asking for trouble

I'm not completely sure, but I think I hate people.

Last night I went to the fireworks display in English Bay and watched from the roof of a friend's friend's building. It was a clear view of the barge and the sky, and there were a bunch of people, probably about 30, there to watch, too. That wasn't when I realised I didn't like people. It was after, when I walked from English Bay to Chinatown to catch a bus home.

Now, the walk itself wasn't so bad. I walked with Eileen to downtown, which was actually not so bad. I was prepared for it with appropriate footwear. We kept to quiet streets to avoid people. I know that buses aren't so accessible on the nights of Symphony of Fire. The problem was I wasn't interested in interacting with people along the way from when I left Eileen to Chinatown. Why drunk strangers feel the need to interact in the dark is beyond me. Like, are you so drunk that talking to a single woman at 11:45pm on the street seems like a good idea? I didn't walk down any dark streets; all were main roads. And I wasn't dressed in a way that said I wanted to party or have a good time. I was dressed in one of my regular 12-year-old boy outfits. I had to doubleback on a street because a guy on meth was yelling across the street. Good times.

Maybe it's me. Maybe I shouldn't be so cavalier about walking alone at night in the city. I mean, this is the second time in a week that I've had questionable situations with strangers.

The first was after the Camera Obscura show. I took the Skytrain to Main, as usual, and saw that the bus wasn't going to come for another 20 minutes. The walk home is 10 minutes along well-lit, well-traveled roads. It shouldn't have been a problem. As I approached Main and 2nd a car turned onto the street I was about to cross, the driver sticking his head out the window repeatedly to look at me, and parked, idling. It was the road I was supposed to walk down, but I walked straight instead until I was out of eyeshot. I waited a minute and then checked to see if it had driven away. It had. Maybe I was just being paranoid. I started walking down the intended street.

Midway along the car pulled up behind me and started following me. I kept walking with just a quick, pissed off glance over my shoulder to make sure no one was getting out of the car. After a dozen seconds the guy must have gotten bored and did a u-turn and drove away. But it made me so mad.

It's naive of me to think I should be able to walk around at night alone. I know that. But I also know the times I've been followed are few. In the last four years, there was only one other time other than this week where I had to change my route because I was being followed. It just pisses me off that I have to worry about being followed at all. It's not like I'm some small, frail-looking cute girl. I don't see the draw. But I'm also not drunk or on drugs.

So, to recap: I'm still going to walk around alone at night and will continue to be mad if people follow me. I'm too cheap to take a frickin' taxi and that's only going to continue. Also, people who talk to me on dark streets are always drunk and/or on drugs. I know this because no one talks to me during the day.

I think I'm killing one of my plants, despite it living in my dark, sunless office for the last 9 months. The reign of death and destruction continues.

Currently reading :
How to Dress for Every Occasion by the Pope
By Sarah Bennett
Release date: 10 December, 2005

snowball is playing a dangerous game

This week's excitement, other than eating hotdogs and drinking beer in the park or seeing Camera Obscura after my friend's rooftop birthday party, is that I got a ticket to David Sedaris in November. My stomach is getting all butterfly-ey just thinking of it.

I love David Sedaris. My friend tipped me off to him in 1997 with "Barrel Fever" and that's all it took. I love him more than I've ever loved any gay man in history. The audio books are what sealed the deal with him; the lisp and sardonic tone he brings to every reading makes every listen an event. When I ride the Greyhound I listen to disc one of "Holidays On Ice" because his story about being a Macy's elf is the only thing that calms me enough to almost fall asleep while in motion (this also works on planes, even though I am generally unable to sleep on those, either). In short, I would have done almost anything for a ticket to see him.

See, at work yesterday my supervisor casually asked me if I had seen the little blurb about David Sedaris coming to Vancouver in the Georgia Straight (the dominant free weekly) and I lost it. I couldn't concentrate. I asked her to clearly tell me what she was talking about as I started to shake. Literally, it was that bad. She mentioned that her partner had just bought tickets on presale and would I like to talk to him to get the details? I grabbed the phone that she thrust towards me. Vince (her partner) explained that the blurb mentioned that tickets were going on sale today, but mentioned that you would need the password "writers" to get tickets. Ticketmaster is tricky about presales and make you use a password, but when tickets are on sale they never require a password; you just buy whatever they have. So, Vince being smart about this thing, figured he'd try to buy presale with that. It worked.

I promptly hung up on Vince and hightailed it to a terminal so I, too, could order tickets. I was having problems breathing. Adrienne (my supervisor) kept checking to see how I was doing. When I got the confirmed email that I was now sitting in Orchestra Seating Row A, I sent out an email to as many people as I could focus on in my contacts list that I thought might live in Vancouver (as I said, I was having trouble concentrating on anything else). I know of at least 5 other people that are going, so I'll know people who are there, but none of us will be sitting together. I think that's OK because I would just embarrass anyone I sit with anyway.

So, November 1st I'll be listening to David Sedaris in person, likely with my hands clasped together, ready to clap a little too long and yell a little too loud. Just have to remember to pick up the ticket.

I don't think I mentioned it, but the Camera Obscura show was really fantastic. Sounded excellent (except for not understanding a thing that the guitarist said; I'd rather blame the mike than his accent) and the crowd was pretty nice. There was a cute dancing boy nearby who I wanted to love, but decided that he was too into Tracyanne (he did yell out that he loved her) to notice me.

All this crappy maintenance and shit is starting to piss me off.

Currently reading :
Holidays on Ice: Stories
By David Sedaris
Release date: 01 November, 1998

indie rock royalty

I guess things have swung to centre again after that near-disaster at work this week with the nearly crashing the server/computer system thing with last night. I'm always amazed when things happen the way they do. No one can convince me that a higher power isn't stage-managing my personal production of Life.

I had planned to go to the Leather Uppers show and asked a new girl friend I know from work if she was going to go. I figured she would because we had previously talked about the fact that her husband is in the Smugglers and I know the Smugglers had played shows with the Leather Uppers. She said that the Uppers were staying at their house while they were in town, told me I was to go with them and asked if I wanted to come to a backyard party before the show. So that's what I did.

Actually, it was sort of strange walking into the backyard, aside from my obvious social retardation/anxiety I generally have in new social situations. I saw Polly and she introduced me to everyone. The weird thing was that I already knew who half of the people were. The couple of Smugglers guys I recognised and the wife of one was in Maow and I recognised her from that. The Leather Uppers guys were there as well, as was Dan Bejar (Destroyer), who convinced me to sit in the low chair after Polly's husband Dave invited me to sit down. I felt like a social retard after handing Polly a bag of Nerds candies, but everyone cheered that it fitted the crowd. Everyone was lovely and the conversations were normal and I didn't embarrass myself or say anything really awkward (surprising, I know), and hung out with the most wicked 1-year-old baby Charlie, who sported some sweet "jungle shorts" in a leopard print and kept taking my empty bottles of Strongbow. Mental note: babies love Strongbow.

I'll never understand it, but the genders eventually separated except for Charlie who kept close to his mom for foobing. There's an eagle nest a few doors down and so there were occasional breaks to check out how they were doing and to swipe some raspberries from the bushes in the backyard. A little record player provided tunes. Backyards are awesome.

Eventually we headed over to the show and it was pretty sweet. All the bands were great fun, but the Leather Uppers were really worth it. Sporting white tux pants, black shirts and white scarves, they rocked everyone's ass off who wasn't already shaking it. That there are only two of them is crazy. That they are both equally skilled at guitar and drums, and switch-off mid-set is unbelievable. In person they are moderatly quiet and subdued. Beforehand, Greg talked about this pedal-less wooden German bike he taught his kids to learn to ride bikes on. On stage they are rock gods. When they finished their encore they shook hands and waved as they were mauled by the most eager at the front. And suddenly they were back to their normal states, albeit more smiley and more sweaty. So fun.

Tonight I have to go to a scrapbooking party with The Bridesmaids. I'm supposed to have a bunch of stuff written up and pictures organised for my pages, as well as the well-written, well-though out introductory piece for the front of the scrapbook. Guess how ready I am for it. No, really, guess. If you guessed "not at all", you'd be so right. I've got less than 7 hours to prepare for it, and have to shower off the heat and get some birthday errand stuff together for my friend in the meantime. Guess I'm going in to work after all. Shit.

A shout-out to Astoria residents. Hope you get some power soon and your neighbourhood doesn't degenerate into that terrible movie where there was no power and people started murdering everyone for water. Or maybe that bank robbery one with Christian Slater. Wait, was that the same movie?

broken hearts unite

Over the years, I've noticed a correlation between a few factors in my everyday life. I am one of those people that can't have it all. The fates or karma or whichever entitiy that controls my life (because it sure as hell isn't me) likes to step in and give me a swift kick to the ass when something is going right.

If I have a windfall of money, something bad happens between friends or a love interest. If I get a new job or a surprise opportunity, someone stops talking to me. If I'm dating someone, I will have some ridiculous surprise payment that will cause me to be broke for an extended period of time. This is not being melodramatic; it is fact.

Fact No.1: A long-distance boyfriend phoned to say he wouldn't be visiting when planned and two days later I got a bunch of high paying shifts at a job I barely ever worked at and a new job offer.

Fact No.2: The first time got accepted to university I was sort of dating someone. Within a week of finding out about school he decided we should just be friends.

Fact No.3: I started dating a guy and a few days later had to get major dental work that broke me for a few months. When I finally got back to normal we broke up because he met someone else.

Fact No.4: I got an unexpected tax return bonus and two friends stopped talking to me within a couple of weeks.

Fact No.5: This time when I got accepted into school a friend I've known for over a decade stopped talking to me within days with no indication why, despite the fact we had talked just a few days before I found out about my acceptance.

The trend is that the money stuff always seems to work out, but the personal side doesn't. I mean, it's completely possible that I am unloveable and am only good at being a workhorse, but my work ethic is poor so I don't think that explains it. All I know is it keeps happening and I wonder at what point I'll have to become a crazy cat lady (despite the allergies) who lives in seclusion and gets her groceries delivered to her house and gets put on the Meals-On-Wheels program. I figure I'm about two broken hearts away.

My apartment buzzer still doesn't work.

Currently listening :
It's Hard to Find a Friend
By Pedro the Lion
Release date: 03 November, 1998

insert foot in mouth

I'm a little concerned I'm becoming more socially awkward/retarded as this year progresses. There are certain indications that I may not be good in groups of new people. Or around people in general. These indicators include the following pieces of information:

1) While at a birthday party last week, one of the girls I was sitting with said she was thinking of ordering a salad for dinner. And, out of nowhere, I said, "People should only order salad if they have gout." Obviously there was little she could say. I still don't know what made me think of gout. I don't even fully know what gout is, other than the little bits of info I gleaned from that "King of the Hill" episode where Bobby gets gout from eating all those organ meats so he didn't have to take Connie to the school dance.

2) While at a birthday party tonight, I stuck up for Scott Baio during his "Happy Days" time and the questionable shift to "Joannie Loves Chachi", when he was still moderately hot. But, really, who defends Scott Baio's honour EVER in unfamiliar company? I believe this lowered my coolness factor and forever branded me with a giant red L for loser. I don't even like Scott Baio, which makes the whole thing worse.

3) When told not to mention anything about politics to a friend's friend, who is a Republican, I instead took the route of saying said-Republican was so smart he was stupid. To his face. And the comment was punctuated with crickets. And everyone laughed nervously. Except me. Because I am tactless and didn't realise that was not a great thing to say until I saw the looks of disbelief on everyone's faces. Oops.

4) Today alone I said I suspected I was crazy and/or retarded about 36 times at work. I fear my Thursday supervisor and co-workers are starting to believe me. Especially when I tell lame stories about composting, which I did at 4 different times in a 7.5 hour shift. I can't even keep plants alive long enough to benefit from composting. What the hell am I doing talking about it like I know shit about it? I mean, I think the barrel thing in my garden thing is a composting barrel, but I'm too terrified to investigate it. I have a secret fear that it's full of spring-loaded worms that are going to jump out at me and try to wrap themselves around my neck. Like in "Poltergeist", only not a scary clown. (Is anyone else afraid of clowns because of "Poltergeist"? Because I still am. And porcelain-faced dolls. And TV screens that have snow. And that small woman who was in it and was also in "Sixteen Candles" who played the organ and had squeaky shoes.)

5) Midway through drinks with co-workers this evening, I suddenly decided that they needed to know that my dad started the game farm in Penticton. No idea why. Completely unrelated to our conversation at that moment. And then I needed to tell more odd facts about my dad, even though the conversation didn't call for them and there was no window of opportunity to relate them to anything we were talking about. I seem to use dad stories a lot in conversation recently, even though it's never relevant to the conversation. This seems odd to me, so it must to others as well.

I'm having a housewarming on Saturday and am the slightest bit concerned that it will be this time that I completely ostracize myself from everyone I know with the questionable conversation topics.

Unrelated, next Friday the 21st the Leather Uppers are playing at the Waldorf. I'm going. Are you? Seriously... "Carne Mysterioso" is the best song ever. I'll be the one completely embarassing myself near the bands.

Currently listening :
Cast Away the Clouds
By Rose Melberg
Release date: 25 April, 2006

the missing link

At work last year one of my co-workers kindly showed me a book called "The Link." It's about a newlywed couple who get into an accident and the woman goes for help because she thinks her husband is dying and she gets lost in the forest and runs into a Big Foot-type character and they get it on and she has to decide if she wants to go back to her husband or stay with this man of the woods.

Sounds amazing, doesn't it?

We laughed our heads off then and, every so often, I'll see it and have to take it off the shelf to look at the horrifyingly bad cover art and/or the '80s artist picture. I mean, she has puffy '80s hair that would make New Jersey women weep from jealousy, is wearing a white jumpsuit with a circular pattern of studs on the shoulders and shoulder pads. Ugh. And she's reading a dictionary while editing something.

Anyway, back to the story.

So, I was just talking with my friend about the book because he's all into missing link animals and that made me think of "The Link." Yesterday I found it on the shelf, had a good laugh with my co-workers, and opened it up, just to look at when it was published (1995). And there I see the publisher's address. It's the same town I'm from. Er.... OK. It has to be self-published. Then I look at the dedication list. The second name is one of my friends from kindergarten whom I lived with for a year and then stopped talking to because she had her boyfriend move in with us and he ate all my steak (back when my parents bought me meat because they were worried I wasn't eating well enough) and wouldn't pay for it, and she nickel and dimed me for groceries her mom bought for her in the States that she wanted me to pay for because I might use milk, even though her fricking boyfriend ate it all. (But I'm not bitter.)

Anyway, her name is the second name and then it dawns on me... The woman who wrote the book is her mother-in-law.

So now I'm trying to get the book discarded from the collection so I can send it to my friend, but also because it should have been out of the collection anyway since it circulated three (3) times in the last 11 years. Three times! That's just sad. Oh, and because I'm bitter about that steak.

I'll try to remember to post the writer's statement from the back of the book. So bad. It involves exclamation marks and all-caps towards the end. Enough said.

a mountain out of a mole hill

Something I can't understand, being a relatively dormant slug of a person, is why people do the Grouse Grind. Like, at all.

I spoke with some new friends today while they were in the midst of climbing it. What I mean is that I called them and they actually answered their phone in the midst. They're new to the city and had heard about it, what a nice view it was, what a nice walk it would be, and so they decided to do it today.

The Grouse _Grind_ should be an indication that it's a challenge. That it's attached to a frickin' _mountain_ should be another tip off that it isn't just a walk. Glen has asthma, but it hasn't been a problem since they moved here, so he didn't take his inhaler. Big mistake. Sam sounded winded when I spoke to her on the phone, and I later learned she was concerned she would have to leave Glen on the mountain and climb to the top for help for him. He managed on his own, but had to take 5 minute breaks constantly. I spoke to them around 2 and they got home around 9. Eek.

They are the second couple in the last week to have done the Grind. My friend Sara's friends visiting from New York also thought it would be a good idea to try it, that it would be a nice activity for the afternoon. They had very little positive to say about it and were still smarting from the whole experience when I saw them later on the day they'd done it.

So it begs the question... How is Grouse Mountain able to market the Grouse Grind like a fun activity for tourists when most people I know hate it while doing it? I mean, a guy died on the mountain a couple weeks ago from a heart attack while doing it. I don't get it... It doesn't even sound potentially fun or even particularly good for you.

But, then again, I am not a fan of most things that resemble exercise.

I am somewhat thankful I have enough asthma to make it hard to do things I don't want to do, but not so bad that I could die if I was brainwashed into thinking something is a good idea.

I'm hoping to go on a tour of Chinatown tomorrow with Glen & Sam, so hopefully they recover OK by the evening. John Atkin does a walking tour of the area every Sunday this summer, so figured it was time to go on one of his walks. See more at:
www.johnatkin.com
There's also a mystery walking tour on August 17th, put on by Heritage Vancouver. You start at the Art Gallery, where they give you a map and some clues, and you wander around trying to figure out where to go so that eventually you are led to a heritage brewery somewhere downtown where the organisers talk about the things you've seen. For more details, go to:
www.heritagevancouver.org

Summer in the city is sometimes awesome. When the ground is flat, at least.

Currently listening :
The New Transistor Heroes
By Bis
Release date: 06 May, 1997

preying on weakness

My sister and bro-in-law have a tendency to try the latest diet, even though both of them are skinny. Generally I just wait it out, barely tolerating my sister's insistence that I _must_ try it with them because they feel so great. The odd time I will yell at her to leave me alone, that I'm going to go eat a pint of ice cream just to spite her nagging me (I'm such an adult). Sometimes I go through the motions: I still have an unopened bottle of something I was supposed to take with meals six times a day. This time I'm going to take advantage of their weakness to get back at them for all the trouble they've caused with these crappy diets.

They are in the midst of switching to a raw food diet. This seems to involve the eating of anything that was once rooted to the ground. Things with hoofs or ears or the ability to move without windpower are excluded. This means things that taste good are bad. Normally this would only concern me if I agreed to go for Sunday dinner with my bro-in-law's family. Now I'm concerned only because I feel the pressing need to get their barbeque before they realise this diet sucks ass.

They've already offered me the barbeque, but I won't believe it until it's delivered to my house. With the longest day of the year behind us, I'm concerned that they'll realise that raw food is boring and rescind the offer. I mean, who decides to stop eating meat in the middle of the summer?! I've been trying to organise a drop-off time, to no avail. My concern grows daily.

I've even purchased a package of Stampede burgers in anticipation. I love those burgers.

If you love burgers in general, you should check out my friend's friend's hamburger blog:
http://www.ahamburgertoday.com/
If you don't like burgers, why are we friends? Oh, right... because you're super.

Unrelated, Saturday afternoon (2pm-4pm) Harry & the Potters will be playing a free show at the Central Branch of the Vancouver Public Library, on the South Plaza. This is their only stop in Canada, and their 2006 library tour is quite extensive through the States. When I get around to learning to play an instrument and forming the band, I'm going to book a library tour (no pun intended). How rad would it be to play the New York Public Library?

Uh... Do you have an extra bass you're looking to sell, Bandito? Anyone? Anyone?

Currently listening :
Art of Hanging Out
By Nice Man & the Bad Boys
Release date: 04 January, 2005

don't leave your baby with me

Last night I went to the Night Market with Tangiene and her J-friend Miyuki. The plan was to stuff our faces full of all sorts of yummy foods and look at poorly-made Made in China goods. We succeeded, but then Tangiene had to take it up a notch.

She discovered, among the booths of crappy crap, a frightening collection of toy babies. These were no ordinary babies. No, they were special battery-powered babies. Babies who stood up, babies who rocked in chairs, babies who climbed chains. Miyuki and I encouraged her to get one, all the while laughing hysterically. She carefully picked the one she wanted, the chain-climbing baby, and made sure it was in perfect shape. The woman at the booth said they had a deal of two for $10, but Tangiene decided to stick with just the one.

Big mistake.

We got back to Tangiene's house and immediately went to work to hang the baby in the window. The plan was to freak out the neighbours with a baby climbing up the window. The nail was pounded in, the baby hung, the nail moved, the baby rehung. We were all pleased with the placement and settled in to listen to the little song about a rodeo that the baby played while climbing. Then disaster.

The baby really swung himself around while he climbed. It must have been a lot of effort to climb up and down, up and down, up and down. Tangiene went into the kitchen to scoop out some ice cream and raspberries while Miyuki and I enjoyed the baby. I was about to take a picture when the baby must have gotten scared and leapt out the window. Miyuki immediately yelled, "The baby! The baby fell out the window!" and stuck her head out the window. I followed and looked down to see the little plastic body lying on his back, silent. We scream laughed and noticed a small cluster of neighbours on the opposite corner staring up at us. More laughing ensued.

Tangiene went to collect the body while I tried to document the incident, but I was shaking so hard from laughing that all the pictures are blurry. She brought the unnamed baby back upstairs and we surveyed the damage. His body was cracked and he no longer climbed, but he still played the music. More documentation as she taped him up with masking tape and poses to remember the good times, and we sat back and ate ice cream and raspberries.

Anyone want to go to the Night Market again before August? I feel partly responsible for the accident, not watching the baby closely enough while he climbed in front of an open window on the second floor, and thought a new, creepier baby would be nice.

Currently listening :
AGAS (Ain't Going Anywhere Soon)
By Kleenex Girl Wonder
Release date: 13 July, 1999

a fine day for sailing

Despite the questionable clothing choices, I basically love summer. When the weather is sunny and fine, like it is today, I remember how I never wore shoes for a solid 2 months when I was a kid because there was no reason to. Even now, when I'm at home, I refuse to wear anything on my feet. The skirts come out of retirement. I like eating juicy chunks of watermelon so the juice drips down my face. I've already been for gelato today. Tonight I'm going to the Richmond Night Market to look at cheap crap and eat takoyaki and skewers of meat. Tomorrow I'm going to a picnic on the beach with friends. Can life be better?

It is so lovely out that I'm going right onto my patio to drink a Strongbow and write a letter. And I know just who I'll write the letter to...