Saturday, June 05, 2004
the scary side of my inner(net) self..
I'm bored. I'd forgotten how sticky and uncomfortable it is to sleep when it's hot here. My condo stores the heat. Or something. It's the beginning of June and at midnight it's still 72F out there. Which isn't really hot, granted. But it's a nightmarish precurser to the 100F Stampede days in July that have been the norm for the last few years. So, I'm hot and sticking to things in anticipation, I guess. I'd take my glass of wine out on the balcony but the guilt over not being able to take Cabot out there with me is large.Plus, there's no computer out there. Yet.
Another thing. Does "Don't not expect a phone call tonight." mean I should be awake for a while longer? No, really. Double negative, right? I think I clarified that. But I may not really have been paying all that much attention. Sorry, you.
Since I'm not tired anyways, I'm going to crank up Erasure while they sing 'Salsbury Hill' and try and clean up some of the crap floating around on my hard drive.
First up. Internet Bumper Stickers. I'd forgotten how funny these were. Well, at least when you're bored.
Next up, Maledicta Press. I'm particulary saddened at missing Maledicta Six, which lists Canadian Sexual Terms as a highlight. I was not aware our sexual terms were that much different to anyone elses (or at least, the Americans). I do, however, feel the need to register an issue with 'rooting'. Just on general international principle.
If I get REALLY bored and it's 3 am or something, I may try to make Antibubbles. Maybe that's the Guinness mystery solved, right there.
I must have, at one point - maybe during that 8 months where I did fuck all and lived off my package from **&* - thought about Lip Augmentation. *shiver* I may have been taking too many drugs. Actually, now that I think about it, those were relaxing times. Maybe that's why. Who knew? I thought it was surviving the surgery/radiation and the fact that I didn't have to go to work anymore for a while. Silly me.
Yes, yes, the Vancouver, BC Body Perve Social Club. I think I went to look at this after watching some 2 am Friday night 'Showcase, Fridays Without Borders' special. Which unless you're Canadian, you wouldn't understand. Soft porn, fetish stuff, transgender, sex change surgery, you know. In the interest of insomnia and keeping an open mind.
This may have been during the phase I was assuming I'd win a million and then buy a private island. They're actually quite reasonable. I could sell the condo, buy an island and then just never come off of it, since I'd then be broke. But...tempting.
Being a word lover, there's an Erotic Thesaurus, just in case I need to write dirty emails and find myself at a loss for new and interesting words for ... well, anything.
And FINALLY, the crowing glory of my favorites folder....
The University of Southern Carolina Roach Cam. Currently they're looping around something concrete colored and looking suspiciously like the people in my building did during that fire evacuation on Friday.
I've also just removed the wallpaper and 'other' pictures from Billy's side of the partition - I'd frankly forgotten all about it until my Uncle Patrick signed in to check his email and the background was Hitler propaganda.
Somehow, the explanations in cases like that just don't ring true, now do they?
Oh yeah, you know how on weekends you wake up at an ungodly hour, realize it's a weekend and then force yourself to go back to sleep but don't sleep well and then dream weird dreams? Well. This morning I dreamt I met PornyBoy. But I can't tell you what he looks like. Sorry.
Hey, does anyone remember 'Shakespeare's Sister'? Or is that just me? Just cause 'Stay' is playing on my rotation.
lyric at post:
..in the silence of your room
in the darkness of your dreams
you must only think of me
there can be no in between..
no longer a text virgin
My first real text message received this morning...(which I'm still unable to reply to, my fault obviously -?&#!)..We (me & 2 aussie mates) are on our way to 17th Ave. Left GP yesterday, stayed in E last night, nearly in RD now. See you soon! :) T
So. I may be around, I may not. May meet up later, may not. May be the final hockey game tonight, may not.
Will leave a writey bit below.
lyric at post:
..and it seems like the end of the world
when you smile..
through the fog
With the Pacific Ocean to the west, it's like a room with one wall missing. Your instinct is to look out, not back, and it's a good instinct.Some of the oaks and elms around them rose over a hundred feet, and they were surrounded by dark mysterious places that whispered of things you couldn't see, but could only imagine and secretly wish for.
I spotted the fog only briefly before disappearing into it, and this made me wonder whether you ever saw things for what they were while you were inside them, a part of them. We almost always know where our best interest lies, I think, but sometimes what we know means very little compared to what we feel or end up doing.
The fog forced me to drive more slowly, and it gave me a few minutes to think. Seemed like all I do is think - that's how a person all alone spends her time, I thought, trapped inside your thoughts and dreams as this car was trapped inside the fog. Moving slowly. Crawling. Waiting for the workday to start. Waiting for something to entertain you. Waiting for daylight. Waiting for night. Waiting. Waiting. Always thinking ahead, never really being where you are, but somewhere you hope to be.
Of course when things started falling around you, you got forgetful and the first thing you were apt to forget was where your best interests lay.
The truth of life is that every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us. We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, some of them not so good. Things happen to us. Loved ones die. People lose their way, for one reason or another. It's not hard to do in this world. Life itself does its best to take the memory of magic away from us. You don't know its happening until one day you feel you've lost something but you're not sure what it is.
There are no mistakes. The events that we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're essential to reach the places we've chosen to go.
These memories of who I was and how I lived are important to me. They make up a large part of who I'm going to be when my journey begins it's ending. I need the memories if I'm ever going to conjure magic again. I need to know and remember...and I want to tell you...
lyric at post:
..and we danced, like a wave on the ocean..
Friday, June 04, 2004
hello? hello? is there anyone there?
Uh. Yeah. Here. I'm all embarrassed. Don't pick on me. And, dammit Chris, I made absolutely sure there was no "eh"ing, but then you already know how funny I sound.
Should twenty percent appear too small
In offering an opinion that 14 Calgary Flames flags on your car might be a bit er... over the top, they guy on the radio this morning called them ostentagious. Now, as much as I appreciate that he may be trying to expand his vocabulary, unless he's sure he's got the right word (or even a word at all), then he may want to slow down on that and use words he can actually spell. Like 'total' and 'idiotic' and 'overkill'.I got that thing in the mail yesterday. You know, that thing that the government sends to recap the horror that is your income tax.
That envelope that makes you sit down and PRAY you've completely cocked up your taxes and you don't really owe them all that money.
That in fact they may owe you a tiny little bit? Maybe enough for a pair of little sandals for your cute little feet for the summer?
Yeah, no. I actually do owe them all that money.
daily compound interest, daiiiiily compounnnnnnd innnnnterest. tick. tick.
Get in line, right back there, right behind the EI people, the credit card horrors and those banker types who wield my mortgage. Me? I'm going to California.
lyric at post:
..should five percent appear too small,
be thankful I don't take it all
'cause I'm the taxman,
yeah, I'm the taxman..
Thursday, June 03, 2004
things I am baffled by
I have a package, let's say. I take it to the post office. They ask me if I want to send it as a letter or a small air packet. I figure small air packet, it has a long way to go.But, then I figured I would ask what the difference is.
There isn't one. They both get there the same way.
Except that a letter is $12 and a small air packet is $5.
Anyone?
lyric at post:
..I wish you'd unclench your fists
And unpack your suitcase..
short and sweet
Enough people liked the coworker suggestion that it and the top voted just became a new poll. For three and a half days. Then we can be done with it.D, song titles in for the last couple weeks.
Big guy, package on the way.
Must go work. Ta.
lyric at post:
..will you wonder, by the fall
will I wonder, was I here at all..
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
*hiss* *spit*
I have to choose a song of each of the five artists left for that CD compilation. I want to finish it tonight. Driving me craaaazy.You know when you just can't pick one song over another? Lyrics? Musical phrasing? What? What?
*sigh*
So, in not being able to sit and concentrate on the songs - I get all involved in what I'm doing (like right now) and miss the song, shit, replay that one - I can't work on the liner notes. Which may not make it in anyways. Regardless. I can't DO anything. And I'm far to much of a lunatic to just sit here, contemplating.
So, I rolled up some foil into a ball and played with the cat.
Oh alright, I played and he ran away mewling piteously every time I batted the ball at him.
I had fun anyways.
I should go get him out from under the couch. S'cuse me.
lyric at post:
..sometimes, sometimes, sometimes I just wanna be funky..
outside the walking zone
After researching coal bed methane to write a backgrounder for the boss, I had to get up and wander around for a while. Coal bed methane is pretty horrifying. I'd link, but it's too ugly. Suffice it to say that people who live near wells have drinking water that they can light on fire. And... okay, not even any point in starting a rant. I'm trying to live a stress free life. (ha).Then this email came.. to celebrate his 5th year in this locale, DS will be the host for this month's wine-tasting. And, although the apartment used to bear a surprising resemblance to the Normandy beachhead after D-Day, much cleaning and de-cluttering has recently been undertaken, so injuries from cacti, coral, or inconveniently located objects should be uncommon. There may even be sufficient space for all attendees.
If Ron gets too annoying, he can be readily tossed off the balcony.
P.S. It is also near his birthday. Please note he needs no more crap, as it took 5 years to get his place cleaned up for this.
..which made me giggle. Even though I won't go to it. Outside my 20 block radius.
Then an email came around for us to go grab our Calgary Stampede shirts. The first of the flood of graft that comes in this time of year. I've had Stampede stuff before but nothing that actually came from the event itself.
Since I wasn't here on Monday, I didn't get to order one in my size. Which, being an XS, I ended up with a M. Of course. Like wearing a tent. Before the 'ol reduction in chest size, I didn't actually mind wearing the tentage, in fact, I borrowed all the boy's shirts. But NOW, NOW, after having two major and two minor surgeries in the last 10 years, I'm perfectly goddamned proportioned and I want.a.shirt.that.fits. before the damn things grow back again.
Fuckers.
ahem.
There's a girl out of the office right now so MS has this size S in his office and I think, 'You know, I always do the nice thing and take the worst option so someone else gets what they want and this time, fuck that, let someone else get the shaft.' So I went into MS's office and took hers.
She wasn't here to pick her size either but they managed to judge correctly for HER. Besides, she's off getting married, so she has the potential for sex every night for the rest of her life. And I don't. So there.
Then KA, who ordered an M for me and an S for her, but ended up taking an XS, came over and gave me the XS and took back the S.
I love her.
is it time for breccy yet?
I woke up this morning and the cat was chewing on my bicep. Full on wide open mouth all four big teeth sunk into my arm and wiggling back and forth.I thought I was dead and he'd just finally gotten hungry.
After awhile I realized he really was hungry and was just trying to wake me up. I guess that course of action made sense to him.
He always pretends he's really hungry though. Maybe I don't give him enough food.
lyric at post:
..everyone's a winner baby, that's the truth,
and making love to you is such a thrill..
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
shit. that was a good one.
Someone at work came up to me today and said, "You know I woke up in the middle of the night on Sunday thinking..."Airborne Pathojen", but it was too late.Damn.
She deserves a hand for that one though, it would have made the poll.
hihjacking a perfectly good comment for purely selfish use
I was over at pas une jen's and started to reply to her post. After a couple of sentences I thought... "What the hell am I doing? I have nothing to say today, but here I am.....".So, with many apologies to anotherjen, here's my comment....
My first job with a temp agency was to take all the 'rejected' high school exams (the ones where it was just an answer sheet with the little circles filled in with pencil) and erase one answer on the lines that had two so the computer could go back and rescan. Well, you know, if one looked like it was supposed to be there and one looked like it just hadn't been erased properly.
You'd never believe how many there were. At the end of a gruelling week I had run out of ways to amuse myself, all alone in that dusty room. I had, however, managed to slog my way through all the ones assigned to me, getting my timesheet signed with no little sense of accomplishment and an even bigger sense of complete freaking relief.
Two things that came to mind today when reading anotherjen's post...
1. I'm sure there's at least 50 high school students out there that passed (or failed) because of my fixing / choices / boredom.
2. You wouldn't believe how many stoners actually made pictures by filling in the circles (the one that most clearly sticks out in my mind was a skull and crossbones that covered the entire page).
Sometimes I wonder if that guy passed. And then I wonder how suprised he was, if he did.
lyric at post:
..I woke you up and I slit the throat of your confidence..
Monday, May 31, 2004
Geneology
My family, they don't talk about each other. Not where we came from or what we did. We were taught to be afraid of all the old people when we were children.I knew little bits and pieces and I knew that I had family here. Well, one family member left here (and here I'm just going to use "SMITH" cause, well, cause). There's not many of us 'Smiths' left. I'm referring here to those of us that carry the 'Smith' name. My father. Me. My half-sister. And Barry.
My brother hyphenated, so maybe he counts, I dunno. My father is 68. My half-sister, who's 17, well I'm assuming she'll get married and change her name. I've always known that if I ever did get married I would keep my name. The jury's out on hyphenation but I've (despite not really knowing anything about my family) always felt a certain amount of pride in my name. I don't know why. I just have.
That side of the family emigrated from England (Yorkshire) in 1910. They bought the farm that we visited today in 1918. The original barn and the house, both built by the previous owner, are still there. And sometime during 1919, they actually physically moved them about 1/2 a mile to a better spot. Imagine that. With horses and trees. They moved the house and the barn.
They had children. Those children had children (three of which would be my father and the two brothers, Bobby and Barry).
I'm not concerned with my father for this story. Cause he's, frankly, a shit. And everytime I think I've uncovered all his shittiness, he jacks it up another notch. Not that I don't love him. In a way I guess I do, I'm a lot like him, so I'm pretty much stuck with it. But, he's a shit.
Barry and Bobby finished school each to about to grade 11. Barry (the elder) termed the decision of his own as 'It was time to pick up a fork or a shovel. So I did.' Bobby quit school a year later when their father died. This is sometime in 1950ish. I think their mother died in '53.
Bobby and Barry lived on that farm and grew wheat, oats and barley. They never married. It was just the two of them for all those years as all the family moved west. Everyone eventually did.
Twelve years ago I got a phone call one morning - this quavery little voice asking for my father. Since my father had a thing about anyone giving his unlisted number out (I still get calls for people looking for them) I had to ask who it was and then get him to call back. This man on the phone says, 'It's Barry. Bobby's died.'
I remember thinking how sad it was since I knew they were the two recluses but I didn't really give it much thought. I didn't know them. No one seemed to care.
When I moved here I always felt a little like I had finally come home. I felt good about that because I knew we had a long history here and I'd never been comfortable in some weird way out west.
Over the years my stepmother has gleaned information and forcibly infiltrated the family, while refusing to ever tell us anything about them. I could tell you stories that would make you cry (too) but this is already the post of the century. I know that for the last three years she's made a point of calling Barry every couple of months. She wants the land. No, that's not bitterness. That's hard fact (and history). Dad's fucking old and she's only 48. She wants the land. Barry seemed unconcerned though so hopefully he's onto her.
I've never gone down there mostly because I don't drive here and my stepmother's always told these horror stories about how Barry lived and how strange he was. I was always a little bit afraid to go, to be honest. I wasn't even sure if he even knew I existed, really. My older sister visited last year - we went to see if we could try and find the farm so we could meet Barry and they refused to tell us where it was. A couple of months ago when my Aunt Teddie called for the same reason (she's been researching her side of the family) they both told her that Barry didn't have a phone.
Which is bullshit.
So, Aunt Teddie had written him from New Zealand.
I guess he'd written her back to tell her that he'd meet us in a central place in town and then take us all for lunch.
They had already left New Zealand and didn't get the letter so when we got there today he'd gone there and waited for us to meet with him. Yesterday. For a couple of hours.
So, I'm already feeling terrible but he asks us in, all embarrassed cause he's in his work clothes, even though he can't do much work anymore. Most of the farm is leased out now. He is 70, after all, and I think that Bobby had done most of the heavy work. The house is the same one that came with the farm in 1918. Not really any electricity, propane stove, bathtub that you have to cart water in to fill up. There's certainly no TV. You see what I mean right? He's lived in this house all of his life, for the last 12 years completely alone and it's barely changed in all these years. There was actually a calendar on the wall from 1954.
He is the sweetest man. Ever.
He told us as much of the history as he could remember and brought out things he'd been keeping to give us. Catalogues from Aunt Teddie's dad's company from 1952. He'd marked the pictures of the things they used to buy for the farm. He took us on a tour of the barns and showed us how the wells work.
We all got in the car to go to the graveyard together to see all the graves and he really wanted to take us to lunch. Although by this time it was 3pm and we had all already eaten. He had kept asking us about lunch so I think Uncle Patrick understood that this was something important to him, so we said we thought we'd all like to go have some tea.
Barry directed us to the other side of town, quite a far ways from the farm and we all trooped in (and ended up having cheesecake and lemon meringue pie). Uncle Patrick asked him how he had found this restaraunt since it seem quite far.
I guess that when he found out we were coming he asked the neighbors (they help him quite a bit, apparantly) to recommend a couple he could take us to. So, he and the neighbor tested a couple over lunches and then he came back all by himself for a 'dry run' last week.
I swear to god, I spent the whole afternoon with tears in my eyes.
At one point when we were sitting in his kitchen, he put his head down in his hands and he said that he thought he'd been a failure. That his life had been pointless.
I actually did have to leave then.
All these years, working so hard, living 'rough', working the land basically just like his parents and their parents had while people die around him and finally he's all alone there. Wondering what it was all for. I don't know if the farm made money, I think it did, all the equipment is new and there are new roofs on the house and the barn. But he spent all of his life working for something, only to find out there wasn't anything to work for.
It's this family who're failures. It's this family who left him alone. It's this family who never spoke about him or taught their children about their history. It's this family that wants his land just to sell. And it's this family who deserves it the least. I'm so deeply heartbroken that I never knew and never got to know this kind and gentle man who is the least failure out of all of us.
I don't want the land, I never have, but when the time comes I'll do anything to keep that woman from getting my heritage. Even if it's just to give back to the town.
Because NOW I finally know what there is to be proud of about my name.
a better person, a lousy family
Today I met my second cousin.I have never been so profoundly touched and deeply saddened by anyone in my life.
And disgusted by the realization that I don't think any of the few of us left is worthy to carry this name, when placed next to him. We certainly haven't done it justice nor been gentle with it. Some of us should have been burned at the stake, or drowned at birth.
I can't even write about it right now. But I will.
Once I stop crying.
Does anyone else know at what point I became such a pathetic wet noodle? Oh, no, wait. That was December/January wasn't it?
Sometimes I wish I could go back to being untouchable, only inwardly emotional Jen, cause, this other Jen, she makes me bone-deep-tired.
Sunday, May 30, 2004
apparantly
...not tired enough to actually sleep. *sigh*I'm contemplating reading the article I printed out last week entitled 'Whether to lock in a mortgage is a tricky question.' but I doubt even that would work at this point.
Besides, the mortgage isn't up for renewal till March of 2005 and by then I'll just be 'How much equity is that? Can I have the cash please? Must go travel the globe, wreaking havoc wherever I land. Can't you see how imperative that is?'
My visitors crashed about 9 pm so I am sitting in the dark living room, typing quiet as a mouse while the cat shivers in terror beneath the chair. 'There are people here. Tall people.'
Did I think I got a tough street cat? Pfah. I got the pussiest of the pussys. I get the feeling they were lining up around the slummy blocks every morning to steal his lunch money and kick a little kittycat ass.
Why is it so quiet here? I have no one to read. And I can't work up enough something or other to check out new blogs. Cause I just can't. Alright!? Jeez. Fine! Whatever!
ooookay, now I've even bored the shit out of myself.
too tired
But, for you D, a lyric. A long one, even.lyric at post:
..I'm looking at a long time to get there
I'm looking at a black light
I'm looking at a fall from a building
I'm looking at the firefly
And I think
I can't even think
I can't even speak
I can still smile..
