tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-182876832024-03-07T02:33:22.508-05:00Haphazard LifeIt's not that I'm complaining, it's all the same to me if everything that happens, happens accidentally (Accidental Man, Marillion)Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.comBlogger633125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-80699893958510620102010-09-02T08:14:00.003-04:002010-09-02T08:16:05.764-04:00Hmmm...I've had a few emails from people that I seem to have disappeared.<br />
<br />
That's because, as I mentioned in the previous post, I've moved house and taken up residence at <a href="http://haphazardlife.wordpress.com/">WordPress.</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://haphazardlife.wordpress.com/"><b>Come see me there !</b></a><br />
<br />
<b>(http://haphazardlife.wordpress.com) </b>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-47193855820567805482010-08-01T16:06:00.000-04:002010-08-01T16:06:36.110-04:00This is the end, my only friend, the end...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/Thats20all20folks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/Thats20all20folks.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
OK. I'm done.<br />
<br />
Lately Blogger has been acting a bit more psycho than usual and refusing to post comments from lots of people. I don't know why, only that most of them are from Wordpress.<br />
<br />
So I've set up a Wordpress blog, imported this blog and that, as they say is that.<br />
<br />
If you still want to read what I might have to say, please come visit me, bookmark me, reader me, whatever me at my new digs - the new and improved <b>Haphazard Life</b> - only change in url is that wordpress replaces blogspot (<a href="http://haphazardlife.wordpress.com/"><b>http://haphazardlife.wordpress.com</b></a>).<br />
<br />
Free cyber margaritas for the first week. Or beer if you prefer. Lets Partay!!!!Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-89294792832584453802010-07-29T06:00:00.000-04:002010-07-29T06:00:10.124-04:00How cool is this?It's called <a href="http://www.susannahconway.com/the-august-break-2010/">The August Break</a> and is the brainchild of photographer <a href="http://www.susannahconway.com/">Susannah Conway</a>.<br />
<blockquote><i>Here’s the plan for </i><i>the August break: you simply share one photo per day on your blog – Monday to Friday, or every day. Or whenever you want. Using any camera – DSLR, compact, Polaroid, Holga, iPhone (my choice), Instax, 35mm, video – with or without words – anything goes – <b> for the whole of August</b>. No pressure - just looking at August through your camera lens as a way to be more present this summer. And to have a little break from the pressures and expectations of regular blogging. </i></blockquote>I'm thinking of joining, anyone else want to play along?Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-23478570491223298912010-07-28T09:22:00.000-04:002010-07-28T09:22:07.104-04:00Little bitty spam pearls<b>Experience safer, longer and more enjoyable sex or have your money back.. (Though its never happened before) </b> <br />
<br />
What hasn't happened before, the more enjoyable sex? And I have to wonder: safer?? How so? Are they selling you a condom? Actually I wouldn't be surprised.<br />
<br />
And this one:<br />
<br />
<b>ViaGrow gives you more economic value & pleasure for less money - dont let the financial crunch halt your sex life.</b><br />
<br />
I admit I like this one. In a sea of Viagra ads and "do you want to grow a fatter, longer penis" and "girls will love your huge dick" ads, this one does stand out because despite its lack of apostrophes and the use of ampersands in a sentence - which drives my inner grammar whore insane - I stopped and read it again before I hit delete.<br />
<br />
ViaGrow - sounds like some sort of house plant fertilizer doesn't it? Hmmm come to think of it... but I digress.<br />
<br />
Never, ever, not once have I seen a product like this linked to the the recession.<br />
<br />
Can't you just picture the banker, sitting at his computer.<br />
<blockquote>"Damned recession, I bought all this commercial paper, lost all my money and now I can't afford my Viagra!! Wait, what's this? ViaGrow? A cheap alternative to the bitty blue boner pill<b><span style="font-size: large;">*</span></b>? I can have sex again? Quickly, I must order this wonderful product now!"</blockquote>Do people actually fall for it? Do they? Who? Why? Seriously, who are these people?<br />
<br />
Of course, people fall for the time worn "my father was a murdered African prince and I need your help to get his money out of the country" scam. To the tune of thousands of dollars (and then go on TV to whine about it and you're just sitting there thinking HELLO! imbecile, if it looks too good to be true that's cause it fucking IS! and why aren't you way too horribly embarrassed about being taken in and having your common sense take a back seat to your cupidity to actually talk about this on TV? What is WRONG with you?)<br />
<br />
So yeah, I guess ViaGrow the wonder fertilizer isn't that much of a leap of faith, is it?<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>* An alliterative banker no less!</i>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-53144357997623667152010-07-23T08:18:00.005-04:002010-07-23T10:45:08.573-04:00Not Wanted on the Voyage<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<i>And Noah went in, and his son,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>and his wife and his sons' wives</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>with him into the ark, because</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>of the waters of the flood...</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Genesis 7:7</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</div><br />
Everyone knows it wasn't like that.<br />
<br />
To begin with, they make it sound as if there wasn't any argument; as if there wasn't any panic -- no one being pushed aside -- no one being trampled -- none of the animals howling -- none of the people screaming blue murder. They make it sound as if the only people who wanted to get on board were Doctor Noyes and his family. Presumably everyone else (the rest of the human race, so to speak) stood off waving gaily, behind a distant barricade: SPECTATORS WILL NOT CROSS THE YELLOW LINE and: THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION. With all the baggage neatly labelled: <i>WANTED </i>or <i>NOT WANTED ON THE VOYAGE</i>.<br />
<br />
They also make it sound as if there wasn't any dread -- Noah and his sons relaxed on the poop deck, sipping port and smoking cigars beneath a blue and white striped awning -- probably wearing yachting caps, white ducks and blazers. Mrs. Noyes and her daughters-in-law fluttering up the gangplank -- neat and tidy -- dry beneath there umbrellas -- turning and calling; <i>"goodbye, everybody!"</i> And all their friends shouting; <i>"bon voyage!"</i> while the daughters-in-law hand over their tickets smiling and laughing -- everyone being piped aboard and a band playing <i>Rule Britannia!</i> and <i>Over the Sea to Skye</i>. Flags and banners and a booming cannon... like an excursion.<br />
<br />
Well. It wasn't an excursion. It was the end of the world.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/findley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/findley.jpg" width="204" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And that is the first page of the prologue of Timothy Findley's Not Wanted on the Voyage, a retelling of the story of Noah's Ark. I can't imagine how it is I missed this one for so long... Brilliant book people, if you're looking for something to read. Damn, I wish I could write like that. Not that I've ever been interested in writing a novel. But every page is a delight.Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-28097677800178688092010-07-21T09:11:00.006-04:002010-07-21T13:02:30.460-04:00Still Batting 1.000Once upon a time, the Jazzer discovered the intenet. Oh my! What was this place of "websites" and "forums" and all such things. Off I hopped (metaphorically speaking) to explore.<br />
<br />
I first discovered forums on a magazine website. The first one I went to was a surprising world, to say the least. A world of discussion and exchange and drama and hissy fits and playground shenanigans with all the fights and bitch slapping one is wont to find in a girl's playground. What fun it was to watch. Until you get sick of it and move on. Before I moved on however I met she who would eventually be known as <b><a href="http://runninggoddess.blogspot.com/">Running Goddess</a></b>, an expat Montrealer who became a really good online friend. Then when she came to town, we met and became really good real friends.<br />
<br />
"Wow", I thought, "And here I've been told all these innernet people are crazed serial killers!"<br />
<br />
Who knows perhaps she's just waiting for the right moment all these years later.<br />
<br />
I moved on to other forums, which for some reason were always filled with women and the same griping and bitching and drama. These places seem to be tailor made for drama queens, who gravitate to them in droves. And yet I hit it off with several people, among them <b><a href="http://variousmutterings.blogspot.com/">ChooChoo</a></b>, who I have yet to meet - Scandinavia is a long long hop away. Besides, it's cold there. I don't do cold if I can help it at all. And who knows, they might get a freak snowstorm in the middle of summer. You never know! However, we have been talking for about 4-5 years now at least a few times a week. I think it's safe to say she's not a psycho killer bitch (though she does have a psycho bitch boss - but that's not my story to tell.).<br />
<br />
On yet another forum (or was it the same) I met <b><a href="http://www.agoddessinthekitchen.blogspot.com/">Purple Goddess</a> </b>(yeah, I seem to have a thing for goddesses, being a frog you'd think princesses, but nope, I set my sights higher). She hails from Oz (or Australia if you're a stickler for detail) and when we went to Melbourne we called her. And were promptly invited to dinner. Our friend loaned us his cell phone "in case you have to leave really quick and need a lift". Of course he wasn't taking into account that it would be hard to wait for a lift in case of serial killer psychosis as he lived 3/4 of an hour away. Details! We hit it off splendidly. And when we returned to Oz several years later, PG and Furry (her husband, don't ask) loaned us their house by the sea for a week. That, people is above and beyond the call of innerwebz friendship.<br />
<br />
Closer to home, a couple of years ago we went to Texas to see a friend in the Dallas area. I called <b><a href="http://geewits.blogspot.com/">Geewits</a></b> and we met up with her for dinner. By this time I was pretty sure she wouldn't be an ax-wielding serial killer, I had the statistics on my side. And indeed she wasn't. A touch of insanity perhaps, but if you read her blog you know that. Geewit's brain is like god. It works in mysterious ways. Her blog is exactly like the woman I met, lovable, warm and quirky. Plus she has that southern accent.<br />
<br />
Geez, this is getting long. Who knew. And I haven't even reached the point of this post yet...<br />
<br />
Later on, back in Quebec, I got an email from <b><a href="http://exurbanpedestrian.wordpress.com/">XUP</a></b> inviting me to spend the weekend in Ottawa because <b><a href="http://violetsky-wwwblogger.blogspot.com/">Violet Sky</a></b> was in town for the tulip festival (the wet and frigid festival it should've been called this year). I had already met Violet Sky in Toronto and had a great meal with her, and was thrilled to see her again. Toss XUP into the mix and add a dash of <b><a href="http://itsjustapie.blogspot.com/">Alison</a></b>, and you have a helluva Friday evening. Imagine it: wine and cheese and four middle aged women. Middle aged women have years of stuff to bitch about and it was a wonderful time. Add an Ottawa bloggers breakfast to the mix along with the wet and frigid festival and you have the makings of a great weekend.<br />
<br />
And now, finally, I've gotten to the point of my post (Yes! See I <b>can </b>do it if I try!). Because last night I met <b><a href="http://paulabecker.com/blog/">Paula</a></b>, a wonderful illustrator who hails from Texas (and who let me know of some great places to go when we went there), and lives in, of all places, Montreal. The things love will make you do. She and her husband invited us to go sailing yesterday evening.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I know - me... a boat. Doesn't bode well. But unlike the <b><a href="http://haphazardlife.blogspot.com/2007/07/cottage-moments-4.html">pedal boat</a></b>, no bailing out was needed on this vessel. It was a wonderful evening, even when the boat was pretty much over on its side (now that, my friends is beyond cool). 'Twas not quite as thrilling as jumping out of an airplane for my 40th birthday, but it was way way up there. The water slapping the sides of the boat, the sunset, the birds, the other sailboats. I love love loved it. As did Mr. Jazz. I could've stayed out there forever.<br />
<br />
And so once more a wonderful meeting of minds. No serial killers to be found. Nary a one. I'm beginning to think that it's all an urban legend.<br />
<br />
It's great meeting people you know you'll like, and pretty much already know through their blogs and behind the scenes emails. I'll leave you with a few pics of the evening.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080767.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080762.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080762.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080764.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080765.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-14879081663201059092010-07-20T08:27:00.000-04:002010-07-20T08:27:01.766-04:00<a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/instruments.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/instruments.jpg" width="320" /></a>There are things I like.<br />
<br />
There are things I like immensely.<br />
<br />
There are things I do not like at all.<br />
<br />
I like certain things in my mouth. However, these things tend to be things I put there myself - like food.<br />
<br />
These things do not include metal picks and water spraying ultrasound thingies, plastic vacuum cleaners and little round mirrors.<br />
<br />
Nor do they include rubber clad fingers poking around. <br />
<br />
Nope. Not a fan. Truth be told, these things disgust me beyond what would be natural for some reason. Having this crap in my mouth makes me want to hurl. This is not good when you're lying in a chair with your head lower than your feet.<br />
<br />
The buzz of the ultrasound inside my brain. The scrape scrape of the... oh god whatever they call that thing along my teeth which is marginally (but only very very marginally) better. OK, no it isn't, It's nasty as all get out. I was trying to be positive but I was shuddering as I wrote it. It lasted less than an hour but felt like forever at least. I can only imagine the hell it must be for those with lots of tartar buildup.<br />
<br />
I hate dentists. I hate dental hygienists. There is a special place reserved in hell for those people. Probably as assistants to the Evil One. Come to think of it, Satan is probably a dentist.<br />
<br />
All in all, not the best way to end a day, espcially after spending two and a half - no, actually two hours <b>and 42 minutes</b> (!!!) taking the minutes of the mostest useless meeting evah! It could have been over in an hour tops had they just stuck to the stupid ass agenda... But that's work. It has no business here.<br />
<br />
Thankfully Mr. Jazz had trout and salad waiting for me when I got home. It reconciled me with life in general.<br />
<br />
But not dentists. Never ever dentists or the hygienists from hell.Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-16150964297109889612010-07-14T12:51:00.005-04:002010-07-14T13:02:19.701-04:00I have a new favourite word.It's the bestest word EVAH!<br />
<br />
It showed up as a word verification on <b style="color: #134f5c;"><a href="http://voodoonotes.blogspot.com/">Ricë's</a></b> blog.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #351c75; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">WOOMPATA</span></b> </div><br />
<br />
It is the most perfect word for a boring day at the office. I should print it out in a huge font and plaster it all over the office. Woompata !!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
Now I just have to decide what it means. Any suggestions?Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-81346486441165775722010-07-07T07:20:00.000-04:002010-07-07T07:20:00.337-04:00And the question begs to be askedWhat's the point of having a hot flash if it's 10,00 degrees in the shade?<br />
<br />
Seriously, that's just overkill.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/hotflashes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/hotflashes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-24670659917211137682010-07-06T08:12:00.000-04:002010-07-06T08:12:16.117-04:00Huh...<b><a href="http://www.ctv.ca/servlet/ArticleNews/story/CTVNews/20100706/quebec-jeweller-charges-100706/20100706?hub=Canada">Roger Saulnier</a></b>, a Saguenay jeweller who was thrust into the limelight last week when he saved the life of a young woman whose legs had been cut off by a train (he tied her arteries and stopped the bleeding) was arrested three times in the space of 24 hours last weekend (for drunk driving, break in and assault, and trying to get his ex - who he assaulted - to drop the charges).<br />
<br />
People are shocked. And quick to judge (from Hero to Zero someone put out in Facebook or one of those places).<br />
<br />
One of his lawyer's arguments is that "overwhelmingness" of the whole situation got to him.<br />
<br />
Perhaps. Could be. I'm not a psychologist so I wouldn't know. I do know that if I had done what he did, I'd probably go off the deep end...<br />
<br />
What I don't get is people's reaction. Because he performed a heroic feat he automatically becomes a perfect human being? I mean c'mon, he could be the worst criminal ever, he could be a hit man and it doesn't mean that if he saw someone in that girl's situation, he'd just sit there and watch her die. Most people would, I think, try to do something. He just happened to know what to do and a life was saved. Lucky girl.<br />
<br />
But by the same token, why would we necessarily equate heroism with "good personism" (yeah, well it's my blog and I'll invent words if I want to, so there!).<br />
<br />
Aren't most heros just ordinary people who find themselves in situations where they just do what needs to be done?<br />
<br />
Ordinary heroes, they say. There's a pleonasm if I every heard one.Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-25064285740200846622010-07-04T20:16:00.000-04:002010-07-04T20:16:41.132-04:00I'z sick of it, i izOr at least I was. So I'm testing a new look. I'll update my blogrolls, try and put in tabs...<br />
<br />
And we'll see how incredibly I screw up.Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-54377324147264181552010-06-29T16:33:00.003-04:002010-06-29T20:48:13.657-04:00ZE TRIP - PART ZE LAST<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: xx-small;">.</span> <br />
Welcome to Normandy.<br />
<br />
Where there are always raindrops on the flowers and leaves.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Where the skies are grey but many old stones are to be found, for instance in <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bell%C3%AAme">Bellême</a></b>.<br />
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Such a pretty, nasty-tempered swan... you wouldn't think just looking at it...<br />
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A little further on, Nogent-Le Rotrou with its<b> <a href="http://www.casteland.com/puk/castle/centre/eure_loir/nogent/nogentle_rotrou.htm">medieval castle</a></b> (too bad their pics are so tiny). Well, at least the keep and some of the walls were medieval. The entrance towers are young, dating back to the 1500s.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080138.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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An arrow slit. And here I was searching for some really scientific word for the little arrow window in the fortifications. It's actually called an arrow slit, it seems. Seems you'd have to be a pretty damn good shot to actually hit anything.<br />
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The keep.<br />
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The height of technology and hygiene at the time. A lavatory. People would go into a room at the top of the circled bit, there was a hole in the floor and they'd crouch there and do their business along the side of the wall, which might explain the state of the stone right there). Major ewwww. The middle ages might sound all romantic and shit, but all things considered I much prefer to live today.<br />
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Good thing she didn't use that particular lav. Ain't she cute though this Norman cow?<br />
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Now, let's leave Normandy (bye cow!) for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meaux"><b></b></a><b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meaux">Meaux</a></b>, city of mustard (you have your Dijon, but you also have the old style Meaux mustard). I love these exposed timbers.<br />
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The cathedral is pretty much the only thing so see in Meaux<b> </b>though - <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meaux_Cathedral">St. Etienne</a></b>. The side entrance<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="377" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080326.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>After Meaux, <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fontainebleau">Fontainbleau </a></b>and its palace. Nice enough place, but lordy is it overdone. Too bad they focus so much on how the royalty lived. I'd have loved to see the kitchens, servant quarters and have information on, for instance how many loaves of bread were baked each day, how many chickens were consumed, how many people fed, how many people were needed to keep the damn thing running... <br />
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This is the corridor the king had constructed for his own use to go from his private apartments to the public area of the palace. Eventually others than him were allowed to use it. Nice of him.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080393.jpg" width="317" /></a></div>The library.<br />
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The empress Josephine's bedroom<br />
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The council chambers if I remember right.<br />
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Napoleon's bedroom. That's a teeny tiny bed he slept in.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080422.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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Outside the palace.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080445.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080446.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The horseshoe staircase where Napoleon made his speech before leaving for exile.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080460.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
And finally, the last lunch, the next day was back to Montreal, work, and thankfully, the World Cup.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1080480.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: xx-small;">.</span>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-19009494591885190302010-06-27T20:00:00.003-04:002010-06-28T08:01:07.400-04:00How totall freaking awesome is this?<object height="405" width="660"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pHl8UEewbN8&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pHl8UEewbN8&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="660" height="405"></embed></object>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-30174834632583006372010-06-24T08:00:00.000-04:002010-06-24T08:00:07.149-04:00I wish to take this occasion...To wish myself Happy Birthday from all of you.<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
Jazz (who is off having a happy birthday as this posts)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/HappyBirthdaytoYou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="357" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/HappyBirthdaytoYou.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-51179399158449067402010-06-22T16:02:00.001-04:002010-07-14T13:01:13.319-04:00Dear....<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span> <br />
Dear STM*<br />
<br />
I just recently saw a big sign at the 51 bus stop crowing that you had added 14% more buses on that line at peak hours. Wow. Impressive. Though as a user of the 51 bus (the last leg of the annoying journey home) I haven't noticed a bit of difference.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, I now know where all those mythical extra buses come from!!!<br />
<br />
Obviously from the #90 bus line where I waited in the driving rain for over 20 minutes for those four buses which, according to the schedule posted right there at the bus stop, should have come pootling by every five minutes or so at rush hour.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
They didn't. I suppose they were busy ferrying commuters on the 51 line.<br />
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Finally, a bus did come. Jam packed of course. Sardines have more space in their oily little cans than we did in that bus.<br />
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That poor bus driver. It wasn't his fault and yet he had to endure the ill humour of edgy, obnoxious people. The lady in front of me pretty much shook her umbrella out on him. Nasty bitch deserved to be slapped. Instead he was nice and simply rolled his eyes. Me? I would've punched her out and sent you the hospital bill.<br />
<br />
<br />
Over and over again from the STM we hear: "Take the bus! It's a great alternative to being stuck in traffic!" <br />
<br />
Newsflash guys! You want people to take the bus? Well then provide commuters with a minium of service first. Why on earth would anyone want to take the fucking bus <b>knowing </b>they'll be stuck waiting 20 odd minutes for a bus that should be passing by every five minutes. It's obvious why people always look pissed of on public transit in Montreal. Because they are. <br />
<br />
How about you save yourselves a lot of money (and perhaps upgrade service with it) and stop printing schedules you don't stick to, giving people hope that yes, the bus <b>is</b> coming. Eventually. Maybe. If we're lucky. 'Cause it says so right there, see? right there!! Just do the right thing and extinguish all hope from the get go. Seriously. Please.<br />
<br />
Really why would anyone voluntarily take the bus in Montreal? WHY?!?!?!<br />
<br />
You really really make me want to buy a car. The expense would almost be worth it.<br />
<br />
Wetly,<br />
<br />
Jazz<br />
<br />
<br />
Société de transport métropolitaine, the Montreal transport authority.<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-27549935306441790792010-06-15T22:08:00.003-04:002010-06-23T09:45:21.649-04:00ZE TRIP - PART ZE SECOND<div style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></div>So lets continue wandering along the Breton coast. Look! More pretty flowers.<br />
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A Breton beach somewhere - Morgat I believe...<br />
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Us again.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070905.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Only in France will they serve you espresso and macarons at McDonald's.<br />
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Me again, with the whole dark glasses and glamour thing going on. Unfortunately no glass of wine to raise to your health - I had drunk it by then. Draining glasses of wine is a talent of mine. They're there then, poof, they're gone.<br />
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Some buildings in Morgat.<br />
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On another beach. There were all those weird sand worms all over the place. I've never seen anything like it... (Edit: actually I just call them sand worms cause they look all wormy. However, they are just little swirls/squiggles of sand. I have no idea how they're formed or what they are...Maybe I should call 'em sand spaghetti?)<br />
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An anonymous church in an anonymous village somewhere along the road...<br />
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The door on this place? It was about as tall as I was. Very very strange door.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070959.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The church spire in Roskoff. This is the city where the ferries arrive from England and Ireland.<br />
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Who knew artichokes didn't actually grow in supermarkets? I had never seen an artichoke as a... well plant... <br />
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More old stones in Roscoff for Violet Sky. I admit to cropping the first couple of pics (and the last one in order to get rid of a bunch of random tourists. They were all over the place.<br />
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And thus ends Brittany, next up a medieval castle in Normandy - Nogent Le Routrou....<br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: xx-small;">.</span>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-55461994475500167142010-06-13T20:52:00.011-04:002010-06-23T09:46:48.325-04:00ZE TRIP - PART ZE FIRST<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: xx-small;">.</span> <br />
Well, in the interest of keeping <b><a href="http://geewits.blogspot.com/">Geewits</a> </b>happy (cause I have to keep Geewits happy otherwise she harasses me by email), here are some pictures from the trip.....<br />
<br />
We arrived in France on Friday, spent the night at a friend's place near Paris, and Saturday morning... ok, more like Saturday noon, we were off:<br />
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See, ze French road, ze French sky, ze Quebecer toes and ze lovely GPS we had the presence of mind to buy before leaving. And of course ze French car... which was actually an Opel, so technically it was a German car...<br />
<br />
Brittany is far far away from Paris it is. A good 6 hours away. The next person who tells me France is tiny and distances are really small will get slapped upside the head. Yep....<br />
<br />
The view from N&R's deck. They live just outside a tiny Breton village called <b><a href="http://www.lhopital-camfrout.fr/">Hôpital-Camfrout</a></b>, so called because, it seems there was a leper hospital there back in the 1100s or something. Though I can't help but think a hospital back in the 1100s is definitely a place I wouldn't want to be...<br />
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Lucky for us they live close to the ocean. The ocean!!! Getting a regular salt water fix is important to my sanity, so it just couldn't get any better.... The pretty boat parking lot in <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camaret-sur-Mer">Camaret</a></b>. <br />
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Look! A Breton fisherman! Totally could be a fisherman anywhere in the world. But he's Breton he is!<br />
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And his boat was in much better shape than these...<br />
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The church on the pier (or whatever it's called - I'm not much for the right terms, as you might have noticed when I pointed out that "pretty boat parking lot") where I guess fishermen stopped off before they set out...<br />
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And the inside of the church. Isn't that ceiling cool? I love that it looks like the bottom of a boat. I actually saw several churches like that...<br />
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The fortifications:<br />
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Course we had to wander around town, more old stones for you <b><a href="http://violetsky-wwwblogger.blogspot.com/">Violetsky</a></b>.<br />
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And some really old stones. Dolmens left by the druids thousands of years ago. Funny, really how you expect these places to be all silent and spiritual, not standing 20 meters from a bunch of modern houses.<br />
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The next day, on to <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concarneau">Concarneau</a></b>, a great town with a wonderful medieval walled town.... Obviously, this isn't the walled town... Just me and Mr. Jazz on the pier in front of the city... Ain't it nice that Mr. Jazz is able to keep his eyes open for a photo? One of his many talents it is. A talent that obviously I am sorely lacking.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070801.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
A church where drunken homeless sailors could take refuge. There were, apparently, large numbers of drunk sailors in Concarneau, which is a major seaport...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070806.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
A Concarnese cat checking out the pigeons... you could pretty much see the lust in his eyes. If he'd had wings...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070817.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>A tavern that's been there for hundreds of years. It used to be out in the outskirts of town - it's about 300 meters from the walled town: the Korrigan Tavern. <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korrigan">Korrigans</a></b> are, according to Breton folklore a sort of fairy or dwarf-like spirit. At dusk they appear beautiful, but in the daylight they are ugly, with wrinkled skin and red eyes, so they tend to hid out during the day. Unfortunately, as I have to earn a living, I cannot hide out during the day when my eyes are all red and I'm not looking my best. Amazing what candlelight can do for your looks. Maybe Korrigans were actually just middle aged ladies in the times before good makeup and lighting.<br />
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The entrance of the walled town.<br />
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Inside the walls...<br />
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And to finish off the day - a purty French flower....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a class="cssButton" href="javascript:void(0)" id="publishButton" onclick="if (this.className.indexOf("ubtn-disabled") == -1) {var e = document['postingForm'].publish;(e.length) ? e[0].click() : e.click(); if (window.event) window.event.cancelBubble = true; return false;}" target=""></a></div><div class="cssButtonOuter"><div class="cssButtonMiddle"><div class="cssButtonInner"><a class="cssButton" href="javascript:void(0)" id="publishButton" onclick="if (this.className.indexOf("ubtn-disabled") == -1) {var e = document['postingForm'].publish;(e.length) ? e[0].click() : e.click(); if (window.event) window.event.cancelBubble = true; return false;}" target=""><br />
</a></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070888.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-5734499989878589522010-06-10T16:57:00.003-04:002010-06-11T13:03:05.616-04:00As I haven't yet set up the holiday pic post...<div style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></div>I was staring at my computer screen, squinting. A colleague passing by said, "Wow, that's really fuzzy". Such blissful relief ! I thought it was my eyes, that my prescription would need to be changed. Again. So soon.<br />
<br />
"You mean it's not me?"<br />
"Um, no. How can you work like that?"<br />
<br />
One quick call to Mr. IM and it was all fixed.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I don't really see the crystal clarity of it. Damn.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*************************************************</div><br />
I climb into the waiting bus. It's crowded. Suddenly I hear, "Please take my place m'am, you look tired". This time it's not a 10 year old boyscout practicing his manners because anyone beyond 15 looks positively ancient to him. No. This guy must be pushing 30. And it's the third time this has occurred in a couple of months.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">************************************************* </div><br />
So it has finally happened. I have joined that generation of tired-looking matrons for whom seats are given up on the bus and subway, though manners being what they are today, I thought it would happen <b>much</b> later. You know, when I'm old and decrepit, bent over with osteoporosis, leaning on my walker. I'm not liking this one bit, though I'm not stupid or vain enough to refuse the proffered seat. I don't have <b>that </b>much to prove. Or that much pride for that matter.<br />
<br />
Obviously, I'm already seen as old and decrepit. Is it because no one today, even the 80 year old botox-embalmed Westmount ladies who lunch, looks older than 25? In a really really creepy way.<br />
<br />
Is it because of the hair? No one has natural hair anymore, everyone colours, even though, truly, does it really fool anyone? Once everything is being sucked into the ground through sheer incapability of resisting the forces of gravity, I don't believe artfully coloured hair can fool even the blindest among us.<br />
<br />
At almost 49 I have joined the ranks of the old and invisible.<br />
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I don't know why it bothers me so much, since I've pretty much spent my life being invisible, part of that mass that no one sees, so it's not much of a change. At least now I become visible long enough to get a seat on the bus, that should be a plus shoudn't it?<br />
<br />
And yet...<br />
<br />
Statistically, the halfway mark is past. And I don't care that 50 is the new 40 or 30 or whatever the hell it is, I can't fathom that I've reached that age. That I'm well into middle age and closing quickly on the "Golden Years" (Golden years my fat ass, more like tarnished pewter maybe).<br />
<br />
What the hell happened to my life!?! Hell, I don't even know what I want to be when I grow up, and I'm supposed to be thinking of what I'm gonna live on when I retire?<br />
<br />
Which is a whole 'nother thing. Retire? I'll probably never be able to afford it and will die working as a Walmart greeter. Now there's a scary thought.<br />
<br />
I mean, after all, the only good thing about getting old is being able to stop with the damn work already. And I'm already looking at working at Walmart.<br />
<br />
WALMART!<br />
<br />
Damn, I need a hot flash to distract me!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/inter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/inter.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-5105321509738148572010-05-26T08:25:00.001-04:002010-05-26T08:25:00.309-04:00And now for the worst. Commercial. EVAH!<object height="405" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AqMjB7lXWQQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AqMjB7lXWQQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-26632417713562557652010-05-22T08:21:00.001-04:002010-05-22T08:21:00.538-04:00And going back a bit to the 50s...Everyone needs a computer...<br />
<br />
<object height="405" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Pd63MHGQygQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Pd63MHGQygQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: xx-small;">.</span>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-86097719833582057962010-05-19T22:13:00.002-04:002010-05-20T08:16:30.591-04:00How fucked is it... <span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: xx-small;">.</span><br />
That I am incapable of packing?<br />
<br />
I used to leave for two weeks with a gym bag. A month with a small back pack.<br />
<br />
Now I'm leaving for around two weeks in France - where lets face it, I can buy toothpaste or a t-shirt if I need them - and having an anxiety attack about it. I no longer pack light. Hell, I pretty much take everything but my bed. What the fuck!!! Get over it.<br />
<br />
I just went outside to chillax a bit, It reeks (in a good way) of lilac out there. There's a word in French - embaumer (which also means, ironically, 'to embalm' - lets not go there), but I can't for the life of me find the English equivalent.<br />
<br />
OK, back to the suitcase.<br />
<br />
<i>Edited to add:</i> Plus. PLUS! Whenever I go on vacation I have to clean. I vacuum, I dust, I put stuff away. Who the hell will <b>see </b>that the dust bunnies have been wrestled into submission? I don't have a problem with breeding dust bunnies when I'm home, why on earth would they bother me when I'm not?<br />
<br />
So what did I do yesterday? On top of tearing my hair out packing. I vacuumed, I cleaned, I did a load of laundry. That's just so fucking anal.<br />
<br />
But now, I'm done and I will be <b>gone</b>. <br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">.</span></span>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-29247134074493869172010-05-19T08:10:00.002-04:002010-05-19T08:20:48.685-04:00I can't help comparing this to my MacBook Pro...<div style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></div><object height="405" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6gaNyXWBcsU&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6gaNyXWBcsU&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object><br />
<div style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></div>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-32208533058857034722010-05-17T12:43:00.000-04:002010-05-17T12:43:56.500-04:00Pffft to titles.Spring seems to finally have sprung in Montreal - though of course my saying that probably ensures that we will barely get above freezing temperatures tomorrow...<br />
<br />
To celebrate, it's time for that Spring vacation.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">.</span></span> <br />
Come Thursday evening I'll be on my way to France to see friends in Brittany and in the vicinity of Paris. And, if various constraints work themselves out and schedules miraculously mesh, maybe to meet a blogger - that would be <b><a href="http://wwwtheothersideofparis.blogspot.com/">Dumdad</a></b>.<br />
<br />
Who knows, maybe I'll haul some inspiration back from Europe with me. That'd be nice. 'Cause right now? Not so much. I try to believe it's because I'm too busy having a life, knowing full well that that's so not the case at this point.<br />
<br />
Maybe since we're actually renting a car, we'll have all sorts of driving adventures where I navigate us clear up into Norway. Of course, Mr. Jazz - smart man that he is - went out and bought a GPS (aka Simon) with all those nifty European maps so he doesn't much have to beat his head against the steering wheel while I try to turn the map so that it's headed in the same direction we are because otherwise it just makes no sense whatsoever. Spatially challenged? Me?<br />
<br />
And so, to paraphrase my friend <b><a href="http://jimsuldog.blogspot.com/">Sully</a></b>, Soon(ish) with more better stuff.<br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: xx-small;">.</span>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-88115516306707969282010-05-10T21:57:00.003-04:002010-05-11T14:50:19.411-04:00Our Nation's Capital<span style="color: #cccccc;">.</span> <br />
Ottawa that would be. Where I spent the weekend and was tardy about blogging about it so both <b><a href="http://exurbanpedestrian.wordpress.com/2010/05/09/tulip-fail/">XUP</a></b> and <b><a href="http://violetsky-wwwblogger.blogspot.com/">Violet Sky</a></b> beat me to it 'cause they're way on the ball and organized and get everything done right away and make me feel like... hmmm... well, basically like a) i'm completely disorganized and b) total aside, the Habs just scored, so it's 3-2 against the Penguins and Mr. Jazz is a happy camper and I inserted this into the blog because his screams of joy pretty much lifted me 6 inches off the bed. The boy can yell, indeed he can.<br />
And c) as you can see, I'm easily distracted so that might explain why I'm, as always, the last to blog. That and for some reason on Mondays they always seem to expect me to actually work for a living...<br />
<br />
Aaanyway.<br />
<br />
I seem to have digressed. Par for the course ain't it. And I will not digress into golf. I. Will. Not.<br />
<br />
This was supposed to be about my weekend in Ottawa.<br />
<br />
Let's start again.<br />
<br />
I went to Ottawa to meet XUP and Violet Sky - and a passel of Ottawa bloggers I pretty much had no idea actually existed for the most part.<br />
<br />
'Twas lovely it was.<br />
<br />
Things I learned this weekend:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><ul><li>Ottawa bloggers are cool. They meet up once in a while and have Saturday brunches. Hell, I know of two Montreal-ish English bloggers, and though we've been in contact, I've not met either of them. It's a shame really. <b><a href="http://paulabecker.com/blog/">Paula</a></b> and <b><a href="http://originalartstudio.blogspot.com/">Bonnie</a></b>, I'm talking to you. </li>
</ul><ul><li>The Ottawa Tulip Festival (the biggest in the whole wide world - prolly 'cause it's the only one) attracts LOTS of Japanese. Lots. Really. Oodles of 'em. Sorta like fall in Quebec attracts them. It's sorta scary actually. They are everywhere, taking pics of themselves taking pics of themselves taking pics of each other. The relationship of the Japanese to cameras is strange to say the least. </li>
</ul><ul><li>Frigid weather and rain make for cool pics of flowers with drops of water on them, but really, who gives a shit about drops of water on tulips. I mean seriously, this pic has been taken a million times - and way better. And Blogger, bloody minded thing that it it wouldn't let me put the pic here unless I go into HTML and do a copy/paste there and I did it so FUCK YOU Blogger and that's all I have to say about that and yes, XUP I know: WORDPRESSS. </li>
</ul><ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070619.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></ul><ul><li>It seems the Parliament buildings are not "just a pile of stones" and that I will never live down having said that they were. In my defense, I was cold! </li>
</ul><ul><li>It seems the Portage buildings (one of the big government complexes) ARE just a pile of ugly. </li>
</ul><ul><li> A women's weekend is truly something every woman should experience periodically. Much as I love Mr. Jazz, an estrogen weekend is something he cannot provide - even though he feeds me. </li>
</ul><ul><li>The <b><a href="http://www.byward-market.com/">By Ward Market</a></b>. It's where Obama bought his cookies. It's one of Canada's oldest and largest markets. And the inside part of it has this creepy sculpture hanging from the ceiling. Look, the guy's apron has BLOOD painted on it! I might have creepy ideas, like looking at my face with <b><a href="http://haphazardlife.blogspot.com/2010/04/dribs-and-drabs-again.html">my eyes hanging out</a>,</b> but damned if I'd do a sculpture with a guy holding a pig (4-2 Habs from what I hear) with blood on his apron. 'Cause, yeah, we all know he's gonna slit that pig's throat (and to hell with Blogger for not lettting me upload. I'll have to try tomorrow. Who knows I might get lucky - yes XUP, i know, WORDPRESS...) <b><i>Update: This morning Blogger seems to be in a better mood, here's the pic</i></b></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y18/LimaFoxtrot/P1070623.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><ul></ul><ul><li>*le sigh* </li>
</ul><ul><li> Drinking chocolate milk (through a straw no less) is so many levels of wrong when you're an adult and eating a plate beyond full of beef. Imagine it. A huge plate of roast beef, a domino size of salad and a potato... and a glass of chocolate milk. With a strwa. NO! it wasn't me. But you gotta admit that this image, this whole idea, is beyond wrong. And XUP - she provides a mean colour commentary regarding chocolate milk and beef. A commentary involving stomachs exploding in the middle of the night. Hell yeah!</li>
</ul><ul><li>On the drive home I noticed that Ontarians generally drive in the right lane and use the left to pass and get right back into the right lane. Probably 80% of cars that drove in the left lane just because it was there were Quebecers. We're such scofflaws we are (have you ANY idea how long I've been waiting to use the word scofflaw? Thank you Quebec drivers for helping me to do so). The law - Pffft. </li>
</ul><ul><li>There is something inherently wrong about snow on May 9. Even if it's just flurries. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Sometimes I hate this country. Y'all are suprised to hear that eh? I had to say y'all, it warms me up. </li>
</ul><ul><li>4-3 for the Habs. Game over. Heh. I said they'd win. No one believes me. Probably cause I'm not a fan. But I know. It's my superpower. Except when it doesn't work. Which is 50% of the time. But tonight I got it right. Hopefully I'll do as well in the World Cup this summer. That is one series I'll watch. Me and Violet Sky.... yep.</li>
</ul>OK, 'nuf of this going on and on and on... I'm going to bed. 'Night all.<br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: xx-small;">.</span>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18287683.post-79367592109438310422010-05-07T07:00:00.002-04:002010-05-07T09:09:13.015-04:00A solution to every problem...<span style="color: #999999; font-size: xx-small;">.</span> <br />
Sometimes you gotta wonder at the things people will buy...<br />
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<br />
But I guess if it saves a marriage...<br />
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As an aside: I'm off to Ottawa today to meet the wonderful <b><a href="http://exurbanpedestrian.wordpress.com/">XUP</a></b> and <b><a href="http://itsjustapie.blogspot.com/">Alison</a></b>, and hook up again with <b><a href="http://violetsky-wwwblogger.blogspot.com/">Violet Sky</a></b>. I'll let you know if I still think they're great after the weekend, but I'm assuming they're be even better in person...<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">. </span></span>Jazzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14644896022880634803noreply@blogger.com10