Hmmm...

I've had a few emails from people that I seem to have disappeared.

That's because, as I mentioned in the previous post, I've moved house and taken up residence at WordPress.


Come see me there !

(http://haphazardlife.wordpress.com)

This is the end, my only friend, the end...

OK. I'm done.

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.

So I've set up a Wordpress blog, imported this blog and that, as they say is that.

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 Haphazard Life - only change in url is that wordpress replaces blogspot (http://haphazardlife.wordpress.com).

Free cyber margaritas for the first week. Or beer if you prefer. Lets Partay!!!!

How cool is this?

It's called The August Break and is the brainchild of  photographer Susannah Conway.

Here’s the plan for 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 – for the whole of August. 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'm thinking of joining, anyone else want to play along?

Little bitty spam pearls

Experience safer, longer and more enjoyable sex or have your money back.. (Though its never happened before) 

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.

And this one:

ViaGrow gives you more economic value & pleasure for less money - dont let the financial crunch halt your sex life.

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.

ViaGrow - sounds like some sort of house plant fertilizer doesn't it? Hmmm come to think of it... but I digress.

Never, ever, not once have I seen a product like this linked to the the recession.

Can't you just picture the banker, sitting at his computer.

"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*? I can have sex again? Quickly, I must order this wonderful product now!"

Do people actually fall for it? Do they? Who?  Why?  Seriously, who are these people?

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?)

So yeah, I guess ViaGrow the wonder fertilizer isn't that much of a leap of faith, is it?


* An alliterative banker no less!

Not Wanted on the Voyage

And Noah went in, and his son,

and his wife and his sons' wives

with him into the ark, because

of the waters of the flood...

Genesis 7:7

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Everyone knows it wasn't like that.

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: WANTED or NOT WANTED ON THE VOYAGE.

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; "goodbye, everybody!" And all their friends shouting; "bon voyage!" while the daughters-in-law hand over their tickets smiling and laughing -- everyone being piped aboard and a band playing Rule Britannia! and Over the Sea to Skye. Flags and banners and a booming cannon... like an excursion.

Well. It wasn't an excursion. It was the end of the world.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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.

Still Batting 1.000

Once 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.

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 Running Goddess, an expat Montrealer who became a really good online friend. Then when she came to town, we met and became really good real friends.

"Wow", I thought, "And here I've been told all these innernet people are crazed serial killers!"

Who knows perhaps she's just waiting for the right moment all these years later.

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 ChooChoo, 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.).

On yet another forum (or was it the same) I met Purple Goddess (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.

Closer to home, a couple of years ago we went to Texas to see a friend in the Dallas area. I called Geewits 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.

Geez, this is getting long. Who knew. And I haven't even reached the point of this post yet...

Later on, back in Quebec, I got an email from XUP inviting me to spend the weekend in Ottawa because Violet Sky 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  Alison, 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.

And now, finally, I've gotten to the point of my post (Yes! See I can do it if I try!). Because last night I met Paula, 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.

Yeah, I know - me... a boat. Doesn't bode well. But unlike the pedal boat, 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.

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.

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.

There are things I like.

There are things I like immensely.

There are things I do not like at all.

I like certain things in my mouth. However, these things tend to be things I put there myself - like food.

These things do not include metal picks and water spraying ultrasound thingies, plastic vacuum cleaners and little round mirrors.

Nor do they include rubber clad fingers poking around.

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.

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.

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.

All in all, not the best way to end a day, espcially  after spending two and a half - no, actually two hours and 42 minutes (!!!) 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.

Thankfully Mr. Jazz had trout and salad waiting for me when I got home. It reconciled me with life in general.

But not dentists. Never ever dentists or the hygienists from hell.

I have a new favourite word.

It's the bestest word EVAH!

It showed up as a word verification on Ricë's blog.

WOOMPATA

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 !!!!


Now I just have to decide what it means. Any suggestions?

And the question begs to be asked

What's the point of having a hot flash if it's 10,00 degrees in the shade?

Seriously, that's just overkill.

Huh...

Roger Saulnier, 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).

People are shocked.  And quick to judge (from Hero to Zero someone put out in Facebook or one of those places).

One of his lawyer's arguments is that "overwhelmingness" of the whole situation got to him.

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...

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.

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!).

Aren't most heros just ordinary people who find themselves in situations where they just do what needs to be done?

Ordinary heroes, they say. There's a pleonasm if I every heard one.

I'z sick of it, i iz

Or at least I was. So I'm testing a new look. I'll update my blogrolls, try and put in tabs...

And we'll see how incredibly I screw up.

ZE TRIP - PART ZE LAST

.
Welcome to Normandy.

Where there are always raindrops on the flowers and leaves.

Where the skies are grey but many old stones are to be found, for instance in Bellême.

Such a pretty, nasty-tempered swan... you wouldn't think just looking at it...

A little further on, Nogent-Le Rotrou with its medieval castle (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.

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.

The keep.

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.

Good thing she didn't use that particular lav. Ain't she cute though this Norman cow?

Now, let's leave Normandy (bye cow!) for Meaux, city of mustard (you have your Dijon, but you also have the old style Meaux mustard). I love these exposed timbers.

The cathedral is pretty much the only thing so see in Meaux though - St. Etienne. The side entrance

After Meaux, Fontainbleau 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...

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.

The library.

The empress Josephine's bedroom

The council chambers if I remember right.

Napoleon's bedroom. That's a teeny tiny bed he slept in.

Outside the palace.

The horseshoe staircase where Napoleon made his speech before leaving for exile.

And finally, the last lunch, the next day was back to Montreal, work, and thankfully, the World Cup.

.

How totall freaking awesome is this?

I wish to take this occasion...

To wish myself Happy Birthday from all of you.

Thank you.

Jazz (who is off having a happy birthday as this posts)

Dear....

.
Dear STM*

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.

Nevertheless, I now know where all those mythical extra buses come from!!!

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.

ZE TRIP - PART ZE SECOND

.

So lets continue wandering along the Breton coast. Look! More pretty flowers.

A Breton beach somewhere - Morgat I believe...

Us again.

Only in France will they serve you espresso and macarons at McDonald's.

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.

Some buildings in Morgat.

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?)

An anonymous church in an anonymous village somewhere along the road...

The door on this place? It was about as tall as I was. Very very strange door.

The church spire in Roskoff. This is the city where the ferries arrive from England and Ireland.

Who knew artichokes didn't actually grow in supermarkets? I had never seen an artichoke as a... well plant...

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.

And thus ends Brittany, next up a medieval castle in Normandy - Nogent Le Routrou....

.