Better Days

Definitely feel better this morning. Here’s a pic of James Dean and Eartha Kitt in a bar in NYC.

We’ve started watching Ted Lasso, and we’re enjoying it. I can see that it’s about mental health.

I don’t know why all the people are complaining about this season’s Rick and Morty, it’s better than previously and easily as funny. I guess female characters getting bigger story lines has the poopy pants brigade out in force.

I got curried shrimp from Da Roti Shak yesterday and I feel so much better. It’s definitely comfort food for me.

crick don’t rise

If all goes well I’m going over to Mike’s on Sunday to help feast him for his birthday.





Orthogonal note ANFSCD

Schmigadoon is great fun. The way the non-musical people wince when the broadway types open their mouths to sing is hilarious.

shown below is Karloff and Lugosi – remember in Bela Lugosi is the king around here I refer to his cigar habit – mock fighting over a prop during filming.

editing continues

I’ve been working quite hard on editing the best roommate in the world. I haven’t been practicing; since donating blood I feel quite devoid of energy; normally I get a sort of high after I donate, a burst of energy, and it really did not happen this time. I’ll donate once more when it’s appropriate and if I feel like this again I’ll stop entirely.

It’s a drag, but there you go.

I daren’t talk about lists; I don’t have the energy. I couldn’t even walk halfway through our usual walk at the Foreshore yesterday. We got to feed crows (I took the last of the peanuts, I’m not feeding crows here at the house anymore) and listened to a great blue heron arguing with a bald eagle (the noise was bloodcurdling) and got into a whistling contest with a small warbler, not identified. There’s always something at the Park.

In the meantime almost every day I get kudos for the stories I put on AO3 and that’s a little bit of validation that keeps me going. It’s never the same stories; people find one and then read all of them. Very satisfying.

With respect to the more public work, I really like Slider as a character. They’re fussy and weird and kind and gentle and I wish I knew them in real life. Same for Jesse obviously but Slider’s more of an accomplishment.

Pic a nic

The picnic on the lawn of Alexis’s building yesterday WAS FANTASTIC. I got recipes. Keith drove me and Paul, Alex and Katie went in another car. kMike didn’t go, he was bagged.

Made a mushroom omelette this morning; toasted sourdough muffins and put out some veggie platter veggies and we ate on the deck like civilized folks.

She’s not a family member but I sure looked at her picture a lot as a kid. She’s 84 in 2021 and looks fantastic in this roughly ten year old photo.


I recently discovered Solarpunk, a science-fiction genre that stands in opposition to the dystopian views of cyberpunk.

There’s an unofficial Solarpunk manifesto, from which I quote: “Solarpunk is a movement in speculative fiction, art, fashion, and activism that seeks to answer and embody the question “what does a sustainable civilization look like, and how can we get there?””

From the Wikipedia entry: “Solarpunk is an art movement that envisions how the future might look if humanity succeeded in solving major contemporary challenges with an emphasis on sustainability problems such as climate change and pollution.”

I like it.

What a world

Gunshots at a MLB game; flooding in Germany so bad it looked like a tsunami came through the mountains; Myanmar in tatters as the junta ignores the populace and there’s no PPE or oxygen; Horgan the Organ ‘partners’ with Shell to make a climate change research institute less than two weeks after Lytton burns down; most of N SK is on fire; noted disability rights organizer kills herself in despair and the mainstream media interview her abuser as if there’s no evil connection between the two; Cheetos factory workers AREN’T ALLOWED TO STOP THE LINE when people die of heart attacks in the heat and are striking, so please don’t eat Frito-Lays or Pepsi products for the foreseeable future!; LAPD has today been firing ‘non-lethal’ rounds point blank into peaceful protesters; VPD is FINALLY investigating those two fucking pigs who arrested the Indigenous grandad and his granddaughter as they were about their legitimate business at a bank downtown; HARSHA WALIA WAS FORCED TO RESIGN FROM THE BCCLA i am SO FUCKING MAD ABOUT THIS the BCCLA will NEVER see another dime from me, they can kiss my ass, I can’t believe I marched in Pride with them witless mofos; and I got 700 karma points and my first Reddit gold and platinum for a comment I made about a women’s issue.

I’m still tired from the blood donation.


I dood it

I dood it! I went into town on the bus and got my Visa card straightened out, and a temporary pass code for my banking, and got envelopes, and more flash drives to transfer stuff back and forth between here and Caspell Junction, and Yet Another Cloth Mask in bisexual pride colours (that was probably not the intention of the manufacturer lol) and a whole bunch more pens and sticky notes and also rice paper for Vietnamese style sandwiches.

I checked in at the library for my book on hold and to enquire about my library fines. They’ve cancelled fines at New West Library, can you credit it?

Anyway, people were wearing masks, for the most part, even men, so I guess the message got through, and I managed NOT to go into Walmart, so go me. Was tempted to order a DQ burger and also a smokey outside the library but I decided to go home and ask Jeff if he wanted takeout. I was thinking a burger and a shake and wandered into Jeff’s room to suggest it and he smiled and nodded. Burger Den yes. Now I owe him because I couldn’t actually get my credit card to work on Skip the Dishes. All that going into town for nothing.

Tornado (again) in Barrie.

I’ve got insomnia again, woke at midnight after going to sleep at 8.

famjam inbound

Forecast for Sunday is partly cloudy and 21 degrees at this point, which seems favourable for a picnic. So unless that changes, the famjam is ON for 4pm Sunday.



I’ve got a *tiny* red spot/bruise in the crook of my left arm. The phlebotomist was very good. I always donate on the left. It felt weird the other day to have a nurse check me for track marks. I don’t feel off but I’m not 100 percent perky again yet – I had another very solid and reborative (*not* rebarbative lol) sleep.  Yesterday I ran two loads of laundry and made tuna salad for a late lunch (ingredients, tuna, real mayo, capers, scallions and artichokes all chopped into the tuna, over iceberg lettuce salad and I’ll thank you very much to nod when I tell you it was good) and watched a fair amount of TV – two episodes of Elementary, can you believe we started a rewatch again so soon after the end of the last rewatch? We did a shop in the morning and bought no chicken, pork or beef. I watered the dogwood and the cedar hedge. Kim the Landlord had the cedar hedge put in and she’s attached to it and I try to help keep it healthy.

Now I know I’ve been mentioning mascarpone cheese a lot, because we’ve been eating it every week. I got it for myself as an eating treat for the first time about six months ago and now it gets used for any number of wild purposes, like being added to Indian food to take the heat down or being used as dip for crackers. My current favourite treatment for it is to chop pecans and dried apricots into it and add home made chocolate syrup and whomp it up and eat it like a parfait, but mostly I just put it on bagels, a truly lovely application, especially for a sweeter bagel like a blueberry bagel. I have converted Jeff into a mascarpone fan. The other day he referred to it as ‘massacre pony’ cheese and I thought I was going to die laughing, because it sounds exactly like the kind of mishearing I applied to many things when I was a kid.

I have learned – directly from Katie – that she anticipates the birth of a boy child. The happy couple is fine either way. “I’ll raise strong men and get awesome daughters in law” she said and I laughed.   I don’t have facebook or I would have known a couple of days ago. She calls me on the land line, all apologetic, because I don’t have a cell phone or she’d have texted me. Isn’t modern parenting wild?

Now I got myself all wound up over mascarpone cheese, so I toasted a blueberry bagel, and one half of it is on Jeff’s desk for when he comes back from looking for something downstairs and the other half is being consumed with tea, Yorkshire Gold, hot, by yours truly.

Did I ever tell you guys that for months and months I could hear what sounded like somebody tunnelling under the house, but it’s stopped? I don’t know what it was but it kept me awake LOTS and now it’s gone. Hopefully their ‘extra space for renters’ or ‘panic room’ or ‘torture chamber’ or ‘sex dungeon’ or ‘man cave’ is all finished now. Still I persist in wondering. I figured it couldn’t be real since Jeff couldn’t hear it. Maybe it was particular power tool oriented rats?

Still no envelope of suitable size and robustness for ontie Mary. I need to get up off my ass and go ‘into town’ (lol less than ten stops on the 123 bus more like) and get some.

Did I ever tell you guys that like most people who are on the spectrum and or have ADD I have tons of sensory issues around food and drink? because I grew up in a household where ‘suffer in silence’ was actually a family motto I’ve long since learned to power through the overwhelming majority of them (not painfully or ruining my day, just as a going to the dentist kind of powering through it), but one thing that has stuck with me since m early teens is that tea is supposed to be as hot as you can make it and to be drunk just shy of scalding; I sometimes reheat tea five times if I keep forgetting to drink it when it’s the right temperature…. the spectrum makes me need it a certain way, the ADD prevents it, it’s like there’s two witless mofos trying to control my sensorium all day. Spectrum makes me want to be upstanding and meet my commitments or SHAME of GREAT SHAME will ensure; ADD says fuck ya, smokes weed and ends up hitting the twangy box in the guest room while Jeff flees to the safety of his EBM Dark Club Music on headphones.


leafhopper earrings from @kanakirisuzume1’s twitter feed

Yesterday I

– loaded and ran dishwasher

– tidied kitchen

– showered and brushed teeth

– policed up my picks, they end up everywhere so I had to round up the herd

– practiced

– ran a load of laundry

– gave blood

– lunched with Paul

– STILL NO FREAKING ENVELOPE FOR MARY’S LETTER and I could not wait fifteen minutes on the phone for a doctor’s appointment so I’ll try again today and also the Visa issue still isn’t straightened out, and it’s annoying because apparently I can use my card on line but not in person? like what the hell, people.

Paul called around ten and asked if I wanted to donate blood. He arranged it all, since we normally go together, or with another family member and I hate the website with everything in my gristly heart. I pounded fluids and ate lightly, and I felt fine after the donation (I drove home) until bedtime, when I felt a little woozy and highly strange. I’m more or less fine this morning, but sore (not at the donation site, more in my joints, which is weird). It takes even longer than usual to donate blood with all in-person questions and on screen questionnaires! It took about half an hour to process me, and even longer for Paul, likely because he couldn’t stop joking around with the pretty intake nurse (just my speculation, but definitely classic Paul), but I only had to wait about twenty minutes in the car while I hosed back 400 ml of mango juice and a mini oaty chocky bar, and Paul (who was driving, much against my wish) managed to find a lovely spot in the shade.

Made the unwelcome discovery that the CD player is no longer functioning in Paul’s Toyota; he only ever listens to CBC radio anyway so it likely would have been another year before he noticed a problem.

After, Paul declared himself desirous of a shrimp banh mi and I thought, “It’s the Pho Hong, there’s gotta be something there I can eat even if I don’t want banh mi,” and realized as we entered that they had been closed back in May/June for renovations. The Pho Hong used to be an Italian restaurant and when the first owners moved in they didn’t touch the decor; wish I had pictures, the walls were festooned with classic Italian tacky shit, as were the rickety booths, and there was a dropped ceiling.

The next renovation cleaned up the walls. All the character was gone, but the food did not change.

This renovation is all black melamine plates and dark woodgrain plastic booths and no more fabric anything (this will be a feature, post pandemic – only the most luxe places are going to have fabric anything, because otherwise everything is a ring tailed bastard to sanitize for fomites) and the ceilings are higher. ALSO, they are competing with Pho Boi further down the Kingsway toward Metrotown and they are open all night – yup, I have a 24 Pho place a five minute drive from the house now! If I was feeling energetic I could walk there in about an hour.

I remembered you’re supposed to have something salty so I had a small number 15, no noodle, extra veg, and (ripping swears) it was good! Paul had veggie spring rolls as well. It was most pleasant.

Now, one thing you have to know about the Pho Hong is that the women’s bathroom is designed for Vietnamese women, and not traditionally sized settler ladies. The stall is narrow AND compressed; doors swing inward AND JUST BARELY MISS THE TOILET I mean they clear it by a couple of cm, no, I’m not exaggerating, and actually I think it would be pretty funny to hang a camera at the top of the stall and video me getting into and out of the stall, because I collected bruises on many surfaces as they impacted the wall, the tp holder, the door and the toilet, so I was collecting whatever substances and materials previous occupants had left in a right jolly way, mostly with my ass. To say this is not an accessible washroom is the understatement of the century. I mean it’s not the ‘worst toilet in all of Scotland’, but it’s fucking small, is all. I wriggled out of the stall and contemplated how they could have, during the renovations, moved the fucking stall door one foot that away and fixed the worst of the problems for fat able bodied people, but these days I look at everything through a “What would a fat disabled Indigenous trans person say about this” lens and believe you me the least you’d get is an eyeroll and sigh of disgust.

Then I drove us back to my place and we parted, with many kind words of thanks and expressions of pleasure at the company, and I basically collapsed and went to bed early. Called mOm to tell her I’d given blood and to hear her talk about how wonderful Jeff is. I mean, I know, but it doesn’t get old.

Woke up after five am, which is marvellous, since I only remember waking once at ten o’clock to have two very sad and odiferous consultations with the john, got up and made tea (there’s already tons of iced tea in the fridge but I want hot tea) and an everything bagel with mascarpone cheese. Buster wanted to be brushed and wasn’t in the mood to train, so I gave him treats anyway and brushed him.

Not much is happening with writing; song writing continues, always, in the background.

I keep telling myself that I’m not a useless eater if I can donate blood. Paul said I was being too hard on myself. Also, this is ableist thinking on my part and must be expunged, but how? Out of all the horrific bigotries I carry it’s the one that is the most thoroughly internalized. I have to work on it; I have to work on it as I get older and more disabled; that will be difficult, for sure.

Long time fans of Paul’s driving style may be amused to learn that he doesn’t wildly change lanes or speed any more, and he doesn’t bolt out from behind buses and trash trucks or burn out from traffic lights or tailgate or apply the brakes as if he’s trying to flip the vehicle like he useta. His devil-may-care attitude toward centring his vehicle in a lane remains unchanged.

And sometime over the next while, a house filk and a family picnic. Life is not going back to normal. But some things from the before times will return.

Today I am going to see how I feel later this morning and try to find some envelopes of suitable size and robustness for Mary’s letter.

Wednesday on 3.5 hours of sleep

I’m just finishing up the last of the Indian food from L&R today; it’s succulent, mild lamb curry over rice pilau. The naan and the samosas always go first; I didn’t quite eat the four samosas in a row, but over about a six hour period; truly great veggie samosas nom nom nom.

Two straight nights of terrible, terrible sleep. It hasn’t been warm enough to leave the AC on but I really feel the difference in the humidity and I feel like I’ve been going through a mini menopause every night. I leave the box fan on just to get some circulation, but it’s most sticky. I shifted the little icon of Sandman from the Gaiman comics so it’s closer to my head and hopefully I’ll start sleeping better again.

I have a list to get through before Jeff gets home as long as your forearm. There’s a shower in there somewhere as well.

Local news, or newish items:

Burnaby Council has peed on the most direct route for the proposed gondola from Production Way/University Station to SFU. I hope they shitcan the idea entirely, at least until they’ve asked MST peoples for permission among other steps that seem to have gone missing. It’s likely to be an expensive boondoggle and for what… to carry 10K people a day at most? sounds like bs to me. Anyway, the translink people didn’t ask any of the businesses and scarcely any of the residents that would be under the shadow of the gondola what they thought about it (not that I have experienced Burnaby as a place that gives two shits about small business owners, but that’s just me) and it just seems all very hasty and poorly prepared.

I have learned that there is a 60’s style diner (they have no website and it wouldn’t help anyway since the internet’s off between 4 and 7 am so I have no way of checking and I’ll probably forget to before I post this; Chris Campbell at Burnaby Now says they have neither social media presence, nor change in the menu for decades – I mean they still serve salisbury steak, try finding that at a restaurant) here in Burnaby and I’d like to drag Jeff out to there at some point, they’re up around Kensington and Lougheed, which isn’t too far a trek, but they don’t open until 8 and keep bankers’ hours so we may not go since we prefer first thing instead of messing with the morning traffic.

Buster is currently kneading my left tit like he plans on drawing a paycheque.

Ah, he’s stopped; I’m supposed to pet him and I’m still typing, so now he’s parked on my right foot.

He’s already had his breakfast (wet and dry food) and I refreshed his water, and I told him repeatedly that daddy is coming home today but I am not sure he believes me.

I tried locking the cat door at night while Jeff was gone as I didn’t want Buster to get et by something, but he was adamant; even if he wasn’t planning on using it he complained vigorously about it being shut.

Time to start some laundry and attack that list.

(Shower’s done.)

aw shit Jeff’s noticed I’m playing on twitter, back to work