Just one of those days

People annoy me. I think I could happily live in a cyberworld where all interaction is electronic and I never ever have to face a human being again.

At this point my ideal world would comprise my apartment and/or the cottage. All the books I haven’t yet read and want to. Tons of collage materials. Numerous DVDs and CDs. Enough food to last me forever.

I want nothing to do with a human being ever again, and I haven’t even begun the weekend. A weekend where I’ll be working, locked up with a bunch of people taking the minutes of their meeting. Nonexistant except as pertains to “what exactly was that motion?” Efficient. Indispensible. Invisible. Privy to lots more knowledge than I want to have. And yet not even there. Knowledge isn’t always power, sometimes it’s mere slavery.

The weekend isn’t even here and already I hate all of humanity. I shudder to think of what Mr. Jazz will have to go through when I get back Sunday night.

Most of the time I don’t loathe my job. Most of the time it doesn’t suck out my soul. But then there are those times where not only do I not see the point, but where I'd be happy to run away and join the circus. I'd rather shovel elephant shit than the proverbial bullshit. At least it's the real thing.

Today's incoherent spam

And I quote:

"And guess what you are worth living a life filled with fun, laughter, energy and love. Andres and colleagues point out that incorrect . You think they were not rejected? I'll let them introduce themselves, should they decide to oblige me. So, completely spoiled by instant, funny, inventive feedback, I'm going to start trying to post again. How did you learn to drive a car ? When l first started this my kids though I had finally lost all my marbles. Imagine for a second if Walt Disney had given up on his dream?And guess what you are worth living a life filled with fun, laughter, energy and love.to the island, locate the site using a forensic geology and anthropology"

Now, they're not trying to sell me anything, obviously. It ain't no rich African prince trying to move his father's ill gotten gains out of the country. It's not one of those "Buy this stock now for pennies and become filthy rich in 10 days" spams.

It's... well, who the fuck knows what it is? It sounds like a collaboration between two foreigners using the 50 words of english they know between them to write the next bestselling novel.

Taking in the Toronto Sights

There are things one should never ever be forced to see. Even on a weekend spent in Toronto.

Especially on a Saturday morning. Even more especially on the way to the St. Lawrence Market, orgasmic land of foodie happiness.

For some things there is no excuse. None. Under any circumstances. Ever.

You know how you regularly see women in way too tight jeans and they have the camel toe thing going on? Nasty, eh?

It was worse. It was beyond nasty. It was vile.

Picture it. 10:00 am. You’re walking along the street, the sun is piercing through the fog; the weather is warm… You’re with one of your best friends and your own Mr. Jazz equivalent. Life is fine. No, life is lovely!

And then you see it…

I searched the internet high and low to find a picture that could convey the horror of the sight but, luckily perhaps, none was to be found. Your imagination will have to serve.

Picture a man. Tallish, short of non-descript. Oh so phallic CN tower reaching for the sky in the background. Short jacket and tight, tight leggings. Yes, you saw right – tight leggings, and obviously no underwear… Strutting his stuff with the jewels outlined. In 3-fuckin’-D!

Every. Damn. Detail.

The image is forever seared into my brain. And not in a good way.
Vile I tell you. There is no excuse for imposing that visual on everyone he met.

You’d figure that at least he’d be hung well enough to make the site impressive. But no. Not impressive. A tiny little slug all curled up and sleeping. And the weather was balmy. Shrinkage à la Costanza could not be invoked.

The HORROR!!!



*photo of the CN Tower from Sauna.org

The ubiquitous Thanksgiving post (and I ain't even in the US!)

It’s Turkey day in the US. Day of canned cranberry jelly wobbling in a plate (God, I hate that stuff. Much as I like cranberries, I can hardly force myself to eat that goo, especially when it’s sitting there with the can still imprinted on it. – insert dramatic shudder here – Actually I’m not big on aspics or Jell-o in general).

Our Thanksgiving was long ago, the second weekend in October, and it’s never as big a thing as in the US, well in Quebec at least, I don’t know about the rest of Canada.

The big thing for typtophanatics in Quebec is Christmas. Same meal: turkey, stuffing, cranberry goo. Throw in a ham, change around the desserts and you have the same food coma except there’s a tree in the living room and no football to watch.

But at least the holiday madness starts a bit later. Thankfully. I’m very much the Scrooge sort when it comes to the hols. If I could simply disappear as soon as they start, I’d be a happy, or at any rate happier, person. It’s the cynic in me. It seems the older I get, the more annoying the whole thing becomes.

Where did the magic go?

I guess growing up and having to provide the damn magic yourself makes it that much less magical.

I’m going nowhere with this, right?

For the record, I hate Thanksgiving. Blogs are there for my entertainment. A good portion of those I read are American. The American blogosphere is in a food coma today, so I am sorely lacking in entertainment.

Y’all better have horrible tales of Thanksgiving madness for me in the days to come or I will be very very angry.

Post-Its and Black Holes

I had this purty little yellow Post-It with a couple of “must blog about” ideas on it.

It was a very nice Post-It. Very yellow, very bright.

Very “don’t forget this cause it’s good”.

Very, “Oh goody, two different blog posts on one pretty bright yellow Post-It”.

And now, very gone. I stuck it somewhere for safekeeping. So safe and so kept I have no idea whatsoever where it’s gone. None. I’ve drawn a blank. My Post-It has been sucked into the Black Hole of Forgotten Reminders, no doubt never to be seen again. What’s the point of the things if they always disappear?

No, that’s wrong, it will turn up eventually, probably when I’m 96 and will be totally incapable of remembering my own name, much less what the Post-It was about.

Thus, I have nothing to gibber on about today. Some (many) might say this is a good thing.

Since I'm totally inspiration free today...

I'm just copying. Some snappy come backs for people who annoy he hell out of you.

• Ok, Ok! I take it back, Unfuck you!
• You say I'm a bitch like it's a bad thing.
• How many times to I have to flush before you go away?
• Well, this day was a total waste of makeup.
• Well aren't we a bloody ray of sunshine!
• Don't bother me, I'm living happily ever after
• Do I look like a fucking people person?
• This isn't an office. It's hell with fluorescent lighting (my personal favourite)
• I started with nothing and I have most of it left
• I pretend to work, they pretend to pay me
• You! Off my planet!
• Therapy is expensive. Popping bubble plastic is cheap. You choose
• Practice random acts of intelligence and senseless acts of self control.
• Errors have been made. Others will be blamed.
• And your cry-baby, whiney-ass opinion would be?
• I'm not crazy, I've just been in a bad mood for the past 30 years.
• Sarcasm is just one more service I offer. (that was obviously written for me!)
• Whatever kind of look you were going for, you missed.
• Do they ever shut up on your planet?
• I'm not your type, I'm not inflatable
• Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven't gone to sleep yet.
• Back off! You're standing on my aura.
• Don't worry, I forgot your name too.
• I just want revenge, is that so wrong?
• I work 45 hours a week to be this poor.
• Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it?
• Not all men are annoying; some are dead.
• Wait... I'm trying to imagine you with a personality.
• Chaos, panic and disorder... my work here is done.
• Ambivalent? Well, yes and no.
• You look like shit, is that the style now?
• Earth is full. Go home
• Aw, did I just step on your itty bitty ego?
• I'm not tense, I'm just terribly terribly alert (this one's for ChooChoo)
• A hard-on doesn't count as personal growth.
• You are depriving some village of its idiot.

Easy entry

Evidence that I am totally, absolutely and completely bored: I can't even be bothered to write an entry.

So instead, a couple of quotes which, apply very well to the would be "King of the World" just south of us. Poor Dubbya really must be made to realize that ChooChoo is actually Supreme Emperess of the universe, known and unknown. And me? I'm her evil sidekick. I'll be doing the dirty work, ridding the world of likes of Dubbya & Co. Ltd.

Oh, yeah, right, maybe that actually qualifies as good works. But "nice* sidekick" just doesn't quite cut it, does it?



Usually, terrible things that are done with the excuse that progress requires them are not really progress at all, but just terrible things. - Russell Baker

We need a president who's fluent in at least one language. - Buck Henry


* It's hard being Canadian!

4 things

OK, enuff already! Chooch harassement has been stepped up, so here’s the 4 things meme… I might have forgotten some, but this is all you get.

4 jobs I’ve had

I worked for the Quebec Winter Carnival in the middle of summer. We had to conceive of, and build, a kiosk at the Old Port in Quebec City for the Tall Ships in 1984. The Tall Ships tanked, and I spent the most boring summer of my life there. And when the Tall Ships actually came to Quebec City, it was a scorcher of a day and people came to watch in our air conditioned kiosk. And let their annoying little kids run around while expecting me to babysit them. I didn’t have much choice as they would’ve torn the fucking place apart if I hadn’t clamped down.

Years later, Mr. Jazz and I realized that we had to have seen each other there, since he was working at a fast food place where I regularly ate. And since there was virtually no one on site....

I worked as a receptionist at a collection agency. With people calling to cry that they couldn’t afford to pay for the TV and such stuff. It was my first job in the big city, my first “on my own” job, my welcome into the world of the office. Annoying as hell it was.

I worked at IBM as a temp during the layoffs in the 90s. I was about the only one around who didn’t walk around with my head between my shoulders, hoping against hope to remain unnoticed, hoping against hope the axe wouldn’t fall. Not a fun atmosphere to work in, but a 6 month contract stretched to over a year.

I worked a total of 1.5 days in a clothing store. Didn’t work out because I loathe being harassed by salespeople when I go into a store and I loathed doing it to people. For minimum wage yet? I think not.

4 shows I watch

Les hauts et les bas de Sophie Paquin – Probably no one that reads this except maybe my sister knows this; it’s a French show on Radio Canada. The story of a woman who owns a talent agency. On the eve of giving birth, her boyfriend leaves her for her best friend, opens his own agency and poaches most of her clients. She has the kid, turns out he’s black – the product of a one night stand in New York. This show is hysterical.

Survivor – I’m a junkie. Mr. Jazz forced me to start watching it in the second season. ‘Nuff said. Probst is nice eye candy though.

Lost – except of course when it’s not on which is most of the damn season. I don’t know why I bother. Oh, yes I do. Naveen Andrews.
24 – But only on DVD. It must be so annoying to wait a week for stuff to happen. I wanna be Jack Bauer when I grow up.

4 places I’ve lived:

Boring, but nevertheless:

Greenwood, Nova Scotia – An airforce base in the Annapolis Valley. Yep, I’m an air force brat.

Chicoutimi, Quebec – Cause that’s close to Bagotville, where there’s another base.

Quebec City – Nice place to visit, but I so wouldn’t want to live there again. Very white, very French…

Montreal – The place I’m meant to be. Very multicultural, great restaurants, all sorts of things going on all the time. Even if I don’t hop around bars and cultural events all that much (seeing all the time spent at the cottage), it’s nice to know they’re there.

4 foods:

Mr. Jazz’s BBQ chicken, stuffed with lemons and onions, and jerked to perfection.

I love Tortellini Gigi – the pancetta in the creamy rosé sauce… my mouth waters just at the thought of it.

Otherwise, I’m pretty open so generally:

Vietnamese food - Love love love it.

Indian – Mahli (in Montreal) makes the best damn Channa Samosa in the world.


4 movies I’d watch over and over

Off the top of my head I can’t really think of any. Pretty much anything by Charlie Chaplin though. And maybe Blade Runner.

4 places I’d rather be

- At the ocean, listening to the waves
- Vietnam
- At the cottage
- Taking a nap

(or on the edge of the ocean in Vietnam or at the cottage taking a nap. It's all good)

4 people I'm tagging

It's evil to tag people, but what the hell, it's not like I'll harass them to death, hmmm ChooChoo?

So:

Ticknart

Paula

Jill

Em

Tagged

I've been tagged. ChooChoo said I have to do it. Now, knowing ChooChoo, and since I value my life, I will do it. I just didn't have any time at all today to breathe, much less blog.

Work is highly overrated I think. I was born for a life of leisure, but no one is willing to "keep" me.

Damn.

Have a good weekend, I'm outta here!

Reasonable accomodation

I hesitated for quite a while before posting this, thinking I might be accused of racism, intolerance, or whatever. Then I figured that hell, if I can't say what I think in an anonymous** blog, where can I? Let it be said right here and now that I am not a racist, that I am not intolerant and that basically, I’m probably more tolerant than I often should be about all sorts of things.

Here in Quebec, land of tolerance and live-and-let-live, we have a, principle I guess you’d call it, whereby people can invoke – often in court – something called “reasonable accommodation”. Now lets just say that I’m probably not a reasonably accommodating person, I’m more along the lines over overly accommodating (read: I’m a total wuss and you can walk all over me, then stomp me in the face and I’ll say thanks).

However, recently (over the past couple of years) the concept has been invoked regularly, and depending on the issue, I've been on one side or the other.

There was an incident, way back when, in the town I live, where people were banned from sunbathing in bathing suits in a park near my house because Hassidic Jews passed through and were exposed to the sight. This being said, being exposed to a fat guy in a Speedo slowly baking himself to lobster status is not a fit sight for anyone in my humble opinion. It is a shudder-invoking sight, to say the least. On the other hand, there were all those hot guys... um, ok moving on.

A school in Montreal banned Muslim girls from wearing hijabs. The Muslim community was up in arms, and eventually, the headscarves stayed. Personally, I didn’t see the problem. They want to wear a scarf? Whatever floats your boat. Teenage girls around here walk around with their thongs showing, is that really any less offensive?

Then, it was the Sikh boys who weren’t allowed to wear their kirpans to school. Again, since it was a religious symbol, and after the cause had its day in court, Sikh boys were allowed to wear their ceremonial daggers. The pro side, argued that it was ceremonial, and is never used. Those against argued that, “Damn people, it’s a dagger, it’s a weapon. HELLO!!!” I tended to side with the “um, well, it could be used as a weapon” side of the argument, not necessarily by the Sikh boy, but by someone who might actually take it from him. In these days of taxing in the schoolyard, is that so hard to conceive of?

Then there was the “well we have to wash our feet to pray” controversy, where students at the university (don’t remember which one) were washing their feet in the bathroom washbasins, which, by the standards of those waiting to wash their hands a prayer time was just a little over the top.

And the “we need our own room and not a common non-denominational room to pray in” thing, after which a room was found.

There was incident when Muslim girls had to have the school pool to themselves, with all possibility of seeing into the pool area blocked off, because they couldn't be seen by men.

As an aside, it seems to me that if men are so superior to women, they would be capable of controlling themselves if they see a woman who isn't veiled. I mean, since they're veiling their women to protect them from mens "needs". Do Muslim men so underestimate their capacity for self control? If so, how sad.

This week, it’s the Mile End YMCA. There’s an alleyway between the Y and a Hassidic synagogue and social centre. The yoga and pilates rooms look out onto the alleyway. Kids play in the alleyway while there parents are at the synagogue. The synagogue asked repeatedly that the windows looking out onto the alley be replaced by frosted windows so the children wouldn’t be subjected to the sight of women in shorts and other assorted workout clothes. The windows were replaced (to their credit, the synagogue paid for all labour and materials). People are furious because, among other things, they get no more light…

Now, personally, I’m all for accommodating the other guy. But, is it me or is it getting out of hand? If I emigrate to a Muslim country I’ll wear a hijab, or whatever else I have to wear. They won’t change their laws because I’m not too big on the whole burqua thing. So why, when people move to a secular country, to North America for pete sake, from whence all things nasty and despicable come (though apparently the good life trumps the contemptible aspects of our lifestyle), are we, the offensive and loathsome inhabitants, expected to bend over backwards to accomodate them?

It seems to me that this is going beyond reasonable. Would it be so wrong to put our collective foot down and say: You’re here, this is our society, this is how it works, deal with it?

Just sayin’, ya know?

** Anonymous except for, oh, about 20 friends and close family members.

Rant

I’m sick of sex. Wait, let me rephrase that… I’m sick of the “sexification” of our society.

I’m sick of 12 year olds dressed like hookers.

I’m sick of underboobage. Seriously, what the fuck is up with that? Tops so high the bottom of your boobs show? Why? What’s the point.

I’m sick of looking at girls in low rise jeans so low pubic hair is not an option. At all. And I’m sick of seeing their butt cracks when I’m walking behind them.

I’m sick of hearing about 10 year olds giving blow jobs to boys hardly older than themselves.

I’m sick of billboards with practically naked nubile teenage girls selling everything from hacksaws to winter coats.

I’m sick that society is seemingly geared to making testosterone laden sixteen year olds come in their pants.

Whatever happened to sex appeal? You know, sexy without necessarily flaunting it all, sexy without butt cracks, sexy with, oh, I dunno, a bit of mystery? A bit of “what’s hiding behind there”? Sexy with allure…

There’s nothing erotic about what we’re seeing. Porn chic is just as tiresome as heroine chic was when all the models looked half dead on their feet. ‘Course they still do, but that’s besides the point.

There is nothing chic about porn. Watching porn can be fun between consenting adults, but google Christina Aguillera or Britney Spears and lots of their official photos look like shots from a porn site. Not so much porn chic as skank chic.

Paris Hilton and the latest Vogue cover? Not so much.

Britney Spears and Christina Aguillera with their boobs barely, if at all contained? Not so much either. I mean, c'mon, can you look at the skirt and tell me, seriously that this look is sexy?

It seems to me that if it’s all you see, sex becomes much less, erotic, less titillating, less interesting even. I can’t imagine growing up in such an atmosphere.

I’m really showing my age here, aren’t i?

I’m not advocating going back to a time before pre-marital sex, or back room abortions, a time where sex was a bad thing and had to be hidden away all the time. It just seems to me that it would be refreshing to actually have some of its skankier manifestations under wraps. Add back a bit of mystery.

But what do I know, I’m not 20 anymore…

This and that

Seen in the window of a pet store: *Brand Name*: A healthy dessert for your dog.

What the fuck is that? We’re talking about dogs here. Those animals, which, in the wild, hunt and kill their own food. And eat it raw. And probably sometimes not quite dead when they start on it. These are the animals you want to feed a “healthy dessert” to?

Newsflash. They’re dogs, they don’t need dessert. They’re happy to eat raw bloody meat. Dessert isn’t even on their radar. People, they’re dogs* not people.


For that matter people don’t need dessert either. But that’s a whole other thing.

And healthy dessert? Doesn’t that sort of, I don’t know, negate the whole point of dessert?

Whole other topic: (I really need to find an elegant way to segue into new topics...)

If Mr. Jazz weren’t around to organize my social life, I’d be a hermit. Living deep in a dark, dank cave. Thank god for his social butterfly tendencies.

* No, I don't hate dogs, I love 'em. As well as cats and bunnies and other assorted non human life forms. Actually I probably like 'em much more than human life forms.

A post about nothing.

Once upon a time there was Seinfeld, the show about nothing. Today there is this: a post about nothing, because it’s my blog and I’ll post if I want to, even if I have nothing to say that could even be remotely construed as interesting – so there.

A new month. Again. Already. Time flies (clichés have become clichés for a reason you know) and it’s beautiful in Montreal today, blue blue skies (that deep autumn blue), cool and crisp, with that green, slightly decaying, smell you get in the late fall. Green on the way to dead. Or something.

So, November and we’re that much closer to winter. Is there any way I can actually describe my loathing of winter without this post eventually needing a may-not-be-suitable-for-all-viewers disclaimer? Nope. No way. None at all, so I’ll just shush about that particular topic.

I’m feeling sort of bleh today, but I decided a long time ago that this blog was not the place to roll out and display all my états-d’âme** (because a- it's way outside my comfort zone and b- it's not really interesting at all - I'm no Virgina Woolfe or Sylvia Plath) so I’m not going to do it today. I think y'all pretty much have enough of your own états-d’âme without others throwing theirs in your face. Unless of course you’re a shrink, in which case it’s your job to have crap thrown at you and you are well and highly paid for it so I have no sympathy for you whatsoever.
Talk about an entry going nowhere! Fast. I don’t know why I’m even bothering, except that I feel like writing something. I just didn’t expect it to be quite this horrifically bad. It’s just zipping along the highway towards the proverbial cliff which it will no doubt shortly meet the bottom of (à la Wile E. Coyote) with a decisive…

SPLAT.

**What’s the word in English? Mood is just about it, but the nuance is not quite there; literally it means the state of one’s soul – ain’t that a pretty term