Category: Art

Why I blog

Take that, people who say it’s nothin’ but narcissism.

Also, I have a terrible memory and a blog helps me remember when things happened.

Also, Katie has used my blog to help her remember when distressing and horrific things, as reported by me, happened.

Yesterday Paul and I drove up-island to visit his cousin Ruth in Nanaimo.  She’s living on an acre of land and she got it for a steal of a price, and she and her fisherman spouse are living very happily.  She has to walk fifteen minutes to get her mail, and another ten to get her eggs, but she’s a five minute drive from a yoga studio and she has her own well, so there.

She made us a fabulously warm welcome, and soon we were deep in talk about cob houses and straw bale houses and the Cuban 5 and the amazing local arts and politics scene, and after Paul re-strung her guitar I said I’m getting my mandolin, and she hauled out her Indian drums (sounds like tablas but they weren’t) and we had a fabulous 90 minutes of jamming.  I kept nervously checking the Malahat webcam.  Long about 4 we decided to head back.

And it snowed.  Paul and I were bemoaning our lack of cameras, because the snow slid down the road signs and just hung there, and some of the visual effects were quite funny.  The snow was worse in Victoria than up the Malahat, go figure.

Paul went off to hang with Dr Filk for the evening (more music, somewhere, and a meal in there too) and I grabbed some Mayan Chocolate Haagen Dazs and a small round of Brie (my god, they fell on it like animals…. well behaved, queuing animals) and Darwin had a noisy bath and went to bed and we ate pizza and I started reading The Caryatids by Bruce Sterling and at 7:30 I collapsed.  See what a day without coffee can do to me?  Also I did all the driving, since Paul has come to the realization that he can tolerate my tailgating and random lane changes way better than vice versa.  A couple of hours in the car also allowed us the opportunity for an airing of the grievances (or was more usually the case, the bragging of the amazingness) re the kids. Sometimes it’s good to have a chance to bash away at this stuff so we can present a united front when the next issue comes up….

Woke up at 4, edited the sound files I recorded yesterday of Darwin’s charming vocalizations, finished the Caryatids (three stars but I still want to know where the food of the future will be coming from), showered, and now I’m looking forward to a meal at my Granny’s place of residence and a nice ride home on the ferry, probably late in the afternoon.  And I can haz new quilt, which is actually a quilt that my mum made when I was tiny, so I am extremely happy about my ‘haul’.  Oh, also my grampa’s memory book (two thick tomes) has been delivered to me in duplicate for Jeff.

So far an AWESOME weekend, and watching Katie motor her way – reading, my god, she’s reading! – through the Sookie Stackhouse books is making me very very happy.

Singing makes me happy and so does Major Kusanagi

So Keith and Paul picked me up from work last night (Keith was driving) and we went back to their place and at pork chomps and salad and oyster mushrooms.  Then Paul and I sang and played for ages.  Honestly, we should put together a set list and then we wouldn’t have those long headscratching moments when we think “What will we sing next?”

Around nine I went home and found Jeff watching Ghost in the Shell Innocence.  Man, in HD on a big screen that movie is drenchingly beautiful.

Sundry and Various

Last night when I was coming home I realized I wanted retail therapy, so I got Robaxicet, a teach yourself to read music book (which actually taught me something I had not understood before in the first five minutes, so that was useful), a miniature Gumby and Pokey set for Jeff, Ecuadorian chocolate, Cutthroat beer & a proper set of headphones for work including volume control.  Now of course I realize that I’m an idiot and I just should have gone straight home, so I would have avoided a broken down bus and…

ick….

wait for it….

auditions for Canada’s Next Top Model in Brentwood Mall – when the batteries in my camera had just quit.  Oh, and my cell phone batteries quit in tandem, so I couldn’t fire off an irritated text message to Jeff. I wanted to take a picture of the swarm of identical, malnourished, streak haired, pointy faced hopefuls, but instead I got an eyeful of leering men and resigned looking parents.  Rechargeable NiMh batteries do not cut it for this application.

I am just about finished my laundry, finally, and will be moving on to other interesting events today, like trying to sweet talk Jeff into accompanying me on a shopping expedition.  Yes, I know, but I want two things you can’t get nearby or easily, being my favourite kind of soap (French, honeysuckle scented) and more Sculpey so Katie can finish her chess set. And more paint.  I think I need blue, clear coat, and maybe a bronze or silver metallic.  And a fatter brush so I can really slop it on.  ScaryClown says he paints everything he does flat black and then paints overtop of that.  I will defer to the master on that one. He has severely restricted his alcohol intake, but frankly, he doesn’t look happier. And he’s bringing his lunches these days. So has the Dalai Jarmo, but that’s traditional for Finnfolk in early January, and he looks very happy these days and he’s going to be sitting close but not too close to me in the new regime.  PS note to self I need one of those who the **** is behind me mirrors for work.

Katie, bless her, did not actually look for work yesterday, rrr.  But Keith fitted his first set of contact lenses (perfectly, so he says) the day before yesterday so it appears that continuing to support his efforts to get edumacated is wise.

Jim and Jan are here this weekend and I can’t wait to see them.  They are so wonderful.  I wish I could just buy a city block and move everybody I love here. Except that many of them, like a kitty cat struggling to escape, would not be happy about living in Vancouver.  It’s a nice place to visit, etc.  And when I get a house I want laundry on the same level as my bedroom.  I got that when I was living in the Cornerstone building and gosh darn, I want that again, although that might have something to do with how steep the basement stairs are.  I nearly fell down them this week and it was scary as hell, because Jeff had his headphones on and I might have had a very poor time of it.

Biscotti.  Again.  I will be shipping it off to people by mail.

Valentine cards.  Since I am sending work valentines to Barcelona, California, Indiana and Washington, I have to start early this year.  There are 150 people on the list!!! I have created a monster, yet again.

I know somebody personally who is going to the inauguration, and I will be able to hear about it later this month.  Me happy.

At Tammy’s

Working backwards, I am ‘staying above the fray’ as Tammy and the exterminator battle with termites (this part of Toronto has them, and what can you do, eh?), I ate her goat cheese and garden picked oregano omelette (and it was nommy) with fruit and nut bread; I slept great, and in fact about two hours longer than I normally do; we had a very pleasant evening (she bought me Tuborg, the saintly creature, as she never has beer in the house); we figured out where I’ll be spending at least part of my restaurant money in Paris; I arranged to see Dave JD at Jump today around supper time (but nobody else in Toronto, I’ll make a special trip back for that) while Tammy’s at choir practice; I had a pleasant trip by transit from the airport (this being possible because I got to sit the whole way even though it was rush hour when I arrived) and then Tammy picked me up at Pape Station; I had a very pleasant flight because at the last minute I changed my seat selection from 34 row to 44 row (767-200, but Paul probably already knew that) so I had nobody sitting next to me fore. aft, port and starboard and I was close to an aisle and washroom AND I’d never been on an aircraft with functioning video-on-demand in the cheap seats, so I was actually SURPRISED when they called ‘we are starting our descent’; I got my money back from the WORST breakfast sandwich evar and by way of apology the server brought me a free bottle of water; Jeff very kindly dropped me off at the airport; I got a reasonable night’s sleep the night before.

Anyway, I’ll only be going near a computer or screen in the most minimal way for this time off, as it’s obvious my internet addiction is hijacking what’s left of my life, so if you don’t mind I’m off to abuse Pentium and George, two of the nicest and most sucky middle aged cats I’ve ever met, both of whom think I’m kinda keen.  George slept on my feet last night and emitted never a peep.  Happy sigh!  Also, and this if for Keith, Tammy of Surpassing Excellence has Alan Moore’s Lost Girls in hardcover… can such things be?  Who needs the internet?  PS it’s snowing…. that desultory November snow….

Master Jeff is in da house

Eddie and Gizmo celebrated his return by running up and down the hallway in an attempt to mimic the percussive qualities of army boots on wooden floors.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop with the ghetto slang.  I know there are many things that are seriously wrong with me…that seems to be pretty minor, all things considered.

That goshdarned full moon, which was fan-dancing with the clouds when I was standing on the ‘train platform last night!  I went to Brentwood Mall under its malign influence and bought matching earrings, bag, shoes and hairband (?!) and then bought, yeesh, makeup and got taught, in a very luxurious and unhurried way, how to apply it.  I’d say something about lipstick on a pig at this point, but I suspect nautilus3 is rather sensitive on that subject, for two reasons; one, the pig is her totem animal and she’s not one for mocking them, and two, when she was a high powered executive with 600 full time equivalents reporting to her (didn’t know that, eh, thought she was just a nice old lady, did ya?) lipstick was the only makeup she wore.  I wish I’d stayed and gotten my toes done but I’ll see if I can do that tonight.

mOm and pOp told OnSpec to send me a free copy of the their mag, and for bedtime reading (I hardly ever read a book these days, such is the pull of one phosphor dot screen or another) I read halfway through it.  Apart from thinking that the writing style of all the contributors remarkably similar, I really enjoyed it, and I think I will subscribe.  When you pick up a mag and DON’T think at any point, why’n’earth did they publish this, that’s a good sign.  I even liked the poetry, which is either a sign of necrosis of the brain or quality, you pick.

Off to a party tonight (thus the matching shoes, bag, earrings, hairband), and I will look fabulous in my outfit.  I even depilated, which is either a sign of the apocalypse or that I’ll be exposing more of my surface area than is normally the case, you pick.  Daughter Katie’s supposed to turn up and fix my hair, but after a lot of fussing around last night (Jeff would have been harrumphing had he been here, I was in the facility so long) I think I can do it myself if she bails. At least she’s okay.  I grouse, but I worry ’bout that kid. She’s moving back in with her pop and Keith and I for one am thrilled.

Tomorrow, I go shopping at Famous Foods in the AM and then ScaryClown comes over in the PM and we’ll have a documentary fest and I think I’ll cook up some yummy food.  He has to leave early (after supper) because he’s due to get up at hours ungodly on Sunday to get to the airport to fly to Providence, where he intends at some point to climb in a taxi or round up a sympathetic coworker (it’s a biz trip) and get driven out to HP Lovecraft’s grave.

This, like everything else in my mind, dovetails neatly with other family news; the parental units have commissioned a metal sculpture of one of the Old Ones.  It is disguised as a cephalopod, but those in the know will be aware that it is actually (dah dah duhhn!) something otherworldly.

I am planning on taking ScaryClown to Gadget House at some point and asking my parents to adopt him as a grandson, or possibly a nephew.  The idea of going on a road trip with ScaryClown alternately makes me blanch, giggle and furrow my brow.

Then, Sunday, my 50th birthday. It simply wouldn’t BE my birthday if I wasn’t importing guests, so Dr Filk has, with my warm thanks, agreed to come across the pond – Lady Miss Banjola, who will likely also attend, is requiring his presence for further practice, rehearsal, and scoffing, teasing and saying, You’re Fired repeatedly. All perfectly standard.  It should be a small and convivial crewe.  (Also with any luck Darwin the Alert and Lexi the Not-So-Alert-as-Darwin will attend.)  I’m gonna have an acoustic bass in my living room.  Let joy be unrefined!  Oh, yes, there will be filk.

I just opened a card from my folks, which reads “Thank you for the special gift of being our daughter.  Happy half century!”  Gosh, (scuffs toes) couldn’t have done it without yuz. PS thanks for the terabyte drive pOp.  Jeff and I are considering what uses to put it to…..