who to blame

While searching the database for film records at work, I stumbled upon some Friendly Giant records from 1978. The record that stood out had poetry by Jerome, the Friendly Giant reading from a book, and Rusty playing harp. Made me wonder how formative CBC was to me with that kind of highbrow exposure.

We watched a lot of CBC when I was a kid. When I was home with a 24-hour flu, my mom let me watch morning CBC until noon, at which time I could watch American Sesame Street on the PBS station from Detroit (their after school spot) and drift off to sleep with flat gingerale on the coffee table beside the couch. Saturday afternoons involved a bath and sitting with my dad during Hockey Night in Canada while our hair dried and we waited for dinner. I loved the home repair show led by a woman on a soundstage called Do It For Yourself, the only how-to show I'd ever seen that didn't have a woman in front of a stove or ironing board. I used to tape record songs from Good Rockin' Tonite and Video Hits to make mixtapes, and later did the same when we got our VCR. On our annual Christmas pilgrimage to visit my grandparents in Edmonton, my sister and I would wait for songs we knew to play on the radio, always excited when Bob & Doug McKenzie's "12 Days of Christmas" or Barry Manilow's "Let's Hang On" came on so we could sing along.

I suspect the same is true of my friends. A large number were either big CBC viewers/listeners when they were kids, or really are now. How different would we be without that exposure?

But then I realise that those people all around me. People who don't know what it's like to finally FINALLY get a full recording of the best song of the week on cassette, to hear Knowlton Nash's voice, to feel the rush of learning new French words in a town with only one French speaker so they could try it on him. I know these people are around me because they turn up their noses when I mention where I work. "Oh, I never watch/listen to the CBC. There's never anything good on it," they say. I immediately know we have nothing in common.

Isolationism forces you to be resourceful and to absorb whatever you can get. The CBC is what I absorbed. And I'm pretty protective of it when people diss it.

Some days I can't even believe I get to work there. Because it's kind of awesome.

on being successful

Today is a life-changing day.

This morning I tried to toast an English muffin in my toaster oven and, instead of toasting it, the toaster just sat there. No little orange light to show it works. No heat. No nothing. Eventually, after poking at the on/off handle for 8 minutes it finally started glowing a bit. It made me a little nervous that it doesn't work unless I beg it to, and even then there's no guarantee it'll work. Sometimes I need toasted things.

So I planned to pop by the shop today and see what my options were. The one I have is probably about 20 years old, judging from the fake wood paneling design (got it from a yard sale when I left home after high school). I figured I'd be able to find a sleek one that I can toast stuff in and broil fish in if needed. It wasn't hard to decide on one.

This is not very exciting news. This isn't what I'm excited about.

Next to the toaster oven section was the slow cooker section. I've been meaning to buy a slow cooker for almost 2 years, but have been trying to find one that I can live with. I didn't want a 6qt one (too big) or a 4.5qt one (too small), wanted it to be programmable, and wanted it to keep stuff warm for me in case I wind up late getting home (which seems to be the norm). Finally, finally, I found what I've been looking for. And it was on sale. And it can cook a 5lb roast.

You know what this means? I'll be living on pulled pork sandwiches as soon as cabbage season hits. (Coleslaw is infinitely superior to all other toppings/accompaniments when talking about pulled pork.) And I can finally cook from the slow cooker cookbook I've had on my bedside table for the last 10 months.

I can't wait to come home to a hot meal without having to cook it or hire someone.

project(ions)

Depending on the weather, I go through phases of productivity. When it's nice out, I try to be outside as much as possible. When it's grey and miserable, I just want to cocoon and bake and sew. (Really, I shouldn't bake right now, as I'm trying to cut back on things with flour and sugar, and baking is kind of all about the flour/sugar.) With the weather being so hit-and-miss lately, I'm not sure anymore what I should actually be doing, so I just wind up working instead.

A couple of nights ago I wanted to see if I had any patterns stored away that might be fun to sew. Since all my sewing stuff is stored in the same place, I also figured I'd go through some fabric and see if I had any denim lying around to throw an A-line skirt together. Instead I rediscovered a bunch of fabric cuts that I got over the last few years, but never did anything with. And now I really need to draft some skirt patterns.

Around 20 cuts of fabric between 1 to 3 yards each. All ridiculously cute. All that I want to wear right now in some form. I can't even begin to tell you how cute it is. So cute.

One of the larger cuts is one of my favourites. I'm glad I had the foresight to buy extra of it, though I can't recall what I was thinking when I got it. And, just like that, it's become a throw-on dress with about 2 hours of work. I want to wear it all the time, like little kids who wear their Spiderman pyjamas all the time. It has pockets. (Have I ever gone on about how much I love dresses with pockets?)

It's taking everything in my power not to cut into another piece of fabric until I get through a couple of other projects I wanted to get to first. But the one cut is so amazing... And the top version of this dress would only take an hour... Who will stop the insanity?!

For people who don't sew, I'm sure this is all quite riveting. I know how much I love hearing about someone's hobby that I have no interest in. Really, it may be a cry for help, a sign that I might need an intervention. I want to do nothing other than sit home and sew stuff for myself. Work cuts into sewing time, leaving my house means I can't sew anything, friends commenting on stuff I made just fans the flames.

In short, I need to win the lottery so I can stay home and sew all the time. And then when that gets boring I can go on fabric buying trips. Just for me and maybe friends who like to sew, too. Gosh, wouldn't that be fun?

back in the saddle again

OK, for real... I'm going to try to write more often. I'm not sure why it's been such a struggle the last month, but I've been finding better things to do than sitting down to write. I really should, though; I've got lots of stuff on my mind.

But today isn't the day to get into it. Soon, though.

back in the fast lane

Just home from a visit to my parents' house. This visit was almost identical to my last visit on my own last summer. It's kind of weird to replicate visits. The only thing missing was yard sales on Saturday morning, only because my dad took my brother golfing for his birthday. My family is rather predictable.

Did I do anything exciting? No. We went to a couple of thrift stores. Mom and I went across the border to Prince's and for a drive up main street Oroville (which is almost exactly the same as when I was in highschool, only with a yoga studio); I bought a yard of '30s fabric and scoffed at the pathetic cereal selection. Got to visit with my aunties and my cousin. I watched a lot of TLC, Food Network and HGTV, and a little bit of A&E last night.

OK, watching Hoarders freaked me out a bit. I see myself falling into that if something weird happens to me and I have another one of my episodes, and suddenly they're trying to take my kids and my cats away. Oh, wait... I don't have kids or cats. Whew. I'm fine now.

The big excitement for me was coming back with a bag full of coloured Pyrex and Fire King casseroles (with lids). I say a bag and I mean it: I wrapped it all up in my clothes and carried it on the bus like luggage. My mom tried to make me put it in a box, but boxes are for chumps. The haul: a Verde divided lidded casserole, a Dandelion Duet divided lidded casserole (for a buck!), a 1 1/2 qt Butterprint dish (no lid), two Fire King lidded bowls and a oval lidded casserole that looks like Gay Fad, but isn't marked on the bottom (from my grandmother). I only paid for the one casserole; the rest was from my mom, just stuff she hasn't used for a long time or ever, so thought, since I'm spending money when I find stuff, she might as well give me more. I'm pretty excited to add to the collection. I even have a shelf for it. I figured I might as well get rid of some stuff that was making me feel like a hoarder.

dj b-side

I've been working with my friend to make a dance mix for a dance-related exercise class we drop into weekly. It's been fun to send emails back and forth suggesting different songs that we both love. After 4 days of serious back-and-forth, I think we've got the setlist sorted and ready to go.

The issue now: choosing a DJ name for each of us.

There are DJ name generators that can give you pretty terrible names. The first one that was suggested was DJ Tastes Like Chicken. Thinking back to some of the DJs I met through my friend, some of those guys picked the most ridiculous names, thinking they wouldn't really do much more than a couple of one-off DJ gigs. Snuggles and Wisk were the worst of them, yet they were both pretty major in the jungle scene. Snuggles had a long-running syndicated jungle radio show.

Rachel nixed my suggestions for her: DJ Taco Bell, DJ Pork Rinds, DJ Oatmeal Cookie... I was thinking of things that other people might really love as far as food products go. I was especially fond of DJ Oatmeal Cookie, but agreed with her that it didn't really roll off the tongue very well. I finally suggested DJ Mixed Tape and she kind of liked that. We agreed on DJ B-Side for me and DJ MixTape for her. She pointed out that one was the song on the other side of the popular song and the other is an outdated format. But at least no one can complain if they don't like our mix. What did they expect with names like that?

Can't wait to give'er.

freakout

The clouds in the sky when I walked up Main tonight were weirdly menacing, yet slightly hopeful. Menacing because they were black and gray; hopeful because they were fluffy with patches of white. I really want to focus on the white bits (little fluffy clouds, as it were), but all I can see is the black and gray.

I met up with a guy I used to mess around with last week and he informed me that I'm not putting myself out there and I really should because he doesn't think I should be single. It made me sick to my stomach to hear that from someone who rejected me when I put myself out there. I'm still not at a point where I can fathom being interesting to anyone else, seeing how all I really do is work and sit around my house looking at fabric (lately). And, based on how interesting I am to my friends recently, I can see my doubt is well-founded.

A movie I've recently discovered, largely on the review of it being the saddest musical in movie history, is Les parapluies de Cherbourg. I watch it and cry, drawing non-existent parallels to my own life, while mental noting the colour combinations and styles of dresses. Any sad movie suddenly mirrors my life while I'm in this state and no amount of denial can convince me otherwise. I worry my life will be a tragi-comedy, where my ironic death will come sooner than it should have because of some stupid single person decision I will inevitably make because I am alone with no one to offer rational advice.

In short, I'm frickin' freaking out.