That feeling when

Jeff calls the new Hulu show “Burn Tarot” and expects Jeffrey Donovan to be doing voiceovers “When you’re a psychic,” and you laugh so hard you pull a rib.

Some irritated person threatens to call the Site Leader (basically GOD ON CALL) when you warn them that work requests will be slow tonight because you’re at 50% staffing and your response is OH WOULD YOU PLEASE we’ll need her help sorting through all the work requests that were in the system AHEAD OF YOURS. That was 3/4 of an hour ago.  Yeah, you guessed it, no call. Just as an aside I actually paged the Site Leader yesterday and she didn’t answer, so make of that what you will. She probably pulled an Allegra and when she didn’t recognize the number didn’t pick up lollllol.

People who work nights and complain about the workload and do a shitty job and sleep in the ER until 5 am when they wake up and pretend to do more work are on the receiving end of one of your pointier emails.

I have 64 likes on my Supernatural fic and 4 kudos and I’m thinking I KNOW SOMEBODY LIKES MY WRITING and Jeff says my interest in slash fanfic for a show I don’t watch equals zero, interest in MMCo = 100% and you just think squee.

You’ve invented a fanfic universe in which you have a McGuffin to make any character pairing possible (with a lot of effort, but possible).

Your daughter calls and tells you she got a job, a good job, in a union environment, close to home and you’re dancing around like an idjit.

You think ‘I’m actually going to miss this job’. I mean, I quit a month ago and I’m still working here, it’s insane. And some of the people are so much fun, I come in early just so I can interact with them.  Others, well, you know how it is.

I’ve almost paid off my credit card debt and I did it with money I earned.

You forget to tell your mother that you received and deposited the cheque she sent you… a month ago.

You watch the Wrong Box again.

I’m putting it in my pile of movies to watch when I’m feeling icky. Because watching it put a bounce in my step. Figuring out that John Larroquette based his performance in the Librarians in part on Ralph Richardson’s tremendous turn as Joseph Finsbury; (so many classic lines among which ‘the playing of games, with balls of varying sizes’ never fails to crack me up), marvelling at Peter Sellers’ false nose and moggy filled apartment (at one point he mops up an ink blot with a kitten’s ass); drooling over the set dec and costumes, which are lovely, and the script (done in part by Larry Gelbart whom you may also know as one of the creators of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum and M*A*S*H the tv show, also family faves), the hilarious and stylish music, with a score by John Barry, also a fave of mine (his theme for the Persuaders was one of the highlights for me on tv when I was a teen); John Mills’ voice; the ridiculous train derailment; Tutte Lemkow, the professional villain, and his entirely mute performance as the knitting mad Bournemouth Strangler. Anyway, if you haven’t seen it, and would like a film that amuses without cloying, it’s really, really good.

So yeah… all in all I’m having a good week, and writing 15k words in 4 days was… interesting. Graphomania is a helluva drug. I was literally pacing when I wanted to write and couldn’t, and that’s PSYCHOMOTOR AGITATION folks.  Perhaps the sun is coming back and making me twitterpated.

 

 

 

There’s an offal lot of fuckery hereabouts

I am right and you are left
Fuck the fucking dress code
You are slight and I have heft
Fuck the fucking dress code
Life is short and art is long
Fuck the fucking dress code
Don’t distort my little song
Fuck the fucking dress code
 
My plan is simple you will see
Fuck the fucking dress code
Make a dimple easily
Fuck the fucking dress code
First I’ll wear salwar kameez
Fuck the fucking dress code
Then I’ll dare men’s suits with ease
Fuck the fucking dress code.
 
Not to screen what people wear
Fuck the fucking dress code
Does not mean that you don’t care
Fuck the fucking dress code
Warm in winter, cool in sun
Fuck the fucking dress code
And here’s a hint
Please have some fun
Fuck the fucking dress code

Welcome to the pre-existing condition that is my nightmare.

Fortunately, there’s a cure.

Un fucking believable screw up regarding my hours at work tonight.  I don’t know what to say about it in public but I was good and wound when I got here. Yes I’m blogging from work.  I quit already, I’m an at will employee. Wut they gun do fire my sorry ass? Bit, please

The battery on the MR2 gave its first evidence that it was not happy earlier this week; stopped turning over reliably two days ago and died like the inverse Energizer Bunny yesterday.  Dja s’pose the markedly nipply weather had anything to do with it?

Posted my first fanfic today, too. No mOm, I’m not telling you where it is….

Many thoughts

I was thinking last night that there’s a point that comes during the long conversion from selfish clod to self-actualized human where you just have to drop the rope you’re tying yourself up in.

Racism doesn’t just tie you tight to almost everything bad about your own culture, it ties you up and incapacitates your own mind. You look without seeing, feel without empathy, hear without understanding and speak without compassion.

I have another novel in prospect.  It’s called Earbud, and it’s not set in the Upsun Universe (or if it is, it’ll be because of something the Sixers Plus Henchmen are doing in the background.) It will be interminably chatty, though. It’s WOT I DO. It’s not like I have any other projects to be working on.

leftovers

Brief overview of current projects, with projected completion dates.

Novels (all complete, Midnite Moving Co. will be released on Leanpub shortly)

Upsun – complete

Sweep off the Waves – in for edits

Hair Sinister – in for edits

Midnite Moving Co. – about to drop

Sweetie’s House of Tentacles – will be ready after the trilogy is published. (Bonus book of in-universe slashfic if you buy the other four.)

Memoirs and Nonfiction

Elements of Modern Stupidity – The story of my life so far

Broad Hints – the best of my short non-fiction, mostly culled from my blog from 2004 forward.

The Recovering Racist – a curriculum for settlers

Tarot for Atheists – Tarot for storytelling and psychological insight

Homilies 1998 – 2015

The Book of Kind Words – A modern take on the Victoria compendium

Allegra’s in the Kitchen – a cookbook, everyone is doing it

366 Days of Truth and Reconcilation (perpetual calendar)

Poetry

Some words before we’re through (collected)

The Labyrinth

In Colours Unsuspected

The Netmaker

Children’s fiction

The Oscar stories

Grandma Comes Apart

Songbooks

Singing in the Hallway (Allegra’s Filkbuch)

Choons (Everything but the Filk)

 

How could I possibly work full time? And I’m only posting this because my mother is publishing 6, count ’em, 6 books of family history this week.  Why no I’m not competitive why do you ask.

awake, of course

Mike feasted me at Yianni’s last night, and the lamb shoulder was quite splendid. I even drank alcohol last night, and for my trouble I have a faint pain behind my right eye. Back to sobriety!  I love the stuff, but it doesn’t love me.

Since I’d already had five solid hours of sleep, I’ve kipped for a  couple of hours and now I’m awake in the dark and quiet, but I shan’t repine despite my wakefulness; I have the LAST CHAPTER of the current book, which is going to be a monster, in prospect; the book will be somewhat shorter than I intended, but I may plump it up during editing, since I invariably put more in to be clear than I take out avoiding repetition or extraneous stuff.

Jeff has produced (I do not know how many hours he put into it, but it was work) a wonderful cover for MMCo, which you can all see when it goes live on Leanpub. My only contribution was the basic design idea (which Jeff immediately improved, by adding an unmarked white truck), a creative commons picture of a man against a starfield, the font and a suggestion re the basic shape.

Back to work….

5 ! days ! off

First day I’m going to hang out with Mike, because I feel like I’ve forgotten what he looks like. Then, Victoria for a flying visit and back for a Tuesday since I’ve got a shift.

UNFORTUNATELY the schedule in the f*cking office only goes until Saturday so I’ve got an email in to the manager (we have no supervisor, which is an ongoing issue of boiling hot contention for reasons I can’t get into) to confirm in writing that I don’t have to work until Tuesday night.  If I don’t have a response by noon I’m going to phone her.

I’ll have you know I cleaned the housekeeping office

I scraped dried coffee blerg, elderly scotch tape and who the hell knows what off many surfaces tonight.  Nobody will notice but me, and that makes me happy.

 

Hello, new bingo card, based on my writing….

 

Yesterday the whole fam damily, less Jeff, went to Edmonds pool and frolicked.  I only had two hours sleep at the time so I stayed in the hot tub – every time I got out I was chilled TO THE BONE.  Alex is a complete joy. Paul was still thinking about his happy family time at 10 pm and texted me to give him a lift.  I AM SO LUCKY AMONG MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY I feel set among stars.

shitposting

I’d like to thank my mother for invisibly preventing me from saying what I really think about a popular fantasy writer in public. The circle is small.

But Jesus, what a gendered slur.

Same for the manager at work, who has ONCE AGAIN handed out the dress code as if this will magically prevent her from getting spanked when the big boss comes in three days.  Does she ever come in on midnights to audit the housekeepers? No. Does she proactively deal with ongoing supply and consumables issues? No. Does she proactively deal with the housekeepers who sleep, steal, lie and prevent other people from doing their jobs (we know who they are…) No. Does she proactively deal with the staff who take 9 weeks to correct payroll errors including missing an entire week and causing a rent cheque to bounce? No. Does she ensure we have the equipment we need to do our jobs properly, including such new fangled telephony magic as CALL DISPLAY? (LET’S JUST THINK ABOUT THAT ONE FOR A FUCKING MINUTE NOW I WORK IN A CALL CENTRE AND THEY WON’T PAY FOR CALL DISPLAY.) There are other issues, but you get the general idea.

I made my bed. Now I’m lying in it.

darkness

Had to stay late at work this morning, watched Jack Reacher II with Jeff (I loved it – Tom Cruise does action movies with quality) and then SLEPT FOR 9 HOURS. Woke up with my dry eyes feeling happy and rested and I suppose I should be hungry, but of course I’m not.

I need to start setting the alarm for four hours after I go to bed so I am no longer sleeping through life, then get up and do things…

Ringing in the New Year via snow shovel

Dug out  the front stairs, walkway and sidewalk, the back stairs, side walkway, garage walkway, and the snow blocking passage to the laneway.

New Years Writing Resolutions:

 

Publish 5 books (4 out of 5 are written) block out five more, e-publish my book of homilies, write two more of fiction and two of non-fiction. Finally assemble all my filk songs as of the end of 2016 into a big pdf file. Dig more deeply into Scrivener and see what else it can do to help my work flow. Learn more about e-publishing. Print at least a small run of physical books (probably locally) so I can put them in my mOm’s hands. Put everything for free on my website so people who are broke can read it. Develop a mailing list for book marketing purposes. Learn to spam LinkedIn since it’s all they’ve ever done for me. Figure out if it’s worth it to put any version of the ‘trilogy plus bookends’ on Amazon, given all the hassles I hear about. Start a Patreon account. Move 1500 units. Start submitting to publishers once I have some sales. And remember that 1000 words a day is 4 books a year!

I am completely and utterly sober. I have five minutes to pour myself a toast of something before I greet the new year with some Moar Wrdz.

I literally just slept 12 hours

Which is kind of inconvenient. But I’m fighting a bug again, I think, and my dry right eye is saying THANK YOU because it is experiencing no sensation of pain or abrasion and opened without being stuck shut, like most other mornings.

I also slept through every chance to make arrangements for the evening’s entertainment or the possibility of being sociable with my brother, which I’m not impressed with.

I must now be vewwy quiet, and go to my list of things I can accomplish by being quiet.

Okay: so yesterday I promised to, in a literary sense, and in a literary sense only, kick Konrad Yakabuski, a crypto-racist hack working for a variety of mangy sheets but currently the Groan and Wail (aka Mop and Pail, Goad and Flail) in his equally crypto goolies.

The first paragraph is the establishing shot.  “I’ve been away so my vision’s clearer.” That’s the premise, the tone, the “I’ve seen things you’d never understand” crap.

No, your vision hasn’t cleared, Mr. Oblivious Child of White Settlers.  (And with that name, he’s *likely* counting among his ancestors the first Polish migrants to Canada, although I can’t prove it.) All you’re describing is how you couldn’t truly see where you were when you left, and centre your dislocation as somehow important, upon your return.

Mentioning the barren British homeliness of downtown Toronto is supposed to carry some freight of humour, but alas it does not. All it tells me is that he doesn’t know that it was ANOTHER colonized people, the Scots masons who fucking built downtown Toronto, who built that ugliness, under the watchful direction of (mostly) Brits. SO IN THE FIRST FUCKING PARAGRAPH…. drum roll please!

He’s clueless about the colonial history of Toronto after the FN were pushed off.  But does he wisely see his ignorance and make with the hard pass?

No he does not. He continues to draw a fine paycheque for his purulent emissions.

As a journalist, belonging has never been my main aspiration in life.

Putting aside that every great journalist who ever lived, of whatever stripe, puts themselves squarely among the human family. Perhaps that means never having a settled home but that’s not the same as not feeling like you belong to the human family. He doesn’t actually say what his main aspiration is, which is funny. It certainly isn’t the discovery and sharing of truth….

Then he says, and what complete and utter bullshit,

Real journalists typically take pride in shunning all labels, attachments, causes and collectivisms.

Just in case you think I’m being a little harsh by calling this bullshit, let me walk you down memory lane with a list of Canadian journalists, and I ask you to frame them against this remarkable statement and see how well they fit in his stunted neoliberal construction.

Pierre Berton.

Stevie Cameron

Barbara Frum

Victor Malarek

Well shit bag, they don’t.  They were all supremely opinionated and attached themselves TO PLENTY of causes and collectivisms, to wrassle Yak’s fucking red-baiting bullshit phrase into some kind of context. And those are the WHITE journalists I pulled out of my ass. What award winning FN journos like the ones at Windspeaker might have to say on the subject makes for bitterly amused speculation on my part.

Then, the classic line:

We are chroniclers of, rather than participants in, the society around us.

RILLY?

He doesn’t vote? have a cell phone with awesome apps on it? he doesn’t drive?  He has a twitter account, f’Chrissakes. Maybe he has a mortgage, or lives in a rental, rather than a tent under a highway.  He eats in restaurants and consequently uses the sewer system… one hopes.  IT’S EXACTLY THIS ATTITUDE, that he can separate himself from the herd with words (by talking about his calling as if he was pulled aside by the Jesus of Journalism on the Highway to Better Circulation) that allows him to believe the things he does. He calls himself a chronicler rather than a participant because he’s calling out what he perceives as his superiority.

waaaaal. All it does for me is tell me that he doesn’t see where his words are pointing.

Let’s pause for a moment. How does Allegra separate herself from the herd with words? Am I not guilty of the same white wordy masturbatory bs?

Sure. But I am a member of the human family, all of it. And I am a student of history. All of it. And I love my country. Not all of it, because some of it is structurally sexist, racist, colonial and a teensy bit fascist. But I’ve had to ask myself if I would take up arms for the conception I have of Canada, which is not a flag or a collection of laws but of a group of people who share a home, and the answer is, yes. This is a hard thing for me to say in public given how anti-colonial I can be, but it’s true, and I won’t linger over the dissonance I feel about it.

I am separate from other people because I occupy a frail, non-neurotypical body which preselects many of the things I like and hate for me.  But I’m just like everyone else, EXCEPT in how I think and speak and act. I breathe, I came from two parents, I’m going to die, I try to find love and acceptance and avoid pain and loneliness, I eat & excrete, I consume goods and services, I make things, I destroy things, I try to communicate.

In my separation from others I wish to maintain an egalitarian world view; a compassionate world view; a self-inclusive world view; and a world view as passionately committed to the destruction of capitalism as firmly as I am currently entangled in its fractal tentacles.

So yeah, I was a bit pissed at the use of the word collectivism. It’s a goddamned dog whistle – “I am anti-communist.”  Fuck yeah, you’re by extraction Polish and living in Canada, go figure. But more subtly, he’s saying that he’s clueless about how he participates in the Collective that is the Capitalist Posse, protecting everything that the Globe and Mail’s owners, subscribers and advertisers hold dear. Less subtly he’s saying that journalists who are overt about their causes AREN’T AS GOOD AS HIM. So he wants a fucking medal for being racist in public in the service of capitalism, but he doesn’t want to draw too much attention to that.  The fellation takes place in private, I guess.

Okay full marks to him, now I think of it. Most Canadians wouldn’t get the freight of the word collectivism.

Then he makes his concession.

Still, not even journalists can escape their genes, childhoods, experiences or environments — everything that determines who we are.

Oh boy.  He’s just plain folks, folks.

Our identities are never fixed, but subject to constant redefinition. In 2013, the Canadian part of my identity needed some refreshment and refinement. I found both in Joseph Boyden’s novel The Orenda, a haunting story of blood and belonging set amid the 17th-century Iroquois Wars.

HARD STOP. Joseph Boyden, who won awards for the above noted novel, has discovered a native ancestor and wishes to be Métis.

He isn’t.  Didn’t hear me? HE ISN’T.

There are shitpiles of settler whites with native ancestry in this country. I’m related to them on both sides of the family.

My tribe is Scythian, just in case you were wondering; they liked warrior women, weed, deer, horses and travel, and that’s good enough for me. (Merely trying to point out how white people claiming tribal affiliations is clueless newage bs.)

I am not shameless, stupid, venal and greedy enough to want to claim any FN of Turtle Island as my own, and most important of all, I have no FN grannie, no aunties, no uncles, no nieces, no nephews; no land; no language; I also have no UNRECOGNIZED TOXIC RESERVOIR OF GUILT, SHAME AND DENIAL that makes me want to drain it by claiming an experience THAT IS NOT MINE. If you don’t have a First Nations family willing to claim you, you aren’t FN. It’s that fucking simple, folks.

Joseph Boyden doesn’t have a FN family. Therefore….

BUT HE WANTS TO BE. And because he’s white, we should let him. That is the underlying support for Yak’s contention that we should stop ‘lynching’ him.

Note that the link says lynch and the headline’s been changed.

NOTE IT. It’s important. It shows the Globe and Mail knows it fucked up, but not enough to change the URL too.

Meanwhile, in twitterland, the pixels are practically catching fire over in the fabulous network of indigeneity. Joseph Boyden is ONLY BEING SUPPORTED by FN people with a long, long history of toxic sexism, slur campaigns, greed for federal cash and faux reconciliation.  Not one credible First Nations spokesperson supports Boyden in his claims to be indigenous. He’s Grey Owl for the Trump Era.

Then Yak goes on to describe how the indigenous awakening was important for the Canadian identity.

Riiiight.

Nice indians are good for the Canadian identity.  Noisy, university trained, angry, pushy, sophisticated, technically savvy, passionate life livers and givers standing up for the 600 plus nations and languages that white people keep trying to develop off the face of the earth, not so good for Yak’s construction of the modern Canadian identity.

Native life must be interpreted by white people to be real.

I used to believe it too.

Sorry Yak. Once you make the connection, as I have, over the internet, with real native activists; hear their voices; have private conversations with them; get scolded (in my case repeatedly) by them for not hearing, not thinking, not listening, not ‘getting it’, you can’t use language the way Yak uses it.

The rest of the article is shite so I won’t quote from it.

He uses the two words identity politics a lot.

If, as I suspect he is, he came from the Polish enclave in northeastern Ontario, I’d like to ask him a question.

How would you feel if every other kind of white person who lives in that part of the world pushed you off your land because you were Polish? Would you indulge in identity politics then?

The First Nations are NATIONS.  They practice ‘identity politics’ which is a dog whistle for ‘coloured folks being uppity’ and ‘faggots being uppity’ and ‘trans being uppity’ and ‘anybody who doesn’t identify as a temporarily embarrassed millionaire being uppity’ because they have the THREE QUALIFYING FACTORS of NATIONHOOD. Land, people and language. Sure, their governance is screwed up in many places BUT WHOSE FAULT IS THAT? The Government of Canada, acting for all of us.

Yak wants to reduce the nations of Turtle Island to ‘Canadians’ and then bag at them for not being good Canadians. THEY AREN’T FUCKING CANADIANS. They have to live with the laws and the racism and the ‘can’t you deal with being a conquered people’ bs, but they aren’t Canadians. They can have a Canadian passport, but that’s because they don’t have an alternative if they want to, you know, live in the world, travel on business or to see rellies or for pleasure, like human people do.

So read the rest of the editorial with that in mind.

Yak, you are too clueless to live in this world you’re so far above.

Day 4

Paul worked four days on four days off for so many years. Day four on nights was almost always busy; you’re super tired and you don’t want to have to fix the goddamn shitter pipes on the Scarebus, but you do anyway. Not similar here – it’s relatively slow tonight after a flurry of calls at midnight.

Off to Planet Bachelor to sing and play. Wrote a tune on the fly with Paul gamely trying to keep up on guitar. Lyrics – not yet.  We worked our way through a number of tunes, and on Clem’s Walk Paul came up with some exceeeeeedingly tasty and uptempo accompaniment, like air braided in filigree.  For about 8 bars there I thought we’d gone to heaven, it was so good.

John’s real close the last couple of days.  I know he’d want me to be fine.  I will be fine, just a little punched out from working and (ja figger?) possibly holiday blues. ALSO THERE IS FUCKING SNOW EVERYWHERE IN EAST BURNABY AND IT’S GONE EVERYWHERE ELSE.

I am loving The Crown but oh, it’s so very colonial.  Highly recommended but there are definitely bits to make a sensitive person cringe.

Scored another prezzie from Keith  – I now have a Jayne Cobb figurine which will join the rest of the figurines downstairs in the media room if I can figure out where. HE HAS HIS HAT. Given that I gave the Cobb hat my mother laboriously constructed for me away to Mary Crowell, (along with the magnificent Lundercape, which was made in part of dead gods and slaughtered Smurfs) I’m glad.

I left Otto there; I’ll be damned if I lose it or break it hauling it to and from work.

Almost time to nuke up my egg fried rice for dins.

See the difference between the old and the new headline.

I’m going to do a full bore take down of the above noted article when I’m conscious and caffeinated. So annoyed with this cowardly idiot.

 

 

 

back at work

Wrote about 400 words today. Feeling laid back to the point of being sessile. Jesse is not talking to me, although Sweetie is.

Some evil person left the best commercial gingerbread cookies I’ve ever eaten just lying around the office. I have moved them out of eyeshot or the little crunchy eyewateringly gingery buggers’ll be gone before dawn.

Despite the weather being horrible – it’s snowed all day and it’s now raining, I was only 5 minutes late for work.  Yay Skytrain, I guess.

Looks like MMCo will be the first of the books e-published, which is funny, because it was written fourth and it’s the pre-planned prequel. More deets as they become available.