We are now referring to them as the Olympox.

That’s a royal we, not a literal we.

I don’t share my opinions with others, in the sense that my opinions are commonly held.  In the other sense, why, look, I’m coming up on 6 years of blogging on a daily basis.  It’s been peace of mind inducing, because I can actually see progress, even at this late date.  Yes, it has quite a bit, now I think on it.  It’s been useful, with recipes and background deets for KittyKate’s ongoing relationship woes, and dammit, the source of MUCH amusement in retrospect and in PROSPECT, because so far I’ve lived to blog the tale, and yes, the worst of the bad bits aren’t here, but that’s cause my mother doesn’t want to read them.

You know, I don’t go back into the non wordpress archives unless I’m looking for a quote or a specific event.  I was looking for a dream description last week (took me a blazing age to find the damned thing, too, the archives are a bear to search) but I can’t remember the time I looked before last.  Might have been… oh yeah, I remember, I wanted to know the date we first watched Heroes of the East (Shaolin vs. Ninja).

I do look at the more recent archives more.  Easier to search.  It’s always about usability.

The power of the checklist, and other news items

Finance, airplanes and checklists.

Katie is still in Victoria looking after Granny.  Having somebody there is making life a lot easier for my folks, who are mad with worry about her, and for Garry and Dianne and Greg and Tracy, all of whom have come to visit her.

I talked on the phone with Katie for about half an hour yesterday.  Apart from her reading Twilight, (Keith’s anguished cry, “I tried to set her on the right path!”), and not getting enough sleep, she’s doing well.  I am so proud of her helping out like this.  Kat and Kashka miss her.

Watched Touching the Void yesterday.  UNBELIEVABLE.  A must see.  I cannot recommend it highly enough; suitable for all ages except at one point there’s some quite lurid cursing, and since there’s a lot of atheism in it it’s not recommended for deists.  The lurid cursing seems entirely appropriate to me.  You’ve broken your leg, hung in midair for 90 minutes, had your climbing partner cut the rope and you’ve just fallen an additional 100 feet into a crevasse.  I’d be painting the air a pretty bright blue meself at that point.  Except right about then I’d give up, and Joe didn’t.

Katie has safely arrived in Sammitch, I mean Saanich.

Girl howdoo, but there are a lot of goofy loan names from First Nations languages.  They started out as whatever they were, poetic or prosaic or the sound of the sea slapping fish-weirs, but the transition to English was painful and lingering.

Anyway, I conferred briefly with my mother and raised a hosannah that a) Katie’s helping look after her great granny b) she’s going to get paid to do it and c) she’s going to be a busy lassie and in no good position to repine on any other matters and d) sober second consideration yielded the nugget that what I had slotted in here was ill-tempered and prurient, always a lovely, somehow quite regressive, almost, you know, Republican combination, so I’m passing on this next line.  TLDR = Me happy.

I made stir fried noodles with thinly sliced very well aged steak, quartered mushroms, two onions, bean sprouts, the leftover sausage patties from brekky, celery, fresh green beans, soy sauce, peanut oil and the merest hint of Madras style curry powder.  Jeff devoured it/them with what appeared to be intense happiness, and his happiness was improved upon learning that there were turnovers in the house.  Store bought, it’s true. We watched Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow.  I really liked it, but honestly, Joe (Jude Law) should have punched Polly (Gwyneth Paltrow) MUCH earlier in the proceedings.  Gal’s a safety hazard, and no Einstein neither…

Paul and I conferred briefly today about vegetables.  He has a darling, nicely cultivated plot in the back yard at his rental which he apparently will be allowed to plant this year.  We shall see.  I am thinking pole beans and raspberry canes here.  Rather than plant a lot of stuff, a lot of one or two stuffs instead.

Heavy sigh, happy sigh

So the heavy sigh is for missing posting yesterday, but I got called into work.  The great thing about temping is that you get to see what other places to work really look like.

This place had:

  • decent coffee
  • an infestation of mechanical engineers about six deep
  • it’s own ERP
  • a decent fast restaurant in the basement
  • one bus ride from here
  • less than twenty minutes from here
  • walking distance from here in a pinch or bad weather
  • interesting, worthwhile work
  • and the job is currently available

The heavy sigh is because I won’t get it, but gosh it was pleasant working there and I would have had loads of fun teasing elderly engineers.  I would have also got to watch the Skytrain go by all day long, which doesn’t hurt my feelings.

BEST LINE OF THE DAY.  One of the engineers, responding to something a contractor was saying in a conference call, and sounding, how shall I put it, mildly exasperated, said, “You are confusing expediency with practicality“, which caused me to SWOON.

Then I came home after a satisfying day, smiling in the rain and clutching my signed sheet, which I still haven’t faxed, and found my brother had just got home.  He said, “I got ya a present, I hope you like it.”

Well, it was from that batch of slides that Loki processed from 35 millimeter to digital, the slides from when we were, like, 9 months old and 2 and a half, respectively, and Jeff’d had it blown up to half poster size (with Blossom Su of course, the framing magician of pictures, art and media, she wot did the Inuit hunters).  Of all of the pictures in that batch, it was the one I wanted.  Both of us look incredibly goofy, and nothing much has changed.  I could hardly be more pleased.

A thoroughly satisfactory day.

Today, dentition maintenance at noon.  Dafter Katie (that’s daughter written US Revolutionary War style) is going to Victoria to be a prop and stay to her grandmother (and, if I may be so bold as to say it, to get the hell out of Dodge the week before her -hopefully- last legal encounter with her ex boyfriend.)

Also today I have to phone my old employer and work some contacts.  I am so ready to go back to work it’s ridiculous.  And to think, a couple of weeks ago, I thought I had forgotten how.  I am anticipating work – but things are, apparently, not very rosy at the old place and I have had two different engineers tell me not to come back, although I suspect both of them have ulterior motives.  Maybe it IS time for me to move on, can’t step in the same stream twice, harrumph harrumph.

nautilus3 is going to upload herself into an AI and keep working

….because her list of shizz to do before she dies is TOO LONG

Here’s the list as edited by me. I’m leaving the family names off.

Cousin’s letter (which I have stolen as an idea for an SF story).  A cousin’s letter goes around to all the cousins and they add something to it and send it to the next person on the list.  This has been a ten year project.

She does a family calendar (with Loki) and has done for a dozen years – one each for both sides of the family.

She has a family history site and blog.

She maintains a genealogical database.  Note to self… if Alex is going to catch the family history next, what the hell is going to happen when the database needs to be switched from PC to Mac?

Two other family letters.

Activities around a once-every-three-years family reunion.

Family tree, third edition due soon.

Completed projects include Aunt Mary’s diary, my paternal granny’s life story, a Dresden plate quilt worked on by five generations of women (gives me chills to think about it, which, thankfully, a quilt can fix),  a dozen life stories of family members and their life partners, my dad’s stories, my grandad’s stories, transcriptions of diaries, letters, and papers of yet more rellies, in profusion, picture her hacking her way through flabby sentences and questionable spelling with her Editrix Machete of Coherence, her dad’s stories (a two volume opus of such merit and wonder that I am baffled as to how to describe it).

And there’s more.

Coming up …MORE THAN TWENTY PROJECTS.  I went through the list but I started to feel chest pain at the notion of retyping it.  I exaggerate, barely.

All I meant to say about this is that, just in case nobody had noticed, my mother is completely awesome.  In addition to all that she quilts, knits, keeps my dad fed and happy, puts up hordes of relatives and is a meeting point for many friends and family coming through town (she recently entertained both Bonnie and Rani when Bonnie visited her sister in Victoria), is a two time cancer survivor and is intimately involved in the eldercare of her 98 year old mom-in-law, reads non-fiction, keeps up with contemporary movies and TV on DVD, gardens, bird watches, clears about thirty to sixty email messages a day, and keeps her temper while being pestered for her ‘prayers’ for ministry by relatives in furrin lands civilizin’ the heathens. She is currently in the market for atheist tracts to send to relatives.  No luck so far.  I may have to write one for her.

To recap.  Awesome, and a good person, too.  I’m not going to say that everybody who meets her loves her, but the fans outnumber the detractors by a very wide margin.

So I hope nautilus3 lives until the singularity and uploads herself, because I’d like to think that she’ll be giving her attention to her family members for another thousand years.  In my universe, she is grandmother spider, holding the family together with a skein of light and powerful threads.

The chocolate chip banana pistachio bread is all gone

ScaryClown was here last night to ingest food, beer and ZULU in that order.  We had fun.  I have seen that movie at least twenty times, and every time it blows me away.  Keith was here too.

Today I am being different versions of myself.  Off to a meeting in PoCo this afternoon.  Perhaps I will go to some kind of social media Tweetup tonight but then again, maybe not.  I’m finishing up a couple of songs, you know how it is when you’re hacking away at the ends of things and they take slightly more time than anticipated; at the same time starting things seems to go much faster.  nautilus3 is scowling.  Then she smiles.

I’m getting the playing callouses back on my fingers.

A friend just emailed me a job listing that sounds perfect for me.  I heart my friends.

Jeff cleaned the furnace filter.  Unless I can come up with a better word than disgusting, it will have to do.  The furnace filter appears to have been manufactured sometime prior to the dawn of time.

nautilus3 will like this. It’s the Gordon Mackay catalogue from early in the last century.  The colours and textures and design are wonderful.  Colin forwarded the link via facebook.

Brain empty, repost

Keith sent me the following email, so I am reposting it.  The apple don’t fall far from the tree, as a rule.

A Regular Canadian Family.

… Aren’t they cute? Not even remotely.

Check this out: Montreal mafia Don’s son killed

This is so awesome I have to write some of my take on the yarn.
The dead guy is the son of a man named Vito Corleo-excuse me Rizzuto. Vito is doing a stretch in the USA for racketeering, and quote “being present at” unquote the murder of three made men in 1981. Vito is due to be handed back over to Canadian authorities in 2012.
This guy’s Wikipedia page is unbelievable. Apparently the Montreal Mafia is huge. As will be the likely response to the slaying of Nick Rizzuto. These guys have a larger geographical territory than any of the legendary/mythical Five Families, and apparently while nominally under the Bonnanno banner, the Rizzuto rival any Families in money and influence.

The cherry on the cake for me is the fact that Vito may in time be extradited to Italy in connection to- what do I hear? Murder? Nope. Extortion? Nuh-uh. Bribery of public officials? Not even close. Alleged money laundering in the finances of a public works project to build a fucking bridge. From Sicily to mainland Italy.

All we need now is a witch doctor to resurrect Mario Puzo, so he can make a movie out of this man’s story. Or maybe the crew that made Bon Cop Bad Cop could do it.

Oh, no, I feel a rant coming on

All creativity comes from God? You have GOT to be kidding me.  Yes, the article is about something else, but that was the quote that caused my bowels to rumble and my breath to catch.

Creativity does not come from God.  Creativity is definitely affected, channeled, restricted or liberated by belief or unbelief in God, gods, fairies, the Kraken, lil green tentaclechicks and Eric Northman, but creativity is an inside job.

I have spent an entire lifetime, well, since I wrote my first song at the age of eight, thinking about creativity.  What is it? Where does it come from?  Where does it go when it’s gone?  What is it for?  How does one define it broadly enough so that it’s accurate and narrowly enough so that it’s useful?  Who gets to call what’s creative creative?

Are animals creative?  If they are . or aren’t . what does their activity say about human creativity?

I will take a stab at a definition.  I didn’t look at a dictionary first or wikipedia, so forgive me if this sounds clueless or twee.

Creativity is a normal behaviour in which a human being applies what he or she knows or intuits about the world to a novel situation; this creativity may be a thought or it may make an appearance in the world. When this application is successful it’s called creativity; when it’s unsuccessful it’s called a failure or an experiment.  It’s all creativity but the reaction to the results is different.

All creativity is rooted in preference.  If you take six dogs, or six cats, or six orangs, or six people, and ask them to state or make plain their food preferences, you will see that all of them, given choices, will zero in on what they genuinely prefer, or on what they think the other critters want (the whole I didn’t want it until you wanted it thing that I see play out at the food dish every day).  The basic building blocks of creativity are being used the minute an individual thinks “I want….”

There are three levels of creativity.  One is mechanical and we share it with higher mammals (and corvids, and cephalopods and many psittacines).  It is the application of physical objects in the physical world to achieve a particular survival goal, or acquire some preferred item.

The second level is where most of us play.  It happens when we do, think, make or physically embody something new, having learned the mechanics, or basics, of some human skill.  nautilus3 claims my song writing is somehow superior to her quilting, but they are much of a muchness.  Once she knew how to quilt, she got better and faster at it.  Once I knew how to write songs I got better and faster at it; the principle didn’t change.  Songwriting comes out of the place where math meets speech and emotion.  Drumming comes out of the place where math meets movement (along with dance and cheerleading).  Quilting comes out of the place where math meets colour and texture. (nautilus3 STILL hasn’t done a Penrose tiling quilt, no matter how many times I hint…).

The third level is where people make a category concept error and ascribe the product of human intelligence to God.  It is creativity, but of a completely different and novel kind.  Truly novel, not merely accomplished or polished or worthy of study for technical excellence.  In order to be set among the blessed roster of human genius, you must think, and cause to appear clearly, an entire discipline.  For example, the first human being who taught himself to knap flint; the human who took that knowledge and made herself a baby sling because she’d given birth to twins and couldn’t tote both of them (think how she was without other resourceful females at the time and you’ll see how it happened).  One invented a new class of tool and weapon; the other invented a method of making sure she got enough food while she was nursing two younguns.  Playful younguns.  Curious, greedy and helpless younguns; the type who inspire their parents and elders to spend a lot of time thinking about how to keep them safe, how to keep them well, how to keep them fed. Remember, every proto human who formed a thought which resulted in one of his or her descendants living to breeding age skewed our DNA; remember, every living human being had an ancestor who went through a cheetah style reproductive bottleneck, and only the most adaptable, creative, tough and cooperative humans made it through, what with the climate going ass over teakettle, the food supply altering dramatically and the requirement to move quickly and efficiently through all kinds of terrain while encountering new threats and predators pushing down on the weak, slow and sickly.  Creativity in human beings is so obviously one of the differences between humans and our kin that we forget that it TOO is an adaptation.  The best of all possible adaptations, although, for the sake of the planet, maybe not so good. Creativity can also be directed to the invention of derivatives of asset backed securities and the use of mercury in precious metal mining.

The human who systematized hunting and alarm calls for his troupe and nudged humans towards language; the human who mastered fire and invented cooking; those were the creative geniuses.  These days people apply the word genius with gay abandon; I only apply it people who create a new discipline.  James Cameron is a really good director, but he isn’t a genius.  He has not created a new discipline; he has given himself entirely to a discipline which is well established, the art of storytelling through film.  To create a new discipline is not merely to be creative; it is to light, with the torch of reason, an entire area of human capacity WHICH WAS NOT VISIBLE BEFORE and to transfer the capacity to the judgment and use of the world.  Einstein was a genius.  Edison was a genius (also a thief, thug and anti-Semite).  Marie Curie was a genius.  Why?  ‘Cause after they pointed something out, everybody could see it.  Before they pointed it out, it didn’t exist.  Somebody had to invent calculus and it’s a good thing, too, because the internet wouldn’t exist without calculus. (Because the sciences which support all these packets flying around would be crippled without it).   If you read the Wikipedia article about calculus, about ten dudes from a multitude of cultures contributed to the foundations upon which calculus was built; but it took two guys, Leibnitz and Newton, to create a useful discipline.  But, as I was saying, the discipline wasn’t there before. That is true creativity.

As much as I enjoy songwriting and am proud of my output, it’s second order creativity.  It’s true that nobody had to show me how to do it; that’s a natural gift.  It’s like watching Wayne Gretzky skate in his back yard when he was 4.  The combination of encouragement (or in my case, benign neglect, while surrounded by the most glorious voices in folk music as I was growing up) and innate talent (I was harmonizing when I was tiny, because harmonizing is something I do without thought or effort) makes the application of skill to novel situations look effortless.  However, nothing I’ve done has expanded song writing; all of the major elements of everything I do was either codified or made traditional somewhere between 500 and 1000 years ago.   Wayne Gretzky, for talent, love of the game and character, is a model hockey player, but he’s not a genius; his creativity, like mine, colours inside the lines.

Nothing anybody can say to me will make me believe that God is guiding my hand when I write songs.  It is true that I am sometimes flabbergasted by how fast and how strong it do come on sometimes, but I’m also flabbergasted by how badly I can lose my temper in a short period of time, or how fast I can assemble a tasty meal, or respond to someone else’s quip.  When it goes well, it goes as fast as the human mind and body can carry it, but that goes for everybody.  The trick is having a sense of humility about the whole thing.  Somebody invented a system for me to write down songs; until I come up with a better way of doing it (and by god, I hate the system we have now), I’m a 2nd order creative determined to sign my own work.  There’s no shame in that, but twould be a shame indeed if I asked God or the Tooth Fairy to take the credit.

Happy Christmas and a peaceful and prosperous New Year to you!

Brunch with Granny was delightful, and we even managed to suck up the fact that the heat wasn’t working in the restaurant, keeping our coats on while we ate eggs bennie and other breakfast comestibles and chocolate apricot ganache for dessert. All of her descendents, less Jeff, were present; he will go after Christmas. Much thanks to Garry and Loki for subsidizing the event.

I also got to meet the new granddog, Charlie; my cousin Greg has acquired a pug.  There was a picture of Charlie in a Christmas outfit, which given that Charlie is less than six months old is pretty funny.

The smell of sausage stuffing cooking is filling the whole house, borne on the aromatics of browning onions….

I took one biscotti loaf to Victoria to cook once we arrived; again, a Christmas message carried via the brain by the nose, as the gorgeous smell of baking fills the house.

Watched the intro to a new game, Borderlands, last night, and enjoyed it thoroughly.

Margot’s introduction to the grandprimates was a success.  However she only ate two teaspoons of food and drank maybe four tablespoons of water while she was there, so she was pretty upset.  She also figured out who the boss primate in that household was PDQ and thus serenaded pappa for about half an hour at dawn yesterday from the other side of the bedroom door.  She was lucky she didn’t get punted down the stairs.  She was certainly more vocal than I’ve seen her in quite a while.  She was an angel on the trip home and when I put her in the driveway trotted straight to the stairs to be let in.  The boys ignored her absence and pretty much ignored her arrival.  She went straight to her water dish and tanked up.

I have to get back to encouraging ingredients into the shape of a meal.  Everybody play safe and don’t slip on those frost covered steps.

Food

Last night I fed Tom, Peggy, Ben, Paul, Keith and Jeff pork roast done with garlic, bacon and bay leaves (it made the house smell REALLY GOOD) and many, many vegetables, including beans and cauliflower and broccoli and beets and potatoes.  Katie and her housemates were invited, but Katie was already on tap to do shrimp and spinach canneloni that night so she turned me down with thanks.  It would have been an ‘add two leaves to the dining room table and where the hell are the chairs going to come from’ evening if they HAD come, so I don’t complain and I added some chairs to my want list.

Margot quacked like a duck for the folks.  She has a doctor’s appointment on Monday; she needs to be checked out for heart problems, which are quite common in Persians and don’t necessarily show up during the work up prior to neutering; her quacking and breathing issues may be normal Persian noisiness or it may be something more sinister.  She’s so placid, except when I’m brushing her, that she doesn’t appear to have any problems otherwise.  I keep telling myself that she’s like a kid… I get to look after her for a while, and then she’ll leave my life; I’m attached to her but I hope not too intransigent on the subject.  And it’s my own damn fault that I brought her into a household where it would be impossible to keep her as an indoor cat.  She gets FILTHY sometimes, having all that fun out in the rain and dirt.  If it’s really pouring she won’t go out, but light precip doesn’t seem to register.

Back to the Friday Feast.  I said to Ben, “There are two pinball machines downstairs.”  He said, “I’ve never played pinball in my life.”

shock,  horror!

We fixed that. Obviously he must play pinball before he goes to Hudson’s Hope.  (He got a job with Hydro).

After Tom Peggy and Ben went home, I decided I needed both air and exercise, and Paul and I wandered around the neighbourhood looking at the Christmas lights (Keith and Jeff were busy killing zombies in the trial version of Zombie Apocalypse). There are some spectacular displays, especially close to the school.  Then we came back after about half an hour and I picked up the guitar and composed another (what, another frakking tune, what the ???) song, which I think is going to be called “God Willing” and be about the immigration of my ancestors to Canada. No lyrics yet.  I know; for an atheist, I’m such a sucky accommodationist.  But you would be too if you had so many religious relatives, who also happened to be pleasant, intelligent and hard-working.

That’s the single biggest issue I have with the media atheists (I FLATLY REFUSE to use New Atheists.  That’s like calling people who are Christian NEW CHRISTIANS. Atheists are atheists, there’s nothing novel about them, and you can see their lineage throughout history from Epicurus forward.)  They are on the “All theists are stupid” train, whereas I am on the “All human beings have cognitive biases, and atheists may have at least one fewer than theists” train.  Also, many media atheists have the distinct advantage of not giving two shits what their religious relatives think of them, an advantage I don’t have.  It’s why I don’t give vent to some of my more shocking opinions (yes, hard to believe, isn’t it?  But much goes on behind my face that doesn’t come out in my blog).  I was a lot more venty when I started this blog, as I recollect.   I don’t usually go back into the old format portion of the blog unless I’m trying to figure out what happened in say, July of 2005.

Keith called up the optician’s office he was still working at on Saturday (he didn’t give that other job completely up, the wise soul) and hopefully he’ll be getting more hours later this month.  It’s hard to be a young person these days.

Today, AVATAR.  I am very stoked.  Now to check the hellacious mess that is the Translink site and plan my trip itinerary.

I so enjoy feeding people.  It makes me feel good, and that was a damned fine roast.  I miss the rosemary bush from the front of my old house.  A sprig of rosemary in the roasting pan would have made it even more wondrous.

Christmas in Vancouver

I don’t know why, but I am very happy this morning.  It’s a smiling contentment triggered by Christmas and the prospect of seeing my folks and Granny and my cousins and aunt and uncle; the weather continues mild, which is a nice change; there’s this which I watched with the sound down, SFW, and then there’s this, also SFW.  There’s also the prospect of biscotti, a meal to cook for Peggy tonight (Tom may or may not be joining us), a post Christmas filk at Cindy’s place, a non denominational Christmas carol to work on, a phone call which may or may not presage work, a meeting that had no minutes and scarcely any action items, and the calm happiness that comes with knowing that you don’t have to buy any Christmas presents.

There are other reasons to be happy, of course, but those will do for the time being.

Oh, and here’s William Gibson’s review of Avatar from Twitter.  I guess I’m going.

Bill Gibson reviews Avatar

Pass on by, this one’s about porn

Somebody is finally biting the bullet and talking about the effect it has, especially on younger people.

You know, one of the things about The Correction is that porn will go back to being like the good old days.  It will be drawings, cartoons, carvings on the outhouse wall, sexxay netsuke, possibly pictures, books for sure, and live shows.  Wow.  Never thought about that before, and all of a sudden I have an inspiration for an SF story. That aside, I will now make a couple of other observations.

When I was a wee tad, my parents tried to protect me from pornography.  They said that it wasn’t bad in and of itself, but it could lead inexperienced young persons to get the wrong idea about sex with a real partner.  Nothing that has happened to me since has changed this received wisdom, which is now my opinion.  If kids want facts they can have them.  But porn?  ehn.  As much as I like porn, or the branches of porn I like (being either big budget 70s porn or home movies of contemporary ‘ordinary people’ having consensual sex, if only to avoid the godawful music of current DVD porn), I still think young people should be protected from it, for the same reasons my parents gave me. Don’t ask me HOW you protect your kids from porn; I was very fortunate in that my kids believed what I told them on the subject, and even more fortunate that they at least appeared to be convinced, and that I didn’t have to have the “Please don’t steal mommy’s credit card to order “Splort – an illustrated history of Bukkake”, thanks!” conversation.

And isn’t it extraordinary that I was born in 1958 and I HAD that conversation with my parents?  Sometimes I think I was born in the future and it was only an accident that I ended up living in the 20th century at all.  Anyway, thanks to Tyee’s twitter feed for bringing this article to my attention.  I well know how that woman feels about talking in public about porn.  It’s not a comfy feeling, but somebody has to acknowledge these things before the lies and hypocrisy overwhelm us.  Besides, my parents probably have no recollection of that conversation.  I know my memory isn’t as good as it was.  Okay, move along, there’s no pictures.

That’s a weird coinkidink, holidays, Margot fur

Daughter Katie (Kathryn) is living with Kat (Kathleen) and Kashka (Polish diminutive of Katherine).  Weird, hunh?

We are going to have a LOT of coming and going this holiday season.  Keith goes to Victoria from the 19th to the 23rd.  He comes back the same day as when me, Paul and Katie go to Victoria for Granny’s b’day party.  We stay overnight and then come back Christmas Eve so I can start cooking for the big Xmas dinner.  Then Jeff goes later that week.  And Alex and Darwin will be going at the same time… tis nuts, but that’s Xmas for ya.

Margot is coming with us.  I suspect that despite my pOp’s inability to understand why I took this completely useless animal on as a pet, that he will like her anyway. Many thanks to Paul for allowing me to use his car to transport her.  She’s not a big fan of car trips,

I punted her with a piece of furniture yesterday.  (Accidentally, I didn’t see her).  She just slid across the floor and neither mewed nor changed position.  She has no conception of the possibility that someone would harm her. She can spend 10 minutes being brushed, grousing the whole time, scratching at my hands and kicking like a baby with her back feet.  Any other cat would vanish afterwards, and she merely flops down on the floor in front of the bathroom door and glares at me.  She can try to bite me but she doesn’t have enough strength in her jaw to even break my skin.  This makes her behaviour with Eddie and Gizmo even more hilarious; she’s defenceless, except for the cute; why Eddie hasn’t given her a good thumping I have no conception.

I have picked her up three times in a row to keep brushing her, and she doesn’t run away.  I can’t say she knows she can’t keep up with her own fur, but she sure acts like it.

Should I start keeping her fur as an art project?  She makes a loonie sized tuft of fur twice a day.

Last 24 hours

Skating was wonderful, although I have a blister half an inch across on my calf.  Then, I wrote a song.  I went outside for a second and got inspired and came right back in and sang it into the mp3 recorder.  Slept.  Wrote another song.  Got up.  (Particularly pleased with this most amazing piece of multi tasking, what with the lying in bed and thinking up songs).  Got dressed, and did not realize until I had left the house that not one piece of my clothing was on speaking terms with the next.  Girls, I looked like I had slithered through six closets and only wore what stuck.  Went to church.  Witnessed the single cutest moment I’ve ever seen after a very entertaining and well received children’s pageant.  I’m not going to try to describe it, but I hope there are pictures. Got a phone call from ScaryClown and went to a late lunch with him AND dragged him back here for Primer (neither he nor Keith had seen it, from which you may infer that my gorgeous, vivid, witty and perceptive son is here) and classic Warner Brothers cartoons.

Snow has been falling off and on since church got out.

I swept up straw from the manger this morning.

I had a day with my peeps… Jeff ate his late repast with gusto …. boys killing pixels in the basement.  Beautiful and people-filled day, with music ringing in my ears.  One of the songs I wrote is “Christmas in Vancouver” which is a very Accommodationist-wing-of-contemporary-atheism-anti-hymn, and the other is “Load On”.  The latter is a very Band-ish tune meant to be played trad instrument, light percussion and at least four voices.  Okay, that’s how I hear it in my head.  It’s from Deadwood, when Sol goes to back Bullock’s play with that tomfool popgun his girlfriend Trixie loaned him.  And, like one might reasonably expect, gets shot for his pains.  The song is about Sol loaded up on laudanum before, during and after the extraction of the bullet, and the stuff he raves about while he’s wrecked.  I know, isn’t that the damnedest thing to get an instant song about?  I had sung my song about Al Swearengen earlier in the evening and it made me think about Deadwood, so I guess I was primed for it.  I still can’t believe how fast it came on.

I have a quiet happiness inside me which corresponds to chocolate chip pecan cookies.  Happy Xmas to all reasonable people, in the very broadest humanistic terms and without reference to goshes, I mean gods.

Holy ^%$! Batman

Debbie forwards this gem from the nation’s capital.  There’s more than enough **** to go around in this story.  Calling something a blowback makes it sound like a rough breeze, not feces at high pressure.

I had an amazing morning with Katie here, doing tech support and getting out of her way so she could work on her song. The tech support was trying to find cabling and making sure the inputs were set to record properly in Garageband.  Later in the day, my date, alas, was overcome by weariness from his exertions feasting a friend the previous night at a birthday bash, and cried off… this after texting me at 8:10 this morning that he was just going to sleep.   People nowadays have no idea how to pace themselves (this of course will cause Patricia to burst out laughing when she sees it, since she knows what an utter lightweight I am when it comes to weekend excesses.)  I sang “The Weekend’s Over” to myself, which cheered me immensely, and then worked my way through “Freedom”, “Wish it was Mine” (how I love that song, and the mad crush that prompted it), and about half a dozen other songs.  Seeing Katie with my guitar in her hands this morning nearly made me hyperventilate with excitement and glee.   I got her to visit this site for strummable guitar chords (which makes songwriting so much easier)  After she left (her dad walked her home), I sat down with the piles of sound equipment I got out for her this morning (the USB midi input cable for the Casio keyboard, the mucho expensivo mic which Katie found since I had no clue where the damned thing was, the second best set of headphones, the Kaossilator and associated cables, the laptop of course) and made gamenoise1, and that’s only a fraction of the extremely cool music I composed today. Getting more callouses on my fingers, seeing both my kids and writing tunes have put me in a very happy mood… and I didn’t cook dinner, I ordered pizza and then made Jeff pay for it.  Tra la la.  Oh, and I watched the boys kill zombies, because of course, Elferd Ito is in the house.  (L4D2, Left for dead 2, bad pun.)