of winners!
Deneuve looks very classy. Is that Watanabe with her? Hott. I love that Isla and Sacha are yakking it up from their seats and yelling "Bravo!" when the camera's on them! (And yes, I am on a first name basis with them. What of it?)
Nice montage - I've even seen some of the films!
I tried to rent The Garden of the Finzi-Contini's once, but it was dubbed, not subtitled, so I returned it. Golly, I have so many films to see. Oh, lord, and the Bicycle Thief always tears my heart out.
Yay, it's CATE! She's a goddess - her and Clive can out-hot Brangelina, I think. Look at'em!
Cate, while again, not at her most dramatic, strikes a nice balance between flowy and edgy in that deep gun-metal colour.
The German director leaping out of his seat made me smile. Oh, he's so passionate - how lovely. Is this the first time someone's thanked Ahnold in an Oscar speech.
And Ellen's changed velour tux. More in a bit...
Emily Blunt and Anne Hatahway
Anne Hathaway looks exactly how she always looks. Nothing new. Black and white and a bow. Feel like I've seent his before.
Poor Emily Blunt has been brainwashed by L.A. Look at that fake tan. I'm not sure how I feel about the metallic blue. Actually, as the camera dollies back to her, I quite like it. I'm giving it a chance.
Typically, the costume designer is wearing a quirky little tux! Good short and sincere speech though.
EEK! It's the Cruise. Wow, Sherry Lansing is getting a humanitarian award? Who knew.
I'm impressed, but her speech sounds a little like a Bat Mitzvah speech. I can't judge, I've taken to passing out while public speaking.
Ooooh, Gwyneth kicks ass. And she knows how good she looks. The colour is smashing, and the hair and make-up is very Old Hollywood. I'm always so grateful to hear people like Rachel Weiss and Gwyneth Paltrow speak so well.
Another Pan's Labyrinth win. It's a lovely movie, but it's definitely not my favourite, and I had a specific problem with it. I don't think it will win Best Picture.
Gonna snarf some food (it's finally arrived).
Poor Emily Blunt has been brainwashed by L.A. Look at that fake tan. I'm not sure how I feel about the metallic blue. Actually, as the camera dollies back to her, I quite like it. I'm giving it a chance.
Typically, the costume designer is wearing a quirky little tux! Good short and sincere speech though.
EEK! It's the Cruise. Wow, Sherry Lansing is getting a humanitarian award? Who knew.
I'm impressed, but her speech sounds a little like a Bat Mitzvah speech. I can't judge, I've taken to passing out while public speaking.
Ooooh, Gwyneth kicks ass. And she knows how good she looks. The colour is smashing, and the hair and make-up is very Old Hollywood. I'm always so grateful to hear people like Rachel Weiss and Gwyneth Paltrow speak so well.
Another Pan's Labyrinth win. It's a lovely movie, but it's definitely not my favourite, and I had a specific problem with it. I don't think it will win Best Picture.
Gonna snarf some food (it's finally arrived).
More Oscar Free Association
Cameron Diaz is apparently getting married after the show.
Ok, ok, she looks mighty fine, but she's not taking my breath away.
Ha! Ben Affleck introduced as a screenwriter. Whatevah. And he is SO phoning it in. Blah.
Awright, they got me with this very adorable writery montage. And I usually don't like montages much. But they shoulda used some footage of Diane Keaton from Something's Gotta Give.
gasp Helen Mirren looks like a dream.
Tom Hank's hair is turning slowly into John Travolta's.
William Monahan is endearing.
Will the food I ordered ever arrive - oh, sorry - that has nothing to do with the "Ox Cars".
Meh. More commercials.
Ok, ok, she looks mighty fine, but she's not taking my breath away.
Ha! Ben Affleck introduced as a screenwriter. Whatevah. And he is SO phoning it in. Blah.
Awright, they got me with this very adorable writery montage. And I usually don't like montages much. But they shoulda used some footage of Diane Keaton from Something's Gotta Give.
gasp Helen Mirren looks like a dream.
Tom Hank's hair is turning slowly into John Travolta's.
William Monahan is endearing.
Will the food I ordered ever arrive - oh, sorry - that has nothing to do with the "Ox Cars".
Meh. More commercials.
Oscar Blogging
Watching the Oscars makes me nervous. I only started watching around the sound-editing.
I'm watching them alone this year. so I've decided to blog them at the same time, 'cause the Fugster's current blogging isn't doing much for me.
So far, Rachel Weiss looks immaculate insilver platinum. Not daring, but I doubt there's been much daring so far, what with the stylist takeover of Hollywood in the last decade.
Jennifer Jessica Biel doesn't do much for me generally, but she does look gorgeous, if slightly casual in the fuschia jersey halter dress. Her arms rock, as always.
Al Gore and Leo DiCaprio standing side by side is like a study in large heads. Every year Leo is looking slightly more like Orson Welles. Which I dig. Al Gore, despite his good intentions, still creeps me out. Leo reveals his good boy side by calling Gore "sir". How cute is that!
More after the break. Links later when I find dress pics to link to.
I'm watching them alone this year. so I've decided to blog them at the same time, 'cause the Fugster's current blogging isn't doing much for me.
So far, Rachel Weiss looks immaculate in
Al Gore and Leo DiCaprio standing side by side is like a study in large heads. Every year Leo is looking slightly more like Orson Welles. Which I dig. Al Gore, despite his good intentions, still creeps me out. Leo reveals his good boy side by calling Gore "sir". How cute is that!
More after the break. Links later when I find dress pics to link to.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Vancouver Pics & Cat Blogging
Here's That Clear Day - Late Afternoon
These Photos Really Don't Do The View Justice
Cat Blog... doo dee doo...
(Link hat tip to Squiddity & Bro.)
Cat Physics
Can someone please explain to me what is happening in this photo? Why is the cat's reflection stationary while the cat herself is blurry? This deserves an equation, no?
*
Lately my luck has been off. To whit, this past week included:
Broken glass in the dishwasher
Bugs in the broccoli
Cat pee on the sofa
Rental car collision
Please send good vibes in my general direction. (Yes, yes, you could help people who really need it instead.) Heck, do both!
Off to buy Cat Physics for Dummies... Have a satisfyingly restful weekend, everyone.
These Photos Really Don't Do The View Justice
Cat Blog... doo dee doo...
(Link hat tip to Squiddity & Bro.)
Cat Physics
Can someone please explain to me what is happening in this photo? Why is the cat's reflection stationary while the cat herself is blurry? This deserves an equation, no?
*
Lately my luck has been off. To whit, this past week included:
Broken glass in the dishwasher
Bugs in the broccoli
Cat pee on the sofa
Rental car collision
Please send good vibes in my general direction. (Yes, yes, you could help people who really need it instead.) Heck, do both!
Off to buy Cat Physics for Dummies... Have a satisfyingly restful weekend, everyone.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Tims
I took a picture of these two at a nearby Tim Horton's a few weeks ago. I like that their hair colours match their respective sweaters - though, to be fair, the guy's hair isn't technically green. I asked their permission to take and post the photo, but I interrupted their conversation and made them self-conscious in the process.
And I wasn't imagining it - there are fewer 'Tims' here than in Ontario.
And I wasn't imagining it - there are fewer 'Tims' here than in Ontario.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
On a Clear Day
Today was absolutely the most beautiful day I've seen in Vancouver. The sun shone all day and giant cumulus cloud hung mid-way above the horizon, accentuating the mountain tops below them and the startling blue above.
I had to drive to Richmond this morning to be trained on a box office ticketing system. Did I mention I was volunteering for a local film festival? I've met some fantastic people while providing myself with the option of ongoing procrastination, and plenty of shortcuts to insanity.
What? What about writing?
No, I haven't got much done. But I'll make up for it. I promise.
To distract you, here are a lot of pictures. None of them are from today, though. Luckily, the battery in camera was dead while I was driving, 'cause I seriously would've taken photos while driving on the Granville Bridge. The view was breathtaking. In hindsight, photography while driving is probably not the wisest activity to undertake. So here are some of the photos I have taken in the past four weeks.
The lichen and the mushroom photos are for Tammy. I'm sorry the mushrooms on the stump photo isn't better. It was taken in Stanley Park, and the battery died right after I snapped that shot.
Lichen
A View from Stanley Park
Mushroom Blur
Lichen II or "Muppet Trees"
Totem Zoom, Stanley Park
Title Not Required
More Water
Pondering
Yes, But Do You Love Each Other in Esperanto?
Even More Water
Back in the Day, A Sculpture Could be Called This Without Sounding Provocative
I Had Never Seen Wood Ducks Before
That day I also saw a heron and two eagles.
Large Container Ship Prompted Thoughts of Consumerism and Globalization
The View From the Living Room Where I Am Residing
Coal Harbour Sea Walk
City of Glass
Wall Motif
Coal Harbour Seawalk II
Full Moon
They Just Call It De Dutch
De Dutch II
Horseshoe Bay
Nancy Drew, but Shannon Falls
Can you believe I bothered to steal that joke? Like it's not lame enough?
Breakfast in Whistler or Do Not Question Good Fortune
The View during Breakfast was Better than this Photo
The following photos were taken last Sunday on the way to the Chinese New Year's Day parade.
On the Way to Chinatown
Reflection of an Ice Pig or How Not to Take A Picture
It's okay to take photos of other people's children if they're this cute and blurry
This Kid's Braid was Fake and Attached to his Hat!
Festive
Hello Doggie
Lion Feet
Cool Dude Taking Photos
That's the Falun Dafa group drumming in yellow behind him.
Hipster Dude with Pinwheels on his Bike
Choy Cheng (Thank you, Google)
Choy Cheng - Zoom
Year of the Very Modern Pig
That was in a shop window.
Red and Green
That's it for now. I hope that will keep you entertained for at least three minutes.
I had to drive to Richmond this morning to be trained on a box office ticketing system. Did I mention I was volunteering for a local film festival? I've met some fantastic people while providing myself with the option of ongoing procrastination, and plenty of shortcuts to insanity.
What? What about writing?
No, I haven't got much done. But I'll make up for it. I promise.
To distract you, here are a lot of pictures. None of them are from today, though. Luckily, the battery in camera was dead while I was driving, 'cause I seriously would've taken photos while driving on the Granville Bridge. The view was breathtaking. In hindsight, photography while driving is probably not the wisest activity to undertake. So here are some of the photos I have taken in the past four weeks.
The lichen and the mushroom photos are for Tammy. I'm sorry the mushrooms on the stump photo isn't better. It was taken in Stanley Park, and the battery died right after I snapped that shot.
Lichen
A View from Stanley Park
Mushroom Blur
Lichen II or "Muppet Trees"
Totem Zoom, Stanley Park
Title Not Required
More Water
Pondering
Yes, But Do You Love Each Other in Esperanto?
Even More Water
Back in the Day, A Sculpture Could be Called This Without Sounding Provocative
I Had Never Seen Wood Ducks Before
That day I also saw a heron and two eagles.
Large Container Ship Prompted Thoughts of Consumerism and Globalization
The View From the Living Room Where I Am Residing
Coal Harbour Sea Walk
City of Glass
Wall Motif
Coal Harbour Seawalk II
Full Moon
They Just Call It De Dutch
De Dutch II
Horseshoe Bay
Nancy Drew, but Shannon Falls
Can you believe I bothered to steal that joke? Like it's not lame enough?
Breakfast in Whistler or Do Not Question Good Fortune
The View during Breakfast was Better than this Photo
The following photos were taken last Sunday on the way to the Chinese New Year's Day parade.
On the Way to Chinatown
Reflection of an Ice Pig or How Not to Take A Picture
It's okay to take photos of other people's children if they're this cute and blurry
This Kid's Braid was Fake and Attached to his Hat!
Festive
Hello Doggie
Lion Feet
Cool Dude Taking Photos
That's the Falun Dafa group drumming in yellow behind him.
Hipster Dude with Pinwheels on his Bike
Choy Cheng (Thank you, Google)
Choy Cheng - Zoom
Year of the Very Modern Pig
That was in a shop window.
Red and Green
That's it for now. I hope that will keep you entertained for at least three minutes.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
The Rain Has Returned
After almost two weeks of sunny weather, the rain has returned. I had stopped believing it would. That nice umbrella I chose not to buy yesterday is laughing at me from Gastown.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Gung Haggis Fat Choy
I'm up to page 41 in the revisions. Not good, not bad.
Reading Squiddity, reminded me that I had these pics to post. These are from a market my cousin took me to, but I can't remember it's name.
Sorry for the shoddy quality.
The haggis below actually move and scare the living daylights out of people who skeptically approach. It's pretty funny. Shall I tell you how?
And here, one more pic to tide you over till I write something interesting.
The view from Granville Island at night, waiting for the (tiny little) ferry.
Reading Squiddity, reminded me that I had these pics to post. These are from a market my cousin took me to, but I can't remember it's name.
Sorry for the shoddy quality.
The haggis below actually move and scare the living daylights out of people who skeptically approach. It's pretty funny. Shall I tell you how?
And here, one more pic to tide you over till I write something interesting.
The view from Granville Island at night, waiting for the (tiny little) ferry.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Sidney Sheldon
Sidney Sheldon has died.
Around age thirteen, I read Master of the Game. It was the first and only book of his that I read. It shocked me to think adults could be so horrible - especially to their own family members. Reading the review for it now on Amazon, I realize that I only remembered one awful moment, and the rest of the soapy epic had faded from my mind completely.
No, he was not my favourite writer, but I admire his prolificness. (According to dictionary.com, that's a word.)
At the end of the CBC obituary, he is quoted:
"Then I do a complete rewrite — 12 to 15 times," he said. "I spend a whole year rewriting."
Oh, joy.
Around age thirteen, I read Master of the Game. It was the first and only book of his that I read. It shocked me to think adults could be so horrible - especially to their own family members. Reading the review for it now on Amazon, I realize that I only remembered one awful moment, and the rest of the soapy epic had faded from my mind completely.
No, he was not my favourite writer, but I admire his prolificness. (According to dictionary.com, that's a word.)
At the end of the CBC obituary, he is quoted:
"Then I do a complete rewrite — 12 to 15 times," he said. "I spend a whole year rewriting."
Oh, joy.
Vancouver
I'm ba-ack.
Anyone still reading? Awesome.
Here is the low-down on my life since my last post.
Join temp agency.
Get job.
Start volunteering.
Take writing class at U of T
Circumstances demand more time spent with family.
Stop volunteering.
Class ends.
Cousin offers me chance to stay at his place in Vancouver (as he is not often there).
Job contract ends.
I go to Vancouver.
Now I am in Vancouver. I am sorry I have not blogged (nor read anyone else's blog) in so very long. I really appreciate anyone who is still checking this page out.
I have been here for two weeks and this past week has been remarkably sunny. The first week was an unending smudge of grey.
Since I've been here, I have only written on two days. Revising is a loathsome tedious process. You have to read what you've already written, acknowledge how much you hate it, resist the urge to delete the whole thing, and wrestle something better from your over-or-under-caffienated brain. It's not fun.
I will leave you with one photo from Stanley Park and I'll post more soon. This is a tree lying across the pedestrian/bike path around the perimeter of Stanley Park. Amazing and sad.
Anyone still reading? Awesome.
Here is the low-down on my life since my last post.
Join temp agency.
Get job.
Start volunteering.
Take writing class at U of T
Circumstances demand more time spent with family.
Stop volunteering.
Class ends.
Cousin offers me chance to stay at his place in Vancouver (as he is not often there).
Job contract ends.
I go to Vancouver.
Now I am in Vancouver. I am sorry I have not blogged (nor read anyone else's blog) in so very long. I really appreciate anyone who is still checking this page out.
I have been here for two weeks and this past week has been remarkably sunny. The first week was an unending smudge of grey.
Since I've been here, I have only written on two days. Revising is a loathsome tedious process. You have to read what you've already written, acknowledge how much you hate it, resist the urge to delete the whole thing, and wrestle something better from your over-or-under-caffienated brain. It's not fun.
I will leave you with one photo from Stanley Park and I'll post more soon. This is a tree lying across the pedestrian/bike path around the perimeter of Stanley Park. Amazing and sad.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
The Women, the Pigeons, and Me
Picture this. North York. Nineteen ninety-something.
I am a teenager. Maybe in my early twenties? I'm too old to remember now. I have decided in my foolhardiness to walk from Finch Station (the end of the line) to my parents' house in Thornhill. It's summer. I walk. I walk and walk and walk. This was when the plazas in North York on Yonge north of Finch were in slow decline. I walk up to Yonge and Steeles. Not much farther, I remind myself. I remind myself that I like walking. I feel I am a Friend to the Environment.
Yonge and Steeles is dominated by Centrepoint Mall. This story took place when it was Centrepoint, I think. Not so long ago that it was Towne and Country. This was before Yonge from Steeles to Clarke went through the Korean-Iranian renaissance.
I must have been a teenager because this was before the Depressive Episode, back when I talked to strangers. Er, more than I do now.
Let's begin again. I am walking. A woman stops me on the sidewalk. She has a big dog and a pigeon. (The pigeon is in her hands, not inside the big dog.)
This is not terribly unusual. I mean, the pigeon is unusual, but not the fact that she stops me. I'm often stopped by strangers because I often have a look on my face that says "harmless" and "bother me, I won't hurt you". This woman was looking for a stranger to stop and she found me.
"Please," she says, "can you take it?" She holds the pigeon out to me. It is in shock. (I am too.)
"Uh," I say.
"Please, her wing is broken, and I can't take her-" she gestures with her head towards the big dog. "The dog will go crazy."
"Um," I say.
"Please, her wing is broken, can you take her?" Her eyes implore me. I don't care if that's a cliche. "I can't leave her here," she says.
I can't disappoint this woman. I am young. I have compassion for all living things. Part of my brain is also flashing other messages at me like:
Pigeons-are-dirty-where-will-I-take-it-what-can-I-say-I-don't-want-to-look-heartless-etc.
I ignore the messages.
I take the pigeon.
I hold her - though who can say the gender of this particular pigeon - I hold her gently and firmly. The woman thanks me profusely and walks away with her big dog.
I stand there on Yonge Street. I enjoy looking at this pigeon up close, in as much as I enjoy examining any living creature, except slugs. I also wonder if the pigeon will peck me and if I will get a disease. I also begin to feel a simmering string of expletives form (as it always does when I've willingly and knowingly invited stupidity into my life). Sunday afternoon on the border of Thornhill and I've been entrusted with the life of a pigeon.
I don't know what else to do, so I continue walking north towards my parents' house. My internal monologue is strained to say the least. I mean WHAT am I doing holding this BIRD with a broken wing that I cannot fix and really what kind of PREDATORS would there be anyways out by the stunted pines of the ornamental greenery around Centrepoint Mall, and if I were a pigeon, I wouldn't WANT to be carried by a big scary human all the way to THORNHILL, I would just want some corner to feel safe so I could just DIE or HEAL as I (or Pigeon God) wanted me to, and WHO does that woman think she IS just handing off PIGEONS to people anyways, and isn't it perfectly NATURAL for her DOG to go crazy, as a dog would and why do I DO these things and can I somehow blame it all on RANGER RICK?
I've walked past Centrepoint Mall. I stop. There's no vet between here and Mom and Dad's. The only vet is almost right at their street. It's closed on Sundays anyhow. There's no park, no green space, nothing useful to a hurtin' pigeon from here to RICHMOND HILL for the love of... anways. I change my mind. The woman must be far off now. She won't see me.
I turn around.
I walk back towards the only spot of green. The shrimpy pines around the mall parking lot.
I carefully set the Pigeon down under a tree. Animals like to be hidden in corners to die. I don't know how I know this, but I do.
Suddenly, "LIAR!" Much like that scene in The Princess Bride, the woman is back - how did she get there so fast? Was she waiting and watching around a corner?
"I trusted you! Why did you lie? You lied to me! You said you would take her!" She goes on and on. I am horrified. Not actually scared of her (which maybe I should've been), but ashamed of being busted. I feel guilty. I want to say, "pigeons are dirty" and "neither you nor I can help her now", but I don't say those things. I should've said, "why don't you leave your dog and take the pigeon", but I don't think of that till now, years later. I just stammer something like, "Sorry, sorry, I'll take her. I have a long walk. Sorry, sorry."
Are you ready? I take the damn pigeon AGAIN. I walk, holding her, for approximately 3.7 kilometres. I leave her in the bushes outside the vet clinic.
I go to my parents' house and wash my hands. I tell very few people this story. I phone the vet and leave them a message (or was it a note?) that there is a wounded pigeon in their shrubbery. I quietly loathe that woman for a long time.
*
But wait, there's more!
Fast-forward to now, just a few months ago. I was in Toronto, walking past a little plaza downtown. It is partly the front driveway of a building, and partly some stores. Mostly, it is full of parents watching little kids go round and round on bikes or roller blades. But that morning, a new person held court. A Crazy Pigeon Woman with a Piazza San Marco-scale pigeon brood at her feet. She is tossing them chunks of stale bread from her bundle-buggy. She has a black garbage bag full of bread. I suspect it was given to her in the hope that it would feed her not her pigeons.
Now I know why there's been a severe increase in pigeon crap in the area. It's not a coincidence.
"Excuse me," I say, "Why don't you feed them in the park?"
"There is no park around here!" she retorts.
"Yes, there is. There are three - one on X, Y, and Z, all in a row."
"They're too far," she says.
"No, they're not," I say. They're five minutes from here, I walk it every day." Besides, she doesn't panhandle or stick around the area, meaning she is getting to and from there somehow.
"What do you care?" she says. Our voices are rising. "You're wearing shoes! You don't eat off the ground!"
"Yeah, but why do I have to step in pigeon sh-t on the way to work? Why do you have to feed them here?!"
"Pigeons are just like people, you know. They have feelings! You have no feelings. You're heartless!"
"Fine. I'm heartless," I say. And then I get really mature and add, "At least I have a brain". And then I realize that I am having an argument with the Crazy Pigeon Lady, and that this can't be a good sign, and that also, I'm not winning. I walk away.
And later, as I ponder over my flaws and failings I spot the lapse in my logic. Did you catch it?
It was when I chose to start a conversation with the PIgeon Lady!!!
And lest you leave this entry convinced of my heartlessness, cowardliness, and neurotic tendencies, I'll have you know that I'm not the only crazy one in this blog entry. Here, read for yourself.
I am a teenager. Maybe in my early twenties? I'm too old to remember now. I have decided in my foolhardiness to walk from Finch Station (the end of the line) to my parents' house in Thornhill. It's summer. I walk. I walk and walk and walk. This was when the plazas in North York on Yonge north of Finch were in slow decline. I walk up to Yonge and Steeles. Not much farther, I remind myself. I remind myself that I like walking. I feel I am a Friend to the Environment.
Yonge and Steeles is dominated by Centrepoint Mall. This story took place when it was Centrepoint, I think. Not so long ago that it was Towne and Country. This was before Yonge from Steeles to Clarke went through the Korean-Iranian renaissance.
I must have been a teenager because this was before the Depressive Episode, back when I talked to strangers. Er, more than I do now.
Let's begin again. I am walking. A woman stops me on the sidewalk. She has a big dog and a pigeon. (The pigeon is in her hands, not inside the big dog.)
This is not terribly unusual. I mean, the pigeon is unusual, but not the fact that she stops me. I'm often stopped by strangers because I often have a look on my face that says "harmless" and "bother me, I won't hurt you". This woman was looking for a stranger to stop and she found me.
"Please," she says, "can you take it?" She holds the pigeon out to me. It is in shock. (I am too.)
"Uh," I say.
"Please, her wing is broken, and I can't take her-" she gestures with her head towards the big dog. "The dog will go crazy."
"Um," I say.
"Please, her wing is broken, can you take her?" Her eyes implore me. I don't care if that's a cliche. "I can't leave her here," she says.
I can't disappoint this woman. I am young. I have compassion for all living things. Part of my brain is also flashing other messages at me like:
Pigeons-are-dirty-where-will-I-take-it-what-can-I-say-I-don't-want-to-look-heartless-etc.
I ignore the messages.
I take the pigeon.
I hold her - though who can say the gender of this particular pigeon - I hold her gently and firmly. The woman thanks me profusely and walks away with her big dog.
I stand there on Yonge Street. I enjoy looking at this pigeon up close, in as much as I enjoy examining any living creature, except slugs. I also wonder if the pigeon will peck me and if I will get a disease. I also begin to feel a simmering string of expletives form (as it always does when I've willingly and knowingly invited stupidity into my life). Sunday afternoon on the border of Thornhill and I've been entrusted with the life of a pigeon.
I don't know what else to do, so I continue walking north towards my parents' house. My internal monologue is strained to say the least. I mean WHAT am I doing holding this BIRD with a broken wing that I cannot fix and really what kind of PREDATORS would there be anyways out by the stunted pines of the ornamental greenery around Centrepoint Mall, and if I were a pigeon, I wouldn't WANT to be carried by a big scary human all the way to THORNHILL, I would just want some corner to feel safe so I could just DIE or HEAL as I (or Pigeon God) wanted me to, and WHO does that woman think she IS just handing off PIGEONS to people anyways, and isn't it perfectly NATURAL for her DOG to go crazy, as a dog would and why do I DO these things and can I somehow blame it all on RANGER RICK?
I've walked past Centrepoint Mall. I stop. There's no vet between here and Mom and Dad's. The only vet is almost right at their street. It's closed on Sundays anyhow. There's no park, no green space, nothing useful to a hurtin' pigeon from here to RICHMOND HILL for the love of... anways. I change my mind. The woman must be far off now. She won't see me.
I turn around.
I walk back towards the only spot of green. The shrimpy pines around the mall parking lot.
I carefully set the Pigeon down under a tree. Animals like to be hidden in corners to die. I don't know how I know this, but I do.
Suddenly, "LIAR!" Much like that scene in The Princess Bride, the woman is back - how did she get there so fast? Was she waiting and watching around a corner?
"I trusted you! Why did you lie? You lied to me! You said you would take her!" She goes on and on. I am horrified. Not actually scared of her (which maybe I should've been), but ashamed of being busted. I feel guilty. I want to say, "pigeons are dirty" and "neither you nor I can help her now", but I don't say those things. I should've said, "why don't you leave your dog and take the pigeon", but I don't think of that till now, years later. I just stammer something like, "Sorry, sorry, I'll take her. I have a long walk. Sorry, sorry."
Are you ready? I take the damn pigeon AGAIN. I walk, holding her, for approximately 3.7 kilometres. I leave her in the bushes outside the vet clinic.
I go to my parents' house and wash my hands. I tell very few people this story. I phone the vet and leave them a message (or was it a note?) that there is a wounded pigeon in their shrubbery. I quietly loathe that woman for a long time.
*
But wait, there's more!
Fast-forward to now, just a few months ago. I was in Toronto, walking past a little plaza downtown. It is partly the front driveway of a building, and partly some stores. Mostly, it is full of parents watching little kids go round and round on bikes or roller blades. But that morning, a new person held court. A Crazy Pigeon Woman with a Piazza San Marco-scale pigeon brood at her feet. She is tossing them chunks of stale bread from her bundle-buggy. She has a black garbage bag full of bread. I suspect it was given to her in the hope that it would feed her not her pigeons.
Now I know why there's been a severe increase in pigeon crap in the area. It's not a coincidence.
"Excuse me," I say, "Why don't you feed them in the park?"
"There is no park around here!" she retorts.
"Yes, there is. There are three - one on X, Y, and Z, all in a row."
"They're too far," she says.
"No, they're not," I say. They're five minutes from here, I walk it every day." Besides, she doesn't panhandle or stick around the area, meaning she is getting to and from there somehow.
"What do you care?" she says. Our voices are rising. "You're wearing shoes! You don't eat off the ground!"
"Yeah, but why do I have to step in pigeon sh-t on the way to work? Why do you have to feed them here?!"
"Pigeons are just like people, you know. They have feelings! You have no feelings. You're heartless!"
"Fine. I'm heartless," I say. And then I get really mature and add, "At least I have a brain". And then I realize that I am having an argument with the Crazy Pigeon Lady, and that this can't be a good sign, and that also, I'm not winning. I walk away.
And later, as I ponder over my flaws and failings I spot the lapse in my logic. Did you catch it?
It was when I chose to start a conversation with the PIgeon Lady!!!
And lest you leave this entry convinced of my heartlessness, cowardliness, and neurotic tendencies, I'll have you know that I'm not the only crazy one in this blog entry. Here, read for yourself.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
A Thimble of Magickal Tea - A Fanged Fable of Fright!
Marcella has just moved to the puddly town of Guimpton and something is very wrong. No one else can see it - not her parents, not her spaniel, Spotbottom, not even Old Jake Suspenderson who lives in the rowhouse next door! But Marcella can feel it: the grass curls strangely under her toes, her plastic play earrings crawl up her ears, even her jelly-tots play in her hand and refuse to be eaten. It would all be wonderful, if only Spotbottom wasn't turning so mean..."
There. That's my approximation of all the twee-and-crumpets crap that Neil Gaiman has written with this book. I've just read Coraline. Perhaps I was put off Gaiman years ago by someone who, er, used to influence me, shall we say? But lord knows, I've tried. I really tried with this book, because PHILIP PULLMAN is quoted on the front. (However, he just says to "applaud" for Coraline is "the real thing", by which he might mean, well, anything.)
The only original element in this book is the buttons. Read it and you'll see what I mean. Everything else is so derivative. When it's not derivative, it's plain and cliched. Blarf. I'm ready for a fight, all you Gaiman-worshippers.
Read Lewis Carroll. Read Pullman. Read C. S. Lewis. Read Beatrix Potter. Heck, I'm a big fan of Good Omens. But Coraline? Bah. I'm sure it'll be a nice little animated film one day, but please stop calling it a "classic".
There. That's my approximation of all the twee-and-crumpets crap that Neil Gaiman has written with this book. I've just read Coraline. Perhaps I was put off Gaiman years ago by someone who, er, used to influence me, shall we say? But lord knows, I've tried. I really tried with this book, because PHILIP PULLMAN is quoted on the front. (However, he just says to "applaud" for Coraline is "the real thing", by which he might mean, well, anything.)
The only original element in this book is the buttons. Read it and you'll see what I mean. Everything else is so derivative. When it's not derivative, it's plain and cliched. Blarf. I'm ready for a fight, all you Gaiman-worshippers.
Read Lewis Carroll. Read Pullman. Read C. S. Lewis. Read Beatrix Potter. Heck, I'm a big fan of Good Omens. But Coraline? Bah. I'm sure it'll be a nice little animated film one day, but please stop calling it a "classic".
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
I promise
I promise I won't turn this into "solely" a shoe blog.
But look, a running shoe I would wear!
But look, a running shoe I would wear!
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