Google – is stupid the new evil?

Google is sucking these days….

A reason to go to Ottawa….  (I mean, what the hell kind of country pays for public art that will scare the bejasus outta small kids and arachnophobes).

Words to live by. 

In family news, the elephant has decided to sit on pOp’s chest again.  This means medical attention, which entirely sucks.  In further family news, the surgical drain has been removed from my mother, who’s damned happy about this improvement in her well being.

I watched Stargate Atlantis for the first time last night.  The script had me pecking a bit, but the charm of the personalities shone through nevertheless.  Finished up a re-rendered copy of Robinson Crusoe on Mars (does Paul Mantee EVER have nice body hair!  Yowza!).  Watched a Family Guy episode all the way through (1st time ever) and laughed my ass off.  Hitler juggling three fish on a unicycle?  Instant hysteria!  Why?  Mostly, says Jeff, it’s the snippet of music that goes with it.

We finished de junking the kitchen, dealt with the linen closet and itemized all the furniture for Geek House, as well as figuring out some stuff for storage, Craigslist, etc… I hardly took any cooking stuff when I left the Augur Inn, so I did grab a couple of small boxes of stuff – they will all get merged back into Geek House but I can use it in the meantime.

Today, we see Unca Barry and Auntie Mary and go for dinner with my parents – if they can lever themselves away from the emergency room.  Yeah, I know I sound like I don’t give a shit.  I am concerned and anxious, but how does that help?

Still in Victoria

Watched Blackhawk Down, The Machinist, a little Robot Chicken, (scroll down on link for pirate humour) and nothing else because we actually did work yesterday.  Now it’s the crack of noon and I’m finally out of bed.  What gives?  I was in bed by 10 last night!!?  Maybe I’m lying awake in bed for hours thinking dark thoughts.  Dark thoughts which I cannot commit to my blog, lest they be used in turn to commit me.  Sorry, the paranoia is lying deep, and deep, upon me right now.  It’s hard to watch a movie like The Machinist and not go to a dark place afterwards.  And this was the movie that Joe at work has been bugging me to watch since the day he started!  Now I’ll have to watch it again.

I know it’s really really sick, but Christian Bale at 121 pounds is the hottest thing evah.  I normally don’t go for extremememes in male shapeliness, but the idea of (ed.: Cut that shiat out, right now!).  Aherm.  Yes.  So to recap.  Skinny Christian Bale equals teh hotness.  That is all.
One more cup of this extremely fine coffee, and it’s back to the dejunking.

Why would somebody ask for ‘more ranting’?

Tonight I would like to rant about the lack of menstruation rituals in our culture. Tonight I’m going to take the man’s view, as the woman’s view about it isn’t nearly transgressive enough for me ce soir la. Jeez, where’s an accent grave when I need one…
If I was a man, I would want rituals and predictive patterns in young women’s lives that preserved their fertility for their true purpose, namely, making babies with me and not with other men. Having some kind of ceremony where it was drilled into the girl’s head that she had one shot at the childbearing game and if she slept with the wrong guy it was game the fuck over would be useful if my strategy for access to childbearing women meant I was employed and civil. Mind you, if my strategy is to just rape the shit out of her and hope for a lucky plug, it’s still better than if she was really trying to save it for the right guy. Her body may betray her and pop an egg for me. I’d be the ‘wrong guy’ – but I’d still be first. Now, the sperm competition theory of fucking, which holds that guys enjoy sharing girls because if you’re second (or later) you come way harder (your sperm will ‘wash away’ that of your, uh, competitor/buddy), so if you let your buddy go first, because you don’t really care if you get her pregnant, and you’d prefer to come harder because of your wiring, you’ve more or less dropped out of the discussion about breeding. You’ve actually given some consideration to the notion, which is why you’re wearing a condom while all of these shenanigans are going on. I mean, it’s still rape, but there’s a different angle. You get it now? All different styles of thinking about ‘the breeding thing’ lead to different results in terms of how it affects the woman’s life. Oh, sorry, I’ve gone back into the women’s way of thinking about this, ‘scuse me all to hell.

So mOm, did I make you laugh really hard on the phone tonight, or what?

Back to the subject at hand. Women should have menstruation rites so that they actually have two whole chunks of time to think about fertility without having to do any work. That is, in part, what rituals are all about. It’s about the whole “stop working and start thinking” thing that has made humanity what it is. Having enough excess capacity in your life to be able to stop and think is what makes for civil life. Having the spare time to develop morality makes morality. Leisure, in short, makes ethical life possible. But don’t worry, in the end it’s all about sex. Yeehaw. Hurry hurry love.
Did I ever say why it was I refer to my mother as mOm? It’s because when I spell her title that way, it is the “Kilroy was here” or “Clem” sign. See his hands, on either side of his head? Te he. But I also do it because of where I got the idea of it, pOp – which is a clown face with a big nose in the middle. Squint and you’ll see.


I thought I posted a whole bunch of funny links this morning and I bailed out of Firefox before I hit Publish.  Shakyfisty.

My daycard today was 0 – The Fool.  Gulp.

Mike and Heather came over last night for spaghetti / garlic bread / chocolate cake.  It was the first time I baked a cake since I moved in.  It wasn’t good cake, but it was better than nothing cake.  I am out of practice!




So instead of showing my transit pass when I got on the bus at the ungodly hour of 8:10 (am, on a Sunday morning? puhleeze) I had to pull out my mandolin and play it. I got through the first 3 verses of Buy Me A Beer before somebody else got on the bus.

Then, when I got to church, Tom got ‘that look’ in his eye and started playing “Buy me a Beer” so we ENDED UP SINGING IT in the ingathering at church, which still strikes me as being a “take your glasses off and clean them thoughtfully” moment. And I had banjo, twelve string, six string, piano, vocal AND stand up bass accompaniment. Long live the Masticating Ungulates! (The band formerly known as MU).

Very good to see Lady Miss Banjola on her pins agin. Afterwards, Dim Sum.

One of my friends, speaking to me on the phone the other night, said, “Well I know how you are from your blog, but how are you REALLY!?” You asked for it.

1. My back hurts all the time, but I don’t complain about it because it’s BORING.

2. I really wish I was having more sex with the people I want to be having sex with. Quality is not the issue. I don’t talk about that shit here – mostly because just reading this paragraph made my mother’s face screw up really hard. And Parental Strength Mental Bleach is v. difficult to find.

3. No matter how hard I try, I can’t forgive somebody I really shouldn’t be wasting any emotional time and space on. I will keep trying. It’s hard.

4. I wish someone would come along and kick my ass about my songs, as in getting them written down.

5. I need to eat more vegetables, and no, this does not loop back to item 2.

6. After years of being told I’m not a team player and that I’ve got problems with anger, I’ve learned that neither of those things are true. I’m actually a happy person; I rarely get angry about anything any more. Emotionally abusive relationships have subtle and lingering effects.

7. I know I have to lose weight for my health and longevity. It’s an ongoing irritant.

8. I haven’t had a cigarette in just over a week.

There’s more, but that hits the high notes.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to watch the “Happy Feet” part of King of Jazz again.


It seems like every time I come back with the CAN car I have to deal with a never ending parade of people who can’t read the sign (Dear Blithering Eejit, don’t stop, park, unload or stick any kind of vehicle here!)  So I sit in the car and curse until people move, and then move the car, or park it down below, since I have access to the visitor parking.  I bailed on church (mostly because I was too angry to sit through another minute, and unfortunately “If you can’t say something nice, keep cakehole in down and locked position” applies in  this case).  And I made biscotti for afters too… Grr.  But then I had all this time with the car and Paul called and we went through what appears to be the last draft of the separation agreement although I am NOT Alicia (that was a funny typo!).  I got to see Keith, briefly.  I learned what happened to my recipe book, copied or took what I needed, and had a good visit with Paul after we got the paperwork squared away.  I’ve been thinking a lot over the last week about “what went wrong” so a lot of our conversation consisted of him listening to me say what I thought I’d screwed up; because, you know, he’s a really great guy and he deserves as much as anyone else to be happy, and there was no way, considering how perma-cheesed I was for the last year, that he could have been happy living with me.  He was very kindly about the whole conversation and we got in a good walk and I finally have decent rice, I can’t believe how much I missed having proper Indian basmati, which I am to the point of thinking is the only rice.
Grr.  Grr.  Then my mood lifts abruptly when I find out that Katie K is going to take me to either Dosza Garden or Simba’s – two of my fave eating places….  So this afternoon I have one last crack at various projects before work commences, and then food, and then hopefully home early, to bed early, and with any luck my migraine will be gone.  It’s not a big one, but it’s dreadful not to be enjoying sunshine…. it’s really another glorious day.

I have learned three new chords and booked the CAN car Prius for a little tour

Tee hee.  Wish me luck on both; I am NOT enjoying Eb dim, and by the way Peggy that’s actually D dim, no matter WHAT your chords for “Absolutely Bonkers” say.  It just doesn’t sound right otherwise.
Now if I can just remember how to get into the car.

May a special spot in a government lineup be reserved for the guy who keeps smoking in his apartment without turning the fan on.  I keep telling him, and telling him.  But does he listen? What an ageist old sow I’m turning out to be.  God knows – and to the eternal disgust of my non smoking friends and family – I enjoy the occasional foray into tobaccoland, but I really try to take other people’s feelings into more consideration.

No dice.

I went home like a lady in a walker, so sore in the back (and suffering from another ailment that my father will thank me not to elucidate) that I could scarcely lift my feet.  LTGW showed up later for a beer and to fill me in on the days of his lives (good, bad, and yowch!) and then very kindly offered to take me to a walkin clinic which was full and another clinic, which was closed (and then dropped me off at home which was more than decent of him).  Since the notion of spending six to eight hours at RCH waiting to be seen for a non life threatening ailment was more than I could stand, I’ll be down the hill at 8 tomorrow morning when the clinic opens.  Meantime I’m pushing cranberry juice and feeling very sorry for myself and covering myself in blankies, because I’m so cold I’ve got the shakes.

But it’ll be fixed soon, and in the meantime I have the warm and fuzzy feeling of having been looked after by a friend.

Lost mail

It appears I haven’t been receiving mail at two of my different addresses.  My apologies for not responding to any mail which I didn’t actually get to read.

Ran into cousin Laurel in the Granville Station the other day.  When she told me she’d emailed me I went, “Hunh?” because I certainly had no recollection of receiving anything from her, and it would be a red letter day if I did.  I’ve also sent mail out in the last week that never got to the recipient, so it’s good not to assume malfeasance in these cases….

I’m heading to Jericho tonight and Victoria on the weekend, and hopefully somewhere in there I get to see daughter Katie.  So I have a nice week in prospect.

Work continues to rapidly improve.  I wish I could say the same about my back.  Other parts of me are grumbling too, but the back is loudest; I’m doing my exercises, including (since I couldn’t sleep anyway) getting up and doing them at 4 in the morning.

I had one of my favourite coworkers say to me yesterday, “What the hell am I good at?” so I wrote him a paean of praise (disguised in the dreadful, eviscerated language of “the resume”) which outlined exactly what he does that is SO bloody amazing; I am looking forward to his comments, especially the last line, which was, Holy crap! after rereading that even I was impressed, and I’ve seen you plastered.

Ah, workmates.

Today is the all staff meeting.  I found out from the CEO that somehow my email outlining my questions for the townhall had disapparated, so I re-sent it (lot of that going around), only this time I took thought to include one of Scary Clown’s questions.  We shall see if anything comes of it.

Despite everything that’s going on (some of my rellies are having a hard time with one thing and another, and I’m up to four painkillers a day, again, after not being that bad for a year) I’m actually happy.  And I’m working on a tune, which I think is going to be an instrumental, and I’m using chords which I don’t know the names for.  I love the mandolin, but it’s still very much a foreign language.  Oh, and I sliced myself in the kitchen on the weekend, so I bled all over the fretboard as I was practicing for Jericho tonight.  It doesn’t really hurt, but it was a surprise to see the blood.  I immediately started riffing on “Ya gotta suffer if you want to sing the blues.”  But really, I haven’t, and I don’t.

An experiment

For the next week or so, there will be ‘autoposts’ in here – I post dated a number of history links.

I would like to take this opportunity to complain in the strongest possible terms about the Government of Ontario.  On June 6 they took my money for a birth certificate for Katie, which I need to get her a passport so I can take her to Hawaii.

Well guess what!  Two months have gone by and no birth certificate and no explanation, although I keep messaging them.

Keith was here last night too

Keith stayed over last night, mostly because I kidnapped his Patrick O’Brian book and then started snoring.  Evil I am.  I took him out to dinner and he had tandoori chicken for the first time (on Caesar salad…)

Last night I dreamed that Spike from Buffy was writing a book on how to be the perfect boyfriend.  Most of us spewed out our tea when we heard this, especially when he started lecturing us about it (he went on at length and I sure wish I could remember any of it). We were all dressed in period costume (like a really really bad bunch of Pirates/Aubrey-Maturin/Diamond Age/mid-Victorian cosplayers). We got on a boat and hunted crocodiles.  The inside of the boat was bigger than the outside.

Work is abruptly better because there’s a new hire starting next week.  I cheered up.  Also, my coworkers are awesome – I just thought I’d mention that.  I still wish I could say something about two other departments in my company besides, “If brains were a Botox injection you’d look like a Sharpei”.

Sundry and Various

Date from Friday night is not further interested.  Fortunately I am too busy to do more than go, “Hm, damned shame.”

This is a paragraph about how one woman can say to another “Maybe what I need is an 8 inch sub!” and we’re not talking sammitch.

It’s 7:15 and I’ve talked to two gf’s in Ontario already!  Hugs to Tammy, Hugs to Chipper.

Last night Patricia came with me to the Jericho.  She paid her eight dollars to get in but only watched me and two other performers, then went back out on the deck where she found a table with two good looking (merrit of course) middle aged men who didn’t want to finish their beer. Christ, they could have had no conversation at all and I would have liked them under those circumstances.  After we left (and I sang the song I wrote for LTGW at the top of my lungs in Jericho Park) she told me that I was far superior to the other performers and it was worth the 8 bucks to hear me sing Slimfast and Methadone.  OF COURSE this does not need to be true for me to be irrationally pleased. It was a very fun evening and I laughed my ass off.
Keith’s birthday books arrived on Monday and with his permission I devoured them.  It’s good to have maps of the action in the Patrick O’Brian books.
Colin’s visit was a very low key success. He took a lot of self portraits with my laptop, some of which were quite startlingly funny.  I wanted to post one with the title “How I lowered my IQ 45 points without even trying” but I don’t have his permission, and I’d flog somebody that posted a pic of me like that, so discretion prevails.
Mike M called from Wreck Beach yesterday…. if I hadn’t committed to go to Jericho, I would have gone to Wreck in a heartbeat, ’twas a glorious day.

Work bites the parasite riddled butt of a moribund goat and it’s going to stay like this all summer.  Fortunately there is a point at which things will twitch feebly back into their previous configuration or something like it, so I am trying to be philosophical.  In fact that about covers my life right about now “Trying to be philosophical”!