fired for her blog
Yesterday, Dooce was fired because her company "didn't like what [she] had expressed on [her] website". Yikes.
27 February 2002, 20:02
meow
So now I've seen it -- in all of its jellicle glory: the 80s feline musical Cats. It was a few hours of fluff and fun and literary (?) dabblings in a theatre I hadn't been in for 13 years. The acting was ok, the dance numbers sometimes outstayed their welcome, and the music offered a waft of old parmesan fom time-to-time, but it was still a great experience. Often for me, just being in a well-restored, lush-carpeted, and plastered and guilded playhouse is the jewel in the crown of the experience. And Trevor and I always have so much fun together when we go out.
Btw, dear readers, thanks to those of you who offered advice on my annoying-people-in-the-movie-theatre post, this time I managed to muster the courage (just into the second act) to turn around and tell the women behind me to please stop talking. After all, we paid $77 each to see a bunch of skinny people crawl around a stage in cat costumes, and not to listen to their "memories" and play-by-play commentary. How catty of me.
27 February 2002, 20:02
scotland awarded the golden plunger
According to bathroomdiaries.com, a website devoted to bathroom/toilet reviews, Quality Street in North Berwick, Scotland has been honoured with a 2002 Golden Plunger Award for being the "best loo in Britain". Not surprising since in 1994 the public loo was decorated as the U.K. 1994 Loo of the Year. I like the sounds of the fresh flowers and the Christmas trees in December, but I'm no so comfortable with the guestbook. And can someone explain the dish of "doggie bikkies"? Surely these facilities do not double as a canine commode... Has anyone paid a visit to this fine Scottish elimination establishment?
27 February 2002, 00:02
everyone is somewhere else
Within the last 24 hours I have heard from: a friend lost for hours among the narrows streets, damp canals, and overwhelmingly old buildings in Venice; from a co-worker who IM-ed me just to confirm that Gibraltar is indeed just like Britain; and from Aubin who spent hours lying in a park just to soak up the lush greenness of Christchurch. I just want to get on a plane and go somewhere.
26 February 2002, 08:02
thoughts of "sub-penthouse" living
Although we haven't even been considering a move, we were very close to viewing a new apartment today. But when we called an hour before arriving for our appointment to get directions and the woman didn't answer the phone, it seemed like a sign. Or maybe it was the meeting at work this afternoon that left me feeling worried about the future of my job, and wondering if we should even be considering a higher rent at this time in our lives. Or maybe it was the heated discussion I had with a co-worker that caused me to rethink how many luxuries a person really needs in their living quarters.
I guess for a few moment there I was caught up in the idea of "sub-penthouse" view and the balcony overlooking the lake and the new appliances and the ensuite laundry. Now, however, reality has viciously smacked me awake from the reverie.
25 February 2002, 20:02
the good old hockey game
Outside on the street horns are honking. Sometimes people lean out of the windows and yell. On the TV, a cameraman at Yonge and Dundas interviews overjoyed fans amidst deafening cheers and jubilant screams. Bars are packed. Streets are being closed. And it is the first time in 50 years that Canada has taken home an Olympic gold medal for Men's Hockey.
24 February 2002, 17:02
malibu barbie
So today I decided: enough is enough. I couldn't put up with my hair a minute longer. It was time for a change. I decided to give the salon in my building another try (after a not-so-great first attempt). They took me in, sat me down, and proceded to give me the "subtle" blonde highlights that I asked for -- a little chunk of blonde here, a little chunk there. I already have naturally blonde hair, and all I needed was a lift.
I've had a few highlight jobs before and it's always been the lift-a-section-and-dab-on-the-goo affair. I should have begun to worry when the head cap came out and the stylist began plucking out strands of my hair, one-by-one, until my head looked like it had been struck by lightning.
After the batch of goo was applied and dried and I thought that I was done, I realized that my hair had actually been bleached to white before the highlight colour had been applied. That was a frightful sight in the mirror. I ws assured, however, that the colour would fix all that nasty whiteness and soon I would be enjoying a full head of dazzling highlights in no time.
When the second batch of goo was washed off and the cap was being removed, I smelled smoke. oh my god, my hair is burning! Thank goodness I realized that another stylist was lighting incense to rid the place of the nasty chemical clouds left by hair colouring products.
And to the mirror I went, half-giddy and half-petrified with anticipation at the end result.
Pause.
Staring back at me was someone not with "subtle" highlights. It was a vision of my former self, back before age set in and started muddying up the locks I had been born with. My hair was blonde all over.
I can't decide if I like it or not. Have I ventured into colouration for the last time, or should I adopt this new look, get a tan, and move to California?
23 February 2002, 14:02
Pssst... hey bub
23 February 2002, 12:02
fear in an elevator
I have never been a fan of elevators. In fact, I get quite anxious as the door closes and the elevator moves up or down. It's one of those unfounded fears; I've never been trapped in an elevator or experienced a sudden drop of a few floors. But nonetheless, it's a mild fear I have to face every day: I work on the 6th floor and the only stairways are used for emergencies only.
Lately, the four sets of elevators have been experiencing problems -- a bit of a shimmy between floors, a little drop or wee jump. It's unnerving. All of the movies I've seen come immediately to the forefront of my mind, and I imagine cables snapping and the little metal box I'm in plummeting to the ground floor. And then I think, do I stay standing and risk breaking my legs on impact, or do I lie down and risk breaking other bits of me? Every time it happens, my heart starts thudding and doesn't quieten until I can leap, relieved, from the metal deathtrap.
Does this happen to anyone else?
22 February 2002, 10:02
And you expect a tip from me?
Last night in the cab on the way to bar, the driver announced, "Well, I guess everyone's going out tonight because there is no hockey on -- except the girls". That's right, bucko. When it's women playing, it's not really hockey. It's girls skating around with sticks trying to be like boys.
I don't even like hockey (*gasp* and she calls herself a Canadian?!) but damnit I was proud to see the Women's team win gold last night -- even if it didn't mean anything to sexist cab drivers.
22 February 2002, 09:02
good day
I spoke to Dad on the phone today and he was pleased to tell me that he had his first really good day today. He was able to walk downtown and have some breakfast, walk back home, and then get dinner started for Mom. It makes me feel somewhat ashamed for ever taking for granted the simple act of being able to have the ability to walk somewhere when I want to, or having the energy to make a salad. Not to mention all of the bloody bitching that I do. :S
20 February 2002, 21:02
wheels and chrome and sparkly paint
Well now I've been to my first International Auto Show. I gazed upon the bodies of Ferrari, Aston Martin, Audi, and Lambourghini. I stroked the hoods of Mercedes Benz, Saab, Porsche, and BMV. And I even had my bottom caressed by the finest upholstery of Mazda Miata, Jaguar, Land Rover, and the new Mini. I must have sat behind the wheel of about a half-million dollar's worth of pure automobile. Three hours of looking at polished, glistening metal. And I still don't want to own a car.
19 February 2002, 21:02
Sometimes I just want to go back to the sandbox
This afternoon a work meeting turned into a discussion about children, and each of of us shared our first memory of childhood.
My very first memory is sitting in my sandbox at the front of the old stone house where my parents had an apartment. The warm light of the morning sun filtered through tall grass (or maybe bushes or trees). And I remember sitting there feeling completely content. Happy just to be digging my hands into warm sand and narrating stories to myself.
And if got me thinking about some other happy memories of being very young. So, if you'll indulge me, here are five other early memories:
I really miss that sandbox.
19 February 2002, 21:02
rogers pay-per-view pissoff
Yes another rant. But I'll make it quick.
Has anyone seen Law of Enclosures? It's a strange little John Greyson flick starring Sarah Polley and Brendan Fletcher.
Well if you've seen it, I'd love to know how it ends. We ordered it on pay-per-view last night, and just at the pivotal point in the film, when everything (I hope) is about to resolve, Rogers (my favourite cable company) cut to an advertisement for the next showing of the film. In other words, they didn't allow enough time for the movie and trailers. We ordered it again but the same thing happened, and I didn't have the energy to complain again.
Anyway, it's an intriguing film, and worth the time invested to watch it; hopefully you get the opportunity to see the ending. *sigh*
17 February 2002, 18:02
half a yuppie
Today we did not go to the International Auto Show; instead, we took our $15 each and headed in the opposite direction to the Interior Design Show. And we were in our element -- for the most part anyway.
At Home Shows past, my eyes have glazed over as we passed rows of hot tubs, hammocks, and big honking floral furniture. If I wasn't so indifferent to it all I would have got on the PA system and yelled, "So what in this room can a cramped-quarters, city-dwelling person like me do with any of this stuff? I don't have a 12 x 15 den or a backyard!"
But today's show proved to be quite different. It was for people like Trevor and I. Designs for small spaces. Lots of funky fixtures and bathroom basins, gorgeous tiles, storage solutions, rich fabrics, and small furniture. Of course, the place was packed with dark-rimmed-glassed, hair-gelled, turtleneck-clad designers and tiny, adoring, black-clad design students flitting around, but that didn't matter. There were brushed steel taps and toilets, sample lofts, indigo glass wash-bowls, and slate tiles to distract our attention. *sigh*
It wasn't all amazing, however. Trevor and I got a ticket and lined up for the pièce de résistance: a collection of "retreat rooms" designed for coming down after a long day at the office. The piped-in steam, fresh-cut grass smells, moss-covered ceilings, re"tree"t-house, and fake-snow carpet just didn't work on me. It left me wondering, wouldn't a nice pint of cider and spinach salad be a better (not to mention cheaper) stress-relieving alternative?
*whew* Maybe I'm just half a Yuppie.
16 February 2002, 17:02
dining with the exotic god of love
A lovely night in with pakoras, mushroom kaju mutter, paneer makhani, bombay pototoes, basmati pulao, and naan from Kama.
15 February 2002, 23:02
bank pissoffs
Banks suck. Now I know that this isn't a surprise to most people reading this, but I'm still a new at being a customer, and it's all quite a shock to my system. You see, I used to be a bank teller before I entered the wonderful world of Web producing. Starting at the age of 18, I worked as bank teller to put myself through university, and then through a bit of after-university. Luckily I managed to get into the web banking department, and thus began my Internet career. All in all, I spent 11 years with the bank, and all before the age of 30.
I was a good bank teller. I was patient with customers. I didn't sell people things they didn't need. I suggested services to people who could benefit from them. And I reversed lots and lots of service charges, especially those nasty sneaky ones that banks charge kids' and inactive accounts. And I genuinely liked dealing with people. Now that I am a customer, I realize that most bank tellers do not like dealing with people. They all seem like they ate something bad for lunch and it's my fault.
And the services charges. Today I had to pay a $2.75 to deposit a cheque. What's with that? I don't even understand being charged to withdraw funds; how dare they charge me to deposit?! And better yet, since the cheque was from the US, the bank reserves the right to hold it for 30 days. How archaic is that? I know how long it takes to clear a cheque, and 5 business days is generous. So, let me see... I have to pay $2.75 to deposit a cheque that they are going to hold for 30 days. Thank you, Bank of Montreal. You're damned swell.
The bank now charges people to deposit coin, for bank statements (even if they don't actually want one), for keeping an account open and not maintaining a 10K balance, and for doing, well... banking... such as paying bills, writing cheques, and making withdrawals. Next time I enter a bank, I'll expect to pay an entrance fee.
Banks really really suck.
14 February 2002, 17:02
gym piss-offs
How to piss off the person on the treadmill beside you:
13 February 2002, 15:02
eat your french fries
Are you obsessed with healthy eating? Do you care more about the "virtue of a food" than the pleasure you receive from scarfing it down? You might just be an orthorexic.
12 February 2002, 14:02
adventure
I'm just back from the bus station where we bid a fond farewell to Trevor's step-brother Aubin, who is departing for a year-long trip of a lifetime. He is meeting his girlfriend out west, and the two of them will board a plane to Korea, and from there, they will go on to explore a great many other destinations including Fiji, New Zealand, Australia, and Malaysia.
As Aubin's family, and Trevor's family stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the glass, watching the bus fill up with people travelling to various places in Canada, I was so wrapped up in my feelings of excitement that I barely noticed the tears flowing around me. Aubin's parents and brother were obviously feeling apprehension at facing a year without him -- a year filled with potential dangers. I was experiencing a much different feeling; although of course I will miss him, I was feeling the thrill of anticipation. Joy. Trembling excitement. He is going to see parts of the world that I may never see, meet interesting people, experience new cultures. He is going on a true adventure.
No, what I was feeling, as Aubin lifted his hands to wave as the bus pulled out of the terminal, was tremendous excitement -- tinged of course with an undercurrent of envy.
12 February 2002, 13:02
Lunchtime cab ride
The taxi driver has a poem
fastened to the steering wheel:
verse inscribed to lined paper
in clean, unshaken, capital letters.
From the back seat I try to steal
a few words, try to piece together
lines and stanzas, but I just catch
the serif tails of "history", "daily", "rich"
before they slither beneath thin dark arms.
I wait for left and right turns;
as we turn corners, a few full phrases
glance up between his fingers,
and I can almost read them,
the words collecting, accumulating
like the numbers on the fare machine.
But then we are driving straight again,
where arms protect the secrets on the pages,
shield me from the truths
of a steering-wheel verse.
11 February 2002, 22:02
Morpo likes me after all
I had almost given up on hearing from them. I had just assumed that my submission was lost in the ether, or that it wasn't good enough to even justify a rejection letter. But, late last night, there it was: a reply from The Morpo Review -- a publication I have been trying to get into for years -- accepting two of my poems for their next issue. Makes Monday that much easier to tolerate.
11 February 2002, 12:02
My love turns 32 today
11 February 2002, 08:02
digging up old bones
I always forget how much I love to play games -- that is, until my usually-subdued competitive streak explodes in all its glory. Like today.
Games have always been a part of my life. I grew up with a family that loved to play Scrabble, 31, Rummy, Euchre, etc. My teen years witnessed the dawn of the arcade, and my tender adolescent years were often spent with my best friend at one of the two town arcades adrenaline pounding at the standalone Galaga, Frogger, Mr Do!, and DigDug machines, or concentratedly hunched over a table-top version of Ms. Pacman, allowance-permitting. And I was actually good sometimes. One Christmas I was overjoyed to unwrap a Colecovision mini-Pacman game that ate batteries and drove people crazy. I wish that I kept it.
And be assured that when Trevor and I find ourselves on holiday (such as the Brighton Palace Pier) we can't seem to pass by those life-sized racing cars without leaping in and racing each other until the money runs out.
So, thanks to a few online games of Dominoes with my Mom over pogo.com, I got a taste for gaming glory again, and I managed to spend the entire day battling bones with a challenging player from Alabama and newbie Trevor (who, btw, managed to kick my ass on a regular basis!).
So much for working on my new site.
10 February 2002, 20:02
And btw, I hate the Olympics
I can't seem to find my pom-poms. I'm feeling slightly underwhelmed. I just don't have the energy to chant "rah rah rah" as the Olympics unfurl on the TV. Why? Because I am disgusted by the obscene amount of money that is lavished on the host city competition, sunk into buildings that will stand empty afterward, and splashed about for various ceremonies and galas. I find it nauseating that homeless people are trucked out of host cities to provide the illusion that there are no poverty or housing problems. The environment suffers, people suffer, animals suffer, and the after-the-games-have-gone ecomony will suffer. All for a series of competitions that will be won mostly by wealthy countries whose athletes enjoy significant financial support. The Olympics are not about sport. They are about money. And frankly, even when it's possible to think beyond the obscenities, the Olympics are not even that interesting.
And to top it all off, the bloody games are pre-empting Coronation Street. Trevor is a little miffed, too.
09 February 2002, 22:02
i love saturdays
Saturday. I love Saturdays. Reading the "Focus" section and ignoring the rest of the Globe and Mail with a big mug of tea in hand. Sifting through blogs and email. Cooking a big breakfast to last the whole day. This morning it was poached eggs on spinach and mushrooms with beans and pan-fried potatoes. Working on my site. More email. Playing dominoes on Pogo with my Mom. Dinner with Trevor's dad, stop-mom and her two kids at the Queen Mother Cafe. A good day all round.
09 February 2002, 21:02
yay!
Just wanted to set out a congratulations to my Dad (and Mom, of course) for making it through 7 months of chemotherapy and radiation. This part of the journey is finally over.
08 February 2002, 22:02
This blog is not about work
Work-blogging: should we reconsider before ranting about the corrupt corportations we work for, or the annoying habits of our cube-mates? This and this got me thinking: should I worry about getting fired over the contents of my blog?
Back in September, I wrestled with this issue. My employer had announced that layoffs were coming, and three-week-long wait to find out who was getting the axe was unbearable. The lay-offing was cruelly executed. The following weeks were hellish. And I was documenting it all. My family were concerned that I might be placing my own job in jeopardy -- but blogging it was my sense of release. I didn't care if cost me my job (well I didn't want to care).
Things at my workplace still suck, and I suspect that they will continue to suck for some time. I placate myself with the positives: I live close to work; I work in a great building with a beautiful view; my co-workers are intelligent, creative, and fun people; I work on the web. It balances out the fact that every week a few people just disappear from their desks for no apparent reason. With no mention to anyone. Quietly. Sinister. I just have to hope that my blog doesn't sway them from placing my name on future lists.
08 February 2002, 09:02
Thursday, and the blogging is easy
Thanks again to code-saviour Neil, my blogs are once again functional. Alas, I have lost of my lovely comments, but at least I can post again. I have a bone to pick with my web hosting company, but *deep breath* I want to focus on the positive. I've been saving up some subjects to write about while in blog limbo, so look forward to multitudes of posts over the next few days. I need to make up for lost time.
07 February 2002, 11:02
My blog has fallen
... and it can't seem to get up. Patience, darlings, while I work this out.
06 February 2002, 14:02
Canadian blogs are sexy, too
Throughout my day's travels in blogland, I have stumbled across many links to this story on BBC News. I was pleased to see a few of my regular reads mentioned in the column, but of course, many greats were overlooked (i.e. Wherever You Are, Naked Blog, Blogging a Dead Horse, etc.).
Lately I am amazed (and, well, quite jealous) over the media coverage bestowed upon the UK blogging community. I wonder how long it will take the Globe and Mail or the National Post to follow the Guardian's lead. Has the Canadian media even heard of the blog? And if so, do they understand it's power?
Frankly, I doubt it.
04 February 2002, 16:02
Heaven knows I'm miserable now
"in my life, why do I smile
at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?"
Ah, nothing brings a tear to my eye and a spring to my fingers like the Smiths. Thanks to Trevor, I am enjoying a Smiths/Morrissey fest at work today. Just what a Monday needs.
From the Morrissey-Solo site: "After the demise of The Smiths, which of the following came closest to The Smiths' genius? The Stone Roses? Pulp? Suede? Blur? Oasis? Radiohead? Placebo? Belle and Sebastian? The Divine Comedy?Supergrass? Coldplay? Travis? None of the above?" Inquiring (and miserable) 30-something minds want to know.
04 February 2002, 15:02
Yeah, I crochet. Got a problem with that?
I write poetry. I'm addicted to the Internet. I love arty films, IKEA, philosophical discussions, loud music, and imported beer. I wear black and traipse around in Vegetarian Shoes.
Here's where I think that I may deviate from the stereotype: I crochet. Meaning, I take a hook and scads of wool and produce hand-made blankets. And sometimes with blinding speed. True, these creations are often black, grey, white, or a combination thereof, but at least they will match practically any decor, right? And I just can't tolerate pastels.
I realized today that I am perpetuating a bit of family tradition. My grandmother crocheted blankets for everyone in her family, often while watching soaps (or "plays", as she called them) or ignoring the hockey games my grandfather watched. These blankets were usually bestowed on children and grandchildren as they married. She died when I was fifteen, so I received one after-the-fact.
Imust have finished at least 25 blankets -- I don't know the final total because I have given most of them away as gifts to new mothers, co-workers, and family members. Today we presented my latest to Brian and Barbara as a belated wedding present.
I think that a handmade blanket offered at a time of love and celebration seems a fitting gift. And, anyway, it feels like I am able to give a little bit of my history.
03 February 2002, 21:02
Windy me
Thought that I would pay homage to this evening's wind storm by blowing my own horn a little: four of my poems have been published in February's issue of Mentress Moon. It's been so bloody long since I've published anything that I just had to mention this little event.
01 February 2002, 17:02
Herd Heading Home
Wind chases the whitehorses eastward,
their ivory manes cresting above churning grey;
they muscle against each other,
leaping forward, disappearing downward
with the suck and swell of troubled water
01 February 2002, 17:02