lake love
One of the best things about living next to a very large body of water is the smell. I love the fresh wetness clinging to the air in the morning on my way to work. The thick wateryness of fog rolling in from the island. The stirred earthy dampness after a thunderstorm. I even enjoy the heaviness of "wet dog" in the air throughout humid stretches in summer, but prefer the chilled crispness of lake water mixing with snow. I am in love with the smell that it leaves on my skin, how it feels travelling down into my lungs.
31 July 2002, 22:07
but my genes won't co-operate
For 24 hours I would like to experience what it feels like to walk around in a slightly-curved and elfin body, wearing girly-girl dresses and clingy tops.
Sometimes it just plain sucks that no matter how many 15-pound weights I throw around or how many sweat-drenched treadmill/bike/ski machine sessions I can squeeze into a week, I am always going to look this. Bah.
31 July 2002, 11:07
a night like this
Trevor and a friend are watching tennis at York University (yes, I should know the name of the championship/league/tournament/whatever, but my interest in the sport is nonexistent; thus, I am unable to divulge). So, with 5 post-work hours to myself I plan to:
- make a big crock pot of veggie chili for when the boys come home
- read the last 35 pages of Love and Sleep by Sean O'Reilly
- peruse my daily blog reading list
- figure out how to work the VCR -- and if successful:
- tape the final episode of The Mole
- remove all traces of chili preparation from various kitchen surfaces
- decide whether or not do a few loads of laundry
- make myself some dinner (probably a veggie back bacon sandwich)
- start to read The English Harem by Anthony McCarten
- avoid all web design/editing projects
30 July 2002, 19:07
to the airport and back
We drove to the airport in the thick and shimmering heat, asphalt soft beneath the thousands of cars and trucks crawling along the expressway. Upon our arrival, the main floor of Terminal 3 was crammed full of kids returning to various countries after the World Youth Day festivities. Downstairs, in Arrivals, it was much quieter -- about 50 people fidgeting and shifting feet in anticipation of the arrival of the 19:36 flight from St. John's, Newfoundland.
On the way home, under a turbulent sky, and tires slapping on the slick stretch of rain-drenched highway, our passengers talked excitedly about their three-week adventure, giddy with post-trip euphoria. We listened intently as their buoyant words bounced around the inside of the car. Wonderful people. Gorgeous scenery. Tasty cuisine.
Holiday stories are the most delicious when delivered fresh off the plane.
29 July 2002, 22:07
"humidex advisory in effect"
Sweet mother of Hades, it's unbearably hot and oppressively humid today. Walking home from work I had to carve my route from the greyish-brown air. Breathing was like trying to suck in warm milk.
29 July 2002, 17:07
i guess it had to end sometime
I've been off from work since Tuesday. Voluntary, of course; I took three days of vacation.
And alas, tomorrow I must pry my unwilling fingers from my own seductive projects and trudge my way up the street to bang out tags for "the man" -- refocusing my attention from writing, style sheets, and design to the good old CTRL-X/CTRL-V. Well, at least it pays the bills.
Note: offers of lucrative, highly-creative, mentally-challenging employment welcome.
Thoughts of work aside, these past five days I have enjoyed a wonderful mini-holiday. All that time spent hiking, wandering, driving, and talking. All that time spent with someone whose company I never tire of, even though we've been together a million years.
I feel centred and relaxed and inspired. Ready to tackle the dreaded Monday Morning Meeting. Well, maybe after a few vodkas before bed.
28 July 2002, 21:07
emerging from the black hole of time
At around 10:00 this morning I decided to do some work on the Hospice site. And now, almost nine hours later I am still here -- with only two giant teas and a toasted veggie back bacon sandwich in my stomach. Good thing that I started to feel dehydrated and dizzy from hunger, and that I was snapped back into reality by a Christmas carol on CBC (wtf?) or I may have never stopped.
28 July 2002, 18:07
really, there's a fence there
Last year my parents paid some serious cash to have invisible fencing installed for their dog, Benny. It involves laying a line of cable around the perimeter of the property. A sensor is attached to the dog's collar, and whenever he gets too close to the area where the cable is buried, he hears a warning sound not audible to human ears. And if he ignores the warning, the next sound is high-pitched enough to cause him distress. Needless to say, Benny never crosses the line.
What Benny gains from the arrangement is that he never needs to be tied up; he has free reign of the property. Mom has the piece of mind knowing that he isn't going to run out in front of a car, plus, she can just let him out whenever, and not need to worry about trudging through snow or wet grass to tie him up. During the day neighbours can let him out and not worry about him running away. Other dogs or kids can drop by and play without entanglement in leashes.
The only strange thing about it when Benny goes running to the sidewalk barking at someone, but stops dead in his tracks. People who don't know about the fence must wonder why he stops there, and doesn't jump all over them. Perhaps they mistakenly think that he's just well-trained.
27 July 2002, 23:07
a moment
When we arrived at my parents' house yesterday afternoon while Mom was still at work, I expected Dad to be there. It was like nothing had ever happened, and I knew that he was in the bedroom watching TV. But, of course, he wasn't.
And when I went downstairs to get some paper towels from the contraption my dad made in the basement many years ago, there was his workbench: screwdrivers and hammers lying silent on the wooden platform. I thought of all the times he fixed my bike there, or the various shelves he built for my mountains of books.
And the tears came. But it was a good thing.
27 July 2002, 17:07
the pope
This afternoon I was 3 metres away from the Pope.
At my request, Trevor and I went out for pancakes this morning, and after a rather unsatisfying visit to the Golden Griddle, we took a walk through the city and then let our curiosity lead us to the World Youth Day festivities.
It was actually quite a wild experience: 16-35 year-olds speaking in so many languages, flags flying proudly, and groups suddenly bursting into football chant-like songs. We walked over to the barrier and found a place to stand in the shade. About an hour later, 4 or 5 helicopters thundered over our heads and landed in a nearby parking lot. Fifteen minutes later, with an entourage in front and security flanking him, the Pope cruised by in his infamous Pope Mobile, mustering a smile and a wave.
And the crowd around me went insane. People were screaming and crying, then running along the back of the crowd trying to get another glimpse of the Pontiff.
There was so much joy in the crowd around me. I was happy for them.
25 July 2002, 19:07
hospice hospitality
About five months ago I didn't really know what "hospice" meant. It was a word that I associated with AIDs patient care. But in March, when my dad became very ill so quickly and it became apparent that he would need round-the-clock care, the hospital suggested that we contact the local hospice organization -- and I learned that hospice means so much more. I found out that volunteers sit with chronic or terminally ill patients through the night so that family and friends can get a bit of rest. They also provide programs to help people enjoy and celebrate the time they have left. And when the inevitable happens, hospice provides bereavement support and other types of counselling.
Even though Hospice Wellington provided care for my dad for a very short period of time, I quickly became aware of the good work that they do for the community -- almost always on a volunteer business. I felt compelled to do something good for them. Since it would be impossible for me to volunteer my time due to work/location/vehiclelessness, I decided to get them their own domain name and build them a better website.
The website process has been going on for months, and we are only at the first draft stage. There is still a lot of work to be done, but it's work that I enjoy. It brings me happiness and a little bit of peace. I needed to do a really good job for them.
Today, for the first time, I was able to meet some of the staff in Guelph. The offices were small and were contained in the basement of the building. The volunteers were busy making sandwiches for a luncheon, but they stopped to meet me and with wide smiles asked me to lunch. And walking into the place and spending an hour there felt like someone was holding my hand, and still hasn't let go.
24 July 2002, 19:07
a perfect day
Driving down county roads and sideroads, trying to find one that we hadn't driven before. Map balanced on my lap. Dust billowing in our wake. The Smiths and Beautiful South through the speakers. Ridges of white clouds and the beautiful blue sky. Laughing out loud at our own jokes.
Hiking blissfully soulless trails at the Forks of the Credit Provincial Park. Gorgeous scents of grass, trees, and wildflowers. Birds and cicadas filling the air with song. Hot wind and cool shade. Wide open sky stretching between grassy kettles and hills.
A quest for raspberries at a country vegetable and fruit market ending in the sampling of fruit wine and the purchase of Strawberry Sunrise, Blueberry Blush, and a fresh loaf of sourdough bread.
Walking in the darkness along the quay, envying boats and stealing glimpses into yachts. Walking along the deserted south pier watching small planes landing at the airport. Music from party boats drifting in from the lake. Enjoying a visit from a water bird that we've never seen before. Marvelling at the presence of stars. A kiss. Laughing out loud at our own jokes.
24 July 2002, 12:07
rc parade
Thousands of young people passed on the street outside our apartment today. I saw them on my way to work, at lunch, on my way home, and even now as they walk beneath our window yelling and singing or ride the crammed streetcars. Sometimes they are walking in groups and waving flags. Often they wear a piece of clothing that connects them to a group. And everyone totes the same wine-coloured backpack. It's all quite a spectacle. And it's only just begun.
23 July 2002, 23:07
moment
Belly full of Grasshopper and lemon. Sitting on the on the pier at the edge of Spadina, watching the party boats pass on the unusually calm water. No more planes landing at the airport; the landing curfew has passed. The not-quite-full moon dripping light onto the ripple of lake. Chatting about the evening, and enjoying the beautiful and almost-silence of water. Not even minding the group of German/Swedish/? youths that suddenly descended upon the pier, chattering at length to themselves in a tongue we could not recognize. Still, after three years, not believing that we live here, at one of the beautiful edges of our country.
22 July 2002, 23:07
pontiff-icating
The Pope is coming to our backyard. Literally. From July 18 until the 28th, Roman Catholics from over 150 countries are here in Toronto for World Youth Day. The real party starts on Tuesday at Exhibition Place and in the surrounding park areas -- just up the street from our apartment.
When Trevor and I took a walk on Friday, security was already in place -- as well as the longest row of port-a-loos I have ever seen. I guess that when you expect 300,000 people in one place, there had better be enough facilities. For days the air has been dotted with helicopters, and the streets have been graced with new signage. For the next week our road is going to be shut down, and I suspect that we won't be able to walk our regular routes through the park. A minor inconvenience, really. I know that this visit holds tremendously significance for a great many people.
We'll see what the next week brings. I might even let curiousity get the better of me and take a walk down the street to sneak a peek at the festivities, hoping, of course, that they haven't set any agnostic alarms.
21 July 2002, 21:07
a moment of buoyancy
Floating. Arms stretched out, letting the water carry me upward to just below the surface. Just my eyes, nose, and mouth above water. The voices of the children laughing and splashing, and the adults trying to engage in conversations above the kids' clamour has slipped into a garbled movie voice-track; sound dissipates in a slow-motion echo. Muted by water. And I feel like I can float like this for hours, putting water between me and the world.
20 July 2002, 21:07
separating sisters
As her scissors snipped and my hair fell in wispy blonde bits to the floor, we talked about our summers. I talked about hanging about and trying to avoid the heat. She talked about her son finishing his OACs in summer school and their plans to go to a cottage to relax afterward, sometime in August.
And then she told me that she had most hoped to have her sister over for a visit -- from "her country" where she lived up until three years ago. I could hear the sudden sadness in her voice when she talked about missing her sister and the problems getting her a visa. Perhaps I should have realized from her accent that my hair stylist was from Iran, but I just never gave it any thought -- that's what it's like and what I love about living in a multicultural city.
It just made me feel sad to realize that in the "big world" some countries are engaging in political, economic, and religious fistfights, but on a human level, loved ones go missing, families are kept apart, and sisters are not permitted to see each other.
19 July 2002, 16:07
shopping
Another Friday off. How lovely. And since we still have a car, we are going to do some serious shopping this morning: loads of veg, tons of cans, and every family-sized, club-pack, bulk item we can get our hands upon. Today we do not have to walk 3 km lugging heavy carrier bags or awkward-shaped packages home, nor will we need to shell out cash for a taxi to do the lugging for us. Today will not be the usual every other day "nip into the market" to pick up enough supplies and veg for a few nights' suppers.
No, my friends, today will be a shopping extravanganza.
19 July 2002, 10:07
pregnant pauses
Sometimes I am almost bursting with things I want to say. I can feel the pressure building in my stomach, my heart squeezing blood through constricted vessels, my skin stretching, my brain pressing against the inside of my skull. I am filled to capacity with of thoughts and images and moments that have filled my throat; they all wait anxiously, but silently, inside my mouth. Waiting for the right questions. Waiting to offer the answers.
18 July 2002, 20:07
house plants are good for you
17 July 2002, 20:07
bagpipes and ballyhoo
For the second night in a row, as Trevor and I were walking through the lakeside park near our apartment, we heard to the north the distinct, musical vibrating sound: a chorus (a gaggle?) of bagpipes. Smack in the middle of the largest city in Canada. Imagine.
Note: I know well the sound of bagpipes. The small Ontario town where I grew up was founded by Scottish settlers and their traditions have been kept up since -- right up to the Presbyterian church on the hill and the pipe band that marches up St. Andrew Street before the Highland Games. My neighbours were pipers. My friends' neighbours were pipers. Bagpipes have greatly contributed to the soundtrack of my early life.
Rounding the southwest corner of the park, bagpipe drone still audible, we heard a large crowd cheering and applauding. It turns out that the Guess Who are playing the Molson Amphitheatre tonight and it appears that they still have some fans left.
Certainly a lot of excitement for a Tuesday evening power walk.
16 July 2002, 21:07
crabby cabbie
Running behind schedule, I decided to forgo the hurried 20-minute walk to my appointment and dashed from the front door of the building through the thick, sticky air to the cabs waiting on the street. Along the route to my appointment, the cab driver was pleasant, talking about the excessive heat and how much we'll appreciate this weather when the snow arrives.
Soon we arrived at the destination. The meter read $5.25. Always a tipper, I handed the driver a $20 and asked for $14 back. You don't have anything else? he snapped rather snarkily. No, I replied, wondering where Mr. Nice Cab Driver went. You don't have anything else? he repeated, frustrated, as he rifled through his bulging purse for change. No. I'm sorry I don't. A minute passed, and with a mutter and a vigorous head-shaking, the cab driver thrust a ten and three coins into my hands. I was a little shocked and a lot annoyed. Is it my fault that all ATMs spit out only 20s?
I wish now that I hadn't left him a tip, and that I had asked for the $14.75.
16 July 2002, 19:07
review this
It's mid-year review time at work. It's the time when we, the workers, must complete the dreaded three-page form, itemizing our day-to-day menial tasks, trying to make them sound important. It's the time when we must figure out (or make up) our objectives and assign them a number from 1-5 based upon how well we think that we have performed this year. A "1" or "2" means that you shouldn't even be employed by the firm. A "4" or a "5" is unattainable. So everyone ends up being a "3". Every six months it's the same exercise in futility. And, not only does it waste time, the process places even more stress upon the already extremely stressed-out masses. Everyone is cranky and worried about their jobs.
Something strange has happened to me this time, however. While I still see the review process as a total pain in the ass, I am not obsessing about it this time. Frankly, I'm indifferent. For the most part, I like my job and the people. I'm happy just to remain employed there. Something in me no longer craves the ever-elusive "4".
Needless to say, under "short-term career plans" I put: "to remain a contributing and vibrant member of the team". I wonder how they will interpret that.
15 July 2002, 21:07
treasure
When 
my grandmother's sister -- my Great Aunt Nancy -- moved from her apartment into "the home", some of her things came to me. I've always thought that they were beautiful, but I haven't spent that much time trying to find out their history. Today, while Trevor was tirelessly and expertly snapping photos of my treasures, I started looking up information about her blue glass dresser plate with mermaids etched in the back, and the matching blue glass mermaid candle stick holder. But alas, I don't even know from which era it hails so I don't know whether to start with milk glass or depression glass.
I moved on to look up some details on a gorgeous ring that also belonged to my aunt. At one time, there was a locket behind the turquoise and seed pearl face, but efforts years ago to open it resulted in everything crumbling to dust. Today I learned about hallmarks -- those symbols engraved into the ring by goldsmiths -- and found out that my ring is from Birmingham, and that it's probably over a hundred years old. There is a mysterious "J.P." that I can't place. But that's all that I uncovered.
Then
my research travels took me to various Waltham watch sites to try and find out more about the gold pocket watch that came from my Dad's family. But alas, I can't seem to pry off the dust cover to get a good look at the movement. So, no serial number, no cold hard facts.
I didn't even try to find out about the engraved, silver hairbrush and mirror set with some other elusive initials: CMW.
So, if anything looks familiar to you, send me an email. I'd like to know what stories these treasures can tell.
14 July 2002, 20:07
blogchalk
Google! DayPop! This is my blogchalk: English, Canada, Toronto, Female, 31-35!
14 July 2002, 19:07
the beach
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I took my shoes off and walked in the water where I spent a week of every summer. Trevor and I walked along the beach crowded with cars and kids and umbrellas and inflated animals and waterwings. And even the small clouds of perfumey sunscreen could not obliterate the unmistakeable smell of sand and the water. It was everywhere. And, of course, so was he.
13 July 2002, 10:07
thanks to the groovy guardian
My naked blog buddy from Bonnie Scotland alerted me this morning that my blog has been added to the Guardian's Weblog list (I'm actually here under "World weblogs", and also, pssst, I'm from Canada and not the U.S., mate). It's a lovely honour. An extra special welcome to you if you are arriving via the Guardian. Now, if only I could get another fine U.K. publication to publish some of my poems!
12 July 2002, 20:07
A car
When Trevor and I moved to Toronto, it quickly became apparent that we longer required a car. Aside from the financial burden of doubling insurance and a hefty $100/month to lease a parking space, there were also some environmental concerns. Why contribute to the ongoing smog problem when a streetcar passes our apartment every 10 minutes, and we live a ten-minute walk from the train station? So, after always having owned a car while we lived together, we called a auctioneer firm and they drove our little Hyundai into the sunset.
Although we anticipated much heartache and headache over the loss of a vehicle, such was not the case. We love walking all over the city, and taking transit or a taxi in a pinch works quite well. And when we don't take the bus or train to visit my Mom (our rail system here in Canada is rather pathetic, and it's difficult to get around even the south of Ontario), we rent a car -- a brand new car with a/c, pine-fresh interior, and a CD player. A car that doesn't require us a say a short prayer before we start it or when the weather gets nasty. We have come to appreciate cars.
So now that we have Trevor's dad's car for three weeks, we don't know what to do with ourselves. I immediately took today off to celebrate. After all, it's a glorious sunny Friday. And, the open road is calling our name. In an hour or so, we hope to be flying down the highway toward Lake Huron with sarnies and bevvies chilling in the cooler and rocking out to one of Trevor's mixed CDs that he has prepared for the occasion.
Who knows what the remaining 19 days will hold. I'm sure that there will be grocery and cat supply shopping (something that is never fun on foot), but I also suspect that we'll be heading to the hills for hiking and to the country for drives.
Expect lots of photos.
12 July 2002, 09:07
blogging on sunshine
Excuse the Katrina and the Waves reference. It won't happen again. I just needed a way to express what an incredibly beautiful day it is today. It's sunny, clear, and warm, and I am grateful for the lack of humidity. It is a perfect summer day. The lake is sparkling cerulean outside my window, and the seagulls are sailing through a light warm wind. Today was such a gorgeous day that I decided it should be Friday. I'm taking a day off work tomorrow, so my weekend starts... now.
11 July 2002, 16:07
the privilege of sleep
I've always been a "light sleeper". It takes very little to startle me from a dream. I usually wake when up when Trevor does, and sometimes I wake up just because he has turned over. I am easily awakened by the dog barking in the apartment upstairs, by people moving furniture through the hall to their storage locker, by kids outside in the courtyard, or by Sarah yeowling in her own dreams. Sometimes the air conditioner coming on puts an end to sleep. Sometimes it's just my own thoughts.
But, for the past few weeks it's the actual getting to sleep that's the problem. I haven't strayed from my usual routine. I have a glass of wine or beer, take a few St. Johns Worts, and watch some mind-numbing TV until my eyelids start to droop. As soon as a sleepy moment presents itself, I hasten to bed as quickly as possible. However, lately, as soon as I'm settled in under the duvet, I realize that sleep is a long way off. Every sound suddenly seems decibels louder. I get anxious and irritated. And sometimes it take hours before I drift off.
I can't pinpoint what particular neurosis is keeping me from my tango with the sandman; all I know is that at midnight, I am nowhere near the dancefloor.
And I can tell you, after several consecutive nights of 4 hours sleep, I am not tripping the light fantastic.
10 July 2002, 19:07
a plague upon my face
Yesterday I realized that my head was mostly cleared of snot and that my coughs had begun to subside. But only when I felt that distinct tingling on my upper lip did I know for certain two things: 1. the cold sores have begun, which in turn means that 2. my cold has decided that it's done with me.
Herpes simplex virus-1. If you get cold sores or live with someone who gets them, you know that they are evil incarnate; if you do not act within minutes of the all-too-familiar tingle, they immediately spread, manifesting their nastiness all over any patch of skin in the vicinity. A plague upon one's face.
The first stage is the tingle. And then, the painful ballooning of skin when it feels as big as a plum on your lip, and you are certain that everyone can see it at fifty paces. Then more tiny painful blisters. Sometimes more. With each application of $100 cream (that does not cause the sore to stop in its tracks and disappear, but instead works to shorten the duration), you hope that you have put a stop to the madness, but then a few more pop up just to make sure that you're paying attention. $100 cream finally kicks in and then dries out all of the skin around your lips and nose (which, btw, is already red and sore from continuous blowing).
Then everything cracks open. I know that it's graphic and horrible, but it's the truth. Your face cracks open. You open your mouth to speak or laugh and you feel the skin tear. Sometimes you feel the warm rivulet of blood move down your chin. You must remember to carry tissues for emergency guffaws. And then, because your face is a scabby mess, your significant other doesn't want you to go out in public because it looks as though you have been smacked in the face; he or she doesn't appreciate the accusatory glances.
It's all such a pathetic state of affairs.
09 July 2002, 20:07
new life
I have known her since we were five years old. We met in kindergarten, and shared every grade through to the end of high school. When we became friends, we hung out at the arcade, frequented a dingy little place called Chucks, and smoked cigarettes under one of the town's bridges. We made prank phone calls and sang to Def Leppard and Big Country in her bedroom. I went to her house before school to cake on the black eyeliner that my parents wouldn't let me wear. We shopped together, drove to parties and dances together, kept each other's secrets, and chased after boys. And now, my oldest friend -- a person for whom I have always felt tremendous admiration and fondness, and a person whom I really miss in my life -- is a new mom. Madelynn Grace is going to have the coolest Mom ever.
08 July 2002, 21:07
one year
It was a rainy day. I welcomed the opportunity to stay inside, working on my site. I had a whole afternoon to allow my brain the freedom to lose itself in mindless surfing, to let myself be distracted from the things I didn't want to face.
I started this blog a year ago -- to keep a personal, but very private journal about the feelings and thoughts that arrived with the news in early July that my Dad had cancer. I hadn't planned announcing my new blog's presence. I didn't expect that I would be keeping it in a place where the world could see it. I just signed up for a Blogger account and gave it a shot.
A year later I realize that it has become much more than I expected.
Each day I have made a concerted effort to produce an entry -- not because I felt that it was necessary or that I had some kind of readership to which I owed a written thought, but because I wanted to keep going. And for as many days as I could in these past twelve months, I have kept going -- recording moments of happiness and clarity, some silly thoughts, and the most difficult days in my life.
When I read that people are giving up on their blogs because they feel pressured or tormented by them, part of me is confused and part of me is sad. I guess that it's because my blog has always been about me and for me; I like to come here each day and share a little tidbit or unload a truckfull of crap. It's like a little gift to myself.
So. Happy anniversary to me.
08 July 2002, 21:07
mustard field
08 July 2002, 20:07
indy afternoon
Lucky me. Trevor scored some complimentary grounds passes to the Molson Indy qualifying round and my boss let me have the afternoon off to attend. My intent was to take some pictures and send them to the sports editor in time for the late afternoon publish of the website.
I really wasn't all that interested in going, but the sky was a brilliant blue and the humidity was non-existent and the trek to the CNE grounds with Trevor was terribly inviting. So, camera in hand we headed over.
I must say that I was quite impressed by the whole affair. It was rather exciting to see the seating for those willing to pay gobs of money for "gold" and "silver" slivers of metal plank to park beneath their bottoms. It was nice to be surrounded by so many people passionate about their sport. And best of all, it was incredibly cool to be so close to real racing cars. Bright-coloured, blindingly-fast, ear-piercingly-loud (and corporately-plastered) shiny racing cars.
After the qualifying round was over, we headed home to sort through the snaps and decide what would be appropriate for the site. There wasn't much to pick from (due mostly to the fact that 2-3 chain link fences separated the crowd from the cars), but with a half hour to spare I sent a note to work asking if they would me to send some photos anyway.
But -- surprise -- they had all left early to have a few beers. I guess that we all managed to enjoy some of our Friday afternoon.
05 July 2002, 21:07
a canadian poet laureate?
It's true. According to the CBC, Canada will celebrate its first poet laureate this Autumn.
04 July 2002, 20:07
closet editor
Several times a week I have the delicious job of editing the movie reviews and celebrity interviews that are featured on the web portal where I work. I say "delicious" because I have discovered that I crave editing; I devour any editing jobs as quickly as they arrive in my inbox.
Of course, I whine to my colleagues and feign utter disgust at the state of some of the pieces that come in. I joke about the atrocious grammar and the mangled sentences and the colloquillisms and the dangling participles; however, just between you and me, I relish the thought of flexing my editing muscle. It permits me the scarce opportunity to use my brain at work, and it keeps me in a writing frame of mind.
And just to add an extra challenge, I mark up the piece first, and edit it in HTML instead of Word. That way I balance the inner geek with the closet editor. And for a few short hours there is a lovely equilibrium.
A tag-banger has to find her kicks somewhere, you know.
04 July 2002, 20:07
a pint-sized vodka and cran
That's what I am trying to enjoy right now, home early from work and trying to forget about the day's events. I am also trying to forget about today's big meeting that concluded with the phrase "we can't promise that there will be no layoffs". That double negative speaks volumes to me.
I don't know how much longer I can deal with this. Any job I've had, I've put my heart and soul into. I'm one of those people that feels compelled to work hard and do a good job, regardless of how I feel about the company itself. I know that it's annoying to other people but I can't help it -- I need to be good at what I do. I need to accomplish things. I need to excel. But the every-three-month threat of layoffs and re-orgs, coupled with the politics of a big organization really wear me out sometimes. I feel like whatever I do, I can't win. And sometimes, like now, I feel like I'm on the verge of a nervous fucking breakdown.
03 July 2002, 17:07
the hellish heat
I cannot believe the heat. It's incredible. 35-45 degrees Celsius. Instead of the usual sticky icky humidity that we usually receive here on the shores of massive Lake Ontario, it is what I now understand to be "dry heat". Dry as in oven turned up to "broil". As Trevor and I were walking the short distance between work and the sub shop at lunchtime, I felt like I was baking in my own skin. The sun was oppressive. All that I could think about was shade, and the a/c running full-tilt in our apartment at home -- an oasis of cool. If you haven't guessed it already, this fair-haired, pink-skinned girl doesn't relish the idea of lying on a beach or lounging in the back garden with her skimpies on.
The sun is nice -- from under the shade of a nice leafy tree, from my window or from behind a cloud.
02 July 2002, 20:07
almost forgot
Happy 135th, Canada!
01 July 2002, 21:07
gay pride parade
We waited for an hour and a half in the heavy heat, clad in hats and sunwear, skin slicked in a suncreen film. The sun beat down relentlessly, and we wondered how much more of it we could take. But the rest of the million people seemed to be doing ok, so we stuck it out, leaning on the barriers, watching the empty pavement, and waiting some more.
And then the men and women came, clanging cans and collecting money. Their t-shirts used sexual terms to draw attention to the cause (however, I was at a loss for words when the young Asian man next to me told me that he didn't speak much English and wanted to know what "hung" meant).
Police cars announced the beginning of the event, and then the black leather and studded people roared down the street on motorcycles. And it began: the legendary two and a half hour Gay Pride Parade of elaborate costumes and sparkling floats; of gay pipers and "master beaters"; of activists and peace-seekers; of pounding music, leather, and sequins; of Cher, false eyelashes, and high heels; and of bare chests, bare bottoms, and a few bare fronts.
The crowd was into it: they cheered, danced, clapped, hooted, and heckled. And the paraders were certainly into it: muscled and oiled bodies writhed on the flatbeds of trucks; squirt-gun batallions open-fired on the crowd while others launched water-bombs; and those dressed to the nines in formal gowns and stilettos strutted down the road, pausing for every photo and crowd-working opportunity. It would have been nice to have had less corporate sponsorship, but I guess that it helps to pay the bills.
It was a great time, but it was so hot and humid that instead of heading to the dance, drink, and exhibitionist party that follows the parade, we went to a nice bar patio and enjoyed a bit of beer and a bit of shade. But I'm sure that Church Street was alive and pumping well into this morning. They're probably still going.
Trevor captured the event in photos.
01 July 2002, 09:07