Category: Friends

Lovely visit

ScaryClown showed us around his ‘hood, being Main St., and after a lovely (and on ScaryClown’s part, quite intensely liquid) brunch, we wandered over to Voltage and Solly’s Bagelry and the Organic Grocery store. I picked up a black and red squid Tshirt from Voltage (LMB probably knows the one I mean). I must say, I’ve never watched somebody pack away three lime margaritas before noon….I didn’t even know you could ORDER lime margaritas before noon. Much as I love alcohol, my day would end the instant I got home and kicked my shoes off. There’s only one beer left, but I’ll fix that tomorrow – I should probably lay off today. Anyway, we picked up sesame bagels and smoked salmon cream cheese and these little intensely chocolate swirly things, and Keith and ScaryClown got cinnamon buns. At the organic grocery I picked up a San Pellegrino for Keith – he loves it – and organic coffee, because I’m out, and organic walnuts, because I saw them and decided to go nuts. Yeah, very funny.

ScaryClown wanted to know why he hadn’t been told about Brian’s going away and I said, “But you’re always over at Uncle Jimmy’s, drinking, on Friday nights. You’ve been doing that every Friday since I met you, almost.” And he burst out laughing, because he thought he hadn’t been invited because he and LTGW are semi-feuding (which, by the way, I am not commenting on because I have a garage-sized crush on LTGW and consider ScaryClown to be my sibling, so there’s no way I can win no matter what I say on the subject, although I will say that they are both very smart and very sensitive).

Ah! Paul just phoned. He’s going to bring food over and we’ll have dinner together with Jeff and Keith AND he’s going to stop and get beer. So I’ve got about three hours to do the Tasmanian Devil cleanup (my room is a DUMP) and maybe blast through the bathroom like a pink tornado.

Jeff and I were thinking about opening Crazy Bob’s Discount Funeral Home. Some conditions apply, bagpipes not included. Hm. I guess it was funnier at the time.

Life is pretty good. Yes, my back still hurts, but I’ve learned that complaining about it never helps.

Off to breakfast with ScaryClown et krewe

I’m looking forward to it. ScaryClown calls Locus ‘oh so trendy’ and I just love pulling down the tone on places like that. A slender 20-something MainSt hipster I am so not; although, candidly, Keith and ScaryClown could pass for that if they wanted to.

Continue reading Off to breakfast with ScaryClown et krewe

PARTAY

We saw Brian C off to his new job in fine style – and I used the opportunity to record Buy me a Beer in front of a live audience.  Yes, I got permission from Party Boy and the management of the Golf Course first, so I may be a self-involved putz, but I’m not entirely without a clue. Also, I distributed neck rubs all round, except for the people who said NO, and it’s amazing how many of them I just said, “I know YOU’RE passing” to, and they just looked at me… then the next person would openly mock them and thank their good fortune.  This happened more than once, so the cumulative effect was quite funny.  One of the people I worked on had been shit on by a crow, but I worked on her ANYWAY because the crow was considerate enough to let fly along her spine well below her shoulders.  Also recorded Housewife’s Lament.  There were forty people there at the height of the festivities, largest turnout I’ve seen in 11 years of employment…. Maybe 45.  There was a LOT of people there.  I was going to do a guest list.  LTGW gave me, Jeff, Keith and Patricia rides home, or roughly home- the 25 bus was waiting for us at Brentwood, as if it was meant to be.

Another NCIS blowout day.  I made waffles for breakfast, unbelievably good meatloaf for dinner, wiped off the back deck table, wiped off the kitchen counters, folded some laundry (which Jeff did, and thanks cats! for urinating on Keith’s bedclothes!) and otherwise did squat.  I’m having a lazy day.

Tomorrow Scary Clown and Keith and Jeff and I are going to eat brunch down on Main St.  Then in the afternoon I hope to see daughter Katie, who really is a very nice woman to talk to on the phone.  And I talked to Peggy, and I talked to my mother, and Mike called to tell me that Bounce’s clone, in the form of a 5 month old male kitten, has cruised into his life.  He’s been adopted.  That makes him happy.  Happier making still is that it’s Jerome’s stag tonight.  Mike vaguely quoted the email saying something about how Jerome didn’t want anything too stupid or strange, but uh, anytime I’VE ever gone drinking with those guys, magically delicious, improbably fun things happen, so seeing as how they will be drinking AND the Dalai Jarmo will be there, I suspect a good time will be had by all.

Jeff bought an elcheapo camera to record the antics of the cats in the living room, as time without number one of the cats has done something unutterably cute and we’re blocks from a camera.  It lives in the living room now.

I watched my newly posted video a couple of times, and about halfway through the video (deleted as being pretentious bushwah, with a side of smug).

The air conditioner is running.  A Kenyan took gold in the marathon.  The world is okay.

Maybe I shouldn’t record Buy me a Beer after all!

This seems a painful way to encourage alcohol consumption.

I am still recovering from the cavalcade of cheese, but I’ll be in to work as normal this morning, or as close to normal as my inconstant weirdness ever gets.

However, I’m going to poke around and look for another venue, possibly the Heritage Grill, if they’ll let me.

Weeknight

All I’m gonna say about my evening at Patricia’s – I’m home now, it’s 11 pm – is that it was a cavalcade of cheese. Quite literally – some of the finest cheeses for sale in Vancouver were there.  Om nom nom.  To bed, alone, sigh.

Oh almost forgot Buy me a Beer must be reshot.  Now thinking caps of on-ish-ness are put.

Teaching the children to swear

Jeff says he likes it when I rant.  Not in person, of course, that’s yucky, but the written rants are okay.

Today I’d like to rant about teaching children to swear.

Now, in traditional child rearing, parents don’t swear and so…. children don’t swear.  If they do swear, they get paddled, or grounded, or whatever the traditional punishment method is.  Paul and I were not so much with the traditional child rearing, except those parts that are kinda apple pie, like getting them immunized and taking them to school and feeding, clothing and housing them adequately. But we did a lot of non traditional stuff, like nursing until they could talk and cosleeping.  And, not to put too fine a point on it, we both swear.  Paul is less pungent than I on most occasions, but he can certainly let out a beaut from time to time, and so, we had a dilemma.

The child rearing books frown most creasingly at hypocrisy on the part of parents.  We were essentially left with two options; scold the children for imitating us, or – and this was not an easy decision – TRAINING them how to swear.  On the face of it, this is nuts, but this is how it works.

About the time the kids start swearing – usually around four but you could probably profitably do it until the kid is about eight – you sit them down with all of the words, and you go through them all.  FIRST.  Do not assume that children know what the words mean.  Make sure they know.  This took almost an hour, because the kids got right into the swing of things, and also there were many side trips… kike, paki, chink and nigger took a long while to explain especially to kids who were in racially balanced daycare from the time they were tiny, and went to equally racially balanced schools.  SECOND.  Having defined the words, EXPLAIN WHY THEY HURT.  The blasphemy words hurt people who are religious, the bodily function words hurt people who are squeamish, the slurs hurt real people ‘Fag” being an example, even if partly recovered by Dan Savage – anyway, you get the idea.  You don’t tell kids that the words are bad, you tell them that they have varying effects on different people, and that some people would rather be slapped than listen to foul language.  THIRD.  You tell them – and this is really important – that there is not a single word on that list that they can’t say, in or out of context, at home.  You also give them a list of adults they may swear in front of.  In other words, you kinda sorta keep a secret – that there are people who know, and people who don’t know.  There are people on the inside, and people on the outside. There isn’t a four year old on the planet who isn’t familiar with this level of mild social hypocrisy but you’re also providing a safety valve in case the kids need to talk about something important with a family intimate – who isn’t you – thank you Jan and Soon and Catherine.  FOURTH  You give them the Canonical List of people NOT TO SWEAR IN FRONT OF.

  1. Grandparents, font of all prezzies.  Why?  Because when little kids swear, it’s not their fault, it’s the parents’ fault, and you don’t want the grands to think we’re bad parents, right?  I know you aren’t going to believe this, but this is precisely the kind of reasoning you can use on a child that age.  Then you casually mention the prezzies again.  Kids aren’t stupid.  Also, we mentioned older folks, as having a higher standard of behaviour than the rest of us.
  2. Babysitters and babysitters’ children.  Why?  Because babysitters can hire and fire us, and if we make life difficult for them or are ‘bad influences’ on their kids, out the door we will go.  Kids got that one in a real hurry.
  3. Schoolteachers and schoolmates.  Why?  It’s not worth the hassle.
  4. Anything in a uniform.  It can be a busdriver or an escalator repair mechanic, but if you get out of the habit of swearing in front of uniformed individuals, you will be in good shape later.

At the end of our dialogue – imagine keeping the attention of a four year old girl and a six year old boy for two hours, which we did, and many times Paul and I were blown away by the observational skills and emotional savvy both kids demonstrated that day  – the kids had a working knowledge of swearing and they didn’t break training until Katie was 11. After that I didn’t really care – nobody was expecting me & Paul to have ‘control’ over their behaviour at that point anyway.

YMMV. Blessed be!

Beach, Beach, Beach

I got a little crispified around the edges – enough to make me powerfully sleepy – but otherwise it was a great beach day.  I slept until 11 yesterday, and was relieved to find Jeff hadn’t made himself breakfast yet, so it was waffles and bacon, and then we watched a little Nascar and NCIS, and then Mike came and got me, and then we beached for about four hours.  The stairs going back up this time were much easier and much faster.  I only stopped three times and then just to catch my breath, standing, not to have full bore collapses like the last time where I had to sit down and pant for about ten minutes each time.  Despite the heat, and Cheez Whiz, was it hot yesterday, it was a lot easier to manage. I have to climb three flights of stairs every morning when I go to work – usually faster than I want to if I’m going to catch the train – and I think that’s made stairs somewhat easier overall.  I think my assessment of the horrors of climbing the stairs last time was correct – I tried climbing the stairs during a hot flash and thought I was dying as a result.  When you’re already overheated it’s hard to tell the difference!

Jeff came and got me at around 5 and we drove cross town to Tom and Peggy’s where we had Walnut Smoked Salmon.  It was DAMN GOOD but still, IMO, not as good as cherrywood charcoal salmon. Paul definitely found a keeper with that recipe…. The rest of dinner, as always, was entirely yummy; the peaches and cream corn was amazing and perfectly cooked, and the new potatoes were the classic salute to summer.

I should have gone straight to bed but it was just one more NCIS (actually we were finishing one) and then another one; Jeff indulges me shamelessly as I am sure there are other things he’d rather be watching.

Must retrieve laundry and get going on the day.

I didn’t see Keith this weekend.  I missed him.

Wedding and videography successful

At least I have my priorities straight.  The wedding was absolutely gorgeous, and took place in Stef and David’s back yard.  I sat with the dykes and a way fun teen named Jacob (we had each other in fits within minutes); the twenty-something hipsters had made me want to cry when they asked me if I salsa, so I got up and went where I immediately felt much more comfortable.  Long about 9:30 I sang “The Housewife’s Lament” and David said afterwards, “Normally when amateurs start singing I cringe, but that was great.”  I smirked and said, “I get that a lot.”  I will never be famous, childer, but I will always have a reputation.

The videography was fun, and I tried to sleaze one more video out of Tamara, whose patience with me should be legendary at this point.  However, the notion of recording “The Weekend’s Over” where I recorded it proved too much for me…. I only wished I’d done it inside, but I doubt the security guard would have been happy about that.  That’s one that will never make it onto Youtube, snicker.  That’s going to go onto a memory stick and stay there.

The NCIS blowout continues apace.  Mark Harmon moves so gracefully – I mean, he’s the yummiest middle aged man on television, although Olmos comes close – and I’m finally not hating Michael Weatherly.  Any guy who was disowned by his rich father for going into acting can’t be all bad.  Sasha Alexander’s laugh could be used as a marital aid.  All right, all right, I’m a fan, but I won’t be insane on the subject until I do filk or write slash, m’kay?

I await a call from Mike, and then, the beach.  But only until 5 pm because at that point Jeff’s going to come get me and take me to Tom and Peggy’s for supper!  Must remember to take mandolin.

Crap, crap, crap.  I have to do laundry today!  Unhappy sigh.
And the stairs at Wreck, twice.  Getting to the beach is always easier than leaving.

Mr. Music comes through

I am now the proud possessor of a Jihmi mix cd, which contains, among other things, a version of Broadway Baby (Follies, Sondheim, 1971, Broadway), TWO of the Angstones tunes from their note-for-note of Sound of Music, the sweetest version of Some Enchanted Evening evar recorded, at least until Joel starts singing, a jaw dropping version of it I Can Cook Too by Patti Austin and now I’m listening to Paul McCartney sing Til There Was You. There’s more, there’s more. But I’ll blog about it later, I’se bagged.

Visit

Keith and Paul and Mike were over. We watched Coffee and Cigarettes. Somehow I’ve got to get off my duff and get this place looking like there weren’t drunken frat boys partying here last night. Supper was barbecued chicken breasts (with Paul taking the helm there), swiss chard of such exceptional wondrous tastiness that it bankrumpts my powers of description, garlic bread (of course), salad and European style cheesecake from the Austin Deli.

Paul has the daintiest snore of anybody I ever met. Coffee and Cigarettes, after he’s hauled a brace of midnights, was not enough to hold his attention, and he flaked out on the love seat. I like the Iggy Pop/Tom Waits and Steven Wright/Robert Benigni segments the best, although the ‘twins’ one is also pretty funny. Especially since those two men are actually cousins.

Sigh. Back to housework.

Pride Parade

I asked Joy for this picture and she sent it to me in literally seconds. Ah! Anyway, the good looking one is Joy, and that’s me in a pink polyester lei from last year’s Pride – I gave away my plastic peace bling from last year to one of Nita’s MAWO buddies – and the Queen’s Fluffiest Pillow t-shirt number one son gave me. Okay, I’ll stop grinning if and when I ever feel sad again.

The Luddite’s over and we’re having a low key conversation.

Naughty, naughty mOm

She’s gone off to the wilds, the wilds I say, of Saskatchewan (although whether she’s off to be a Saskatchewan River Pirate remains to be seen) and in the time she’s been gone she’s neither phoned, nor emailed, nor in any matter indicated that she’s still in the land of the living.  pOp and I attribute this to a number of possibilities….

She forgot her own telephone number.  Hey, it happens.

She’s being held in an undisclosed location so that a bunch of well-meaning rellies can convert her to Christianity.  Hint.  Good luck, Chuck!  That’s one die hard mother of an atheist ya got there.

She’s just damned busy and has no internet access.

She’s killed her travelling companion in an attempt to get a little peace and quiet and is working on a suitable body disposal method.  Ontie Mary rocks the free world with her memory and her sense of humour, but the Energizer Bunny hides in terror from her mouth.  I say this as someone who occasionally makes with the pressured speech herself.  Okay, that is the polite way of describing it… I’m a motormouth, are you happy now?

She figures we’re all bloody grownups and we’ll hear about her travels soon enough.

Jeff is continuing to spit blood and yard trimmings over the computer he’s doing up for mOm (it’s not that bad, but it IS a Windows machine).

I had total flow with customer interactions on the phone today.  No nasties, all pleasant and/or funny and/or appreciative of me taking the time to answer the questions properly.  After the weekend, and that SIX count em SIX escalation calls day last week, I figured I deserved it.  I even threatened to kiss one guy when he said, point blank, “So is this marketing speak or what?” about one of the single most pernicious uh, LIES, LIES okay… did I make that clear enough??? that the Marketing wonks ever passed off on an increasingly weary and skeptical public, and I said, “Yup, that’s what it are; a more reasonable expectation of the product’s behaviour, life expectancy and usefulness to your application is….x”. And he thanked me.  He thanked me a lot.  Okay I just remembered, I got off the phone after one call and said “I tremble for my country when I reflect that we have Newfies,” and SalmonMan snickered over in his IT corner.  But the Newfie wasn’t evil, he was just not clear on the concept of a warranty period.

Mike has been phoning me and taunting me to convert my options and sell out.  I’m lazy, I’ll wait for the deal to close.  He lectures me about opportunity costs, blah blah blah.  This time he phoned from Wreck Beach, the bastard; I could practically smell the suntan oil and stray whiffs of reefer and there’s me on my way home from work thinking I should have just taken a mental health day and gone with him.  I’ll get him, dagnabit.  He keeps leaving massage oil here, maybe I’ll grease up the kitchen floor without telling him.

I just found out who one of my lurkers is, via email.  He says he loves my blog.  Hint… he loves musicals.  All the best people do, you know.  It’s a canonical law, in my universe.  Why I even had a dream one time, recounted in this blog, that included a giant insectoid alien singing in a musical.  He was having a gas pretending to be a railroad man in a musical set in the nineteen thirties. Johnny Depp was in it, too.  Can’t go wrong with a twist like that.
It was really weird having garlic bread tonight and nobody to share it with.

Pride

I’m off to Pride for 11:30. Mike came over last night; we swapped bodywork and drank beer and my shoulders FINALLY feel good enough to hold a banner for however many hours we have to for the parade.  The rest of my back is also so much better, but I am very much hoping I don’t have to carry for the whole three hours.  Somewhere around here is the “Queen’s Fluffiest Pillow” t-shirt Keith designed and had made for me.  It’s amazing how good life can be when your kids grow up and get money and start buying you little gifties.  I am still stunned that he did that for me.

The new downstairs tenants didn’t stop running the dryer until midnight last night. The buzzer went off under my head just as I was dropping off to sleep.  I will have to go have a firm and pleasant chat.