Since I've been a trifle busy (read: running around madly trying to stay afloat) lately, it was high time I got down to some good old domestic duties. To that end, I spent much of the day engaged in housework types of activities.
I mowed the lawn, albeit half-heartedly and therefore none too well.
I did a few loads of laundry.
I cleaned the bathroom top to bottom, though I really started with the bottom.
I tidied, dusted, and vacuumed the bedroom, putting away a whole-lotta laundry that was just waiting there to be dealt with.
I started working downstairs in the living room, too.
If all goes well, this weekend will see a continuation of home improvements, including the repair of a small hole in the living room ceiling and even painting of the living room! Yahoo!
Of course, after all of that menial housework, I was due for a reward, so I was off to my friend Monica's for a lovely dinner gathering. Among the guests was a professor of mine from back in the day. Amusingly enough, it was well into dinner and into a lengthy conversation about the school, the professors there, and my behavioural ... well ... behaviour when suddenly it clicked that INDEED she HAD been one of my professors. Of course, that came after a number of amusing stories about the ways I'd viewed several professors, so she was likely feeling rather frightened to know what I had thought of her! Luckily, I had only positive memories of being in her class, and was able to honestly confess that I HAD done the readings for her course.
A good time was had by all (as far as I could discern).
Friday, June 29, 2007
G is for Gross
I've been away. Not from home, but from posting. Life = hectic. I apologize and move on. Again. And again and again.
Today I had a rather disgusting experience. Let me set the scene.
I try to be a good citizen and that extends, at times, to picking up errant litter and depositing it in the nearest trash recepticle. (As a tangent to the real story, it amuses me to no end that the garbage cans outside of the local Homesense Store say "Garbage - Trash" on them, as if that somehow makes them bilingual - bilangue. You see, "Garbage" is the way to spell that word both in English and in French, so do we really need "Trash" as a clarifying term or translation? Hmmm.) Yesterday, for example, a newspaper flyer was blowing directly across my path as I walked to the car at Canadian Tire (I was buying a filter for the furnace in case any of you desperately wanted to know) and so I scooped it up and tossed it. I admit, I probably miss infinitely more litter than I scoop, but I try and that's better than not.
Today, however, I had an experience that would make me second-guess my good intentions. I had just parked at the McDonald's (don't judge me, I just said I do what I can and know I have a ways to go) and got out of my car. There were about 20 paper-wrapped straws scattered between my car and the next, so I figured I'd scoop them up and toss them in the garbage to keep them from blowing across the neighbourhood. I bend. I scooped.
And that's when I realized what a mistake it had been.
There was something on the straws.
Something unidentifiable.
Something curiously like mucous.
Like dripping, oozing, transparent, slippery, slick, and altogether unpleasant mucous.
I dropped the straws into the garbage, carefully extracted my key from my pocket (so as to avoid getting the aforementioned mystery substance on my clothes and car) and unlocked the door. I was VERY grateful to have the bottle of hand sanitizer inside the door and I used it liberally. At the first opportunity, I washed and washed and washed my hands until I felt safe, secure, and free again.
I shall never know, for certain, what the substance was. I believe that's for the best. But I must wonder why, when I was simply trying to be a steward of the earth's parking lots, must these things happen to me?
Today I had a rather disgusting experience. Let me set the scene.
I try to be a good citizen and that extends, at times, to picking up errant litter and depositing it in the nearest trash recepticle. (As a tangent to the real story, it amuses me to no end that the garbage cans outside of the local Homesense Store say "Garbage - Trash" on them, as if that somehow makes them bilingual - bilangue. You see, "Garbage" is the way to spell that word both in English and in French, so do we really need "Trash" as a clarifying term or translation? Hmmm.) Yesterday, for example, a newspaper flyer was blowing directly across my path as I walked to the car at Canadian Tire (I was buying a filter for the furnace in case any of you desperately wanted to know) and so I scooped it up and tossed it. I admit, I probably miss infinitely more litter than I scoop, but I try and that's better than not.
Today, however, I had an experience that would make me second-guess my good intentions. I had just parked at the McDonald's (don't judge me, I just said I do what I can and know I have a ways to go) and got out of my car. There were about 20 paper-wrapped straws scattered between my car and the next, so I figured I'd scoop them up and toss them in the garbage to keep them from blowing across the neighbourhood. I bend. I scooped.
And that's when I realized what a mistake it had been.
There was something on the straws.
Something unidentifiable.
Something curiously like mucous.
Like dripping, oozing, transparent, slippery, slick, and altogether unpleasant mucous.
I dropped the straws into the garbage, carefully extracted my key from my pocket (so as to avoid getting the aforementioned mystery substance on my clothes and car) and unlocked the door. I was VERY grateful to have the bottle of hand sanitizer inside the door and I used it liberally. At the first opportunity, I washed and washed and washed my hands until I felt safe, secure, and free again.
I shall never know, for certain, what the substance was. I believe that's for the best. But I must wonder why, when I was simply trying to be a steward of the earth's parking lots, must these things happen to me?
Sunday, June 03, 2007
F is for Fauna, and also for Frustration
This evening I was in my kitchen, putting some rice into the steamer (as I was planning to enjoy steamed rice -- duh -- with Paneer Darbari) and talking on the telephone when I looked out my back door and noticed that there was a visitor in the neighbourhood. Yes, just beyond my driveway was a lovely deer. Yes, a deer in the middle of the city. It wandered around, not terribly interested in the mini-park that exists in the centre of the cul-de-sac back there. A moment later, the neighbours started appearing, cameras in hand ... I didn't have one handy ... and the deer wandered around and into a back yard where it was followed by the budding amateur paparazzi. I know not what happened to it from that point on, but it was an encounter both lovely and disturbing. Lovely because, hey, having a deer in ones backyard is a nice thing to observe, but disturbing because it's a testament to the continuing encroachment of humans on natural habitats. I won't preach beyond that.
Years ago, I almost hit a rather large deer driving downtown here. It jumped over the hood of my car and disappeared down a hill.
Then, later tonight, I was working on paperwork for work tomorrow (I'm away at a meeting) and, upon preparing to e-mail the paperwork in, discovered that my internet was being uncooperative. An hour later, after a lengthy conversation with Customer Service -- yes, the problem appears to have been with my computer -- I'm back online, though not wireless at the moment. Thanks to the lengthy problem-solving session, I now do not have all of my work prepared for the meeting. Too bad, I say, I really need to go to bed. I'll try to whip up some last-minute things before going to the meeting and, beyond that, I'll just have to send things in later, as needed. Heck. It's not my fault. Really!
Years ago, I almost hit a rather large deer driving downtown here. It jumped over the hood of my car and disappeared down a hill.
Then, later tonight, I was working on paperwork for work tomorrow (I'm away at a meeting) and, upon preparing to e-mail the paperwork in, discovered that my internet was being uncooperative. An hour later, after a lengthy conversation with Customer Service -- yes, the problem appears to have been with my computer -- I'm back online, though not wireless at the moment. Thanks to the lengthy problem-solving session, I now do not have all of my work prepared for the meeting. Too bad, I say, I really need to go to bed. I'll try to whip up some last-minute things before going to the meeting and, beyond that, I'll just have to send things in later, as needed. Heck. It's not my fault. Really!
[An Insert ]
How happy was I with these results?
Your results:
You are Superman
Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test
Ahhh. I knew it all along.
Your results:
You are Superman
| You are mild-mannered, good, strong and you love to help others.  |
Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test
Ahhh. I knew it all along.
Friday, June 01, 2007
E is for Elephants
You know, it's oddly coincidental, but I was on my way to work today,
and I had just turned onto the highway when I saw that unwelcome glow
of red brake lights lined across all three lanes just ahead. I braked
quite heavily (having just gotten my wee vehicle up to highway speeds)
and stopped, creeping ahead from time to time as traffic allowed, until
I could at last see what the hold-up was. At the side of the road was a
convoy of about six vehicles -- trucks pulling livestock trailers. One
of the trailers was listing to the right (having blown a tire or axle ,
presumably). The back doors were dented and open, hanging freely on the
hinges, and there, in the middle of the highway was an elephant. (I
called upon my elementary school knowledge and judged, by its large but
not crazy large ears, that it was likely an Indian elephant). Yes, an
elephant in the road was the reason for my slow and arduous trip to
work.
If any of that were true, it would explain why today's entry is "E is for Elephants".
Do you remember Elmer the Safety
Elephant? Oh yes, he's still around today, though his
presence doesn't seem quite as prevalent as he was back in the day.
There's a thrilling history of Elmer in there, though I desperately
wish they'd included pictures of Elmer's numerous incarnations. (The
current one tries a bit too hard to be youthful and fun.)
Keltie's mother is a big fan of elephants, for those of you who may not know. Why not send her something elephantine today?
David Bowie earned rave reviews for his portrayal of John Merrick in
himself to be a bonafied actor as well as musician.
Elephants can't jump, making White Men feel like they're in good company.
A favourite joke from Muppets Tonight: What do you get if you cross an elephant with a rhinoceros? Elephino! (Say it out loud!) Love that Pepe!
(Edited to add: Oh dear. Again with the weird spacing thing. My apologies...)
and I had just turned onto the highway when I saw that unwelcome glow
of red brake lights lined across all three lanes just ahead. I braked
quite heavily (having just gotten my wee vehicle up to highway speeds)
and stopped, creeping ahead from time to time as traffic allowed, until
I could at last see what the hold-up was. At the side of the road was a
convoy of about six vehicles -- trucks pulling livestock trailers. One
of the trailers was listing to the right (having blown a tire or axle ,
presumably). The back doors were dented and open, hanging freely on the
hinges, and there, in the middle of the highway was an elephant. (I
called upon my elementary school knowledge and judged, by its large but
not crazy large ears, that it was likely an Indian elephant). Yes, an
elephant in the road was the reason for my slow and arduous trip to
work.
If any of that were true, it would explain why today's entry is "E is for Elephants".
Do you remember Elmer the Safety
Elephant? Oh yes, he's still around today, though his
presence doesn't seem quite as prevalent as he was back in the day.
There's a thrilling history of Elmer in there, though I desperately
wish they'd included pictures of Elmer's numerous incarnations. (The
current one tries a bit too hard to be youthful and fun.)
Keltie's mother is a big fan of elephants, for those of you who may not know. Why not send her something elephantine today?
David Bowie earned rave reviews for his portrayal of John Merrick in
himself to be a bonafied actor as well as musician.
Elephants can't jump, making White Men feel like they're in good company.
A favourite joke from Muppets Tonight: What do you get if you cross an elephant with a rhinoceros? Elephino! (Say it out loud!) Love that Pepe!
(Edited to add: Oh dear. Again with the weird spacing thing. My apologies...)
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
D is for Directors
So, I may have found a new television addiction to replace ... well ... pretty much everything that I watch now that the regular season has ended. On the Lot has captured my interest!
I was very grateful that this week, they actually showed all of the wee films (a mere one minute long this time) that the contestants made. Last week, we only saw a few of the entries, and not in their entirety, either. Very interesting and entertaining, on the whole.
There really were a few rather good wee films. My favourites? Danger Room, Dance Man, and Lucky Penny (while the latter was somewhat predictable, it was quite charming and the little old lady at the end was so darn cute).
The judges made me laugh. Carrie Fisher trying really hard to be kind, even when she wasn't impressed. Gary Marshall mentioning his sister at every opportunity, and talking endlessly about the "woman's point of view". Ha!
An interesting note: All three of the directors who got the boot this week? Directors originally from "overseas". Hmmm... I hope the American voting public doesn't realize that Vancouver isn't actually in America!
D is also for dates (which I was eating a moment ago), dance (like the recital I attended the other day), and "del Toro, Guillermo", the director of recently viewed movies for me, Pan's Labyrinth (sweet mother, what a good movie) and Cronos. I've also got The Devil's Backbone (which would be listed under "D" in alphabetical order) waiting to be watched.
I was very grateful that this week, they actually showed all of the wee films (a mere one minute long this time) that the contestants made. Last week, we only saw a few of the entries, and not in their entirety, either. Very interesting and entertaining, on the whole.
There really were a few rather good wee films. My favourites? Danger Room, Dance Man, and Lucky Penny (while the latter was somewhat predictable, it was quite charming and the little old lady at the end was so darn cute).
The judges made me laugh. Carrie Fisher trying really hard to be kind, even when she wasn't impressed. Gary Marshall mentioning his sister at every opportunity, and talking endlessly about the "woman's point of view". Ha!
An interesting note: All three of the directors who got the boot this week? Directors originally from "overseas". Hmmm... I hope the American voting public doesn't realize that Vancouver isn't actually in America!
D is also for dates (which I was eating a moment ago), dance (like the recital I attended the other day), and "del Toro, Guillermo", the director of recently viewed movies for me, Pan's Labyrinth (sweet mother, what a good movie) and Cronos. I've also got The Devil's Backbone (which would be listed under "D" in alphabetical order) waiting to be watched.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
C is for Cars (and the troubles associated therewith)
Today I got into the car. I closed the door, turned the key, and started it. I lowered the windows a bit, due to the stifling heat and generally oppressive mugginess in the tin box of the cabin, and turned up the fan to get a bit of a draft.
Then I turned the fan up another notch. And another. And then all the way up.
I pushed empty cup-holder into its little nest so I could actually see the dials. Yes, it was turned up to 4. Yes, the directional selection was on "Vent" (though it had a little picture, not the word). No, no air was coming out of the aforementioned vent.
The "blower motor" (a term which seems far too simplistic for a car part) has blown again, but not in the way it is intended to do. This is the second time for this vehicle that I will need a replacement on that particular part. I'm not impressed. That means no regular fannage, and no air-conditioning. Not only does it come at a hot, muggy time of year (and driving on the highway to work with the windows down is not a pleasant task, to be honest -- in town, fine; highway speeds, not so much for me), but also at a ridiculously busy time of year. Now I have to figure out when I can get it in to be fixed.
You may or may not know that I seem to have a history of car troubles, though not usually of a mechanical nature. No, I seem to be cursed with a magnetic car which attracts damage. Allow me to share some highlights from the past several years.
Back in the day when I had a white Taurus, some kids at Hallowe'en decided to squirt it with blue paint. Permananent paint. I just accepted that there would be speckles and moved on.
When that car died, I got a wee Dodge Colt (made by Mitsubishi, by the way, and identical in every way -- except the Dodge symbol -- to an Eagle Summit at the time, something I discovered one day when I returned to my car after a rousing stint as a shopper at an appropriately-named drug mart to find one parked immediately beside me). The first weekend I had it, someone keyed its side while it was parked in Niagara-on-the-Lake. It was later backed into by a dear friend of mine, who shall remain nameless (though her name does begin with a B and ends with -etsy).
My next car was an old Ford Tempo. Sadly, this car was parked on the road by a friend's house (I won't say whose house it was, except to say that I've already mentioned her once in this post, though not by name) and someone across the street backed into it, crushing the front fender area so badly I couldn't open the driver's door.
Then I got my current vehicle and, upon parking it in what is apparently a terribly accident-prone neighbourhood, it was hit again, by DIFFERENT neighbours, destroying my driver's door. It has been scratched and dinged at every turn, though my "favourite" ding occurred on the aforementioned door less than 48 hours after it had been replaced. Of course, this car has also had a rock thrown through its window, so that young Hallowe'ening hoodlums could get at their tempting prize ... a bag of paperwork from work (not the laptop they presumably thought was sitting on the seat).
So there you have it. A long and sad history of mishaps.
Then I turned the fan up another notch. And another. And then all the way up.
I pushed empty cup-holder into its little nest so I could actually see the dials. Yes, it was turned up to 4. Yes, the directional selection was on "Vent" (though it had a little picture, not the word). No, no air was coming out of the aforementioned vent.
The "blower motor" (a term which seems far too simplistic for a car part) has blown again, but not in the way it is intended to do. This is the second time for this vehicle that I will need a replacement on that particular part. I'm not impressed. That means no regular fannage, and no air-conditioning. Not only does it come at a hot, muggy time of year (and driving on the highway to work with the windows down is not a pleasant task, to be honest -- in town, fine; highway speeds, not so much for me), but also at a ridiculously busy time of year. Now I have to figure out when I can get it in to be fixed.
You may or may not know that I seem to have a history of car troubles, though not usually of a mechanical nature. No, I seem to be cursed with a magnetic car which attracts damage. Allow me to share some highlights from the past several years.
Back in the day when I had a white Taurus, some kids at Hallowe'en decided to squirt it with blue paint. Permananent paint. I just accepted that there would be speckles and moved on.
When that car died, I got a wee Dodge Colt (made by Mitsubishi, by the way, and identical in every way -- except the Dodge symbol -- to an Eagle Summit at the time, something I discovered one day when I returned to my car after a rousing stint as a shopper at an appropriately-named drug mart to find one parked immediately beside me). The first weekend I had it, someone keyed its side while it was parked in Niagara-on-the-Lake. It was later backed into by a dear friend of mine, who shall remain nameless (though her name does begin with a B and ends with -etsy).
My next car was an old Ford Tempo. Sadly, this car was parked on the road by a friend's house (I won't say whose house it was, except to say that I've already mentioned her once in this post, though not by name) and someone across the street backed into it, crushing the front fender area so badly I couldn't open the driver's door.
Then I got my current vehicle and, upon parking it in what is apparently a terribly accident-prone neighbourhood, it was hit again, by DIFFERENT neighbours, destroying my driver's door. It has been scratched and dinged at every turn, though my "favourite" ding occurred on the aforementioned door less than 48 hours after it had been replaced. Of course, this car has also had a rock thrown through its window, so that young Hallowe'ening hoodlums could get at their tempting prize ... a bag of paperwork from work (not the laptop they presumably thought was sitting on the seat).
So there you have it. A long and sad history of mishaps.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
B is for Bjork
So I just got Bjork's newest CD, Volta, along with the CD of music she wrote for boyfriend Matthew Barney's Drawing Restraint 9 artsy-fartsy film. So let's talk Bjork, shall we?
I completely understand why some people can't handle her music. I really do. It's odd and experimental (particularly in the past few years...getting harder to sing along and more soundscape-y on some tracks), but I must admit I'm a fan. I was listening to Volta in the car today (and finding "Earth Intruders" much more catchy than I probably should) and thinking, "Something else my neighbours wouldn't get about my life." (I'm convinced they're already freaked out by the odd hours I keep ... particularly when I'm in a show or working a lot at the restaurant ... about my jungle of a lawn, about the time I was dressed as Riffy on my way to see Rocky Horror in Toronto ... the list goes on).
Highlights of her genius? Huge chunks of Vespertine, which include, among other things, tracks on which Inuit throat singing feature prominently (as does a track on Drawing Restraing 9). Pretty much the entire Selmasongs CD from Dancer in the Dark (see below), including a brilliant piece whose lyrics are only numbers being counted. "It's Oh So Quiet", which, while written by someone else, is performed with such great abandon. Really, I quite marvel at her quirky Icelandic self.
Then there's Dancer in the Dark. Oh my. What a fantastic movie. I started watching it and, in the first ten minutes, I was a bit worried that I wasn't going to like its style, then BOOM! I was sucked in and love it. She really put in an exceptional (and, in many ways, exceptionally simple) performance. I periodically make friends watch it and then three days later, they call to say, "Thanks a lot. I'm still thinking about that movie."
So there you have it. Bjork. I'm a fan, though I won't judge those who aren't.
And I thought the swan dress was brilliantly funny. People need to learn to laugh.
(I also like bananas, books, and Bowie.)
I completely understand why some people can't handle her music. I really do. It's odd and experimental (particularly in the past few years...getting harder to sing along and more soundscape-y on some tracks), but I must admit I'm a fan. I was listening to Volta in the car today (and finding "Earth Intruders" much more catchy than I probably should) and thinking, "Something else my neighbours wouldn't get about my life." (I'm convinced they're already freaked out by the odd hours I keep ... particularly when I'm in a show or working a lot at the restaurant ... about my jungle of a lawn, about the time I was dressed as Riffy on my way to see Rocky Horror in Toronto ... the list goes on).
Highlights of her genius? Huge chunks of Vespertine, which include, among other things, tracks on which Inuit throat singing feature prominently (as does a track on Drawing Restraing 9). Pretty much the entire Selmasongs CD from Dancer in the Dark (see below), including a brilliant piece whose lyrics are only numbers being counted. "It's Oh So Quiet", which, while written by someone else, is performed with such great abandon. Really, I quite marvel at her quirky Icelandic self.
Then there's Dancer in the Dark. Oh my. What a fantastic movie. I started watching it and, in the first ten minutes, I was a bit worried that I wasn't going to like its style, then BOOM! I was sucked in and love it. She really put in an exceptional (and, in many ways, exceptionally simple) performance. I periodically make friends watch it and then three days later, they call to say, "Thanks a lot. I'm still thinking about that movie."
So there you have it. Bjork. I'm a fan, though I won't judge those who aren't.
And I thought the swan dress was brilliantly funny. People need to learn to laugh.
(I also like bananas, books, and Bowie.)
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
A is for Adams
It's clear that I lack some sort of innate impetus for writing this lovely wee FOWLA*, and due to my already-well-established procrastinatious nature, I have decided to structure my entries alphabetically. That way, if I really have nothing to say, I can force myself to write something random on the letter of the day.
Today, as the observant among you will notice, the theme is A is for Adams, as in Richard Adams. I'm a bit of a fan of the author, and his most popular book, Watership Down, is among my favourites. I've read it a few times and still enjoy it thoroughly. Try telling people, though, "Yeah, it's a book about rabbits looking for a new warren" and they tend to cock one eyebrow, fight the urge to sneer, and say, "Rabbits?" Like The Little Prince, though, it is really an analogous story about human nature. And, like The Little Prince, it's often put into the children's section of bookstores, though I'm not sure it quite qualifies as such. No matter, though, I first read it when I was young and still enjoy it as an adult.
But I've spent far too much time on Watership Down and you, as a result, have spent too much time reading about it. Get the book. Read it. Enjoy it.
I haven't read all of Richard Adams's books, but I'm getting there. Next to the aforementioned book about rabbits, which is really about human nature, my next favourite would have to be The Plague Dogs which, while far from being a jolly little romp, was a satisfying read. I'm particularly thankful to The Plague Dogs for helping me get through a rather long traffic jam (read: two-and-a-half-hour stand-still) a few Christmas Eves ago when I was stuck with nothing but a book to read and a big tin of almond bark. (Thank you, Jenn P.!) Shardik, a curious and rather epic story about a bear believed to be a divine incarnation by some, was my laundromat reading for some time.
Then I came across The Girl in a Swing and was, at first, taken aback when it was described as "a novel of erotic beauty, terror and suspense". After a very long and detailed introductory section of the book -- I came to know more than is reasonable about the English pottery trade -- I came to quite enjoy it, much more than the movie (a bit ill-conceived, in my opinion, despite starring the delightful Meg Tilly). To quote from that book, "Yes, that's right."
So there you have it. A. Adams, Richard.
Now lay off, I've written in my FOWLO.
----------------
*Fount of Wisdom Located Online
Today, as the observant among you will notice, the theme is A is for Adams, as in Richard Adams. I'm a bit of a fan of the author, and his most popular book, Watership Down, is among my favourites. I've read it a few times and still enjoy it thoroughly. Try telling people, though, "Yeah, it's a book about rabbits looking for a new warren" and they tend to cock one eyebrow, fight the urge to sneer, and say, "Rabbits?" Like The Little Prince, though, it is really an analogous story about human nature. And, like The Little Prince, it's often put into the children's section of bookstores, though I'm not sure it quite qualifies as such. No matter, though, I first read it when I was young and still enjoy it as an adult.
But I've spent far too much time on Watership Down and you, as a result, have spent too much time reading about it. Get the book. Read it. Enjoy it.
I haven't read all of Richard Adams's books, but I'm getting there. Next to the aforementioned book about rabbits, which is really about human nature, my next favourite would have to be The Plague Dogs which, while far from being a jolly little romp, was a satisfying read. I'm particularly thankful to The Plague Dogs for helping me get through a rather long traffic jam (read: two-and-a-half-hour stand-still) a few Christmas Eves ago when I was stuck with nothing but a book to read and a big tin of almond bark. (Thank you, Jenn P.!) Shardik, a curious and rather epic story about a bear believed to be a divine incarnation by some, was my laundromat reading for some time.
Then I came across The Girl in a Swing and was, at first, taken aback when it was described as "a novel of erotic beauty, terror and suspense". After a very long and detailed introductory section of the book -- I came to know more than is reasonable about the English pottery trade -- I came to quite enjoy it, much more than the movie (a bit ill-conceived, in my opinion, despite starring the delightful Meg Tilly). To quote from that book, "Yes, that's right."
So there you have it. A. Adams, Richard.
Now lay off, I've written in my FOWLO.
----------------
*Fount of Wisdom Located Online
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Fromage!
So, I spent a decent portion of the day dealing with gardens and the lawn. Yeeha. Although I spent three summers as a gardener, I've found that the appeal is somewhat lessened when not being paid for it. And lawn mowing and trimming has never been appealing for me. I'm sorry. That's just the way it is.
The front lawn is completely infested with Creeping Charlie, and I'm of two minds about it, quite frankly. At this time of year, it's quite lovely with its wee bluish-purple and white flowers. It smells nice when cut. I'm not a huge "Give me a lawn that looks like a golf course" person and I'm not in any mood to start dropping nasty chemicals on the lawn. It was once touted as a ground cover, after all. Still, it's rather ... um ... aggressive, so keeping it out of the gardens is fun. It's reputed to be quite a pain, so at some point I may have to dig up my lawn and get rid of it all. We'll see...
Now on to the Survivor Finale. They really make me laugh (and shake my head) with their overly dramatic nonsense. Perhaps the most gag-worthy moments of each season come when the finalists do their memory walk. The fact that good ole Jeffy uses phrases like "You will honor their memories" (and, yes, being American, he would say "honor" with -or rather than the more elegant "honour" with -our) and "fallen comrades". Yikes. They were voted off the island, not sent off to die in battle. Then, to top it all off, they set the torches on fire and send them out to sea... Who creates this sappy crap? THEY'RE GOING TO BE AT TRIBAL COUNCIL and THE REUNION SHOW! Cheese, I say.
I also enjoyed noticing how the number of torches on the boat kept changing between shots, belying their editing jobs. Then, of course, I had to be put off by the black, oily smoke which rose from the burning pile. Who knows what nasty flammable chemical was poured all over the wee boat to make sure it burned dramatically into the evening.
Highlights of whacky behaviour from the final Jury session? How about Alex's freakout session, not letting Cassandra say anything? What about Lisi, trying to be dramatic and funny with her Eenie Meenie game. Not working. And the water shoes comment? Jeff’s face just said, “What the heck is she talking about?” Then she tries to be pompous and asks Dreamz how many zeroes are in a million, which was both insulting and pointless since he knew there were six. I did enjoy watching Jeff’s face change to amusement with her at this point.
Then there's Rocky, who just tries far too hard to be tough and manly, doesn’t he? He certainly seems to have something to prove. Wouldn't it be amusing to find out that he's really a closeted gay man who dreams of owning a dance school or something? I just wish he'd not try to be Sylvester Stallone, because that makes no sense on a hundred levels.
Boo's appeal to Dreamz as a Christian Man, and Dreamz avoiding at all costs. Despite what Dreamz insists, I think he just can't fess up to the fact that he had a moral dilemma and chose for himself rather than for Yau. It's easier for him to insist that he was playing it all along, but quite frankly, I don't think he's that good an actor. He really thought he'd take the moral high ground until push came along and said, "Pardon me, but I've got to shove now."
So there you have it. My tirade du jour. And nary a mention of pickles in sight.
The front lawn is completely infested with Creeping Charlie, and I'm of two minds about it, quite frankly. At this time of year, it's quite lovely with its wee bluish-purple and white flowers. It smells nice when cut. I'm not a huge "Give me a lawn that looks like a golf course" person and I'm not in any mood to start dropping nasty chemicals on the lawn. It was once touted as a ground cover, after all. Still, it's rather ... um ... aggressive, so keeping it out of the gardens is fun. It's reputed to be quite a pain, so at some point I may have to dig up my lawn and get rid of it all. We'll see...
Now on to the Survivor Finale. They really make me laugh (and shake my head) with their overly dramatic nonsense. Perhaps the most gag-worthy moments of each season come when the finalists do their memory walk. The fact that good ole Jeffy uses phrases like "You will honor their memories" (and, yes, being American, he would say "honor" with -or rather than the more elegant "honour" with -our) and "fallen comrades". Yikes. They were voted off the island, not sent off to die in battle. Then, to top it all off, they set the torches on fire and send them out to sea... Who creates this sappy crap? THEY'RE GOING TO BE AT TRIBAL COUNCIL and THE REUNION SHOW! Cheese, I say.
I also enjoyed noticing how the number of torches on the boat kept changing between shots, belying their editing jobs. Then, of course, I had to be put off by the black, oily smoke which rose from the burning pile. Who knows what nasty flammable chemical was poured all over the wee boat to make sure it burned dramatically into the evening.
Highlights of whacky behaviour from the final Jury session? How about Alex's freakout session, not letting Cassandra say anything? What about Lisi, trying to be dramatic and funny with her Eenie Meenie game. Not working. And the water shoes comment? Jeff’s face just said, “What the heck is she talking about?” Then she tries to be pompous and asks Dreamz how many zeroes are in a million, which was both insulting and pointless since he knew there were six. I did enjoy watching Jeff’s face change to amusement with her at this point.
Then there's Rocky, who just tries far too hard to be tough and manly, doesn’t he? He certainly seems to have something to prove. Wouldn't it be amusing to find out that he's really a closeted gay man who dreams of owning a dance school or something? I just wish he'd not try to be Sylvester Stallone, because that makes no sense on a hundred levels.
Boo's appeal to Dreamz as a Christian Man, and Dreamz avoiding at all costs. Despite what Dreamz insists, I think he just can't fess up to the fact that he had a moral dilemma and chose for himself rather than for Yau. It's easier for him to insist that he was playing it all along, but quite frankly, I don't think he's that good an actor. He really thought he'd take the moral high ground until push came along and said, "Pardon me, but I've got to shove now."
So there you have it. My tirade du jour. And nary a mention of pickles in sight.
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