yes, Yes, YES!!!!

The weather has been glorious for the past couple of days, with at least a few more to come.

The snow has melted except for a pile here and there.

I saw what might be a crocus peeking up in someone's yard.

I actually saw a real live robin this morning on my way to work.

Could this mean that hypothetically, theoretically, possibly, perhaps, maybe, spring might actually have arrived in Montreal?

The mind boggles, and the heart flippity flops and sings with joy.

But terror still lurks. Who knows if it's not just an evil cosmic joke? It has been several times so far.

The Virginia Tech Blog (of course)

On his blog today, Neil wrote about the Virginia Tech shootings.

When the same thing (albeit on a much smaller scale) happened at Dawson College in Montreal, I blogged about it too.

We both seem to have the same problem with this type of event : the media. Diane Sawyer’s comments regarding the shooting were ridiculous, and, to my mind, terribly insensitive. Today we are all family? I think not. We might be sympathetic to their pain, but family? No.

A local Montreal TV channel trotted out people involved in the Dawson shooting to give “advice” to the Viginia Tech students on how to deal with the situation. I highly doubt those kids were watching Montreal TV the evening of the killings. So for whose benefit was this show?

It's not that I don't feel for the students and for the families of the dead. I do. I can't begin to understand how horrific this must be for them.

But there’s a whole nasty hovering vulture quality to the coverage of such events that totally disgusts me.

But hey, they need the ratings. Who am I to say.*


Update: It seems Philip Van Cleave of the Virginia Citizen's Defense League has gone on record saying that if everyone was armed, someone would have taken care of shooting the VTech killer before he did his grisley work (see here - unfortunately it's in French). Sounds like a great idea. Let's arm everyone, that way we can have a mega shooting spree and may the last man standing win... I give up. Really.


* And once again my nasty cynicism rears its ugly head....

Weekend Visits

Mr. Jazz and I spent the weekend with family in Washington (well, Virginia actually) and I was thrilled to death to be leaving Montreal and it’s never ending snow. Of course, Washington (and most of the east coast) had never ending rain this weekend, but it wasn’t snow and it held out until late Saturday afternoon so Jazz was a happy camper. Basically, if it’s warmer than Montreal Jazz is a happy camper. So basically, if Jazz is anywhere other than Quebec, Jazz is a happy camper.

Saturday we went to the Mall – not the Mall as in Macy’s and JC Penney, the Mall as in the Capitol, the Washington monument, the Lincoln Memorial. And the Korean war Memorial, the Second World War Memorial and, of course, the Vietnam War Memorial.*

That one just turned me inside out. Wrung me out and threw me away. It’s simple, it’s powerful, it’s brilliant.

Walking along it, the wall getting higher and higher, dwarfed by the wall and all those names, those thousands of names.

Thousands of men and women, so many of them almost children still, all dead. For nothing.

What a senseless stupid waste.

Anyone who gets his/her country involved in a war should be obliged to go fight on the front lines.

Later: How ironic - Here I am bemoaning a senseless waste of life and I just found out about the Virginia Tech shooting... Why are these school shootings happening only in North America? What kind of a sick society are we living in?



* Funny, when Mr. Jazz and I went to Vietnam, they referred to it as the American War

Must read...

I trust you know Terry Pratchett? And of course Neil Gaiman? Imagine the two of them together.... The result is Good Omens: The nice and accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. An absolutely hysterical must read.



From Amazon.com

Pratchett (of Discworld fame) and Gaiman (of Sandman fame) may seem an unlikely combination, but the topic (Armageddon) of this fast-paced novel is old hat to both. Pratchett's wackiness collaborates with Gaiman's morbid humor; the result is a humanist delight to be savored and reread again and again. You see, there was a bit of a mixup when the Antichrist was born, due in part to the machinations of Crowley, who did not so much fall as saunter downwards, and in part to the mysterious ways as manifested in the form of a part-time rare book dealer, an angel named Aziraphale. Like top agents everywhere, they've long had more in common with each other than the sides they represent, or the conflict they are nominally engaged in. The only person who knows how it will all end is Agnes Nutter, a witch whose prophecies all come true, if one can only manage to decipher them. The minor characters along the way (Famine makes an appearance as diet crazes, no-calorie food and anorexia epidemics) are as much fun as the story as a whole, which adds up to one of those rare books which is enormous fun to read the first time, and the second time, and the third time... --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

From Publishers Weekly

When a scatterbrained Satanist nun goofs up a baby-switching scheme and delivers the infant Antichrist to the wrong couple, it's just the beginning of the comic errors in the divine plan for Armageddon which this fast-paced novel by two British writers zanily details. Aziraphale, an angel who doubles as a rare-book dealer, and Crowley, a demon friend who's assigned to the same territory, like life on Earth too much to allow the long-planned war between Heaven and Hell to happen. They set out to find the Antichrist and avert Armageddon, on the way encountering the last living descendant of Agnes Nutter, Anathema, who's been deciphering accurate prophecies of the world's doom but is unaware she's living in the same town as the Antichrist, now a thoroughly human and normal 11-year-old named Adam. As the appointed day and hour approach, Aziraphale and Crowley blunder through seas of fire and rains of fish, and come across a misguided witch hunter, a middle-aged fortune teller and the Four Horsepersons of the Apocalypse. It's up to Adam in the neatly tied end, as his humanity prevails over the Divine Plan and earthly bungling. Some humor is strictly British, but most will appeal even to Americans "and other aliens."

It's tough being a woman

Note: I received this in an email and just had to share. I wish I knew who the author was so I could credit her. It's brilliantly funny.

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The Epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now... the wax. Read on.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet."

So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off.

No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!) So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!)

I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!... Oh! My! Gawd!!!!!

Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP! Another deep breath and RRRRRIIIIIP! Everything is spinning and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...must stay conscious. Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair.

I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? Where is the wax??? Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip...it's not! I touch. I am touching wax. I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.

Then I make the next big mistake...remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. Sealed shut! My butt is sealed shut. Sealed shut! I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cemented myself to the porcelain!!

God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom. I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone.

It's a very good conversation starter "So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.

Yeah! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to trying to scrape the wax off with a razor . Nothing feels better than to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event. My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "It works!! It works !!"

I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair.... the hair is still there... All! Of! It! So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color......

Random Mutterings

Today, topping of the "people that annoy me" list: In the more popular blogs, commenters who leave the “Yippi I’m first” comment, then, as a second comment, the “Now to go read the blog” comment. Nobody but yourself cares you’re first and if you think being first makes you special, think again, it only makes you annoying.

10-ish year old boys should not have more boobs than I do. Granted there’s not much boobification going on with me, but still, a 10 year old boy should not have boobs. Ever. How can a child be that fat?

Spring still pretty much refuses to arrive in Montreal. I’m going to see family in Washington (DC) this weekend and am looking forward to experiencing he real thing, if only for 48 hours.

How is it that in North America, pretty much the richest continent in the world, there are so many homeless wandering around Montreal (to name just one city). How can it be that with so much money around, children still go hungry and people live in the streets? The mind boggles. (Yeah, I know, I’m a bleeding heart and all that. I have my moments. Sue me).

I feel like eviscerating someone today. More to the point I think it would actually be lots of fun. Damn hormones.

Off for the weekend....

Disclaimer: Some might find this post offensive. Consider yourselves warned.

Long weekend this week. Because of Easter I have Friday off. I'm not too big on God, being an atheist and all, but hey, if it gets me a day off, I'm all for it.

Besides, how can I believe in a God who would get so pissed off at his people he'd have his son go down and be crucified to pay for their sins. Not simply run through with a sword. No. Crucified.

And not for his own sins. Nope for humanity's.

Where is the logic in this? I have this thing for logical reasons if you feel the need to have people crucified.

Is it just me or is this god guy a deeply sick person? He would have to be a total psychopath 'cause really, what on earth does this accomplish?

You are a god. You have this son. Presumably, you quite like your son... Or not. Because you look at all them humans down there, sinning and having all manner of fun and decide, "Hey, they're sinning non stop these creations of mine. I have to put a stop to it. I know, I'll have my only son tortured to death to punish them!"

Now, is it just me, or is this the sign of a sick sick mind? Besides, it doesn't seem to have worked, does it? From my vantage point we're all pretty much way up there on the sin-o-meter.

Reason #569 why I'm an atheist.

Women and Hair, Part II

A while back,I decided to let my natural colour grow back in, after years and years of “totally natural” un-natural hair colour.

And so it has been done. A couple of weeks ago I got my hair cut, the last of the colour taken out and now I’m the proud (?) owner of a head of grey…um… salt 'n peppa hair.

There are still moments when I go past a mirror and do a double take. I also notice women who have grey hair now, which I never did before. But all in all, I quite like it. I think it looks pretty good but what the hell do I know. And no, I can’t post a pic. Remember, I still pretty much live in the 20th century, so I have no home computer, microwave or digital camera.

The reaction has been, to say the least, varied.

There have been several “If you can’t find anything nice to say don’t say anything at all” reactions. The type where you know they’ve noticed. Their non-comments speak volumes.

Then there are the “Oh my god I can’t believe you actually went through with it” people. The ones who squeal. Shudder inducing to say the least.

And the “You are so brave” people. That one stymies me each time. Brave how? I stopped colouring my hair; I’m not going to Iraq! If I don’t like it I can change it. Amazing how hard it seems to be for some people to grasp that concept.

And one person who seemed to take it personally that I would actually dare show grey, thus sending the cause of women spinning backwards 100 years… That was strange to say the least.

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, all the negative feedback comes from women. Men, well they pretty much don’t give a damn. But then men don’t seem to have the same emotional entanglements with hair that women do (pun intended, it was so bad I couldn’t resist).

I’m beginning to think that there’s quite a fascinating sociological study to be done on women and hair.

I’m also beginning to think that I must have been a guy in another life, ‘cause my hair? The lower maintenance the better. Annoying, time wasting stuff it is.

Overheard

"They're not plastic, they're pleather"

"Dude, those pants have never been close to the skin of any animal alive or dead, ergo, they're plastic, deal with it"

Jazz, to herself: Dude, he's right, lose the pants.

==========================================================

And a quote:

Sometimes the appropriate response to reality is to go insane.
- Philip K. Dick

The Deed is Done

I have finally done it.

I've taken my destiny into my hands.

I've bitten the bullet.

I've done what needed to be done.

I've switched to the new version of Blogger - the one where your template is "click and drag" rather than "one hundred million lines of html code" - losing my whole blogroll on the way.*

So I bit the bullet again (hoping the damn thing wouldn't explode in my mouth), and re-entered my blogroll.

This is heavy duty stuff for a techno-challenged froggy Jazzer who doesn't even own a microwave. I faced technology. And won! Well, maybe not exactly won, but at least I prevailed. Had I won, all traces of technology, except those that benefit me directly, would have been wiped from the face of the earth. Exit cell phones, iPods and Blackberries. I'm evil that way.

All this because I wanted that damn thinking bloggy idiot thing in my sidebar. How fuckin' stupid is that? I'm that flattered to have been chosen. Someone shoot me now please. Anyone. Bang. It's easy. If you're arrested, say you had no choice, show them my blog and I guarantee they'll set you free.

More to the point however, I totally forgot what I was going to blog about.

I've conquered a phobia but lost my mind.

Image from The Silverbear Café.... how awesome is that pic?


* If you can't find yourself in there anymore, please let me know. I think I got everyone back up, but maybe not.

Thinking and updates....

Well, there's a new meme doing the rounds, but this one is a little more, well, intresting. It's called the Thinking Blogger Award.

It originated with The Thinking Blog* in Februrary.

The rules of the meme are as follows:

1. Post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
2. Link to original source blog (which would be The Thinking Blog, I guess)**
3. If you don’t choose to do either then please display your thinking blogger logo as shown on this posting.

Well, thanks to Ian (who is the person I'd much rather link to, since he said such nice things about me and I actually read him and stuff), I've been awarded a "Thinking Blogger Award". How flattered am I? My little heart is all a-flutter...

As I was looking at my blogroll, wondering who I would pick, I noticed that I hadn't updated it in some time. So this inspired me to update. Killing two birds with one stone and all that. Damn, I'm productive today.

So, here, in no particular order, are five blogs that make me think. Too bad I couldn't pick everyone. Other faves are in my blogroll...

1) The Needs of the Few. Evil Spock (and his collaborators) always have something interesting to say on the state of the world. Besides, seeing as he will one day take over said world (starting with the American Presidency in 2012), I want to keep on his good side.

2) Dan's Blah Blah Blog. He makes me think, but he also, almost invariably makes me laugh, which is even better. . .

3) Stop Looking at Me. Choochoo makes me think of the absurdity of life. Which is good. You don't want to take yourself too seriously. Besides, she's going to eventually be battling Evil Spock for world domination, so I have to stay on her good side too.

4) Whateverings. Paula Becker is an illustrator who divides her time between Montreal and Texas. She entertains me and her illustrations make me happy. That's all. Becoming her pencil shapener is my goal in life.

5) This Just In. Gnightgirl is the mother of a soldier. In Iraq. I don't know how she does it. Her blog is funny, insightful, and at times heartbreaking. I just recently discovered her and she's become a definite favourite.

Ian is my honorary pick, but he's been picked twice already so in order to keep his ego from inflating too much, he's not gonna be official.

I've noticed, writing this, that everyone on this list also makes me laugh. Laughter is a great antidote to thinking too much. There's not much point in taking life too seriously if you have to die anyway.



* I have no idea if this is a good blog or not, I just googled the award.

** So basically, this is just a way for the Thinking Blog to get lots of links and thus get boosted on those sites that classify you according to the links you get (i.e. Technorati) - at least I think that's how it works. If someone wants to boost their rating who am I to stand in their way? If such is their ambition, more power to them. Though personally I think it makes way more sense to link to the person who chose you....

Monday morning incoherence

Because of something I read recently in The Needs of the Few, I’ve been thinking a lot about freedom of speech.

Saying what we please is one of our most fundamental rights, and people do use and, some would argue, abuse, the right.

Under the guise of “political satire” some guy “recently posted pictures of candidates’ underage daughters and granddaughters along with a “cuteness” rating as a method to handicap the Presidential race.” (to quote the Collective)

Thing is this guy is a self professed pedophile.

Now, as I said in the comments to The Needs of the Few, I’m all for freedom of speech. But I’m really uncomfortable with this. From anyone else it would have just seemed stupid, but from a pedophile? Beyond serious discomfort. I know someone who was abused by a pedophile at a young age. I won’t go into what I think should be done to these people, 'cause it ain’t pretty.

So, where do we draw the line? I know the cliché that your freedom stops where the next guy’s freedom starts. And I know that some things should not be allowed.

Who decides what can be said on a public forum? Who decides what is too much? Should some things be censored? What, by whom, and again, who decides?

My knee jerk reaction would be that people like the guy above should not have the right to say a damn thing, ever, anywhere. But then what? Doesn’t that open the way to censorship?

If some things should be censored, doesn’t that imply that the public is too stupid to put things in perspective, to realize how ridiculous and sometimes downright insane some of what is said truly is? And think hard before saying “of course they’re stupid” because you are, after all, part of that public.

If we start censoring on a more or less large scale, where does it stop?

I have no answers. But then I rarely do.



*picture from stockphoto.com

Bloggers Block

I'm empty, dried out, blogless. I can't seem to get my head around anything to blog about. Doc Mailloux has disappeared from the front pages and further on into the paper, so I really can't be bothered to search him out.

There is a nugget of a story rattling around in my brain, but for the life of me I can't find the right angle. It's been in there for weeks, but nothin' doin', it refuses to hatch.

But I feel like blogging, so I bring you stupid test day! (or too lazy to get my blogging muscles actually moving day - your choice).

First: The colour of my heart. Yeah, I had the same thought... How stupid. On the accuracy scale, this one is pretty damn much useless. Only thing remotely right is Lucky first date and dream lover (got him!). As to what I bring to relationships... you'd have to ask Mr. Jazz.

Your Heart Is Orange

Love equals unbridled happiness for you. You enjoy the wild ride of falling in love. And while the ride is fun for a while, you always get off once the thrill is gone. Your flirting style: Hyper Your lucky first date: Anything you need your passport for! Your dream lover: Is both daring and well grounded What you bring to relationships: Energy

What Color Heart Do You Have?

If I were a drag queen, my name would be...

Your Drag Queen Name Is:

Donna Summersault

Drag Queen Name Generator

Ewwwww. But then how much of a chance is there that I become a drag queen? It would seem a bit besides the point to get a sex change, then disguise myself as what I was before the operation. Well, what I was + a lot of flamboyance. 'Cause the Jazzer? Not so flamboyant...

It seems my famous last words will be:

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"What we know is not much. What we don't know is enormous."

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

I doubt it. I'm thinking it'll be more along the lines of: It was a good ride.

And apparently I'm destined for world domination. Which might change my last words. Or not.

You Are Destined to Rule the World

You have the makings of a very evil dictator... Which is both kind of cool and kind of scary! Will you rule the world? Maybe. Maybe not. But at least you know that you could.

Are You Destined For World Domination?

Doc Mailloux Rides Again

Note: Many thanks to Mailloux for providing todays blog

Remember him?

Big kerfuffle in Montreal this morning about the guy. He was interviewed for a TV show, “Les Francs Tireurs” (The Snipers), and apparently went of the deep end, so much so that the network has decided to kill the show.

According to the papers (keep in mind that no one has seen the interview, though it’ll probably end up on You Tube), he said, among other things that:

• Women are inferior to men. Female doctors can’t handle the stress, and work less than male doctors, and if medicine becomes a more feminine profession, the level of health care will drop.
• He would never ever work for a woman (but that’s a personal thing – he said in a radio interview this morning that he wouldn’t be able to get it up if he had been bossed around by a woman all day. Gotta give him points for honesty).
• Michael Jackson and his sister Janet exhibit African tribal behaviours (he with the whole crotch holding thing – do they really do that in Africa? – and she by showing her boobs on national TV) and that they really have to realize they aren’t in Africa anymore*…
  

But, to loosely quote a McGill professor: Mailloux usually says things the way they are. Women doctors tend to work less than men, smokers have a lower IQ than non-smokers, men are physically stronger than women, and thus some jobs are more suited to them (and vice versa), there are plenty of pedophiles and unfit mothers… all things people don’t want to hear.

The guy does have a point. Doc Mailloux is a firebrand. He provokes people, says whatever he thinks and, every time, lands himself on some front page or other. It’s what he does; it’s what he’s always done and will do until he dies.

But why on earth do people get so het up about it? The media just gobble it up every time. Debates ensue. People scream and yell. It’s fascinating to watch actually.

So now, probably, a few things will happen:

• People will want him to be muzzled, he’s not PC, shut him up!**
• Women will scream: We are not inferior doctors.
• Blacks will scream: We do not exhibit tribal African behaviours, hell we’ve never even seen Africa. For generations.
• Others will scream: Look at the state of health care in Quebec, he might have a point.

And this will go on for a couple of weeks until some new un-news comes up. And he will have gotten what he wanted, and the media will have gotten what they wanted, and the public will have gotten what they wanted; namely, depending on which side of the fence they sit, to prove that he should be put away for his incendiary opinions, or, conversely, that he is totally right and that’s why what he says creates such controversy.

And so the wheel turns. As we say in French : "Le ridicule ne tue pas"*** Good thing too - this place would be littered with corpses.

* News for you Doc, Africa wouldn’t want them, and is Janet Jackson the first woman to bare a boob publically? What about white women who do that and worse – Britney baring her cootchie comes to mind… As for Michael, he’s just a total freak, whatever his ethnicity.

** Me, I think the man does what he does very well, namely get himself talked about, but, really, who cares what he thinks about the place of women and blacks in society.

*** Stupidity doesn’t kill

1 rant + 1 quote = Monday

Overheard:

"Well, I know I paid way too much for these shoes, but I deserve it"

Rant:

Why? Why does she deserve it? That "I deserve it" phrase drives me insane. Usually used when people have been good little consumers and bought themselves another toy.

What is this sense of entitlement we have? We're not entitled to anything.

You don't deserve the shoes. You wanted the shoes, you could (or couldn't) afford the shoes, you bought the shoes. I want leading directly to I bought. It has nothing to do with deserving something and everything to do with instant gratification.

Of course, it looks so much less shallow if you "deserve" it. Enough with the hypocrisy.

Quote:

I don't own a cell phone or a pager. I just hang around everyone I know, all the time. If someone wants to get a hold of me, they just say 'Mitch,' and I say 'what?' and turn my head slightly.
Mitch Hedberg

A man after my own heart.