going transit

I was so close to losing my shit on the train today. Like, seriously.

The train is generally fullish, but there's space when I ride because it's a bit early. Today a few people ahead of me decided to get on and stand in the doorway, even though there was room further into the train car. And it wasn't like it was a surprise that people wanted to get on because people kept saying, "Excuse me, excuse me, can you let me on?" So I managed to squeeze by the clump and stood beside a guy with an enormous backpack on his back. And he kept swinging it without noticing that he was hitting me and dangerously close to the heads of the people sitting. Then, as I held onto the pole, a guy decided he was too tired to stand and leaned on the pole where my hand was. Fine. I moved my hand up farther. Then he leaned his head back, right onto my hand. So I kindly asked him if he could not lean on the pole because I had nowhere to put my hand. People glared at me, like I did something wrong. My ride to work takes about seven minutes. Seven minutes of hell.

And I'm not sure why these things annoyed me extra today, but they did. When I got off the train after work it was the same story. The guy in front of me had to say "excuse me" four times before people would move out of the way so we could get off. And then a couple of them crowded the doorway so they wouldn't lose their choice spots. I "accidentally" bumped into them like a pinball... uh... ball. I realise I'm adding to the problem, but I was feeling extra intolerant today.

Maybe it's time to take another trip. Any suggestions? One thing to consider: I don't like hot places/sun very much. Or at all. It's my naturally pastey white skin that lacks melanin, making me unable to sit in the sun for more than a few minutes. Which is why I like the fall. And the spring.

Oh, the plum blossoms are coming out. It's just a matter of time until the cherry blossoms are out, and then it will be time to ohanami (flower viewing party), consisting of concealed alcohol and random food items consumed while sitting under cherry blossoms. Can't wait.

Currently reading :
Drugs Are Nice : A Post-Punk Memoir
By Lisa Crystal Carver
Release date: 12 October, 2005

defrosting

In my mail today there was an invitation to an art opening. The subject matter in the image: crows. I'm not even joking. I also had a drink called Murder of Crows last night and it was the colour of what it would look like after they ripped my entrails out of my body.

My trip wasn't restful, but it was nice. The highlight was a visit with my grandparents, both in their 90s. Everytime I leave I bawl because I know it could be the last time I see them. They've been married for over 70 years and really rely on each other. I honestly don't think they could live without each other. My grandfather is grumpy, always looking at the things they can't do anymore, while my grandmother is positive and points out what they can do. And they have amazing stories. They are sweet and I'm always grateful when I see them.

I love visiting Edmonton. I still have some fantastic friends there and, obviously, my grandparents. It just feels different there, good different, and I'm always glad when I go. It's just easier. But I can't imagine moving back. My friends bought a house built in 1947 with all the original features (curved door frames, hardwood floors, inset laminate curved up at the corners, etc.) and seven bedrooms. Seven! Lofts downtown on Jasper start at $90,000. And, even though I'm completely jealous, I don't know that being able to afford a house there is enough for me. Even my old prof suggested that there's so much work in the museum field that I could get in with just my BSc (they usually require a Masters). And it's all tempting. It is. I just... can't.

But, then again, I could.

I won't, though. Just when I feel like I'm getting my stuff all in order, with school and the prospective new apartment, the temptation of skipping town pops up again. I'm probably getting too old for running away when I don't want to deal with something or when I get nervous about failure. Will just have to make more trips to Edmonton. Besides, I can't visit Dulcie and Nels too often because they just get me stinking drunk and shove homemade perogies into me until I feel like the explodey guy from The Meaning of Life.

This week: controller.controller/You Say Party! We Say Die!/Meligrove Band. Exciting! Still have a Belle and Sebastian ticket to sell for the 24th.

Currently watching :
Fever Pitch (Widescreen Edition)
Release date: 13 September, 2005

a sad day

So it's official. The Conservatives have a minority government.

For those that voted for the Conservatives: do you not remember how much Mulroney fucked up this country?! Harper is even worse than Mulroney because he's already Bush's bitch. And, as a woman, I am bracing for the legislature he's going to try to push through that will essentially take away women's right to choose, right to equal pay, social programs targeted to women of lower socioeconomic standing... It was all stuff he talked about doing. And I'm pretty sure that within the year he'll be sending troops to Iraq. Public opinion? What's that?

At least I'll feel represented in my riding. She's got my back.

Currently listening :
Live It Out
By Metric
Release date: 04 October, 2005

work is wack

Yesterday at work one of my co-workers suddenly stopped what she was doing, looked frantically around her desk, and said, "I think I just put my purse in the fridge." I guffawed at her. "No, I'm serious," said she with tears brimming in her eyes. So I watched as she went to the fridge and pulled out her purse and some milk. She's 27.

The head of our floor has a tendency of yelling from her office when she wants someone. So, say she's supposed to have a meeting at 4. At 3:59 she will yell something like, "Is anyone coming to the meeting?" and start naming names. If they don't answer within 3 seconds she'll repeatedly yell their name until that person answers or someone confirms that person's whereabouts. She also plays a lot of solitaire throughout the day on her computer.

The guy on the other side of the divider from me knows everything about Broadway productions. Just yesterday another co-worker/friend asked me what that musical was, the one with the horse and something else in the title song, and I said I had no idea what she was talking about. In an accusatory tone, she said, "Well, Paul would know." Of course he would. He's given her bootlegs of Liza and most of his Ethel Merman collection.

Someone has a Golden Girls/Bea Arthur fixation and it isn't me. I pointed out to my friend a T-shirt for sale online that has the GGs with the slogan "Stay Golden." She is anxious for its arrival and subsequent wearings to work. She also bought Season 4 the day it was released.

My supervisor is on leave for the next month.

Yes, despite all this excitement, I'm taking a few days off to get my bearings and freeze my ass off. In Alberta. My friend is taking time off to go to London and Paris a day after I get back, another just got back from Hawaii, and I'm going to Alberta. Sigh.

Currently watching :
Pecker
Release date: 23 February, 1999

terry underwear

I set my alarm for an early start today. I'm up to make sure everything is in place for me to get Belle & Sebastian tickets this morning. They go on sale at 10am and I want to leave no chance for error. I'm convinced they'll sell out in minutes and I'll be disappointed if I miss them. Again.

Sure, the Commodore is the last place I'd want to see them. As a room, it's lovely. As a music venue, it's pretty close to shit. Tall people often stand at the front of the stage, blocking the view for those 10 feet behind them, and they wear baseball hats that seem to cover even more of the view when they look up and the bill acts as a halo barrier. And why would you have to get that drunk to see anything, nevermind something you pay such ridiculous service charges on? Now that I think about it, maybe it's men at the Commodore that I have the problem with... No, no, it's the venue.

The floor doesn't bounce like it used to. So nostalgic for the old floor. And I even miss the gaudy water/light pillars that lined the sides of the floor. There's something not right about that place.

But this show would be worth all the shit-talk. Aside from loving B&S (and I do, I really do; all fey and twee and all that good stuff), there is a strong possibility that Todd Fancey will be one of the openers, and I really want to see him. His music reminds me of summer in the '70s. And, you know, he's kinda cute.

Currently listening :
If You're Feeling Sinister
By Belle & Sebastian
Release date: 23 June, 1999


UPDATE: success!!!

burn

There was a fire alarm at work this afternoon. For the longest time there were alarms every week, all but one being false alarms. (The one that wasn't was a small paper fire in the parkade, set by some punk kids who were trying to steal bikes.) There hasn't been one for quite a while. Today we had to evacuate the whole building, which rarely happens.

Each floor has a systematic evacuation routine. On my floor, the patrons were reluctant to leave, even though we're allowed to physically remove them if necessary. The alarm was annoyingly loud, but they just sat there, reading their books like they were deaf. My co-worker had to yell at a guy five times to leave the building, and even then he was still browsing. I also yelled at him, just because I'm mean, and he sauntered (sauntered!) to the exit.

If it were a real fire they would be so dead.

As it was, we lost one of our employees. She went... somewhere... and we didn't find her until we were allowed back in. So, had it been a real fire, the head of our department would be trapped inside looking for her, dealing with smoke inhalation, or dead. Thanks, new girl who didn't want to leave the building, even though the alarm was going off.

Fire alarms kill 20 minutes of work time.

Currently reading :
Sand in My Bra and Other Misadventures: Funny Women Write from the Road (Travelers' Tales)
By Jennifer L. Leo
Release date: March, 2003

written by

Lately I've been reading a bunch of books that I feel like I could have written. Not that the books are poorly written; just that I'm feeling especially arrogant about my writing skills this week.

When I left Japan, one of the things I told people I was going to do was write a book. This was so I at least sounded like I had a plan, instead of just saying I was going to live at my parents' house until I got my shit together. And it sounds sort of impressive: I'm going to write a book. I have important things to say; so important that I'm going to have them forever bound between lightweight cardboard or laminated card stock.

I have the makings of a modest book on a gaijin (foreigner or white devil) living in rural Japan. The plan was to incorporate my diary entries with the monthly updates I sent out for the three years I was there. The complete disparity between what I was doing and what I was feeling is the part that really interested me. It sounded like it was fun, and it was, but I was going nuts by the time I left. Because it's mostly written, having done all the work in the midst of it all, all I have to do is fill in a few of the details.

If you check the bestsellers list you'll note that my name isn't there. This is because I'm a slacker.

My second book, also non-fiction, will be about my mother's and/or grandparents' lives prior to, during and after WWII. This is much more difficult to write because I don't know all the facts personally. And it means a whole lot of research into wartime history and I'm a bit terrified of war. My mother still doesn't like talking about it and my grandparents are aged, time clouding their memories. The seemingly impossible challenge keeps me from starting.

My third book is to be about my father's family's move from the Old Country to Canada. They were a colourful bunch. And writing this one would mean I'd have to write another book about the town I grew up in, since the area became what it is because of them.

My problem is that, depending on the day, I can't begin to fathom who would buy a book about me by me, or about anything I have to say. Sure, sometimes I'm wildly amusing. But other times... I'm just not. A whole book is obnoxious. Unless it's good.

All I really want is to walk into a library, look my name up in the catalogue, and find a book that I've written in the stacks, circulating. Like Paul Varjak walking into the New York Public Library to find "Nine Lives." But most libraries don't have card catalogues anymore so it's just not the same.

My original plan was to write smutty romance novels, two or three a year, to supplement my regular income. I'm very good at writing smut. The girls at work and I discuss books we could write, complete with working titles and what the cover art would look like. The formula basically writes the book for us. Now we just have to fill in the details.
http://www.worldoflongmire.com/features/romance_novels/

Incidentally, I can apparently buy and listen to records in the future, as today is February 20th and the album I'm listening to isn't going to be released until tomorrow. But I have the actual, liner-notes-and-everything, CD purchased last week. Hmm...

Currently listening :
Everything Wrong is Imaginary
By Lilys
Release date: 21 February, 2006

the harsh reality

I think I may have a slight obssession with music. It's becoming unhealthy.

Last night I was out with some friends I rarely see and we had a roundtable between bands about what we're listening to, to see if there was something we should be listening to that doesn't suck. I was actually embarassed about how many records I've bought in the last two weeks, and didn't even get into how many rock tickets were in my pocket at that very minute (or that I'd forgotten to pick one up that I purchased online).

The main problem with this is that I'm supposed to be cutting back on superfluous purchases and expenses. It was abundantly clear that I haven't been trying very hard.

So I'm going to have to either start a rock account, from which and only from which I can buy music-related stuff, or write rock into an actual budget. I didn't want it to come to this. Music has become an expense.

Now that I think about it, I wonder if my CD player was trying to tell me something by breaking...

Aw hell, who am I kidding? Putting limitations will just make it more pronounced and severe. I'm going to listen to the crappy crap I want to listen to and if that means not buying groceries or filling prescriptions or taking trips away from the city then that's the way it's going to be.

As an aside, did you see Demetri Martin's Trendspotting segment on Jon Stewart about MySpace? Hilarious.

Also noted in one of the first episodes of "Love Monkey" that, while walking down the street with a new label signee, Tom Cavanagh's character explained that their marketing plan included getting the word out about the guy's music on MySpace. http://www.truevinylrecords.com/ Didn't realise he was from Ottawa, but it explains how he can do CIBC commercials without the union kicking his ass.

Currently listening :
With Love and Squalor
By We Are Scientists
Release date: 10 January, 2006

alfred hitchcock presents...

The sun was casting the loveliest colours across the sky on my way home from work; oranges with splashes of red and yellow set at the bottom of the greying sky. As I gazed out the Skytrain window, admiring the view, I noticed a massive murder of crows flying above the train. I'm sure they were following me.

I'm terrified of the crows.

After I got out of the station, another murder started flying overhead, following the ravine out towards Willingdon, where the #1 crosses it. Every morning the crows fly from their nesting area in the trees beside the enormous McDonald's (they have no taste) to the downtown area to hang out. I'm not sure where they hang out, but it would have to be a vast area because there are so many of them, so maybe Stanley Park. I've never followed them. Perhaps this would be a good project, to stalk the crows, to get an advantage on them, one step ahead.

At dusk the crows flap their freakish wings and trail each other back to Burnaby. The thing that concerns me is that I always seem to see this exodus. Others in my neighborhood have never seen it. And I go home at various times, yet often see them overhead, yelling at me in their caw-caw language. I'm pretty sure they're keeping tabs on me, monitoring when I walk home. Sometimes in the mornings they will caw-caw at me, hiding in trees along my route.

One day, I went into work and noticed a picture of crows at the desk I was scheduled to sit at. They broke in and left crow propaganda to taunt me, to threaten me. I was afraid.

It's just a matter of time.

Currently reading :
Scott Pilgrim, Vol. 1: Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life (Scott Pilgrim Volume 1)
By Bryan Lee O'Malley
Release date: 28 July, 2004

saintly

In regular conversation my co-worker informed me, while I was drinking an unusually large gulp of water, that he was in a beatification program. I nearly spit at him.

He went through Catholic school and learned all the things he needs to do to become a saint. He mentioned that he is on the first step towards becoming the saint he believes himself to be. He also has a bookmark of himself in a saintly pose with wings that his sister gave him. He said his slogan is "holier than thou."

His first miracle: curing our co-worker's headache. Seems she had a headache when she got to work in the morning and by the end of the day he had eliminated it from her, just by sitting near her. He thought he should write out a statement for her to sign, just to make sure it was accurate. He wasn't sure if she could clearly state the miracle, so wanted to leave nothing to chance.

Other miracles of the day: he walked with an open mug of coffee from the Blenz to our workplace without spilling a drop, and he consoled a co-worker who needed 20 copies of a book just at the moment someone came up to her with 40 copies.

I feel compelled to counter his claims. Firstly, with the first miracle, he gave her Tylenol. With the coffee, he drank it from the top off the counter, so only had to keep his hand moderately steady. And, finally, the co-worker had talked to a few people about needing this particular book, including the woman who gave the extra copies to her, so chances were good she was going to get them.

When he was a kid he used to have a lot of nosebleeds and had extra big ones right before Easter. His friends said it was his stigmata, that nose bleeds that excessive had to be related to the crucifixion of Jesus. Blasphemous.

Obviously he's joking. I mean, he was the one who came up with the "Fits me like a glove" quote on the OJ Christmas card that got axed. He listens to Ethel Merman, for cripes sake!

Currently listening :
The Life Pursuit
By Belle & Sebastian
Release date: 07 February, 2006

the hard sell

Yesterday I went back to the store to look at the shoes I saw on Friday. I took my friend Eileen, a girlie girl by all accounts, for an honest opinion on them. I mean, I trust my personal likes/dislikes of shoes, owning as many pairs through the course of my life thus far as I have/do. But I'm not especially good with shoes with heels. Or ones that look like a girl should probably be wearing them.

These adorable monsters of a shoe have 3 1/2 inch heels, what would normally be fuck-me height if they weren't wedgies. Whenever I say wedgies I think of "Transamerica", with the transgendered main character proclaiming that anyone can balance on wedgies. We'll just see about that... The wedgie heel is a light lilac with a touch of white. The upper (what little of it there is) has a Parisian scene, complete with Eiffel Tower and a poodle (why are poodles considered the quintessential French dog?). These are kept on by a lilac strap just below the ankle.

I feel dangerous on these, teetering on carpeting, while I make the decision on whether or not to keep them. It reminds me of the shoes the girls wore when I lived in Japan, the platform shoes that would rise upwards of 6 inches. The news once had a story about a girl that couldn't balance on her platforms, fell over, hit her head hard on the concrete from the extreme height of the shoes, and died of trauma to the head. I don't want this to happen to me, to be a top story on the local news. I'm sure they'd bring out the helicopter for a better view of me splayed on the pavement, focusing in on my shoes. "Bill, as you can see from the Chopter 9 camera, her shoes, seen at the end of her mangled legs, are obviously too high for her to walk in. What was she thinking buying those things?! Back to you, Pamela."

But they are really cute. I mean, realistically, I don't need them. I barely go anywhere that requires me to dress up at all, and these aren't the sort of shoes you wear to go for groceries or to the bank. These are event shoes, an event that doesn't require much walking or movement in general. My social calendar currently has no requirements for shoes such as these. They don't make sense.

The problem is my girl friends put on a good hard sell. When Eileen saw them she sort of squealed with delight. I walked around for 15 minutes trying to decide while she used the whole "you can always bring them back" routine. Then I saw Rachel who said she wanted to photograph them because they were so awesome. These were not the things I needed to hear during this most vulnerable time. I was succeptible to flattery. Jill, the big seller at the city's best shoe store, told me not to keep them because I obviously had doubts about them, that it was money I could spend when I'm back in school and broke on a nice dinner or something. I see now why she's the big seller because that just made me want to do the opposite. However, today again I'm seriously thinking of taking off the stickers and adding them to the collection.

I still have 9 days to decide.

The other shoes I got I instantly knew would be fine. Ballerina flats in a light mossy green with white and pink polkadots around the toe. These are more the babysteps towards girlieness that I was thinking of.

starry night

I want to see a sky full of stars soon. I miss them, my sparkly little friends, just waiting to grant my wishes.

the right time

Tonight I walked from Granville Island to Broadway Station, hoping for some clarity on life, trying to gather my thoughts and feelings after the cloud of beer wore off. The walk, while lovely and lengthy, did nothing but give me time to think. Thinking is not always the best thing when you've got a head full of the stuff I have in my head at any given moment. So I wasn't really in the best mood when I got back home.

Until I looked in my mailbox.

My university friend, David, clearly the cutest boy in the world as voted by every person I know who has met him (except for that one guy who didn't like him, but I think he was just jealous because of David's high cuteness ranking), sent me a package with a mixed CD and a letter. How did he know that was what I needed? And this isn't the first time. He always seems to send mixed CDs at just the right time, when I most need post and/or a "how's it going?" from a friend. Other friends have also commented on this skill of his. I'm envious.

The new ReadyMade also came today, with a DingDong wedding cake on the cover. This doesn't impress me. OK, it does a little. What really piqued my interest was an advertised book entitled "The procedural dating kit: because romance is a negotiation". This speaks to my love of process, of systematic documentation, of procedure. It also comes with a dater ID card. I sometimes think an arranged marriage isn't all bad, that if you can make the final decision after meeting without all the threat of dowry killing and all that... It just seems easier when you both know what you're signing up for. And that level of commitment is so mindboggling.

Maybe it's time to give the twee a little rest. It's making my heart hurt. After Valentine's Day I'll start upping my doses again.

Is anyone else having problems attaching music/books/DVDs/etc. to their blog? Because suddenly that search option don't know me anymore.

funny (ha ha) story

Last night I went to the Canucks game with my friend and overheard an amusing story.

Firstly, let me preface this. Sitting in row 5, I gathered that people in seats that close to the ice fall into one of three categories: 1) friends with seasons tickets couldn't make it and gave the tickets to the people sitting there (thank you JK!), 2) they're seasons ticket holders who see a lot of games so it's no big deal and don't really care that they're there, or 3) people were on the ball and bought tickets when there were still some for sale and are excited to be there and are just getting completely trashed on $7.75 glasses of beer.

Right, the story.

So there was a row of category 3 behind us, a bunch of guys who spilled beer on my coat during the national anthems. That's how excited they were. During a stoppage in play, one of the guys behind us started telling his buddy this story. Seems he cleaned out his closet and got rid of (allegedly) "40 really nice shirts." He put them in trash bags and left them beside the dumpster. He can see the dumpster from his apartment, so watched as a dumpster diver discovered his shirts and started going through them. The guy put most of the shirts in his cart, but looked at a few and tossed them into the trash. So the guy telling the story was incredulous, like those were really awesome shirts. I enquired what sort of taste he had that a dumpster diver would take all but 3 shirts, that those shirts must have been ugly.

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say.

Listening to a straight metrosexual man defend his wardrobe choices for any length of time is tiresome. And so funny. At least he didn't defend white socks with black dress shoes.

Hey, are you free Saturday night? Might be time for LOTR.

the friend i once had

In kindergarten I was really popular with the boys. One, a Jeffrey (not Jeff), was so enamoured by me that he would give me whatever toys he could find lying around his house, whatever would fit into his miniscule backpack and was small enough that his mom wouldn't notice and get upset. Jeffrey loaded me up with crap. None of it was especially necessary (a dog-chewed rubber ball, anyone?) and there seemed to be a lack of emotion behind each thing he gave me.

Don't get me wrong; I was flattered by the attention. I mean, what rational 4 1/2 year old wouldn't be? It was dizzying. But I was a woman scorned because, despite all his tangible signs of affection, Jeffrey proved what a mama's boy he was. He wouldn't invite me to his birthday party.

It wasn't like I would have been the only girl. A girl up the street from his house was invited. I think she sabotaged me, talked Jeffrey's mother into cutting me from the invite list. All I know is that my older brother (who was friends with Jeffrey's older brothers; they went through Cubs and Scouts together) was invited and I wasn't. His coffin was sealed.

From that point on I don't remember talking to Jeffrey again. I avoided him at figure skating, and in the Skating Fiesta '78 when we were supposed to pose beside each other for pictures (we were both lions) I made a point of leaning away from him so he would know I meant business, marking my scorn for all eternity in a photograph.

But Jeffrey wasn't really my friend. My friend was Leo, the kid with the glandular problem, who salivated so much that he had to carry a towel around with him. There was nothing wrong with Leo, save for the river of spit that dripped from his mouth constantly. I found this amusing. Others were repulsed. Being friends in kindergarten meant you sat beside each other during craft time and maybe ran around in circles on the playground during break. I sat beside Leo a lot.

Now that I think about it, maybe that was because Leo didn't really talk. When he did he would spit gallons towards whomever was closest. I talked a lot. My kindergarten teacher must have really hated me. Oh, wait, she did. "Karen is a selfish child who always wants her own way, even when that is not always possible." Who writes that about a 4 1/2 year old?! A psycho, that's who.

Thanks, Mrs. Potter, for being a bitch.

Currently listening :
Nouvelle
By Club 8
Release date: 19 February, 2004

is it a full moon?

Three things that disturbed me today, to varying degrees:

1) 12:07am: While trying to get through a stubborn clump of people blocking the exit at one of my favourite pubs, noticed a guy at the back pissing onto the interior carpeting on the stairs that I was trying to get down. I actually called him a jackass loudly which, if you know me, is a rare antagonistic response towards anyone in public. He just shrugged, making me even angrier.

2) 11:52am: Just outside the pub attached to my workplace, I noticed a Coors Light tent set up. This alone disturbed me. As I passed I saw that a pig was tied onto a spit. They were actually roasting a pig in a public space! And charged $15 for some pig and a can of beer. Creepy.

3) 3:26pm: At the coffee shop near work, the guy in front of us took 4 1/2 minutes to order because he was tripping on some sort of injected drug and couldn't decide what type of sugary drink he wanted. How do I know he was tripping? He did the balance weave, with extreme bends and exaggerated movements to ensure he completed simple tasks like putting on sunglasses and putting money back into his wallet.

People were generally strange at work today, so much more than usual. I usually don't get asked questions at all, but today about 15 people asked me stuff. My friend suggested it was because of the Superbowl. Does that really make people nuts?

My co-workers and I spent downtime reading a book on people's routines that could either be crazy, or at least highlight OCD tendencies. My favourite: the woman who was creeped out by wooden spoons. If she had to touch one (taking it out of the dishwasher or something), she would have to leave the room for a few minutes and try to forget that she touched it or pretended it never happened before she could function.

I did discover that one of my co-workers flushes public toilets with his shoe. Another, like me, had to end all actions on an even number, like walking or cutting food or clapping. I was comforted to know that she was/is more OCD than I was/am. And both of us are happy that David Sedaris is the most extreme case of OCD that we know. He may call it "A Plague of Tics", but it's all OCD to me.

Currently listening :
Mass Teen Fainting
By Plumtree
Release date: 2003

don't touch my bikini

Calvin Johnson's voice scares me. I'm not even being cute about this. It SCARES me. It reminds me of doom.

I got the newest Jens Lekman that has the duet, if you can call it that, with CJ. My friend asked why, why, why Jens ruined a perfectly delightful song with that voice of terror. How am I supposed to know? Admitedly, it is frightening to listen to a sweet song and all of a sudden have CJ's deep voice pipe in. I literally jump every time I hear it, even though I know it's coming. Why had I never noticed this before?

So I went back to other stuff I have that Mr. Johnson has done. I mean, he's the mastermind behind K Records. They have all that cute pop and twee. And the Halo Benders really don't freak me out. "Don't Touch My Bikini" is brilliant and his voice doesn't bother me with them. I guess it fits. But with Jens...

You know, the Three Peeps have a similar thing. Peter Green's voice is scary set against Rose Melberg's. The songs will be progressing nicely and then *BOOM* PG's deep flatness comes in. It's disarming, but not in a good way. It's like a bully trying to steal a little kid's bike.

What is it about indie record label guys having deep voices? Why this need to pair up with sweet, soft-spoken singers? Blair? Skippy? Can you shed some light? I'm sure there are plenty that have sweet voices, and I don't have an enormous statistical sampling to back up my theory. It's just bothering me lately.

However, I am grateful that boys have loved indie pop/rock enough to start some of my favourite record labels and put out some of the best bands ever.

Currently listening :
God Don't Make No Junk
By The Halo Benders
Release date: 28 June, 1994

big surprise

Recently I've been reminded of my intense love for indie rock circa '92-'96. I've started pulling out my old Pluto and Cub records to revisit the past. These 7"s still sound wickedly good. "Rock Candy"? Love it. "My Chinchilla"? Can listen to it indefinitely. Even rediscovered Zumpano pre-Sub Pop disaster. But what I really love? Ten Days Late's "Getaway". It rocks the house.

In '92 things were so much simpler. Music, easier to get into. I mean, I was a card-holding member of cub's fan club, and they sent hand-written postcards while on tour. No one does that anymore. And it got me wondering... Is old indie pop music now considered insipid? Dated? Irrelevant in this time of major label manufactured crap? How did we get here, to the fenced-off stage area, the inaccessibility to musicians, the need to go through a publicist? These gems, now more than a decade old, sound better than anything I hear on commercial radio the few times I've been tricked into listening to it in recent times. And the bands I like now... well, I haven't gotten a postcard for a long time.

But one thing I really want to know is... how did Cinderella get into my 7" collection? And how did they have any career at all?

I have a secret to tell. Boys are awesome. The ones that matter, anyway. Especially if they give me the last Timbit.

Currently listening :
Betti-Cola
By Cub
Release date: 09 February, 1996

krafty

I've got a serious problem with Kraft Foods. See, they send me emails (granted, at my initial request) full of recipes that look easy and good and fast. Little reminders to visit their webpage to find more recipes. They're my pusher when it comes to cookery. With email, it's easy to just ignore it, not visit the website, not lose hours scrolling through recipes I may or may not ever make. The problem is their magazine.

It comes to my door 5 or 6 times a year, full of attractively styled dishes that look easy and good and fast. It is not so easy to ignore. Full meals ready in 20 minutes? I've decided not to ignore it anymore. It appeals to the back-of-the-box recipe lover in me.

Last night I made a fake fettucine alfredo. I was concerned about it because the ingredients sounded crazy, similar to the chicken that's marinated with Russian dressing and apricot jam (that is SO good, it's scary). My friend came over to do some computer stuff for me right at the time I finished making it. How convenient. I usually like to test recipes before I feed them to other people, but no luck. But it was surprisingly tasty, despite not having fettucine or parmesan (linguini, shells and Italiano cheese shreds are good stand-ins). So I'm encouraged.

Next on the menu: better-than-ever beef enchiladas. And then miracle skillet chicken. And maybe old fashioned mac-and-cheese. Maybe some meatloaf. It's way easier to grocery shop this way, with a recipe-specific list. I only use a list maybe 3 times a year. Maybe.

FYI: the Kraft Foods website has this neat little feature where you put in up to three ingredients you want to use and up pops all the recipes they have with that/those ingredient(s). But I can only get behind the Canadian one. And I don't even work for them.

Currently listening :
Conversions in Metric
By French Paddleboat
Release date: 28 December, 1999

i'm the bitch

OK, I have this one friend who is driving me nuts. He's the clingiest male I've ever met ever. I told him that, since we're not dating and never will be (he's way more neurotic than I could even imagine myself being, which is saying something; I'm a Scorpio, for cripes sake. We were in total agreement about not wanting to date each other when we became friends), we really don't need to talk every day. This after having the same conversation daily for 2 months (and I'm not even exaggerating). He seemed to get it. Things were OK for a week or so.

Then... the phone calls started again. The last week he's been calling daily, wanting to talk about the same crap over and over. When he phoned a couple days ago I asked if we really needed to have this conversation again, if I could finish doing what I was doing and talk about it later. He sent a snotty email telling me I was rude to put conditions on our friendship. I actually snickered. Snickered!

At this point, I think I'm done. Like, done done. He's the only person who consistently pisses me off, with every conversation digressing into some sort of argument about something. It makes my head hurt.

So, now I have to figure out what I'm going to do with the Belle & Sebastian ticket that he was supposed to pay for. Because I don't want to go to that show with a downer. I'd rather go alone than with him at this point. So... know anyone who wants to buy a Belle & Sebastian ticket?

Currently reading :
Chow: From China to Canada: Memories of Food + Familiy
By Janice Wong
Release date: October, 2005