more walkies, Midnite Moving 879 words

Paul took me for a walk yesterday in Oakalla, quite early.  Then we went to Liquorgate and picked up beer and a chicken and I made a salad and we had lunch on the deck until about a hunnert wasps crashed the party.

A friend of a friend wants more people to see his facebook page so here it is. I would really like one of his dulcimers, and they’re only 200 bucks plus freight hint hint.

Jeff had mentioned that the project he’d like to see more of is Midnite Moving, so I wrote 879 words yesterday and this morning on one of their adventures, most of which is setting the stage for what kind of person Jesse is and what kind of person George is, and it is after Jesse has figured out George ain’t right and before he figures out (by himself) that George is not human.

Herewith, with all the typos and grammatic decompositions.

Jesse Silver moved quietly for a big man. At twenty-three, he was as muscular as his junk food intake and nocturnal workout schedule allowed. No-one, seeing him move with exaggerated stealth around the alley’s dirty puddles and broken glass at 1:25 in the morning, would guess he had chronic health problems, or that he was anything but a guy ducking into an alley to unload after too many pitchers at the Brickhouse.

He was not, in truth, scoping a place to take a leak. He wanted to sneak up on his coworker/partner/friend, and as with every time he’d tried, at the last second George turned toward him and waggled a finger.

“You covered in mirrors, or what?” Jesse exclaimed in disgust.

“If you’d had my childhood, nobody could ever sneak up on you. I heard you coming; it’s hard once the glass shards get stuck in your shoes.” George tried to sound sympathetic and smile, but often his intentions were better than his execution.

“You never make a sound when you walk,” Jesse said.

“It’s a gift,” George said, in the self-congratulatory tone Jesse liked least. Then, with more edge, “And I do make noise; I make the floors creak at your place.” For perhaps a tenth of a second, George seemed to vibrate slightly under the cone of orange glare from the sodium vapour streetlight. Jesse blinked and the sensation was gone.

“You okay?”

“Whatever,” Jesse said. “Did you find the apartment?”

“It’s over the Money Mart. There are two exits – not sure where we should park the truck. Our client texted that she thinks her ex will show up any minute.”

“Well, you can use your famous charm on him,” Jesse said.

“We’ll see,” George said. He was a slender, sharp-featured man in his late thirties, dressed as if he’d been at an Edwardian re-enactment and had somehow, in a fit of adventurous befuddlement perhaps, found himself in an alley famous for administering needle sticks to the incautious.

Jesse knew three things about George for certain. He was improbably strong, very smart and imperturbable. As they plied their odd trade, nothing that cops or clients (or their ranting landlords and former lovers) could do, and no hindrance the drunken wreckage drifting out of bars could create, made him lose his good spirits and inventiveness in dealing with problems. He seemed to like problems, although not to the extent of making trouble for himself for bonus points.

George was a piece of work, and Jesse had no clue what motivated him. As far as Jesse knew, George had an independent income and a complacent girlfriend, whom George insisted on referring to as his ‘mate’. She was some sort of difficult, gorgeous creature who apparently made the independent income possible. Jesse had started to think she was imaginary. George hadn’t so much as given her a name, let alone introduced her.

Why George would be okay with sitting in a rental truck for hours while waiting for the client to show and then moving a one bedroom apartment in the middle of the night, for however long they had until they lost the dark and Jesse had to bail, was still a puzzle to Jesse. If he had money he’d never work again. Only an idiot would. No, George was after something else, but Jesse was not able to work out what it was. He’d started to wonder if there was a Greek word for sexual gratification from moving furniture.

And it was a job, and it was a cash job, and it wasn’t every night, so it didn’t dig into Jesse’s personal life too much. He didn’t have much of a personal life, since the diagnosis, but he tried to see his sister and one of his ‘girlfriends’ at least once a week. It was better than collecting disability and feeling that his life was over. He felt like he’d just barely managed to escape from his shitty excuse for a mother. Then, within a few years of his glorious liberation he’d woken up in hospital after an allergic reaction that nearly put a lily in his hand.

Welcome to Vancouver. Here, have some atypical solar urticaria. Being in the sun raised welts all over his body. His eyes would swell, the itching was on a scale he could not have believed if he had not had to live through it.

“Oh well,” said one of the many residents who had come past his bed, collecting him like an animé critter, “The sun hardly shines here anyway.”

And that was true enough, and with tight clothes and a special mask with special goggles he could go out during the day, if he felt like being stopped by the police and glared at by civilians all fricking day long. Jesse couldn’t deal with the freak show.

He almost died, but the doctors had nothing to do with that.

It was still hard to be up all night and sleep during the day, and the grogginess and digestive strain of it was made even harder to bear by George’s ability to get along on four hours of sleep, whenever he felt like sleeping, and bounce out of bed with all the eagerness to face the day of a Labrador pup.





Yesterday I started rereading the Niccolo Series by Dorothy Dunnett, as, thanks to Lady Miss Banjola, I now have all the books again.  I am taking it slowly and trying to see what I missed on previous readings.

Yesterday Keith called me at 730 am to tell me he was doing fine.  I’d been up since 130, although I’m pleased to see I made it all the way to 330 am this morning.  Jeff’s already up.

Yesterday Paul dropped by and we did a small shop at the Farm Market on Kingsway so I can make a proper salad and then we had a beer after and had a really good long talk.

I did a couple of loads of laundry and ran the dishes.  An ordinary and domestic day.

The AMC show which I should be watching and never really took to, Halt and Catch Fire, comes back today, which should please Jeff as he’s been waiting for S3 for a while now.



Sorry I didn’t post yesterday.  I should have.

Mike called Friday night, so flattened he couldn’t leave the house after his work week (much feels here, I think the Death Spiral of closure of the Vancouver office has begun) so I walked over and picked up a rotisserie chicken and some salad at SaveOn. God, it was hot.  I was quite overheated when I got there; the sun blasts down Kingsway and there’s no shade for the last little bit.

Watched Suicide Squad, meh.

In the morning we went to Cora’s and the bagel with lox was even better than the last time; like last time I brought Jeff the leftovers of a tomato cheese bagel and fresh fruit, and then we watched Killjoys and Dark Matter, both of which were great even though Jeff calling each move of the ‘alternate universe’ play got a little, I don’t know, TOO on point?  Damn, kiddo, you should be writing this stuff if you can predict it!!

I am enjoying the rewatch of ER S2 and Burn Notice S4, which continues. Mr. Robot is kinda going off the rails, I’m hoping for a little narrative relief. September 23 Netflix will drop the next season of Longmire, which means Jeff and I will only come up for air a couple of days later unless we decide to go easy on it. Love love love that show.

Made cheese sauce and tricolori noodles for supper. It was so cheesy Nick Cage’s recent performances are suing me for infringement.

Hope it’s not too hot today

The poor ac is working pretty hard these days.

Jeff’s indicated a desire to eat less red meat so I’m putting meal plans together. First step, get some veggie burgers into the house; they fix up instantly and go with just about everything.  Second step, wraps, soft tacos and whole wheat muffins plus the innards for same.  I’m looking up recipes!  Crockpot scalloped potatoes yay.  So, breakfast – lunch – dinner as below.

french toast home made soup & toast Crockpot stew
oatmeal taco salad veggie burgers
mexican brekky bowl eggy potato salad leftovers
poached eggs on toast chicken strips & taters onions veggie split pea soup
whole wheat pancakes with choc chips fish and green salad pork chomps & veg
baconandegger veggie burgers veggie tacos
breakfast wrap chicken stir fry with rice tuna salad bowl
dirty rice rotisserie chkn


Jeff bends somewhat better than I do and volunteered to clean out the disaster left by an exploding (and festering) large can of peaches in the pantry, so that’s what he’s doing right now.  Yay.

Now to wait for stuff to dry so I can put it all back.

Alex the wondergrand

I got to see Alex yesterday at his momma’s house (Katie is doing very well) and he smiled his face off to see me. Then I gave him my three pound barbell (after all, it SAYS Alex on the side) and he started lifting, bro, which was hilarious, (good form too, even funnier) and then he rolled it all over the floor and then he started dropping the sumbitch, more than once, and this look came over his face – every parent knows it – and after some kind and pleasant voiced persuasion (his mother doesn’t yell at him unless it’s life or death and Alex is more compliant than any child his age I’ve known, as he really really wants to keep his mother happy) Alex went back to rolling it across the floor.  He has learned to say ‘antenna’ which is very sweet.

He has crossed some kind of developmental barrier which allows him to consider things rather than assuming that it’s bad and he should proceed immediately to a-wailin’ and a-grizzlin’.  He didn’t even come close to even thinking about crying the entire time I was there.  The last month has also been amazing in terms of language development. It’s very clear that he understands virtually everything that’s said to him and his speech is becoming clear enough to understand.  I was out of the room and he was toddler-arguing with his mother so I called are you grumpy Alex? and he said, just like a teenager would, No!

No sign of being interested in toilet training.  For this summer camping trips were invented.

He played for a very long time with my Cat Alone app. BUG! BUDAFY!

“DO YOU WANT THE FINGER ALEX” is actually a question appropriate to the game. (If he presses on the magic finger that appears it vibrates and buzzes.)

No pictures. I have memories of a sunny faced toddler running like a fool all over his apartment while issuing sticky kisses and high fives. This from last summer, Prismafied, will have to do.


There were castor bean and nightshade plants on the walk back to the car.  New West, it’ll kill ya.

Ray Donovan was awesome, Dark Matter was okay I guess (fave continues to be 5, played by Jodelle Ferland), Killjoys is ramping up with great scripts and performances and then Keith and Paul came over yesterday to watch the Sugar episode of Addicted to Pleasure, and that was very nice.

Ghostbusters is still on at the International Village Cineplex. I should have gone last night but whatever.

I bought a battery backup for my phone (since you can’t actually replace the battery on a One S, god strake them in thayre tendre partes) and then, in a sudden blinding flash of You Know the MacBook is Doomed Since the Interior goes to 84 degrees C every time you run video and components will inevitably blow you fool! I purchased a replacement in the form of a MacBook Air, from London Thugs. I backed up the old one, Time machined the new one, everything took an hour and worked perfectly (except having to enter brOJeff’s ludicrously lengthy wifi password three times, o well) and now I have a computer with twice the power, half the weight, three times the storage and a much faster video processor. Everything I need to work transferred over without difficulty including Scrivener and Finale, the two really big ones for creative work. I’d like to publicly thank Jeff for providing the backup drive.  All part of adulting….

No I can’t afford it.  But I definitely can’t afford not to, so there you go.


Flying visit

Jeff’s out today helping a client.  I did manage to get the weedwhipping done, and now I need to push a few more things back in corners.

ea0a54e82cc49485196a40ae66dede65resNet10_ndAs you can see I’m having a lot of fun with the Prisma app on my phone.  It turns crappy photos into cool pics. In this one I look like a crone from a graphic novel which I kinda like, but also you can still see the big eyed child inside me, which I also like.

Others I’ve done…


mOm’s Penrose quilt plus paper art equals bizarre mashup.

Forbidden plateau really looks forbidden


Saint Sue looks like a fierce old lady, don’t she? That was over brekky yesterday at Ricky’s.  YOM.



Let the saliva flow

Halibut and salmon on the barbecue which Paul *keeps in his vehicle*, shrimp with lemon garlic butter sauce, fresh corn on the cob, green beans, green salad, beer and wine for dins; Katie and darlin’ Alex, Leo and Linda, Keith and brO et moi bien sûr for company, and the weather cooperated sufficiently that we could eat al fresco.

A completely splendid meal with even better company and I now have another wonderful family memory and I’ve seen almost enough pictures of Pikku Leo and Annabelle, Leo and Linda’s totally gorgeous grandbabies. Oh yeah and their kids are good-looking too, whatever.

Rather than ask some tired questions about how was your trip I asked the specific question, “Where did you get your worst night’s sleep?” Which prompted much reminiscence and hilarity. Also, Linda’s ‘best thing about the trip’ question has a one word answer…. TUNDRA! Plus rocks.  She’s going back to get her degree!  Being retired is awesome.

Our visitors are off to Washington State today and I wish them good weather and a safe journey as they drive their way back through the US to Ottawa. Thanks for visiting!! Now I’m waiting for them to get up so’s I can make the coffee they brought, given we haven’t had any in the house for yonks….


Leo and Linda and Alex.  Sorry for Potato Quality, both of these pics are from my cell phone.




And here, in a picture that would make John grin, is my daughter and grandson, and he has a dandelion in each hand.

Leo and Linda are here


Yet another brannigan with Keith yesterday, once again via text.  I made the mistake of telling him that black people are finding his current starryeyedlove fandom ‘problematic’ around race.  His response was the kind of white hot and manly flameout one might expect.

If somebody walked up to me and said, “The treatment of race in Dorothy Dunnett’s oeuvre is problematic, especially the novels set in the modern Caribbean!” you might get a faceful of rapidly exhaled oatmeal, followed by me saying, “No shit! What it is! Gimme some skin, sister!” but I wouldn’t defend it.  I would call it a problematic fandom, and I would be able to give examples and counterexamples of how that’s so.

Keith’s basic argument was I don’t see it so it isn’t there. Plus, the tone argument.


My many failures as a mother to provide my children with adequate tools to overcome cognitive bias are being written on the world, and there’s bupkes I can do about it.  Heaving sighs over here.

Leo and Linda treated myself and Paul (Jeff declined with thanks) to Bombay Bistro last night. It was splendid and yommy and now my paltry return to them is a pot of oatmeal currently burbling on the stove.

Paul was singing and playing with me on the back deck when they arrived, and so that was very pleasant, and we’re also rehearsing for next weekend, but with the bug situation (Keith has found another live bedbug in their apartment, so the cheap exterminator turned out to be an expensive exterminator) we don’t know if Paul is going.

Buster is teaching Miss Margot to hunt.


I’m going to check on the oatmeal.




a brief response

When you come out of the gate calling responsible use of language “ideologies of victimhood” you *know* who’s gonna love what follows.
Men, mostly.  That was my facebook experience.  I was going to respond on facebook and thought fuckit I have my OWN blog to rant on, why poop on the self-congratulatory parade of men who lined up to agree with every word? Oh, the mean things they said.
Not that any of you care, but I laughed my ass off when she said “For example, homosexuals have been hideously abused through much of history.” This is such a Canadian thing to say it’s quite amusing. You think she’s sticking up for homosexuals, but is she? Who’s she putting down in the process?
(I would argue the whole piece is full of these ideo-logic bombs but I just grabbed one.)
I can’t speak for anyone who’s First Nations, but it is a matter of documentation custom AND LANGUAGE you know that SOCIAL CONSTRUCT WE HUMANS USE TO THINK WITH that people who are gender non-normative have been living uncircumscribed lives here for hundreds of generations; the *assumption* of hideous abuse is a colonial use of language, all the more hilarious because McElroy identifies as an anarchist. She thinks she’s covered herself by using ‘much of history’ but no, she’s just revealing the ‘structural swiss cheese’ of her argument in her choice of words.
People are at different points along the justice spectrum. Yelling at them to move up doesn’t help and any sensible person with a long term view of social justice knows it. But some social justice enthusiasts are wont to yell, because they want a cookie for how hard they’ve worked on their isms and get shouty and irrational when unappreciated. I am that person.  Except when I’m not.  Wendy’s taking a normal human reaction to cognitive dissonance and trying to ‘other’, denigrate, condescend to and belittle SJWs by saying they’re mean sometimes.  Fuck yeah. Get me drunk and in the same room as Wendy McElroy and I’ll be a right arsehole, you betcha. 
But I’d rather be the arsehole defending the rights of those whom the state has deemed less worthy than white men, than the public intellectual who calls herself an anarchist and then sides with the oppressor with every sign of glee.  Jumpin’ Jimmy Christmas, woman.
Oddly, personal experience and testimony to those who think they aren’t privileged do work to move the needle toward justice, but they are really inefficient strategies being one on one, and they put a lot of emotional pressure and expectation on disadvantaged people. If you are immune to the effects of sexism and racism and all those isms, you’re lucky in your life, and cursed in your head, because you aren’t seeing and feeling the world of your fellow humans except in the narrowest way, and while you can’t tell, other people can, and that is among many things an annoying feature of do gooders.  Oh yes we will call you on your bullshit, yes we will.  Who’s a good reactionary? Who’s a good reactionary? You are. Yes you are. You know you are, fuzzums!  

Fairly busy weekend

Today it’ll be cleaning, then hanging with Mike, then brunch with this dude I met at Lorraine’s birthday gathering at the track (which, as I think I mentioned, was a truly awesome event). He makes brunch once a month as a fundraiser / can gatherer for the Food Bank and pics from previous events showing people from 6 months to 65 years old cheerfully consuming pamcakes in a sunny kitchen are tremendously appealing. Also it will be super easy to get to on transit, always a consideration.

There will be laundry and editing in there too someplace.

Then Monday, Leo and Linda. YAY!