Not sure how I stumbled on this but Victor Borge sure was one of a kind...
August 29, 2008
And then there’s this too
August 28, 2008
Extraordinary Performances
I just had to share these videos contributed by my uncle P in Israel who continually sends me all kinds of wonderful stuff [thanks P!].
Are animals more evolved than humans? This makes me think they just might be.
There’s a lot to say about kids in showbiz, but a voice like that at six years old? I’m a fan.
Here’s another one. A great song and what an interpretation!
This is how the big boys do it. And a good time was had by all.
August 27, 2008
I Choose Life! But which one?
You’d think that looking for a kitten to come live with Fritz and I would be a barrel of fun right? That’s what I thought it would be like too, but in no time this latest project has turned into yet another angst-fest. My mother [hi mum!] always makes fun of me because I have a hard time choosing anything and she’s right... it’s beyond ridiculous. Especially when it comes down to ice-cream flavours and colours of handbags (I got both the colours that time) and which book I should read next (actually, that one’s easy, thank God). Basically, when the choosing involves small things of no consequence I can see that my inability to choose is kind of ridiculous and sort of funny. But then when it comes down to big decisions it just all get blown out of proportion and before you know it I feel like I have a monster with 37 giant heads chasing after me and I have to figure out which head I need to hit on first for the monster to go away or else I’ll... die! (Gasp). Well not really, but there’s some kind of drama involved. Sometimes it almost feels like that and usually I take care of the problem by just sleeping it off. I figure: a) either an answer will come to me in my sleep or b) maybe the problem will go away or c) I’ll get mad at myself for being such a big flake and just choose already. All this over a kitten. A kitten! I can see that this is a topic that could have me writing until tomorrow morning, but I have things to do tomorrow, so I’ll be as efficient as I can and outline some facts for you, and then maybe you can help me extirpate myself from this latest quagmire:
• I am dead set on getting a rescue cat. I’d gladly adopt a cute little tramp if it sat in front of my door and asked nicely for me to adopt it, which would take care of the choosing business, but none seem to be forthcoming these days.
• Adopting an animal it a big commitment which I take seriously. A cat’s lifespan nowadays is anywhere between six and 20 years, depending on several factors. So it’s basically a 20-year commitment. That’s way longer than most marriages nowadays.
• I already have a cat; a lovely five year-old slender grey tabby. Goes by the name of Fritz (not his actual name). I’ve had him since he barely fit in the palm of my hand and I dote on him and love him to bits. Which is part of the problem. Because he’s spoiled rotten. I’ve seen Fritz reacting to other animals and it’s not good. So I expect that he’ll be just as aggressive—if not more so—if he sees another cat invading his space and taking attention off him.
• Looking at the local SPCA’s Petfinder pages, there are dozens of options. From underage kittens who aren’t quite ready to be adopted yet to brother and sister combos, available together or alone (but the thought of separating them breaks my heart). There are young teenaged cats and of course, plenty of mature cats too. I want them all. The cute ones and the funny-looking ones, the sick ones and the pregnant ones, I want every which one of them. They all need care and I’d feel honoured to be able to provide a loving and stable home for them.
• I live in a downtown apartment and my landlords put a clause in the lease that says I’m not to have pets. When I’d been here and I asked them to allow a cat to live with me because I was lonely, they recanted. But I’m not sure mentioning a second one is such a good idea. Oops. Just realized my landlady sometimes reads my blog [Hi Jackie!]. As I was saying, I’d love to take all these cats (AND dogs) looking for a home to live with me in my big ol’ country home... except I don’t happen to have one at this time.
• Looking at the cats on Petfinder has me on the verge of tears the whole time because I feel like if I pick one, I choose to give it a good life, but then, what about the others?
• Looking at the cats on Petfinder has me on the verge of tears the whole time because, what if I choose a cat or kitten and somehow make the wrong choice and then Fritz never adapts to that particular cat or kitten and goes from violent hissing and mewling (that’s a given) to perpetual brooding? What then?
• Looking at the cats on Petfinder has me on the verge of tears the whole time because I wish I could get to meet each and every one of them and hang out for a while so we could establish which ones would be happiest to live with Fritz and I and which ones just can’t be bothered. That would help narrow down the selection.
• Looking on PetFinder has me on the verge of tears and then I realize that a lot of the animals are in foster homes which means that I myself could offer to help out that way. And that would be a little bit like doing what I was talking about before. Then Fritz and I and the foster kitty (and future permanent resident) could all choose each other! Which would be way cool. And sort of reminds me of the plot of “Ensemble, c’est tout” by Anna Gavalda. Only it’s set in Montreal instead of Paris and all the principal characters save one are cats! You think I should start writing the script?
• The only problem with the scenario above is it wouldn’t work. As we all know cats hate change. And Fritz having a series of cats to get used to is... something I’d rather not think about.
• Somehow I’ve decided that the odds for success are better if the cat is a female kitten. Because there won’t be that whole territorial and dominance thing. But then I read on web that male cats get along best with other male cats. So then I think that it could be a male or female but it should still be a kitten. Why a kitten? Because kittens are cute and cuddly and I’ll for sure be googoogaga about it and Fritz might eventually let his guard down and becomes like the big brother or something (or that dog up there). That’s the best-case scenario. The worst-case scenario has Fritz eating the kitten for dinner. Poor kitten. :-(
• Where was I? So late! Must get to bed... no time for edits, so I’m serving all this up pell-mell. Which actually gives you the best insight of how it’s all swimming around in my head and making me more and more confused. Maybe I should just get a lizard or something. A big one that Fritz won’t try eating of course.
August 25, 2008
Domestic Affairs
The second my cleaning lady walked in, she started laughing, pointed at my belly and squealed “OH MY GOD YOU GOT FAT!” I did briefly consider firing her on the spot, but coming from Chona, I had to laugh too. I hired Chona a dozen years ago when I was sharing a place with an ex-boyfriend in Old Montreal. The first time she came over was also the first time I’d ever conducted a job interview, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I suggested we go for a coffee at a quaint Polish restaurant nearby. We were sitting across from each other in an uncomfortable silence and straining to make small talk, my goal being to suss her out to figure out if I could trust her not to steal from us. I started asking leading questions about her life and could barely make out her answers—her English had a strong Filipino accent and her vocabulary was limited back then —but I caught on that she was working night-shifts at a chips factory which was convenient for her she said because it freed up her daytime so that she could take care of her small son and her husband, who was in a seemingly interminable process of recovering from a back injury. The contrast between her lifestyle and mine was so extreme that my mind was doing cartwheels and somersaults to appease the monumental sense of guilt I felt. I asked her repeatedly if she really wanted this job and whether she could manage so much work and asked how she could possibly get any sleep with a schedule like that. She said she’d manage and not to worry about her. Clearly, she was hardworking and in need of the extra cash. I asked her whether she was free to start immediately. She wasted no time and within a couple of hours she had the whole place gleaming and there was a pile of bills and coins she’d dug out neatly laid out on the table.
After the split with the bf I kept a few good pieces of furniture and moved out of Old Montreal which was out of my price range. I decided that a good cleaning lady was even harder to find than a decent boyfriend so I retained Chona’s services even though I couldn’t afford to have her come as regularly, though she usually made herself available whenever I needed her help. When I called her last week, it had been more than a year since I’d seen her last. She casually mentioned something about being off work for the past month and that it would give her something to do. I didn’t have the presence of mind to ask why the break from work and wondered about her asking me if it was okay to bring her son along; she’d brought him a few time when he was younger which was understandable, but now he was well into adolescence I couldn’t imagine why he’d require supervision.
When she was done laughing about my belly, she told me what happened to her: she had fallen and broken her spine, and after many months of intense physio was able to walk again, but was still unable to bend or reach for things or do anything as strenuous as vacuuming and washing the floors. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before? We could have put this off, I would have managed!” “That’s why I have my son with me, he’s going to help me clean”. He was standing there behind her, a gentle giant with a sheepish look on his face. Suddenly I felt as if my home had been turned into a sweatshop where I was exploiting disabled immigrants and their children and hearing her repeatedly calling him and barking orders at him with a voice that I did’t recognize truly completed the horrible picture that had formed in my mind. Seeing how sloppy he was with the floor washing, I was of course annoyed and tempted to make a comment, but I was relieved to see that he was a regular teenage boy. “do you get him to do this kind of work often Chona?” “Eeryday he helps us around the house, sometimes does groceries too!”. She said this with a touch of pride, but also seemed to take this for granted. “Count your blessings—most kids here would be very rude about telling you where you can put your chores”. And then as I was giving her her day’s wages: “I still can’t believe you said that I’ve gotten fat.” “But it’s true! I’ve never seen you with a belly before,” “Me neither, trust me” “but you’re not going to stay like that right?” Right. Someone once suggested not to be too familiar with the help. I should have listened.
August 21, 2008
The Shower Incident: An Update
I had done blood tests earlier this week which made things a lot simpler today for my shrink and I to figure out what’s going on with the falling and the vertigo. And sure enough my blood work showed the dosage of one my meds was too high. Possible side effects: vertigo and lack of coordination. Good grief. I’m glad we worked this out so quickly (lower the dose, duh) but I’ll just never be okay with pharmaceuticals—no matter how helpful they can be, some of the side effects have the potential to kill you more swiftly than the original ailment does. It’s nuts. As soon as you start tweaking things one way, you have to tweak them somewhere else and the only way to figure it out is by trial and error. Not only is this stuff tested on animals (perish the thought), but I get to be a guinea pig too! I guess that’s what they call equal opportunity.
Here’s how things played out for me today: wake up early in the morning, rush off to my aforementioned appointment, then do a few errands downtown. Around lunch time exhaustion and hunger set in, along with my friend Mr. Vertigo. I decided to take the metro home so I could eat and sleep but had trouble walking down the staircase leading to the metro station (trouble as in this lady who walked past me gave me a dirty look probably thinking I was drunk.) So I decided I’d ask for help from the next person who came by—not something I’m comfortable doing normally. Down comes a strapping young man, a sight for sore eyes he was too. “There’s always a silver lining” I think to myself before calling out to him and asking him to accompany me down the stairs. Right away he offers his arm for me to hold on to. I was too shy to actually touch him so asked him to just walk by my side, which he did most conscientiously. Had I been in better shape, I might have actually taken his arm and found more excuses to keep him around—poor boy looked so concerned I doubt he’d have refused me. Maybe a trick I can use again when I feel better again and see someone interesting looking? In any case I should be in good enough shape a week from now to take showers without having to do unconscious somersaults to avoid falling on my face (no joke—I still can’t figure out how I managed to do a 180º turn midair?) I guess I could ask a strapping young stranger to stand by the shower stall to keep me safe until the safety bars are installed... which is a nice thought but Smiler is just not that kind of girl. Any more. ;-)
A Small Incident
DISCLAIMER: This is not me. This is a random photo. I Googled “taking a shower” and she was on the first page. It has nothing to do with what I’m talking about in this post. I just figured my blog could use a bit of sexing up, because apparently people like being enticed with the illusion of sex and it might bring more readers here. Probably not the kind I want though. I have no idea if this girl is genuine or not. All I know about her is her name is Lala and she apparently really enjoys taking showers with her shirt on... Somehow, I doubt she ever falls in the shower. She might if she keeps a leg up in the air like that though.
All kinds of good things have been happening this week—good things of the “small steps” order of course—and I’d love to write about it now, but it’s late already, and I’m beyond exhausted. So I’ve just gone ahead an copied the letter I’ve sent off a moment ago to my landlady—who is a very kind and gentle soul and shares her time with her family between their duplex bellow me and a country home they go to fairly often—I’ve published it here unedited (a relative notion) so you can read about my latest little mishap. No worries, I’m okay, there are no broken bones but I’m mostly shaken and seriously afraid of taking stairs (up and especially down) of walking on carpeting with funky patterns (because not only do the shapes start moving around, but they also go up and down in 3-D which is seriously disconcerting and not at all helpful when trying to regain one’s sense of equilibrium) and of taking showers, obviously. Does that sort of thing just happen to me?
Hi J,
hope you’re having good weather [at their country home]. It's kind of cool here today, strange summer we’ve been having. I’ve actually had a very unpleasant mishap which has left me mildly bruised and shaken, but thankfully not seriously injured. I fell in the shower yesterday and having nothing to hold on to eventually landed with my back on the sink cabinet. I’ve never in my life taken a fall in the shower and it seems almost funny, for someone young like me, except for the fact that it’s a very scary experience and had I fallen differently, I could have sustained serious injuries. I started using a bath mat this year to prevent just that sort of thing from happening, but somehow it didn’t help yesterday—what I needed was something solid to grab hold of—but the towel racks that are presently there would have almost assuredly snapped had I tried to. So. Firstly, I wanted to ask you for the coordinates of your chiropractor and whether he can take on patients quickly or not since, if ever there was a time for me to try it out, this would be it.
Next, I need to take more serious precautionary measures sooner than later because I have a serious concern that this sort of thing may happen again as long as I’m on the meds I’m taking (which is supposedly forever) as they have adverse effect on my otherwise excellent sense of coordination. I’ve already talked to Joe [the handyman], just to have an idea of what the labour would cost to change both towel racks in favour of something more solid (probably stainless steel) as well as add a safety bar on the other shower wall (and change the soap and toilet paper holders too while we're at it so everything matches). He says it should take him two hours to take out the [truly horrendous] ones that are there and install the new ones which are not yet purchased as I wanted to consult you first. I’m fairly sure this is something that I’m responsible for [cost-wise], but need to ask firstly if you would both be okay with me making the changes proposed, and also whether this is something you and [her husband] would be willing to contribute to, if only because I’ll obviously be leaving that hardware in place when (or if) I eventually leave. Either way, I’ll adjust my budget accordingly.
It seems like I’ve become the youngest little old lady on the block. I’ve seen special showers for elderly people advertised on t.v... hopefully I’m not there yet. :-I
Sincere salutations,
i.
August 16, 2008
A Dog Called Yo
This morning I looked outside and seeing what a gorgeous day it was thought “I MUST get outside”. But I kept finding excuses for why I couldn’t get out (MUST wash floors TODAY, MUST list all my books for sale on Amazon TODAY, etc). But I got fed up with my own excuses and dared myself to get out there and enjoy it. I packed my camera and a book in case I got bored and made my way to Lachine Canal, which is some 200 meters from my place and the nearest equivalent to the Dadou in Graulhet (France) where my mum takes her daily walks with her faithful canine friend Cybèle. I started snapping away as soon as I got there and saw this cute little mutt wearing a dog cone who was hanging out with an adorable pug and so asked the woman holding the leashes if I could take photos which of course was fine. As I was taking my shots, K and I started chatting and next thing you know we were walking along the canal together yapping away while I was taking my photos of mostly the rusty industrial bits. We parted after close to two hours, but only once we’d agreed to get together again to walk the dogs which (as I told her) would be a great incentive to get out of the apartment more often. The dogs are called... Yo! and Piggie and both very sweet. K wants to come up with another name for Yo! since he was given that stupid name by his former owners who were squeegee kids (who else would have called their dog Yo! yo?) He’ll be looking for a new home once he’s all better. And yes it’s crossed my mind but apart from my landlords who would be pissed, I’m sure Fritz would put me (and the dog) on his permanent black list. This is how I justify to myself that getting a kitten would surely be the best option. If I’m lucky I’ll end up with a cat who enjoys being put on a leash and taken on walks along the canal...
Don’t Make Fun of the Penguins!
Hadn’t checked out Married To The Sea for a while until this morning and when I did they had a banner that led me to Where Are The Dogs Humping.com. With a name like that, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty and must admit they did manage to shock me with a few of their captions. Still I found these cute penguins shown here and I was hesitating between them and a levitating pit bull but the little black & white dudes won me over—for one thing I kept coming up with rude replies for them to say to the clipboard guy—but they were cheap shots, I decided. Do knock yourself out if you’ve got choice morsels to share...
August 15, 2008
In the Morning When I Awake
This morning I had a dream that involved someone holding an umbrella and every time he touched the tip of the umbrella to the ground, the unpleasant sounds of a jackhammer started up. I tried to ask him to stop doing that but he just shrugged his shoulders and ignored my pleas. Anyhow by then I figured if I just stayed soundly asleep, the noise was bound to stop sooner or later. Of course it did not stop and in fact became more and more persistent and as I started coming to, I had a vague notion that the commotion was happening on my street, and getting up to look out the window, ascertained all this was taking place directly in front of my apartment and not just in my head. I’m rarely, if ever happy about waking up in the morning, but today I felt like I’d been tricked out of bed so I was more than prepared to rejoin my comfortable sofa in protest just as soon as they were done with their noise pollution. It just felt much too early to be up. It’s a fact I had slipped off the wagon again and couldn’t be roused no matter what I tried so when looking at the clock I realized it was close to noontime, I figured I should just reel in the attitude and the foot stomping and accept that it was all a big cosmic joke.
I never did get around to posting about day 2 of my shopping spree as I meant to. In the end I figured it was probably more interesting to me than to anyone else, but one important item I got is that beautiful antique clock pictured above. When I noticed it in the shop window, I did a double-take and knew I had to have it. Being a genuine antique clock, I didn’t know how reliable it would be at keeping time (not very: gains 5 minutes every day), but I felt fairly sure that the alarm—jarring and persistent as it is—was likely to have me bounding out of bed in the morning, in effect putting me on the path of rehabilitation. It did work for a few days. Except the second day since, not realizing I was supposed to wind it every day, I was quite upset to wake up the next day (very late) and find my brand new antique alarm clock had stopped working. Broken already? I figured out it just needed to be wound up every day and that didn’t happen again. Then after a few days, I guess the romance started to wear off when the persistent tic-tic-tic had me cursing antiques of every kind. To “make up” for the lost sleep lost to the tics, I started allowing myself to lie down again for a short snooze after I’d walked over to the clock to shut it off, which of course meant I’d only wake up again late in the afternoon, defeating the purpose of the alarm clock. I thought I was very clever when I set two alarm clocks, side by side with a ten minute interval to allow for snoozing, but then found that the aggravation of having to get up twice to those obnoxious noises was all the excuse I needed to decide that I deserved a little snooze after all that nerve wracking commotion. The need for discipline is a concept completely lost on my slumbering self.
And then came the jackhammer. I swear, once I’d gotten over my initial resistance, I was trying to figure out how to get that machinery in here so it could literally shake me out of my semi-comatose state every day. But then I wondered what extreme measure I’d have to take once the novelty of the jackhammer wore off and I got scared. And then by association, all this reminded me of a time long long ago, when it was just my mum and I, and how she woke me every morning before setting off for work. Hints of her perfume alerted me to her presence before she came into the room, and then having fallen asleep again, a soft stroke on the cheek was all I needed to come to and encourage me to start the day on the right foot. If only I could get Fritz to do something like that, it might just do the trick. But lately the whole concept of affection is more or less lost on him, so my antique alarm clock, even with it’s mechanical quirks, is still the most reliable option.
Pic by Smiler
August 11, 2008
May Yield Results
Five days since I last published a blog post. I don’t remember ever having gone that long before between posts. But it’s all in the spirit of “Blogging Without Obligation”. The person who started BWO sometimes goes for months without blogging, and part of the whole BWO MO is not having to apologize for how frequently—or infrequently one puts up posts. So no apologies here. I do recommend you go have a look at the Tartx blog because she (I’m assuming it’s a she) is a great artist, and having just now visited her page again reminds me how much I love that whole “collage” look. Nowadays most “collage artists” (including Tartx—see illustration above) use Photoshop rather than glue to achieve that look—layered but sleek and everything in the right proportions. In terms of convenience and practicality there are great advantages to computer artwork; in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing, it means more vibrant and professional-looking images which is what is expected from illustrators. But no matter how well a piece is executed, I will always be favorably biased to art created from the mind, heart body and soul—for which there exists only one original, or a small numbered series at most— pieces where one senses a human presence, perhaps because of a tactile aspect or there might be small or big quirks and “mistakes” that have escaped being “fixed” with the click of a mouse. Though I suppose comparing commercial art and fine art isn’t fair even if there tends to be so much crossover that it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference between the two.
In truth I guess there’s some jealousy there, be it for fine artists or illustrators. Whenever I look at drawings done by truly talented illustrators, I can’t help telling myself that if I too Photoshopped more of my work I could have awesome results. But there’s just one thing... WHAT WORK?? It might be a good idea to concentrate on getting some drawings and sketches together first before thinking of manipulating them. I think there’s a big life analogy in there somewhere, though I haven’t got a clue what it is (if you do, please feel free to share). Or maybe it’s just: “Drawing and participating in Illustration Friday may yield results”. Duh
Illustration: Tartx
August 6, 2008
Stuff Goes In, Stuff Goes Out
Sure I get excited when I find something really special when I’m out shopping, but I seem to get just as thrilled when I get rid of stuff too. To wit, my garage sale, which helped me clear my closets and after which I felt a kind of bliss. Then this thing:
A flat file storage unit, aka The Monster. It sat in my living room for over eight years. It weighs a tonne and a half. Granted, I kept it covered under interesting fabrics so it didn’t look so messy and so grey and all. I mostly kept it because I could just shove stuff I couldn’t find another place for into it, but a couple of years ago I just got tired of my living-room being crammed because of it. I finally put an ad online a couple of weeks ago and a buyer came to pick it up today. And now I feel like it’s changed my life a little bit. You think I’m joking but I’m serious— it’s probably one of those Feng Shui things—not that I know much about it, but the energy does seem to flow better in this part of the apartment now. Plus, I finally have just enough room to do my yoga without having to rearrange the furniture every time. Now that’s something to be grateful about! :-)
August 5, 2008
Getting More Stuff
A portion of the loot: when I saw the “Bambi” reusable tote bag* at Hogg’s I realized I’d forgotten to bring one from home. So of course, I had to have it.
Day 1: Hogg Hardware
This particular spree all started last Wednesday when I finally made my way to Hogg Hardware to pick up my second gas hose (not shown) for my (still) new barbecue, to replace the one a pesky rodent chewed up just for the heck of it (%$#@$&). They gave it to me at retail price—which was a nice gesture—and I could have left it at that, gone home, grilled a few things on the beebeequeue, hung out with Fritz, had a beer, but no. I started wandering around the store as I always do because there’s always really good stuff at Hogg’s and God forbid I should miss anything.
I’d barely gotten properly started when suddenly I saw a woman smiling and waving at me emphatically from several aisles away. I couldn’t clearly see who it was and I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen her at that point, so my first instinct was to jump for cover—behind a shelf, into a garbage bin, a flower pot—anything so she wouldn’t see the state of me and start asking too many questions. I was somewhat relieved when I realized it was M, a very friendly/motherly/talkative stylist I’ve worked with on a few shoots. She took a good look at me and she just stopped talking and gave me a big loooong hug—the kind you give to someone in mourning—which is initially what she thought was going on with me. So there we were standing between aisles 1B and 2A (dishtowels and bowls) and then there was this pregnant silence which I understood to be my cue to say something, and I’d barely got the word out—burrr.....—when she said “oh don’t worry about it, everyone in our industry goes through that, you just make sure you take care of yourself” and assured me I would be fine. Our chat was turning into a long conversation so I suggested we go for coffee at a patisserie nearby when we were both done with our professional shopping. She was doing research for a photoshoot and she still had to go to Pier 1 just next door so I offered to join her there when I was done. And thus began my 2-day shopping spree.
First stop: oh-so-pretty rags. I’d been coveting these dish towels for weeks but kept holding back because how many rags does one person need? Also they were kind of expensive for dishtowels but a real steal for such works of art—plus, a portion of the price was going to a great charity organization—then, M walks by and says “those are really gorgeous... you should get them!” Say no more, it’s a done deal. I have a newfound respect for dishtowels now—especially when they’re this pretty—and still they manage to work just as hard as the plain and the ugly ones. Carry alls... I’m starting to get quite a collection at home but I’d forgotten to bring one that day and so made for the carry all section. Bambi! I almost resisted because I thought I’d look silly walking around with Disney characters but I caved in and got that too.
Pier 1 Imports
I went to join M at Pier1 where some side tables were seriously flirting with me, so I retreated back to the ground floor which is entirely devoted to candles. I smelled so many of them that I did serious harm to my sense of smell, even though they had coffee beans on hand for just that sort of problem. I mostly wanted to leave at that point, but then M pointed out a table which was filled with more candles, on sale at a steep discount and interesting-looking too. I
grabbed a couple of red ones (see top pic)—it’s such a vibrant red, and ended up taking a couple of green ones too— didn’t like that colour so much but I thought they smelled better. This was impossible to determine for sure what with my nasal cavities on the fritz. M was looking at these cute little glasses—also on sale—which had these cute red fish painted on them. I was going to grab one or too (so cheap!) but then, with The Story of Stuff still fresh on my mind, thought it best to leave them there—Which of course is when M says to me “Pick your favourite one! I want to give you a small gift”. She wouldn’t take no for an answer either, and truly, seeing that little fish makes me smile every time, so I found an important job for it: it sits in my bathroom and holds my toothbrush. As for the candles? when I unwrapped them and put them on display at home, this disgusting smell emanated from them, almost chemical. My first thought was “Cheap candles, who knows what crap goes into them”. But then I remembered that my sense of smell was probably still badly damaged, so who knows? The following night they came in handy when the power got suddenly cut off—leaving me in a black room looking at a black screen—and me so scared of the dark! Those candles were the closest thing I could reach and they gave me enough light to find my way around, and pretty soon I had almost every candle in the house burning in every room. It looked so magical I almost didn’t want the electricity to come back. I thought about all those people who lived by candlelight before the use of electricity became the norm and realized just how different that kind of life must have been.
But how can I forget the pillow! So pretty, and it truly does look like a work of art, I think. There’s not much to say about the pillow actually, other than it was one of our topics of conversation M and I, when we were sitting down at the patisserie. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of conversations about “stuff” one can have with a stylist. They know their stuff and they’re quite passionate about it too. Neither of us got anything—just a water bottle for me. We were sitting outside and these kids were hanging out and I very casually asked the boy behind me if he’d mind blowing his smoke the other way because I’m “allergic” and with that word they all jumped up and started walking away like I might croak any minute (must remember to say that more often). This left us in peace and smoke free to agree that the pillow truly is stunning and looks very very expensive and hand-made but really it wasn’t and it probably isn’t although it’s made in India and M was convinced it was handmade, so you never know. It’s on my couch right now, stealing the show from all the other beautiful pillows, but so far they’re all getting along just fine.
*The reader who came closest to guessing what the object was is: QUEEN-SIZE FUNNY BONE! Congratulations! And a note to Mad: not that I want to show off or anything, but I do think I could have painted that so you kind of owe me a song...
Next post: Day 2 of the Shopping Spree.
This particular spree all started last Wednesday when I finally made my way to Hogg Hardware to pick up my second gas hose (not shown) for my (still) new barbecue, to replace the one a pesky rodent chewed up just for the heck of it (%$#@$&). They gave it to me at retail price—which was a nice gesture—and I could have left it at that, gone home, grilled a few things on the beebeequeue, hung out with Fritz, had a beer, but no. I started wandering around the store as I always do because there’s always really good stuff at Hogg’s and God forbid I should miss anything.
I’d barely gotten properly started when suddenly I saw a woman smiling and waving at me emphatically from several aisles away. I couldn’t clearly see who it was and I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen her at that point, so my first instinct was to jump for cover—behind a shelf, into a garbage bin, a flower pot—anything so she wouldn’t see the state of me and start asking too many questions. I was somewhat relieved when I realized it was M, a very friendly/motherly/talkative stylist I’ve worked with on a few shoots. She took a good look at me and she just stopped talking and gave me a big loooong hug—the kind you give to someone in mourning—which is initially what she thought was going on with me. So there we were standing between aisles 1B and 2A (dishtowels and bowls) and then there was this pregnant silence which I understood to be my cue to say something, and I’d barely got the word out—burrr.....—when she said “oh don’t worry about it, everyone in our industry goes through that, you just make sure you take care of yourself” and assured me I would be fine. Our chat was turning into a long conversation so I suggested we go for coffee at a patisserie nearby when we were both done with our professional shopping. She was doing research for a photoshoot and she still had to go to Pier 1 just next door so I offered to join her there when I was done. And thus began my 2-day shopping spree.
First stop: oh-so-pretty rags. I’d been coveting these dish towels for weeks but kept holding back because how many rags does one person need? Also they were kind of expensive for dishtowels but a real steal for such works of art—plus, a portion of the price was going to a great charity organization—then, M walks by and says “those are really gorgeous... you should get them!” Say no more, it’s a done deal. I have a newfound respect for dishtowels now—especially when they’re this pretty—and still they manage to work just as hard as the plain and the ugly ones. Carry alls... I’m starting to get quite a collection at home but I’d forgotten to bring one that day and so made for the carry all section. Bambi! I almost resisted because I thought I’d look silly walking around with Disney characters but I caved in and got that too.Pier 1 Imports
I went to join M at Pier1 where some side tables were seriously flirting with me, so I retreated back to the ground floor which is entirely devoted to candles. I smelled so many of them that I did serious harm to my sense of smell, even though they had coffee beans on hand for just that sort of problem. I mostly wanted to leave at that point, but then M pointed out a table which was filled with more candles, on sale at a steep discount and interesting-looking too. I
grabbed a couple of red ones (see top pic)—it’s such a vibrant red, and ended up taking a couple of green ones too— didn’t like that colour so much but I thought they smelled better. This was impossible to determine for sure what with my nasal cavities on the fritz. M was looking at these cute little glasses—also on sale—which had these cute red fish painted on them. I was going to grab one or too (so cheap!) but then, with The Story of Stuff still fresh on my mind, thought it best to leave them there—Which of course is when M says to me “Pick your favourite one! I want to give you a small gift”. She wouldn’t take no for an answer either, and truly, seeing that little fish makes me smile every time, so I found an important job for it: it sits in my bathroom and holds my toothbrush. As for the candles? when I unwrapped them and put them on display at home, this disgusting smell emanated from them, almost chemical. My first thought was “Cheap candles, who knows what crap goes into them”. But then I remembered that my sense of smell was probably still badly damaged, so who knows? The following night they came in handy when the power got suddenly cut off—leaving me in a black room looking at a black screen—and me so scared of the dark! Those candles were the closest thing I could reach and they gave me enough light to find my way around, and pretty soon I had almost every candle in the house burning in every room. It looked so magical I almost didn’t want the electricity to come back. I thought about all those people who lived by candlelight before the use of electricity became the norm and realized just how different that kind of life must have been.
But how can I forget the pillow! So pretty, and it truly does look like a work of art, I think. There’s not much to say about the pillow actually, other than it was one of our topics of conversation M and I, when we were sitting down at the patisserie. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of conversations about “stuff” one can have with a stylist. They know their stuff and they’re quite passionate about it too. Neither of us got anything—just a water bottle for me. We were sitting outside and these kids were hanging out and I very casually asked the boy behind me if he’d mind blowing his smoke the other way because I’m “allergic” and with that word they all jumped up and started walking away like I might croak any minute (must remember to say that more often). This left us in peace and smoke free to agree that the pillow truly is stunning and looks very very expensive and hand-made but really it wasn’t and it probably isn’t although it’s made in India and M was convinced it was handmade, so you never know. It’s on my couch right now, stealing the show from all the other beautiful pillows, but so far they’re all getting along just fine.*The reader who came closest to guessing what the object was is: QUEEN-SIZE FUNNY BONE! Congratulations! And a note to Mad: not that I want to show off or anything, but I do think I could have painted that so you kind of owe me a song...
Next post: Day 2 of the Shopping Spree.
August 4, 2008
This Just In
In other news: • Evil Squirrel hasn’t returned but will he strike again?? Victims keeping fingers crossed. • Sleeping and shopping were on the rise these past two weeks • Discovery of real fruit sugar-free sorbets leads to major pig-out • Smiler seen bidding on eBay. A Vornado Silver Swan fan in brushed stainless steel with a design harking back to the 20’s seems to have retained the young woman’s attention. These powerful air circulators are not distributed in Canada and are worth every penny • Also on eBay: tea kettles. Results showed an amazing range of shapes and forms; cats & mice, chickens, Aunt Jemima, not to mention the 30’s, 50’s and ol’yeller styles were just a few that were found, though none were deemed desirable by our discerning shopper • Consumption of an afternoon snack turns to agony: high sugar level found to cause temporary pain in jaw area. It is not clear at present if other individuals have been thus affected. • Discovery of chaise longue leads Fritz to put his relationship in peril. He is purported to refuse to leave the comfortable chair save to go on his frequent excursions to the great outdoors. His owner, who maintains the feline had been sharing her bed for the past five years claims he no longer keeps her company at night choosing to cuddle with his favorite chair instead. We couldn’t help asking: Could couple’s counseling be next? • A blogger known as Smiler beats time record for post assembly. She assures her readers: “it’s almost done, it’s in two parts, and they’re on their way... as soon as I’m done with another edit.” A critic known as Mister Ynner tells us that the content doesn’t justify all the efforts she’s put into it, and that it’ll likely be a big flop. But what will her readers say?
Stay tuned!
August 2, 2008
Dear Reader:
Just a quick note to say I’ve been meaning to write a post for the past couple of days, but it seems there are just not enough hours in the day. But I do have a few goodies to show and probably an anecdote or two to share, so come back soon!
In the meantime, try guessing what the object above is. The winner will get a special mention in an upcoming post!
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