“Wherever you go, there you are.”
Photo from Street: The Nylon Book of Global Style
July 30, 2008
July 29, 2008
Old Friends, New Enemies
A few weeks ago I decided to check the inbox for my blog correspondence having forgotten all about it for a while. I found an email from my old friend K—we hadn’t spoken in over six years—but she explained she had discovered my blog and had been reading it for a while before finding the courage to send an email to Fritz (as instructed), in hopes he’d pass on the message. Lucky for both of us, Fritz was agreeable that time and pretty soon K and I were planning a dinner together, which I had offered to host so we could make use of my new barbecue. I also lured her with the promise of a good bottle of wine, she offered to bring desert, and the date was set. As those things go, I got to market a little bit later than planned—to pick up all the ingredients I needed—anxious not to forget anything as I thought I’d attempt a new recipe. And then getting to my favorite butcher shop last and seeing how short on time I was, finally decided to get pre-marinated flank steaks à l’orange and keep things simple. Running around with my nose on my list I was in equal parts anxious to forget something and also anxious to get back home on time so K wouldn’t be greeted by a locked door, which I feared wouldn’t quite send out the right signal. But of course that’s exactly what ended up happening, because of my propensity for forgetfulness (as in: “what was I doing right now?”) and the unpleasant business of a taxi which showed up unreasonably late. K was standing up on my second floor front porch, holding a bunch of flowers with that familiar big smile on her face. “You haven’t changed a bit” “Neither have you” and then we hugged and kissed each other on both cheeks, while the cab driver very generously brought my grocery bags up the stairs without rushing us or saying a word.
From that moment on, I don’t think there were more than five seconds of silence for the rest of the night. We’d always had a lot to talk about, and of course now we had all that catching up to do. There was not a lot of talk about what caused the separation, we just agreed we were both going through a lot of issues in our own lives and drifted apart. We must have been talking for an hour when I realized all the groceries hadn’t been properly unpacked, the flowers were still sitting there in their wrapper, and more importantly, neither of us was holding a drink, which is when it hit me that I had completely forgotten about the “great bottle of wine”. That’s the kind of thing I would do. Luckily I had a few Grolsch beers in the fridge, which granted, wasn’t quite the same as a great bottle of wine, but was still better than past-due apple juice or water. We kept on chatting for another hour or so, by which time I thought I should get dinner started. I went to fire up the barbecue with K standing right beside me, and when I opened the gas tank valve there was a loud and somewhat scary sound of gas escaping. I was perplexed, since everything had been working fine until the day before, which was the last time I’d used it. We tried this and that to no avail when finally K discovered the holes in the hose which, judging by their size and location, could only have been chewed up by a squirrel who had apparently decided the hose would make a good midnight snack. What are the odds? In any case, dinner was saved thanks to a great cast-iron pan, a few changes to the menu and two easygoing gals who wouldn’t let such things ruin a perfectly good evening. I did manage to somehow ruin the salad dressing—the only part of the meal I actually prepared—but the steaks were delicious, and desert—a homemade chocolate-caramel mousse—was positively sinful. We talked on and on and both of us agreed we couldn’t possibly catch up in just one night. A good thing.
The next day I called the store where I’d purchased the BBQ and they offered a new hose at cost, which I think is swell. I still have to pick it up and I’ll have to come up with a protection device from the mad saboteur of course, lest he should try his shenanigans again. What will he be up to next? Will he end up skewered and barbecued? Have I mentioned I used to like squirrels?
July 28, 2008
The Art of Recycling
Jean Luc Cornec’s phone sheep are just brilliant. They were apparently all over the internet two years ago, but I missed them then so I figure this might be new to a few of you too. Telephone Sheep—made of telephones & telephone cable—at the Museum for Communications in Frankfurt Main, Germany. Next up: a project reusing mobile phones maybe?
July 25, 2008
Kafka & the Phone Corporation
What happened you see is that I had to call the Phone Corporation* again. I had been assured the last time that everything was cleared up, they had issued a cheque for me which was on it’s way and that I would never have to worry my pretty head about this matter again. That was a month ago. And then the mailman came today to deliver a package, handing me my mail too. I saw one of the envelopes bore the Phone Corporation’s logo and my heart sank. Something told me it couldn’t be good news, so putting aside the box I’d just received from amazon.ca, I grabbed my antique letter opener and slit through the envelope, still half hoping it might just be the letter I had asked them to send me, confirming that the matter was now resolved. Instead it read “Our records show an outstanding balance of $167.45 on your account. It’s always our pleasure to serve you. Please don’t hesitate to call us if you need further assistance.” Of course no one likes to get that sort of letter but for me it was an indication that the Kafkaesque nightmare I’d been ensnared in by the Phone Corporation was still pursuing me and I might be stuck in an everlasting loop forcing me to tell the same tedious story again and again and then have to put up with the same disbelief and stupid remarks and passed on from agent to agent like this until I broke down and made a scene, at which point they’d tell me the matter was resolved just to appease me before starting the whole process all over again. That’s the short version of it. Here is the longer version (names and numbers have been changed to protect the author):
On a fine day on October of 2005, I was sitting in a taxi rushing off to some important matter when I started thoroughly searching my purse for my mobile phone, which was nowhere to be found. Gone. Stolen I figured. I called my number to verify this, and sure enough, someone answered without a word and eventually hung up on me. I immediately called the Phone Corporation to alert them of this matter and asked to terminate the contract so that I wouldn’t be charged with additional fees once the thief started making calls with it. I had decided not to replace the mobile and simply use the work phone I had been provided with. The agent quoted me an astronomical price—the penalty for canceling before the end of the contract. I asked if they could wave the penalty given the circumstances and was told that was impossible. The agent suggested to me instead that I switch to a relatively low phone plan for the five months remaining on said contract, which would be more advantageous for me. “And can you make a note that once we reach the end of my contract I do NOT wish to renew the contract and would like to close the account?” “Yes of course, I’ll make a note of that in your file and there shouldn’t be any problem”. Famous last words. The five months came and went, work and it’s constant pressing demands kept me so busy that I had an editorial assistant help me with my expense account and monthly bills. By then I’d forgotten about the stolen phone and the contract, having assumed that everything was in order. Occasionally, when I looked at my credit card statement, I’d see a charge from the Phone Corporation, but assumed this was probably some additional fee related to my work phone which I could simply include in my expense account. More than two years went by. Then, one fine day in May 2008, I received a letter from the Phone Corporation: “Our records indicate your account is seriously in arrears. Please make your payment of $193.67 within 7 days to prevent further action.” I knew my phone bills were in order and couldn’t figure out where these charges came from. That’s when I decided to call the Phone Corporation again.
“These are charges for your other account madam”
It took me a while to figure out which other account they were talking about. “But I had asked for that account to be closed ages ago!”
“I’m sorry madam, we have no record on file of you ever having a conversation with one of our representatives asking for your contract to be terminated. Though I do see a note here that your phone was stolen”
“But there was supposed to be a note there asking to terminate my contract! Look again, I’m sure it’s there!”
“No madam, there’s nothing here. If you wanted to terminate your contract, you should have given us a 30-day advance warning then called us back to ensure it was effectively closed. You should have looked into it then.”
“But I gave you five months advance notice! Are you saying I’ve been paying for this service all this time?”
“Yes madam, you’ve been paying the advantageous reduced fee. Unfortunately the credit card we were making the monthly withdrawals from was cancelled, so we’ll need a new credit card number to put the charges on.”
“But that’s absurd! Why should I pay for this service? If anything the Phone Corporation should be paying ME back for all those months I’ve been charged for a service I didn’t want it in the first place!”
“I’m sorry, the procedure is you must advise us 30 days before termination madam, if you don’t follow procedure, we won’t terminate your contract and you’ll continue to be charged monthly fees. And I just have to ask you madam—are you telling me you only just now realized you had been charged all this time? Did you not ever check your credit card statements before? It’s been more than two years...”
I’m painfully aware of that, thank you.
This conversation was repeated approximately 7 or 8 times over three different days with various Phone Corp. agents, who kept transferring me along to another department or service until I’d get dead air and have to call again and start from scratch. All the agents were suspicious of my story. Eventually I talked to an agent called Joe*, who after much explaining, then shouting and yelling on my part, agreed with me that the whole thing made no sense and agreed also that I shouldn’t be charged for a service I had asked to terminate. I was finally making some headway. When I went so far as telling him that in fact it was the Phone Corporation that should pay ME back for those more than two years of fees I’d been charged for, he said he’d try and see what he could do. Then Joe came back and said his supervisor agreed to them reimbursing me for up to three months, which is all company policy allowed, but that they were clearing any amount owing and ensuring the service was effectively canceled. That was the best he could do he said, and I went for it, wanting to get this matter resolved once and for all. That was a month ago. The cheque came a week after my conversation with Joe and I relaxed a bit, thinking I could put all this behind me now.
Then that letter this morning. I thought maybe I’d gotten it all wrong and read it again: “Our records show an outstanding balance of $167.45 on your account. It’s always our pleasure to serve you. Please don’t hesitate to call us if you need further assistance.” I took a deep breath and called the Phone Corporation back, yet again. When I got yet another agent called Phil* on the line, I explained that there’d been a big mistake since we’d cleared up the whole matter with Joe (employee # 555-55435597) a month ago, that my file was closed, any balance owing had been canceled, I’d been sent a cheque, and he should find a record of all that in the notes. Phil said he could see in the notes I’d been sent a cheque, but that no mention had been made of canceling the service or clearing the amount owing. When Phil started talking about transferring me to another service I completely lost it and started screaming into the phone “THIS IS KAFKAESQUE, COMPLETELY ABSURD, KAFKAESQUE, DO YOU HEAR ME, DO YOU UNDERSTAND???”. Apparently he hadn’t read or heard about Kafka and didn’t appreciate my shouting at him, but I did my best to calm down and explain the whole situation yet again. Much like Joe had done, Phil finally said “let me see if I can take care of this with my supervisor”, then went to see his supervisor who apparently cleared my file, yet again.
“Will you send me a letter? Do I get any kind of proof of what’s taken place today so I don’t have to go through this again? This is very bad for my health.” I asked. “Yes, you should receive a letter within a month or so and in the meantime I can give you my solemn promise everything is resolved”, Phil said. Now, while I truly do appreciate the sentiment Phil, I can’t help but wonder what the words ‘solemn’ and ‘promise’ mean when uttered by an agent of the Phone Corporation who has never even heard of Kafka...
Names have been changed.
July 23, 2008
Random Stuff
Of course, there’s nothing new about talking about the state of the environment and the 4 R’s of recycling (Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, Rethink), at this point, almost every North American has seen An Inconvenient Truth and those who haven’t have probably heard everything about it. For those of us who were on the hippy-dippy side of the 60’s and 70’s, saving the environment was almost like a new religious crusade. And while I may have gotten hooked on environmental friendliness as a kid— following such precepts as: thou shalt no buy unnecessary stuff; thou shalt not litter; thou shalt conserve water; thou shalt save and reuse things; thou shalt find new ways of using old things; though shalt give away or sell those things you no longer want, etc—like everybody else, I’m not perfect, which means I too need constant reminders of what concrete steps I can take to be part of the solution. Not always easy to remember in a consumer society gone completely haywire. This is where The Story of Stuff comes in. I posted a preview of this movie here a couple of days ago and it’s been on my mind since then. Of course I couldn’t help but make comparisons to An Inconvenient Truth, a movie which I’m quite divided about, partly because I see the value of the movie in having helped drive the message to people who hadn’t *gotten* it yet, but for me, having been steeped in ecological concerns since birth, I found that movie manipulative and utterly demoralizing and wrote what I hope is a fun little post about it in Global Warbling.
The Story of Stuff on the other hand, covers similar issues, but in a larger context and with a more lighthanded approach which is just as effective in terms of driving home the message. There are no hardcore scientific evidence or mind-boggling statistics here, yet to my mind, it was even more informative than Gore’s was because instead of focusing on the details of what the environmental catastrophe might end up looking like if we don’t take action, The Story of Stuff looks at the big picture and encourages you to think for yourself in terms of how and where you can best help make a difference. Annie Leonard, a friendly girl-next-door type, spent 10 years traveling the wold to specifically gain an understanding of “The whole story about how stuff goes from extraction, to production, to distribution, to consumption, to disposal”. Annie is an expert in international sustainability and environmental health issues, with more than 20 years of experience investigating factories and dumps around the world and she communicates worldwide about the impact of consumerism and materialism on global economies and international health*. Her film informs, yes, but it’s also fun to watch, even humorous, with simple animations that help to actually see the big picture and how everything is interrelated. The humour aspect is actually a very smart and way to help communicate information which, at the end of the day, isn’t much fun, but this device makes the material covered seem that much more interesting. The bottom line of the story of course is that we (i.e. the North American consumer society) are using too much stuff. But finding out the who, the what, the where, and the when, is of course where lies the value of the message. So... two thumbs up for The Story of Stuff from Smiler.
Sometimes, being overly conscious can sort of backfire though. Take yesterday when I went to get a manicure and pedicure as a special treat. I used get that sort of treatment fairly regularly, but then at one point decided it was too time consuming and an unnecessary expense so cut back on my visits to the nail parlour, even though I enjoy looking groomed and (literally) polished. So it had been a little while since I’d gotten anything done, and as I was sitting there yesterday, I couldn’t help but think about the materials and the chemicals and the labour that are used in the average nail salon; many of the chemicals used are highly toxic, the labour used is probably the closest thing we have to legalized slavery—the meagre compensation of the workers who are tending to our hands an feet and of course aren’t slaves because we tip them well to appease our conscience, the fact that most of them are recent immigrants which has impacts on their cultures and communities—both native and adopted. I also thought about the more than $1000 a year that countless weekly clients dish out for something that is completely unnecessary and could instead go toward something like saving the Amazon forest, or feeding a starving family for a few years. Then of course I realize that by having regular treatments, they’re encouraging small local businesses and helping feed and shelter local families, by giving work to immigrants who don’t have many options as well-paying jobs goes. At one point I started going to a more upscale place where it cost a lot more, though of course there were a lot of extras touches. I felt that I was making a better choice because I assumed the workers were getting better pay and therefore being less exploited, and also that because they didn’t do fake nails there, the air wasn’t as toxic to breathe. Then when I thought about the fact that I was spending that much more money that I could put toward charity or say, or... clearing my own debt, I realized there was no smarter option when it comes luxuries, be there big or small. And when you start applying that thinking to all our consuming needs and habits, it all becomes mind boggling. That’s when it’s nice to see something like The Story of Stuff, because it helps put everything into perspective. Because no matter how badly I think I’m doing when it comes to ecological choices, I’ll always do better than Mr. faceless corporation man who will only get the message if me and many others like me aim to make as many smart consumer choices as possible, over and over again.
Finally, when I’m not sitting in a nail salon or watching scary ecology movies, here’s something I sometimes visualize to keep myself from straying too far from the righteous ecological path: first, I visualize an image of the planet, either in photographic or illustration styles. At first it’s just a blue marble, as seen from outer space, then I zoom in closer and see the continents, then I zoom in again, and the America’s, then I zoom in to the area where the Amazon forest should be but I can’t seem to find it, then I zoom in to a tiny little green speck, equivalent to an area the size of Central Park in Manhattan, then zooming in closer still, I notice that all the wild animals are in cages and pens and there are signs and tourists and kids and concession stands everywhere... all come to visit the last bit of greenery on earth. Not very uplifting I know. But it does make me want to find solutions. And if anything, it’s a great way to keep me from buying too much stuff...
* Information taken from Annie Leonard’s bio
Photo by: madhatrk
July 21, 2008
July 17, 2008
Jiggle
1. When I woke up this morning and got out of bed my body felt kind of strange to me. I stood very still and tried moving again and then I felt it again—every part of my body just kinda... jiggled. Thighs, bum, boobs, tummy, upper arms, face cheeks... all those plumper, fleshier parts just kind of made their presence known and jiggled in unison but all in different directions and this new sensation made me laugh inside. Now if I were writing this piece for a women’s magazine, I wouldn’t even have to explain the kind of horror that the combinations of the words “flesh” and “jiggle” can evoke. For some women it could mean an instant nervous breakdown, others might reach for the Ben & Jerry’s, while the overachievers would already be out the door logging a 10 mile run just to ensure the carrots they ate don’t stay on their hips. I wasn’t any of those women today. I just felt everything more or less bouncing and swaying and the word “jiggle” sort of appeared very clearly in mind and it just of sort of made me laugh. The way a four or five year old laughs when discovering a funny sounding new word. Jiggle. Before throwing on my clothes, I stood in front of the mirror and had a good look at what was the cause of these jiggles and sure enough, yep, bigger thighs, prominent tummy, plenty of booty, and up front too, everything kind of rounded and solid-looking at once. I don’t like looking at myself when I look this way. I think I may secretly always have wanted to have a boy’s body. Pre-pubescent and minus the penis because I’ve never wanted to be an actual boy, just have a body... well not have a body like some ridiculous pinup. But I think I’m just going to have to accept that I’ll always have to work with that 20 lb range and sometimes, this is how I look. So I looked. I saw. And for once, instead of telling myself “I’m fat” I thought, “Isn’t that cute? I have a little tummy and it jiggles!”. And got on with the rest of my day thinking “jiggle” whenever self-doubt threatened to throw me off. Jiggle!
2. My therapist was practically floored when I told her I had organized a weekend-long garage sale all by myself and made money and all. I mean seriously—she was practically standing up and clapping and cheering and and putting on Queen’s “We Are the Champions” and waving her arms. Not that that would be her style. “Well if you managed to pull that off” she said “then surely you’re ready for anything now!—so what are you going to tackle care of next?” And I wanted to say, hey hey, hold your horses, I’m still recuperating from the weekend marathon which was my garage sale and if you’re expecting me to lay out my career plan for you lady, you’ve got another thing coming—“I was thinking starting to exercise again might be a good next step”. I know she probably wasn’t expecting me to come up with the master plan for the rest of my life or anything, but clearly, she saw my garage sale project as a major breakthrough. Doing exercise again should be quite a breakthrough too. I love exercising. I don’t understand why I’ve been off it for so long. And why is it that when I have major breakthroughs I hardly notice a difference, but when the teensiest little problem arises it immediately causes major drama? Just asking.
3. To celebrate my wonderful therapy session and the fact that while I was sorting through my paperwork yesterday I found a bunch of therapy and massage receipts that I’ve yet to claim from my insurance, not to mention the fact that I’ve been really good and haven’t been spending a lot of money on clothes lately, of course I went... shopping for clothes! I wanted a pair of designer jeans and a top. Knew just the place where they always have an assortment of great jeans on sale and lots of $50 t-shirts too. I’ve gone the $50+ t-shirt route all too often and I suspect that a big chunk of my dept is made up of 100% cotton, so I tried them on in every colour of the rainbow, and then did the right thing and left them there. I ended up getting these fitted narrow leg jeans that truly look good on my more voluptuous frame, along with a great shirt I can see myself wearing all the time. I love clothes that have a military touches, and this shirt has rolled up sleeves and was really well designed— it’s overall quite fitted yet soft and malleable and breezy. They had them in white which I loooove white shirts, but white shirts never last me more than a season before I inevitably get big yellow stains under the arms. Not very chic. And the shirt was kind of pricey, so I got it in a charcoal instead. Very flattering on my deathly-white skin. The jeans were on sale but the shirt definitely was not so as usual my heart sank when the salesgirl rang up the total with our dreaded 15% tax tacked on, but I decided it was a worthwhile investment. But how is it a good investment to buy designer jeans now if you want to lose weight? you might think to ask. That would be because every single (goddamned) time I’ve bought a great pair of jeans, my weight either soared or plummeted shortly after. This time I’m counting on the latter obviously. Then I’ll be able to use the jeans to gage how much I’ve lost. And they’ll also come in handy when the “fat” days inevitably show up again. I’m in my late thirties and I’m still going on about “fat jeans” and “skinny jeans” and all this body-image obsession nonsense. Still. Sad I know. In my defense—I read too many women’s magazines when I was an impressionable young thing—irreversible brain damage. This is what’s happening to your daughters people. Sad, I know.
4. Off to bed with Alice Munro’s Runaway soon. Another great writer I was surprised to find I had never read before. Mind you, I have all too often tended to stay away from anything Canadian. Not sure why. Robertson Davies and Margaret Atwood were college day discoveries and I’d have to say that one thing all three have in common for me is that when I sit down to read their work for the first time, it immediately sounds familiar, as if someone I know had written it. Alice—she’s good bedtime reading though because somehow, she seems to leave a lot of room to breathe. The characters each have their space and preoccupations and you’re not rushing to get to the last page because it’s all about the journey, not so much the destination, which may change while you’re on your way so you don’t want to get too attached to an outcome and goodness knows the dreamtime is all about those unpredictable wide open spaces and somehow, I trust Alice to bring me to a safe place to dream.
Jiggle.
July 16, 2008
What Bad Days Are Made Of
There are some days when it doesn’t take very much to get me in a bad mood. Lately, days like that seem to happen when I’ve woken up very late in the afternoon—by then I’ll have woken up several times throughout the day and in a state of half-consciousness, I’ll have chosen the escape into more sleep rather then getting up and living my life. In one of my recent conversations with my dad, we agreed that I was using sleep to escape the way some people go to drugs and alcohol—or any other addiction, come to think of it. And just like any other addiction, indulging in the thing feels great while you’re at it, but when you inevitably come up for air, you feel ashamed, self-loathing and you’re stuck with the cost to pay. In my case it means feeling exhausted for the rest of the day, reduced daylight hours and feeling like a big loser.
Today happened to be just that kind of day, and as soon as I fired up my computer I found an email from my ex. That would be the most recent ex who is still convinced I’m the woman of his life, even though I’ve supplied him with plenty of evidence to the contrary by now. I’ve been a royal bitch to this guy. I’ve been patient and kind too, but truly, I just can’t stand the person I am when I have anything to do with him. That was more or less why I took my distances from him to begin with. Of course I could point the finger and make a long list of very good reasons why he’s responsible for our demise as a short-lived couple, but at the end of the day, it was the loss of respect I couldn’t stand anymore. The loss of respect I had for myself. Of course there are always many versions to a story. He remembers the good times over the bad. Must be nice to go through life that way, but I tend to take a more realistic view, which tends to leave romance in the lurch, that much is true.
The email: an anecdote to reiterate that he can’t stand Australia, Australians and that “awful” Australian accent. Followed by a mention of how much he misses me and when are we getting together? So innocuous, and yet it ended up causing a short-circuit in my brain after too much time spent mulling it over. Why say something like that if he wants to get back together? Is it a game? Is he being cruel? Is he just plain stupid? Can someone actually be that moronic? I love Australia. I’ve seriously considered moving there. I felt right at home in Sydney and got along famously with our new family members there. The ex knows all this, it all happened shortly before we met. While we were together he spent a very long time digging and questioning until I finally came out with it and said that yes, I had had a fling while I was there. I felt angry about being coerced like that. It did not lead to higher understanding. Just more strife and accusations and resentment.
I came to question everything I took for granted about personal boundaries, love, romance, sex, intimacy, commitment with that relationship. That wasn’t the first time, far from it. I’ve always been willing to put all that into question, only this time it came at a time in my life when I was learning—the hard way—that I had to take care of my own needs first and foremost, that I had to learn to actually like and respect myself, as a matter of survival, that I had to listen to my own voice first and foremost. All that was just too much to think about today. I suddenly felt exhausted. Lied on the couch, didn’t wake until late tonight. Hoped I’d wake up with a new outlook. Now I just can’t help but wonder: where’s that big bitch when I need her? I think I’ll be keeping her close by for next time I need her. Hopefully she can keep me awake.
July 13, 2008
My Night With Hemingway
When the doorbell rang I jumped up in a panic and threw on whatever I could grab right over my pajama bottoms. She was standing in my doorway with her signature smile from ear to ear and holding up a big bunch of gladiolas. They were white, with just a hint of purple lines around the center which matched her purple top. Maybe because I wasn’t completely awake yet, maybe because I felt embarrassed about practically being caught with my pants down at this late hour, with morning breath and all, I didn’t even think of inviting her in, assuming she had other places to go. We stood there for a good twenty or thirty minutes jumping from one conversation topic to another as we tend to do Zaza and I. Towards the end of our conversation, I mentioned to her about Beth and Jackie having come over for cake on the night of my birthday and as I said it, I wanted to kick myself. Of course I should have invited Zaza and her boyfriend but on the moment all I had thought about was finding a simple way to thank Jackie for her precious help. Never even occurred to me that I could do that AND invite Zaza as well. But then again that might have been awkward, with everybody sitting there in silence not knowing what to say and dabbing at their cake, or worse, forced conversation and laughter ensuing from the general malaise of people wondering how they ended up in the same room. Socializing isn’t my forte obviously.
What happened the rest of the day is of no consequence, but I do remember putting the flowers in a giant vase and having left it on the counter, the flowers almost reaching the ceiling. Also firing up my barbecue and throwing together yet another fuss-free yummy dinner. I had a bunch of birthday cake left over so had another slice for dessert and enjoyed the comfortable breeze and perfect weather from my balcony. My porch light had been out for a few years and I’d never seen the necessity of changing it till I got my BBQ, when suddenly the notion of getting stuck cooking in the dark pushed me into action. I hadn’t realized that I would create a new reading spot for myself when I put in a fresh bulb. So after dinner I picked up Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast* which I’d started reading earlier in the day. After three or four chapters, I just wasn’t that enthralled with it even though it was describing one of my favorite cities in the world (Paris) during a fascinating period (the 1920’s). I had to keep reminding myself that his style was completely modern at the time he was writing and that just about every writer that has come after him has tried to be the next Hemingway. When you go back to an original you somehow expect pyrotechnics and usually find instead a quiet voice just doing it’s own thing so very well that it looks like no effort was required at all. It was a very pleasant night and I didn’t feel like getting back into my stuffy apartment so I decided to keep reading for as long as I could. Things became really interesting when he started describing his relationship with Gertrude Stein, who’s character seemed very familiar to me, then Ezra Pound and then came F. Scott Fitzgerald, and here Hemingway described Fitzgerald shorty after The Great Gatsby was published and what a peculiar man he was. Made me really glad I’d read that book just a couple of weeks ago. I decided Fitz had probably modeled Daisy after himself, precious dear. But in truth by then it didn’t really matter what Hemingway was writing about because I’d gotten hooked on his rhythm. Some writers have none at all and the writing can still be quite fine. But a writer with rhythm always pulls me in and pretty soon I’m going on reading just to keep the thing going, the pull of it hard to resist, almost like a physical thing. I realized then it was probably a good thing that I was reading the whole thing in just one sitting because that way I wasn’t likely to miss a beat and really it was the flow and the accumulation of words upon sentences upon chapter after chapter which started an inner process of opening a special file in my memory called “My Night With Ernest Hemingway”and attributing a special place to it so I can have access to it at will. It’s all based on impressions, nothing as practical as facts or tangible references. By the time I’d gotten to the last page, it was late-ish, though not as late as I would have imagined. I just breezed through that book reading much faster than my usual pace and lost the concept of time. Blame it on Hemingway.
*Yes, that was my first experience with Hemingway. How I got to this ripe old age and hadn’t read him yet, I’m not quite sure, but it’s never to late to pick up a great classic, I say.
July 11, 2008
My Birthday (a recap)
- My dad called at exactly 10:25—the time of my birth—and wished me well. I can’t remember most of the conversation since I was half asleep, but I know it was all good stuff. I could have stayed awake after that, but since sleeping in is one of my favorite things, I just went back to bed.
- When I woke up again late into the afternoon, I had that special “birthday” feeling. I was prepared to feel blue so I actually felt pretty good compared to what I had anticipated.
- I made my usual fresh orange/grapefruit juice and sat on the balcony to read, which for some reason felt especially decadent today. Reading “Never Let Me Go” and looking forward to finishing it so I can move on to a book I can enjoy more, not that it’s a bad book. It’s all a matter of personal taste.
- Checked my email and saw I’d gotten several birthday wishes from family, friends and colleagues. Actually took the time to respond to a few of them and even considered getting together with people in the near future. Maybe. Soon-ish.
- Wanted to go get a pedicure as my big treat today, but the afternoon flew by so I booked myself a looong massage on Monday instead and decided to get a pedicure over the weekend instead.
- Wanted to go pick up a brochette at the market. Decided to stop by the bakery and get a small cake as well. Figured if I got the cake and candles I’d feel like I properly celebrated my birthday. Wanted to invite Jackie and Beth over which would also be a thank-you for their help last weekend.
- Considered going to the cinema but the film selection was crap.
- On my way to market, I met with Jackie, Beth and Jackie’s friend Eugene who were on their bicycles, on their way to a barbecue thing and seemed quite delighted with my invitation which I of course extended to Eugene.
- Continued on to market. Got the cake. Got the candles. Got a brochette to put on the BBQ. Wanted to buy flowers—a giant bunch of peonies specifically, but all the flower merchants had closed down already.
- On the way home, decided to try out a florist I’d never been to before. It’s a very lame kind of place with dusty fake plants and flowers as a window display. They had roses (which I don’t buy for myself), they had blue and green and electric pink dahlias. They had daisies in every conceivable colour combination with sparklies sprinkled on top (I couldn’t help but wonder how they got the sparklies on there—sparkly shower?). Got two lilies. White ones. Plain. They smelled great.
- Got home, put the cake in the fridge and the brochette on the grill. Threw away all the uninspired green stuff they gave me at the florist and stuck the lilies in one of my many vases. Made a tomato & bocconcini salad and a side of arrugula and enjoyed my dinner on the balcony.
- About ten minutes after I’d finished clearing the dishes, my guests showed up right on cue with Jackie holding a bottle of wine while Beth handed me a little flower arrangement.
- As it happens, Eugene had lived in what is now my apartment many years ago, so he got quite a kick from seeing how much the place had changed and what I’d done to it.
- Beth colored outside while we chit-chatted indoors.
- We had cake (chocolate mousse with raspberry jam) with vanilla ice cream. Jackie and Beth put the candles on it and lit them so I could make a wish first.
- Then Beth got really restless and tried to do a cartwheel in the dining room. She does great cartwheels but I asked her not to do them in here. This place is definitely not kid-friendly. Afterwards the adults continued chatting and Beth fell asleep on Eugene.
- Jackie kept looking around and saying how beautiful my place is and how peaceful it seems. Jackie’s place is shared by 5-6 people, only two of which are adult and they all live in a space that’s slightly smaller than my place. Made me grateful for my space, and again, made me grateful I don’t have kids (which is a good thing or I’d be in an absolute panic at my age).
- When they left, I poured myself what remained of the wine and sat outside with the porch light on. Almost finished my book, but not quite.
- Managed to get through the whole day without once feelling suicidal. In fact, I’m quite glad with how the day went, considering. I’m for sure making progress.
- Glad it’s over. Now I’ve got a whole year to prepare the next one. The big 4-0. Yikes.
July 10, 2008
What Summers are Made Of
Watermelon, popsicles, plenty of sunshine... and now I’ve also been enjoying my new barbecue since it was delivered on Tuesday. When it got here, I hurried over to the market to buy some freshly made lamb brochettes to celebrate the arrival of my new Weber Q120. The brochettes tasted that much better for having been cooked on the barbecue which I quite literally got in exchange for my clutter. It’s been several days and I’m still very sore from having transported so much stuff up and down my third floor walk-up, but have only fond memories of what was my first garage sale. Here are some highlight:
When I tallied up my sales for the weekend, I was thrilled to find that the cash I made came to just over the amount that my barbecue had ended up costing me (which was a lot). I thought “I’ll enjoy using my Weber all the more knowing that I quite literally worked for it” I thought. Then when they delivered the barbecue, they handed me close to $100 in cash as reimbursement for things they charged me for which I didn’t need with the model I’d purchased. So all’s well that ends well. Now I can’t wait to have my next garage sale!
July 7, 2008
Quick note about my garage sale
The sale went very well—sold lots of stuff. It was loads of work, but it was fun. I worked both days from 8:30am till 4am, so am passably exhausted now and body aching in places I didn’t know existed, but as soon as I’ve had a good 18 hours of sleep and my brain functions return to normal I’ll be posting about my first fabulous garage sale more fully and showing pics too.
À bientôt
July 4, 2008
Weekend Plans
Oh dear oh dear, I just checked the weather report over the weekend and we have gorgeous sparkling sunshine on the forecast with only 10% chance of clouds. Perfect perfect weather. So now I have no excuse. I’ve been putting it off for too many years now and I’ve used every excuse in the book. Leave it to me to make such a silly little project into a great big deal. But then I spoke to my dad this week and he said “don’t think about it, just do it!” and I can say that’s probably good advice as far as everything in my life goes because yes, I do tend to get bogged down with the details and wanting to do it “just right” don’t I? [mom: that’s a rhetorical question]. So now I have to get my shit together and organize a garage sale in (gulp) just one day because I have so much stuff that it’s driving me absolutely bonkers. It’s all good stuff, but sometimes too much stuff is worse than just a little bit of stuff, trust me. And yes, I’ll be doing it all by myself like a big girl and not asking for any help because I’m pig-headed that way and don’t like asking for help. One of my excuses in the past years was that I figured it would be impossible for me to sit on my staircase all day without going for frequent loo visits and drink replenishments and whatnot. But I’ll just have to trust in the universe and my customers that nobody will steal any of my precious second hand gently used crap while I rush into my kitchen to let Fritz in or out and grab a popsicle along the way. Note to self: buy more popsicles. They have these awesome ones made from real fruit? And for some reason I can’t imagine having a garage sale and not chomping down on popsicles all day long. It’s like movies and popcorn, right? Unless you live in Europe that is, but that’s a whole different story. So tomorrow I gather up all my stuff and make a huge pile in the living room and NOT freak out about the mess which is only temporary, then I make a quick little poster to pin up on a few strategic trees and billboards—note to self: buy thumb tacks. Where does one get thumb tacks anyway? Can I get them in a range of pretty colours? Right. Must keep my goal in mind. Freedom. From clutter. And extra cash, let’s not forget, which will come in very handy since I’ve purchased my barbecue today and what with the propane gas tank, adapter hose thingie + delivery & installation +++. Yes. Discarding a few of my possessions for cash will surely help fill out a portion of the dent I’ve put in my wallet today. So much excitement all of the sudden! I bet I won’t sleep between now and Saturday because I won’t be able to help myself from making piles of what will imminently become sales items. Should I take up a classified ad in the paper or not? [not a rhetorical question]. What’s that? Sounds like I don’t have much of a life you say? Well I may not be a great world traveler/explorer these days but barbecues and garage sales sure are unexplored territory to me so yeah, I’m having fun with it. Ha!
Photo: Catherine Li (Catli)
July 3, 2008
Bless the Orphans, I’m Rich!
Having several email addresses is turning out to be more and more inconvenient. I keep forgetting to check my various mailboxes and then months fly by sometimes which doesn’t exactly make for speedy communication. This is where I insert an apology to anyone and everyone who’s emailed me at either one of my hotmail accounts and hasn’t heard back from me. Sorry. My bad. But this morning, I still had Zaza’s words about people wanting to get in touch with me ringing in my ears, so thought I should check Fritz’s inbox for a start, to see what I might have missed. Thank goodness I had the brilliant idea to check my junk mail folder because there were two very important messages waiting for me there. One email was from and old and very dear friend I had lost contact with for some years now. Apparently she somehow found this blog and is a reader, and a few weeks ago she finally decided to write Fritz an email saying she’d love to get in touch with me again, which Fritz had the kindness to pass on to me. Which is lovely because I found the message very sweet and very very touching and have every intention of following up on it.
But the really big new of the day is that I’m now (almost) a multimillionaire! I say almost because it’s just a matter of handing out some basic information and then I can cash in and start enjoying the Big Life. More books. More treats for Fritz. Maybe I can get him a diamond studded collar so he can promptly lose it like all the other collars I’ve gotten him before. Or maybe I’ll just replace him altogether and get the collar with the Ashera™ already attached. All the exotic fruit I want, eaten right off the trees in exotic locales. Yay. I can hardly wait. Like I said, there are a few formalities, but I figure if I’ve been chosen out of millions and billions of people, then the odds must be pretty good no? Before you go thinking I’m a complete retard I just want you to know I do know there are scammers out there who’ll use every trick in the book to get to our precious bank accounts. But this one... I just know it’s the real deal, I can feel it. I mean... she’s an orphan for God’s sake, and only twenty one! She couldn’t possibly be a bad guy, right? Right. What am I talking about you’re asking? See for yourself: From Synthia Anthony Abidjan Cote d' Ivoire Dearest One Permit me to inform you about my desire to go into business relationship with you. I am synthia Anthony the only daughter of Mr and Mrs. Michael Anthony, my father was a very rich cocoa merchant, based in Abidjan , the economic capital of Ivory Coast before he was poisoned to death by his business associates on one of their outings to discuss on a business deal. When my mother died, my father took me so special since I am motherless. Before the death of my father on 26th May 2004 in a private hospital where he was admitted, he called me secretly to his bed side and told me that he kept a sum of us$10,500,000 (ten million five hundred thousand united states dollars) in a bank in Abidjan Cote d'Ivoire.
That he used my name Synthia Anthony as the next of kin in deposit of the fund he also explained to me that it was because of this money he was poisoned by his business partner and that I should seek for a foreign partner in a country of my choice where I would transfer this money and use it for an investment purpose, such as: real estate investment or stock market investment .I am honourably soliciting your kind assistance as follows.
(1) To provide a bank account where this money will be transferred to. (2) To serve as the guardian of this fund, since I am a girl of 21 years old. (3) To make arrangement for me in your country to continue my educational career and to procure me a residential permit in your country. I am inclined to offer you 10% of the total sum as a mode of compensation for your efforts after the transferring of this fund to your account in your country. Please, I will be very happy if this transaction will be concluded within seven (7) working days from now. I am expecting hearing from you as soon as possible, N.B: I will like you to give me your direct telephone and fax number in your reply of this proposal. May almighty God bless you as you do care for an orphan like me. Anticipating to hearing from you. Yours faithful
Synthia Anthony.
Poor thing. And to think her father was poisoned to death for his money and all. So tragic. Someone must help the poor dear, that much is clear. It’s such a small sacrifice on my part... no sacrifice at all actually. O Joy O Joy. My life is finally taking a turn for the better. I should say though, before you all start sending me your wish lists, that we do have to clear up a few formalities first. I don’t actually have the money in hand yet. I will try and see what I can do about negotiating a bigger cut for myself but do keep in mind that while $1,050,000 is a nice little sum, it doesn’t buy quite as much as it used to. But I’ll be sure to let you know when you can all share in some of this great fortune. At the very least, once we’ve signed the deal and the money is transferred, I’ll be sure to send you a commemorative t-shirt. Signed by me and Synthia*. God bless that child—my angel from Côte d’Ivoire.
Be sure to leave your phone number and a shipping address to receive your marvelous gift!
July 2, 2008
From the Horse’s Mouth
Hi Friends and Family, Hi Readers and Fellow Bloggers, Hi Occasional Lurkers! It’s been a while! I have a few posts in the works, but they’re all book reviews and I figured some of you might appreciate hearing about how I’m doing instead. I’ll give an example* of why it is I don’t blog every day lately:
“Dear Blog,
today I finally convinced myself to get out of the apartment because I needed to get myself a comb along with a few items from the market. Any excuse is a good excuse to get out. Only I started having an anxiety attack when I got to the pharmacy, because there were so many goddamned combs to choose from that I was completely overwhelmed. I foolishly had not anticipated that eventuality, figuring I’d just grab whatever they had and go, but no. I stood there muttering “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” under my breath while trying to take a pick [mum, don’t make fun of me]—I was worried that I’d start acting like Lionel Essrog, the narrator from Motherless Brooklyn (which I just finished reading tonight) who has Tourette syndrome—but then I managed to pin down my choice just as I could feel a real cursing stream scream building up. It was kind of nice that I was able to keep it together like that because it allowed me to continue shopping for a few other items I needed instead of getting forcibly escorted out of the store like some lunatic, which would have been mortifying.”
Well that makes for my second outing of the week, which, sadly enough makes for a good week considering what my average has been for the past many months now (once every two weeks maybe?), and since I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow (which will make for three outings) I thought I’d go for broke and make some kind of announcement that I plan on getting outside my apartment every day for the rest of the week. Must get out of the house everyday. Must get out of the house everyday. Must get out of the house everyday. My new mantra. It feels very strange being around other people when I get out there and I worry that I’ll do something completely inappropriate without realizing it (like talk out loud to myself, which I do a lot of at home). I suppose one gets used to interacting with other humanoids when necessary. Even me.
When I was getting back from my little shopping excursion today, I bumped into Zaza, my assistant from work who happens to live just around the corner from me. You’d think being neighbours we’d be bumping into each other all the time, but then, I don’t bump into much of anyone while I’m sitting up here on my balcony—even though plenty of people come and walk their dogs in our alleyway because it’s so pretty and green. I was a little bit concerned at first when I saw her, because what am I going to tell her when there’s been nothing new happening in my life? Or when whatever news I have is along the lines of “my shrink increased one of my meds and guess what!? I got myself a new garbage can and a new comb! Wanna see it?!”. Only I was forgetting how positive and enthusiastic this girl is, and in no time at all we were like two chatterboxes. We ended up stepping up to my place and talking for an hour or so with my grocery bags still laying all over the place. It was interesting to notice that I wasn’t having any nervous reactions when she was talking about work things as long as they didn’t involve me, but the second I started trying to talk about where I see myself within that whole context, I just panicked again so we just slid along to another topic of conversation and didn’t make a fuss about it. I’m not ready to tackle that topic seriously yet which is scary because every day I have visions of my career literally going up in flames and me walking around with as many of my possessions as I can fit into a shopping cart with Fritz trotting along behind us (only he’d never stoop to that, the little monkey). Zaza said several people are asking about me which is nice to know, but she also encouraged me to get in touch with people in my own time since that’s another anxiety-provoking issue for me. I like Zaza. I’m glad I’d chosen to give her that promotion as my assistant—I knew she’d be great at it. She was telling me she’d art directed several issues of the magazine herself recently and that she finally started getting a good understanding for things I’d been trying to transmit to her over the years. That felt really great to hear. I wish I could express it better because it meant a lot to me, but I guess this is an improvement over my reaction with her, which was not to say anything at all. But then, when too many words rush in, silence is often the best recourse.
*based on actual real events from actual real time.
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