It's really hot out.
Mood:  caffeinated
Topic: The World At Large
The quarter final game between Germany and Argentina was terrifying to watch since both teams are massively talented. Of course, I root for Germany; despite several blood transfusions I think I can still claim part German heritage. I use the word schadenfreud properly. Germany has advanced to the finals with a 4-2 triumph.

I'm also delighted with France's win over Brazil; not so much with England's loss to Portugal, the diving kings of FIFA 2006. The Italians seem more fun than the Portuguese, who seem vaguely arrogant. I'd already noticed the falling-down thing, otherwise known as "diving" during the June 25th Portugal-Netherlands game. If you're halfway good at it, some opposing player gets a yellow card. The closer the teams advance to the finals more is the pressure to sneak these acrobatics in, and, by god, it looks cheesy.

In my Portuguese/Italian neighbourhood, it's been horn honkin' nearly every day, and I've always viewed this as a public service, a hint to not drive on Commercial for a while. I watch the games at home, preferring my jammies and relatively free coffee to sitting with the throngs. Something creeps me out about crowds, probably germs and noise. Plus, most of the guys act like goombahs.

My hope is a Germany-France final. An Italy-Portugal final could cause bloodshed in the streets; better get my camera ready. July 4th and 5th will be exciting days.

I missed seeing my sister's band for that very reason today. Canada Place seemed a good place for somebody with presumably low white counts to avoid. My sister works in an office there and she got sick, which she never does. I know people who get colds every 5 minutes/hang on to one cold all year, but not Lisa. Anyway, I just think of Canada Place as germ central.

It's so incredibly hot a person just has to sit and they'll sweat. Most days I have a little Gatorade because I'm paranoid about running low on potassium.

Mood:  don't ask
Topic: The World At Large
Yeah, I know, it's mid-May. It's hot and nobody can think straight. Today I made brownies, yesterday it was lasagna. Where will it end? I think I'd like to do rhubarb pie next. I have the best pastry recipe. More later.

Mood:  vegas lucky
Topic: The World At Large
Jeepers, it's April already!

Greetings to my avid readers; yes, I'm still in the milieu. Thanks for askin'.

Stuff that happens
Mood:  vegas lucky
Topic: The World At Large
Playlist:

Little Village: Solar Sex Panel; Bryan Adams: Diana; Alan Parsons Project: Wouldn't Want to be Like You; Ian Dury: Sex & Drugs & Rock n' Roll; World Party: Way Down Now; 10CC: Dreadlock Holiday; Hothouse Flowers: Thing of Beauty; Dire Straits: Industrial Disease; Nena: 99 Luftballoons; Hothouse Flowers: Don't Go; Jesus Jones: Right Here Right Now; Depeche Mode: Just Can't Get Enough; Hollies: On a Carousel; Judy Collins: Someday Soon; Dusty Springfield: All Cried Out; Fever Tree: San Francisco Girls; Beatles: Lovely Rita; Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose: Treat Her Like a Lady; Five Stair Steps: Ooh Child; Cream: Badge; Beatles: Magical Mystery Tour; Beatles: It Won't Be Long; Hugh Mazakela: Grazing in the Grass; Mary Hopkins: Those Were the Days; Every Mother's Son: Come on Down to My Boat; Elvis Costello: Oliver's Army; Hipsway: The Honey Thief; Glen Campbell: Witchita Lineman; Toto: Africa; Richie Havens: Here Comes the Sun [studio version]; Spin Doctors: Little Miss Can't Be Wrong; Sarah McLachlan: Vox; Jackson Browne: You Love the Thunder; Beatles: Rain; Savage Garden: I Want You; Beatle: Doctor Robert; Blue Rodeo: 'Til I Am Myself Again; The Fixx: Deeper and Deeper; Peter Frampton: I Can't Stand It No More;

Today, being a good day, there was $3/gram cross at the Compassion Club. The waiting room was nearly full and there was maybe 10 numbers before mine. I'm guessing half an hour wait.

Big guy, reeking of cigarette and grubby clothing, wearing shades indoors calls out "Who's got 87?"
I'm right next to him, and say "I do."
Well, he's got 88, and he wants to go out for a smoke, so could I rap on the window when it gets to be my turn and he won't lose his place? The first time he asked me I couldn't make sense of his request; for some reason it sounded like a recording played back at the wrong speed. The chemo from yesterday was still floating around this morning and I'd needed a small hit of Emerald Wonder before I could get going. Had to ask him again what he wanted, and then I agreed to his presumably simple request.

He goes out front and I can see him smoking. A few numbers later, he's not there and the implications of my agreement are sinking in. If you're not there when they call your number, that's it. Gotta get a new number and that'd be a terrible nuisance especially when it's busy. I have a responsibility not to lose track of this fellow. I hoped he hadn't strayed to the park, but he seemed pretty eager about not missing his spot.

I went out the front door and he was right there with a few others. He asked if it was his turn next. Nope, but in about ten, fifteen minutes it will be.
"I didn't see you by the window and I wanted to find you in enough time."
He thanked me. I thought I heard somebody in the group say "Well spotted, ma'am."

Another 10 minutes later, the fellow comes in and before he sits down, says to me "Really, thank you very much for that."

I stopped by the Food Co-op to get a carton of milk. Wrong time of day entirely to be there, but it beat what Santa Barbara's nightmare queue would be. You only go there in early evening when you have both leisure and a desire to check out the crowd. I was in a hurry to get home because my friend Trish was coming for a visit, and I wanted to start on the baking.

Woman in front of me has a full basket, and I notice that she has soy milk. She didn't miss seeing the 2 litre carton I laid on the counter. Almost presenting it to see how she'd respond but she didn't have the motivation to let the one-itemed milk drinker go ahead of her. Trained from a steady diet of tv crime shows, I began constructing a mini-profile of her by the items in her basket.

She wore a fashionable gore-tex jacket, was probably a few years older than me. Professional looking. The produce she bought was organic--nearly each piece of it confirmed individually at the till with emphasis: "Yes!" or "Of course," in that superior way. She could've just said they all were at the start but where would be the satisfaction?

Then she hadn't put the bin number down on a few bulk items, an indication of her relationship to detail. I deduced via eavesdropping that she does body work. Ah...a healer. Probably doesn't watch TV, and I bet she's a vegetarian. I wished I'd had a package of meat in my order. Then her card had to be run through twice because she'd begun packing the groceries and the connection ran out of time.

In real life, there's probably nothing the matter with the woman in front of me. She had an essence, like she was one of my secret evil dopplegangers. The person I might have resembled had I made better choices. In moments of maudlin reverie, I am reminded of having known many such women, of having attended dinners and gatherings in their beautiful homes. Women who had plans for their lives. Women with terrific partners, women with promise. Women with stability. Women who had earned the right to dawdle at the Food Co-op.

In contrast, I was a middle-aged woman wearing a biker jacket, Docs, shiny, baggy, downright ill-fitting Levis, topped with short, spikey bed hair and looked like she hadn't slept right in days. I illustrated what is implied by the No butches please you often see in personal ads, the sort penned by women like her, who initially sound intriguing, somebody you'd want to meet. But they don't want to meet you. Then there was the milk. The two grams of pot in my pocket, which she wouldn't know about, simply added to the tableaux.

I don't remember how it got to be so goddamn complicated.

The big guy has a nice smile.

Okay, so some of it's better
Mood:  don't ask
Topic: The World At Large
At the moment, I am working on networking a Puppy Linux machine with Win98 and am having zero luck despite all the reams of instructions I've been reading. None of it works. Wow...I must be stupid.

Today I have an unwanted appointment with a bone marrow transplant doctor and the only reason I'm keeping it is to shut my oncologist up and to be in the same neighbourhood as the CA to pick up some crap to drink for next week's CT. Sounds exciting?

That said, I think Stephen Harper's made a tremendous blunder. 5 minutes into office and he embraces turncoat David Emerson and installs him in cabinet. Excellent work, Mr. Harper. We look forward to more of the same. Seriously.

Hardly any of it's good
Mood:  don't ask
Topic: The World At Large
While searching for a suitable birthday e-card for my sister-in-law, I found this hilarious, informative treatise on the F word, a staple of many linguistic diets. Mine too, incidentally, despite my university education and love of good books. I totally appreciated and needed a good laugh.

Wow. Stephen Harper shakes hands with his kids when he sees them off at school. I could feel the warmth right through the television.

I'd Rather Be Me Than Katie Holmes
Mood:  hungry
Topic: The World At Large
I hardly know where to begin. Thanks to Zargon deleting 2 or 3 shifts from me for the past 3 weeks, I've had to resort to slightly better than WWII rationing methods to stay afloat. I'm officially very tired of pork steaks and would prefer not to eat them for a while. The same holds for peanut butter (consumed from the jar or in a sandwich), boiled eggs, and tinned fish. Friends, try to ensure that you find employment with an outfit that isn't going to screw you in the first three months.

Saturday, November 19th, is municipal election day, so be sure to vote. Living in Vancouver, I wish I had better candidates to choose from, but there it is. Asshole or nebbish for mayor...gosh, what to do? My tradition is to vote for the party first, then the candidate, with only one notable exception, and now I can't recall whether I voted for the least objectionable candidate or didn't choose anybody. All I remember is that Philip Owen and Jim Green were both up for mayor. Vote with your instincts, that seems to be the most sensible plan.

It's the beginning of winter and Vancouver, with fewer trees retaining their colourful leaves, is entering her grey season. You know what I mean. The sky reminds me of the planetarium's screen before the show starts. It's cold out. People are becoming anxious about Christmas. Have we had Hallowe'en yet? Just checking.

Andre Boisclair is the new leader of the Parti Quebecois (PQ), and Angela Merkel, whom I wrote about earlier, will be the new Chancellor of Germany with a coalition goverment. Nobody's found fault with Michaëlle Jean since her recent witticism about Bosclair and "the party line," a play on his publically acknowledged use of coke while a cabinet minister nearly 10 years ago. At 39, he's the youngest party leader in Canada's history, plus he's gay. Whoo hoo.

Over the past couple of weeks I watched a 4 hour special on the 1995 Quebec referendum, plus about 6 hours of CSI/Law & Order in their various incarnations. Who says I don't know how to have fun?

Another Year
Mood:  hungry
Topic: The World At Large
Very pleased about a bunch of things, mostly that the CBC lockout has ended. Not broadcasting the investiture of Governor General Michaëlle Jean was one thing; I was becoming concerned about the Queen's annual Christmas message. Yeah, I know, we can watch it online but it isn't the same thing.

I've just had a birthday on the 4th, and now I'm 44. Today I read about how employees shouldn't "act their age," as in, if you're young, be mature, and if you're mature, look flexible. They didn't say to, but if you're a mature male who still fancies himself, please feel free to dye your hair some unusual shade or bleach it, and possibly make it spiky. Include sports replica shirts in your work wardrobe. When the dyke at work starts wearing them too, which of you looks sillier?

I managed to miss another social occasion, the Women in Print closing dance. Initially, I balked at the price which started at $20. Perhaps I'm channelling my grandpa again, for he was one of the world's biggest skinflints. I hated to think how much the beer would be, whether I'd like the band, and I was further annoyed that the tickets appeared only to be sold at WIP over at 4th and Alma. Working graveyard shifts effectively wipes out half my usable day; if I get up at 3:30 in the afternoon, you couldn't pay me to drive to the west side. Plan B was to slip in later and I talked myself out of that one by conjuring visions of me running into old girlfriends with new partners. I am such a chickenshit and I make myself laugh.

So instead of going to a gathering that would've had some of the town's most eligible women, I stayed at home playing Microsoft Train Simulator. Nothing like smoking some grass and then navigating the Flying Scotsman. Wheee! That was my birthday present along with some High Kush. I wouldn't mind another pair of tighter fitting jeans--after my spectacular weight loss I seem to have lost me bum.

Is Jamie Lee Hamilton a crackhead? Just wondering.

What Day Is It?
Mood:  not sure
Topic: The World At Large
As the CBC labour dispute continues... My kitchen radio has never been this quiet. I've been watching CNN frequently in case another piece of the United States gets washed away, and, no, I'm not hoping for that despite some unkind remarks I made a few days ago when I forgot to make a distinction between the citizens and the government of our southern neighbour. That said, I'm not going to pretend to like them more just because they've had bad luck.

Yep, it's Dullsville at the moment. Today I have the duty of spending a largeish sum of dough for auto repairs. Of all the people in town who may be in the position of driving around with shitty brakes, I'm glad it was me. Thanks to that horseshoe up my ass, nobody got hurt for that scary week when the grinding noise started.

More unpleasant decisions to make will occur on November 19th when Vancouver has its civic elections. What in the name of god did we do wrong to be handed a choice between Jim Green and Christy Clark? Clark's appearance effectively wipes Sam Sullivan off the map. A vote for Mr. Green is one better conducted by "holding one's nose," as a neighbourhood activist recently mused in the food co-op. I don't recall voting for him when he ran against Philip Owen but circumstances dictate. I called it a Hobson's Choice although going by Wikipedia's definition, that's not an exact fit. There exists a metaphor that would better illustrate the sadness of choosing between two awful things but I don't know what it is.

I have just had two glorious days off and it feels like a week. As soon as I'm though the doors of Zargon, I'm gone. The ease with with I can cast aside any thoughts of work are impressive, and I almost worry that I'll forget entirely what I'm meant to do there. Then I'll see a number pattern that reminds me of a transit number and I can see how well the information has been embedded. Perhaps I'll get that lovely toolkit from Zargon one day.

Hot Off the Press
Mood:  chillin'
Topic: The World At Large
By now, you've heard about Peter C. Newman's book about Brian Mulroney and how Mulroney is revealed to be an egotistical, foul-mouthed bully. Glad that's been cleared up, because we certainly had no suspicions. Chantal Hébert thinks Mulroney should've known better. Quite. Paul Wells, over at Macleans, is right on, too.

In Vancouver, we have the predictable and messy break-up of the city's leftist civic party, COPE, to thank for Jim Green being on the menu as a mayoral candidate in the November 19th election. Well done. This is what makes the left so great, the way committees, or actual movements, do extremely well for a few years and then its members destroy their own good work and fight like cats in a bag. When the dust settles, something really lame emerges to build from. In a way, it could be a sign of health, the the way the left falls apart then regroups. Or not. Meanwhile, there is a political fly in the ointment: Christy Clark.

With Clark's run at the mayor's office, the word "carpetbagger" has enjoyed a revival. Here's the Wikipedia version. Turns out, Clark and her husband are searching for a house in the Main St. area because it's cool, basically. Think they'll feel at home? PS, fuck 'em for being in a position where they can up sticks with such ease.

Come November 20th, Vancouver will have hopefully replaced one loud-mouth asshole with another in order to prevent the installation of a greater evil. You know that Clark wants to be Prime Minister, right? She started on that path back in the late 80s when she was a member of the SFSS student executive. If she claims to lack ambition, she's lying.

The CBC lock-out has only one upside and that's the 18 episodes of Coronation Street a week. Now we're finally caught up to what Britons were watching last Christmas. CBC Newsworld's coverage of Hurricane Katrina was interrupted by Antiques Roadshow. What I miss the most is the National's Thursday night At Issue panel. It is not an easy withdrawal. Chantal Hébert is smarter and sexier than Jane Taber.