tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20804170488172850672024-03-05T04:53:03.616-08:00Le Trottoir ImbecileUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-77761644828500360372010-02-03T05:16:00.000-08:002010-02-03T05:25:07.187-08:00movin' on upI've decided to pack my bags and move to ... Word Press.<br /><br />The decision was made rather suddenly. I was telling someone about my blog (i.e. shamelessly promoting myself), and when this person asked 'What's it called?' it took me 10 minutes to say the name, spell it out, and then try to explain it. I'm no web specialist, but even I realized that giving your blog a completely obscure name is not the best way to attract an audience. I was limiting myself to a few good friends and anyone who happened to include the words "imbecile" and "trottoir" in their google search, ensuring a further level of obscurity because most of these people would be French, and my blog is written in "English."<br /><br />So onward, ever onward!<br /><br />You'll find me <a href="http://mythinlyveiledlifelife.wordpress.com/">here</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-47879783170740663702010-02-01T01:43:00.000-08:002010-02-01T02:23:30.261-08:00me and [insert clever blogging idea here]I'm trying to think of a "Julie and Julia" gimmick that could win me more readers but it's harder than that Julie chick made it look. She started with a cookbook so I figure I should choose another sort of reference material. Here are some possibilities I've been mulling over:<div><br /></div><div><b>Atlas</b>: I could try visiting every country in the atlas (Pros: I'd get to see the world; I'd finally figure out where Togo is. Cons: expensive, time-consuming, would require me to visit Poland, unless I based it on my actual atlas, from which I've excised all references to Poland). <div><br /></div><div><b>The Guinness Book of World Records</b>: I could try to beat all the records. (Pros: would involve a lot of eating. Cons: too many opposing goals -- you'd have to be the fattest AND the skinniest, the tallest AND the shortest, the fastest AND the slowest; could also potentially require me to visit Poland).</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Medical Dictionary</b>: I could try contracting every disease in a standard medical dictionary. (Pros: could potentially be done from the comfort of my own home. Cons: wouldn't make for particularly light-hearted reading; could actually kill me).</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Phone Book</b>: I could try calling everyone in a given phone book. (Pros: could definitely be done from home; requires no particular skill. Cons: they might start calling back).</div><div><br /></div><div><b>FBI's 10 Most Wanted</b>: I could try to capture the FBI's 10 most wanted fugitives. Failing that, I could at least hang out with them. (Pros: would make more interesting reading than an account of making boeuf bourguignon. Cons: I would have to learn Spanish, as five of them are Hispanic; none of them is particularly cute - see for yourself, this is the FBI's actual 10 most wanted <a href="http://www.fbi.gov/wanted/topten/fugitives/fugitives.htm">list</a>. If they spent as much time looking for fugitives as they did experimenting with fonts, they'd probably whittle it down in no time.)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-66165071359525042092010-01-26T23:49:00.000-08:002010-01-27T00:25:03.224-08:00three days of the condor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgTzHt06wCl6WzhjFEk0SxNOBYfcH95pCjDc6kPCNq98BAWtpYvknCva7cZ6EXb-l5vXjVrCH-oUKn72ei03qlIASyyciKfQHOMvG0KNJOzi1Rh7LciOiB4NOwffkbXVHhAl5YyRr86s/s1600-h/condor_vuela.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgTzHt06wCl6WzhjFEk0SxNOBYfcH95pCjDc6kPCNq98BAWtpYvknCva7cZ6EXb-l5vXjVrCH-oUKn72ei03qlIASyyciKfQHOMvG0KNJOzi1Rh7LciOiB4NOwffkbXVHhAl5YyRr86s/s320/condor_vuela.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431331339501337186" /></a><br />Today, I will review the 1975 film <i>Three Days of the Condor,</i> directed by Sydney Pollack and starring Robert Redford and Faye Dunaway.<div><br /></div><div>Available for rental, presumably, for years (in both VHS and later, DVD format I would imagine) it only went on sale at the Palac knih Luxor on Wenceslas Square in Prague recently, and I only bought and watched it yesterday, which explains why this review is 35 years late.</div><div><br /></div><div>But let's not get bogged down in recriminations. </div><div><br /></div><div>The movie is about Robert Redford, whose character's name escapes me now, but really, who cares? He's ROBERT REDFORD. He works for the CIA except he doesn't really, because he's not involved in any nasty CIA business, he just reads books - apparently in search of plans the CIA has in the past implemented or could potentially implement in future. He claims to read EVERYTHING, but that seems a little nonsensical to me. For example, would he read, <i>Jane Eyre, </i>in case the CIA has in the past or may in future pose as a plain governess who falls in love with a man who keeps his crazy Creole wife locked in the attic? (Although, that is ringing bells...Chile? the '70s? I must look that up.)</div><div><br /></div><div>But let's not get bogged down in plot details. (Because frankly, I'm not sure I really followed it.)</div><div><br /></div><div>This movie made me nostalgic for the '70s. In the '70s, for those of you who weren't there, or don't remember, people used to smoke a lot. INDOORS. I think it says a great deal about how our culture has evolved that 35 years later, I find the site of the receptionist smoking away while typing more shocking than any of the (many) shootings in this film.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, that could be because, in the '70s, when people got shot, they bounced around a bit but they didn't bleed much. They rolled down stairs and fell out of office chairs, but they did it with minimum gore. I have to say, I liked that about the '70s.</div><div><br /></div><div>But to get to back to the story, everyone in Robert Redford's office gets shot and he's saved only because he's gone out to get them lunch. When he returns and discovers the carnage (or what passed for carnage in the '70s) he realizes he's in danger and goes on the lam. </div><div><br /></div><div>There follow a number of plot twists and turns during which the alert viewer will no doubt realize who is betraying whom, and the less alert viewer will have no idea who is betraying whom but will be happy, nonetheless, just watching ROBERT REDFORD.</div><div><br /></div><div>Max Von Syndow plays a pivotal role as a creepy gun-for-hire from Europe (in the '70s, all the villains were European).</div><div><br /></div><div>The opening credits note that the movie was based on the book "Six Days of the Condor," and I am really curious as to what happened to those other three days.</div><div><br /></div><div>In short, a film that really must be seen to be properly appreciated (and perhaps seen a couple of times to be properly understood).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-25635923823842947682010-01-14T00:02:00.001-08:002010-01-14T00:31:39.278-08:00troubleshootingThis morning I've arrived at work only to discover we have a client-facing pivot table issue!<div><br /></div><div>It's like reporting for duty on the deck of the enterprise just in time for a Klingon attack.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm psyched. I've been training for years for this moment. Bring on the client-facing pivot tables, I say! AND LET THEM PREPARE TO DIE!</div><div><br /></div><div>Before beaming down to the planet of pivots, however, I need to find that one key member of my party - the character you've never seen on any previous episode of Star Trek, the one who really should have a big bull's-eye painted on his forehead because he may be beaming down, but the only way he'll be beamed back up is in mason jars. Or the distant-future equivalent of mason jars. I suppose the science of food preservation will have progressed by leaps and bounds by then.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wish me luck!</div><div><br /></div><div>(And if you're wondering why I've been left to command the Enterprise, it's because Captain Kirk is busy these days making goo-goo eyes at <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HifHT7Gw9rU&feature=related">Gene Simmons</a>.)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-67361565474406368332010-01-13T00:11:00.000-08:002010-01-13T00:57:32.879-08:00windows 2010Guys! I would have written sooner, but I've been soooooo busy, what with traveling to the land of my people (Scotland, not Tesco), remaining vigilant (something I've been doing since 9/11, and THOUGHT I could dispense with when Obama got elected but oh no, now I've got to worry about my EasyJet seat mate setting his underwear on fire during the approach to Stansted. One benefit of EasyJet, however, is that there is no in-flight entertainment - you have to make your own - and remaining vigilant, done correctly, can be very entertaining. My latest act of vigilance is to reply, when asked whether I'd prefer a window or an aisle seat, "I'd like to sit next to the Dutch filmmaker, please."), and committing the new office regulations to memory.<div><br /></div><div>Have I mentioned the new office regulations? They arrived in an email with the subject line "Open Windows." Techie that I am, I assumed they were announcing they'd switched to pirated Microsoft software as a cost-cutting measure. Instead, I found a list of rules pertaining to the actual, physical windows in our office. To wit:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. We will not leave the windows wide open during the winter until the very end of the day because it causes the air temperature to drop too quickly and the room takes too long to reheat.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. The small windows above J**** will be left open for an hour or two (possibly longer), two or three times a day.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. The office door will be left open for the circulation of air.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. I will leave the big windows wide open every day for a few minutes just before I leave, while I'm getting ready to leave.</div><div><br /></div><div>5. I will turn the radiator off just before I leave and will turn it back on when I arrive in the morning.</div><div><br /></div><div>As they've recently introduced recycling bins for paper and plastic, I can only assume our office oxygen recirculation rules are part of the same initiative - we will also recycle our air. Our department has been a thought leader in that area - I breathed some air yesterday that I recognized immediately as vintage 2006 (fruity with just a hint of my old boss's hand cream).</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to do my bit, but I'm afraid these rules are simply not sufficiently DETAILED. What if, for example, he wants to open wide the window and THEN get ready to leave, rather than doing the two simultaneously? Would that be considered a breach of the rules and if so, one subject to what sort of sanctions? And speaking of sanctions, none are mentioned. Can you really expect people to obey rules when no punishment awaits them for disobeying?</div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, what's to stop me from throwing all the windows wide open the moment I arrive in the morning?</div><div><br /></div><div>And jumping screaming out them?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-81839363378644782802009-12-14T04:08:00.001-08:002009-12-14T05:06:13.491-08:00taking stock<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vSsrsd14mHFeSp9zx-V8amm2wK7OnWVcGEZKGZbqpy-mALoJzXLj72tXkz83aD4SA1tgtTWzT5IK6uk4WKuuEkAugmp0JHYUYDXFZMyoYX8nO3Fi2Cy6lSkjUfwC63Yf26DErHoonpc/s1600-h/mondale.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vSsrsd14mHFeSp9zx-V8amm2wK7OnWVcGEZKGZbqpy-mALoJzXLj72tXkz83aD4SA1tgtTWzT5IK6uk4WKuuEkAugmp0JHYUYDXFZMyoYX8nO3Fi2Cy6lSkjUfwC63Yf26DErHoonpc/s320/mondale.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415077125607822530" /></a><br />This decade and I have never been close (10 years in and I still don't know what to call it) but I'm not going to let that stop me from saying something potentially definitive about it.<br /><br />I've chosen to concentrate on those features of the '00s (the decade we were all licensed to kill) with which I will no longer put up:<br /><br />1. Dream Sequences. If the only way you can derive interest from a story line is to abandon it completely in favor of a pointless, plotless, feverish romp with dwarves and dead people and ducks (we're looking at you, Mr. David Chase!) it's probably time for a new story line.<br /><br />2. User Forums. When I have a problem with my computer hardware or software, what I require is a user-friendly SOLUTION. What I do not require is a page of posts from people who a) have the same problem; b) had the problem but solved it by retying their shoes while facing north; c) had the same problem but solved it by rebuilding their computer from scratch, switching operating systems and re-reading <span style="font-style:italic;">The Art of Computer Programming</span>; d) think my inability to solve my own problem makes me a Nazi.<br /><br />3. Nasty Reality Show Judges. Enough, already. I don't even watch these shows and I know who Simon Callow is - and I know someone should sit up all night and SLAP him. Do people really get off more on seeing untalented people humiliated than seeing talented people triumph? If they do, then they should be ashamed of themselves, these people.<br /><br />4. Celebrities. I call for an Age of Obscurity. Let's not talk about anyone who hasn't accomplished something of real worth (as determined by a panel that does not include Simon Callow) for the next 10 years.<br /><br />5. "Green" Products. You want to save the earth? Stop buying so much shit! <div><br /></div><div>6. Dick Cheney. Traditionally, the only way a former vice president of the US could continue to command media attention was to become president (this explains why George Bush Sr is occasionally in the limelight and could even be said to explain Al Gore's continued prominence - he did, after all, become president; he was just rudely deprived of the opportunity to serve). Why does Dick Cheney continue to appear, Jacob Marley-like, in our lives? I submit that if the media are to continue giving air time and column inches to Cheney, they should devote equal attention to Dan Quayle and Walter Mondale.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know that for this to be a proper end-of-decade list it should have 10 items, but you know what? Life just isn't that tidy and rather than add four, half-hearted final items to make the quota, I will end here. Abruptly. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>(Pictured above right: Walter Mondale. I'm doing my part to redress the imbalance.)</i></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-28585649099307467062009-12-11T00:32:00.001-08:002009-12-11T00:54:14.204-08:00learning english?I happened to hear Radio Ceska's English lesson this morning and I may never be the same.<br /><br />I stopped what I was doing to write it down, dictation-style, and I present it here to see if you find it equally disturbing. <br /><br />It's a conversation between an unidentified man and woman (the point, apparently, is to teach the phrase "to look at"). You hear the sound of babies cooing throughout:<br /><br />Man: Look at the twins.<br /><br />Woman: I can’t tell them apart.<br /><br />M: Which one do you like better?<br /><br />W: The one on the left.<br /><br />M: Why do you like her better?<br /><br />W: She seems more friendly.<br /><br />M: What makes her seem that way?<br /><br />W: I’m not sure.<br /><br />M: Look at her eyes.<br /><br />W: Oh yes, her pupils are bigger!<br /><br />M: Now watch as I shine a bright light in her eyes.<br /><br />W: Her pupils just got smaller!<br /><br />M: Yes, and she seems less friendly. Next time you meet somebody, look at their eyes and see if the size of their pupils changes.<br /><br />Is it just me, or does this sound like "Learning English with Dr. Mengele" to you too?<br /><br />I don't know which is creepier - the fact that the man asks "WHICH ONE DO YOU LIKE BETTER?" or that the woman HAS AN ANSWER.<br /><br />They finished up by illustrating the difference between "to look" and "to watch." An admirable goal, but why do it this way:<br /><br />M: Stop talking and look at this photograph.<br /><br />M: Stop talking and watch the action in this film.<br /><br />I was half expecting the whole thing to be punctuated by slaps. The funny thing is that I had been considering suggesting these English lessons to an analyst at my place of work, who actually does need to brush up on his understanding of "to look at" (I asked him to "have a look at" a report I'd edited and he responded by email that he would "take a vision on it.") I've reconsidered, however. Lessons like these would have him telling me to "stop talking" and gauging my dislike of him in the size of my pupils. And we CAN'T have that.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-69141802457525313622009-09-03T03:03:00.000-07:002009-09-05T11:27:03.166-07:00who's who: part I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3yjBIqzOUOJejinH8XZx-JLfDU2bDFlVorDEvN71KzsAfh7D5iDs8jpZ7qXWLYyW1CL5btJH_daxvmxQtF7_HGnNSd6x1XerVXckueS1EG6x1_TD6uc8AiEQKiBNKRnbPnbAbIdRALro/s1600-h/identity.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 106px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3yjBIqzOUOJejinH8XZx-JLfDU2bDFlVorDEvN71KzsAfh7D5iDs8jpZ7qXWLYyW1CL5btJH_daxvmxQtF7_HGnNSd6x1XerVXckueS1EG6x1_TD6uc8AiEQKiBNKRnbPnbAbIdRALro/s400/identity.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377210441077990786" /></a><br />It's been brought to my attention that some of you have a tendency to confuse famous people with other famous people. This is dangerous, particularly if you sign royalty checks for a living, but my real fear is that, if allowed to progress unchecked, this tendency could lead to non-famous people being mistaken for famous people, and that would bring the entire, elaborate, sequin-studded structure that is North American culture crashing down around us.<br /><br />So I'm here to check it. What follows is hardly an exhaustive list, but covers some of the most common cases of mistaken celebrity identity:<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel</span> (German philosopher who developed a comprehensive philosophical framework, or "system", to account in an integrated and developmental way for the relation of mind and nature, the subject and object of knowledge, and psychology, the state, history, art, religion, and philosophy) and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Katherine Marie Heigl</span> (American actress best known for her role on <span style="font-style: italic;">Grey's Anatomy</span> and her starring role in the movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Knocked Up</span>).<br /><br />I blame <span style="font-style: italic;">Movie Entertainment</span> for the confusion - they were clearly conflating the two when they described Heigl as "an actress known for her dramatic roles who really wants to do comedy and explore the ontological implications of such Kantian topics as freedom and morality."<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Kate Bush</span> (English singer, song writer and record producer) and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jeb Bush</span> (former governor of Florida).<br /><br />Their uncanny resemblance caused the former governor considerable embarrassment on numerous occasions, as his attempts to deliver speeches were interrupted by cries of 'Sing Wuthering Heights!'. On at least one occasion, I'm told, he gave in and sang, acquitting himself quite well.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Benjamin Franklin</span> (Founding Father of the United States) and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Bonnie Franklin</span> (star of the popular American sitcom <span style="font-style: italic;">One Day at a Time</span>). The confusion here, I believe, stems from the original title for <span style="font-style: italic;">One Day at a Time</span> which was <span style="font-style: italic;">Fish and Visitors Stink in Three Days</span>, the famous Benjamin Franklin quote. (In passing, <span style="font-style: italic;">One Day at a Time</span> was produced by <span style="font-weight: bold;">Norman Lear</span>, an American television writer and producer, who should not be confused with <span style="font-weight: bold;">King Lear</span>, fictional monarch and central character of a play of the same name by William Shakespeare.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-56851832557679732802009-08-24T02:52:00.000-07:002009-08-24T03:43:41.273-07:00the perils of a canadian summerMy sister found an article in a <span style="font-style:italic;">Canadian Living</span> magazine (tucked between a pemmican recipe and a feature on resoling skidoo boots) offering health and safety tips for the Canadian summer. <br /><br />In addition to advice on coping with bee stings, food poisoning, and poison ivy, the editors included some helpful words on what to do if you CUT YOUR FOOT OFF WITH THE LAWN MOWER (emphasis mine, the editors gave it no more play than the bee stings or the rusty nail punctures).<br /><br />Curious to know how common summer lawn mower-induced foot loss is, I consulted Stats Canada, and discovered their lighthearted "Summer by the Numbers" section. While they don't keep track of power lawn mower-related injuries, they do track deaths, and in 2004 (the most recent year for which numbers were available) these totaled 1. (Making lawn mowers as big a threat as lightning strikes). <br /><br />Canada did, however, have 58,945 acres of sod in need of mowing in 2006, so it's not hard to imagine some portion of that acreage littered with severed feet.<br /><br />I took the precaution of ensuring I never mowed the lawn and, as a result, have returned from vacation with both my feet. <br /><br />Thank you, <span style="font-style:italic;">Canadian Living</span>!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-32892598563934254792009-08-21T07:12:00.000-07:002009-08-21T07:54:20.235-07:00and we're back!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OuKwvls12pnJDNTPCsoXoINME-B0Zn2z2ayFRrf4KQjMTwHlf6REwMAtFCL07LBsvz9-QWKtCZ9HbiySMrtFGtucl8U_XWs7rQc1RgYmv7fqvQrR5Yjo0B4bXNHs_gBOfyvbiYvod38/s1600-h/dress.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 105px; height: 144px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OuKwvls12pnJDNTPCsoXoINME-B0Zn2z2ayFRrf4KQjMTwHlf6REwMAtFCL07LBsvz9-QWKtCZ9HbiySMrtFGtucl8U_XWs7rQc1RgYmv7fqvQrR5Yjo0B4bXNHs_gBOfyvbiYvod38/s400/dress.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372428929072006930" /></a><br />I waited months for season three of <span style="font-style:italic;">Mad Men</span> - long, lonely months without Don or Peggy or Roger or their early '60s fashions or their rampant smoking and marital infidelity (fortunately, I live in a country where smoking and marital infidelity remain rampant, which eased the separation anxiety).<br /><br />I've read that the man behind the show, the former <span style="font-style:italic;">Sopranos</span> writer whose actual name I cannot be bothered to google right now - especially for people who clearly have both internet connections and time to burn - is obsessed with getting even the tiniest period details correct (as in, looking up actual train timetables from 1962 and ensuring the fruit in the bowls on the dining room tables is appropriately small and bruised).<br /><br />I'm not sure that this is why it took them so long to get season three underway, but it seems to me it couldn't have helped. And I was willing to wait. Which got me to thinking...maybe I could claim to have been busy all these months getting the period detail correct.<br /><br />What period, you ask? Well, I'm not exactly sure. But as I write, I'm wearing a dress I bought 13 years ago for an office Christmas party [See photo above] so maybe it's 1996. (I'm trying to pretend it's some sort of triumph that it still fits, but I think the truth is that it still doesn't fit - just in a different way. I find it hard to put a triumphant spin on that).<br /><br />But if I were to get the period detail absolutely correct, I would have to find a Portuguese hairdresser. And she would have to squeeze me in on a day when she was also doing an entire Portuguese wedding party. And I would have to have spent all my money on my party dress, leaving me nothing for stockings. And I would have to have arranged to meet my friend Kevin in Toronto's gay village to borrow money for stockings and I would have to go directly from the hairdresser's, giving him the opportunity to boom across a gay coffee shop in his "That boy really should be a radio announcer" voice, "MY GOD! YOU LOOK LIKE AN IMMIGRANT BRIDE!"<br /><br />(Which, of course, I did, at the time, having been mixed in with the actual immigrant bride and her attendants; and which I would have to do again, were I to get the period detail absolutely correct.)<br /><br />That seems like an awful lot of effort to go to to avoid admitting something my three readers already know - namely, that I'm lazy.<br /><br />So how about I just leave it at - "Good to be back"?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-52183810576367374262009-05-07T06:21:00.000-07:002009-05-07T07:07:37.220-07:00great ideasI've been having so many great ideas lately, I feel it's time to get a few down on paper so that, in about 10 minutes, when someone else has the same idea and actually finds a way to make money from it, I will be able to look smug and say, "I could have done that." <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">GREAT IDEA NUMBER 1</span><br /><br />Make companies and sports teams that use animals as their symbols pay endorsement fees to the World Wildlife Fund. Penguins alone would bring in a fortune, once the Pittsburgh Penguins, Linux, and countless ice- and ice cream- vending companies were forced to pay up. Of course, the animals would have to be provided with adequate financial guidance to ensure they didn't immediately blow their earnings on bling and Cadillacs for their mamas. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">GREAT IDEA NUMBER 2<br /></span><br />Rather than clubbing baby seals to save fish stocks that are already, to the best of my knowledge, past saving, I propose a brief period each spring during which anyone with the proper license can club factory trawler captains.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">GREAT IDEA NUMBER 3</span><br /><br />Someone (don't look at me) should design a "smart fridge" that determines when food is past its best-before date and pelts you with it when you open the door saying (in a computerized yet vaguely hip-hop voice that may also have to be invented - let's call this great idea 3a) "Bish, don' tell ME you plan to eat no three-month-old ricotta!"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">GREAT IDEA NUMBER 4</span><br /><br />Women's magazines featuring stories about "new" products that "really work" should be forced to list (and apologize for) all the products they've endorsed in the past that apparently don't.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-81622198886742696302009-04-01T03:31:00.002-07:002009-04-01T03:55:03.539-07:00how's that again?A BBC announcer discussing a film just now said it was "what the Americans call a 'tough watch.'"<br /><br />"Do they?" I found myself thinking. "Do the Americans call dark films 'tough watches?'" I ask because I know a number of Americans (I say this not by way of boast) and I read a considerable amount of American news coverage, and I am not familiar with the phrase.<br /><br />So I googled it, and got more than I bargained for. While most Americans (judging by the returned results) use "tough watch" to describe wrist-borne timepieces able to withstand the vicissitudes of wind and weather, at least one American - Chris "Mad Dog" Russo, to be exact - used the phrase "tough watch" to describe "an impending game between two inept teams."<br /><br />Apparently, this remark was an alleged case of nonsentential assertion (as opposed to nonessential assertion, which describes my blog).<br /><br />Reinaldo Elugardo and Robert Stainton took up the question of Mad Dog's remark in their paper, "Ellipsis and Nonsentential Speech" which is, let me be the first to say it, a tough read (and would probably be a tough watch too, if anyone ever took a notion to adapt it for the cinema).<br /><br />Tough watch is a "post-deletion fragment of what linguists call a 'tough construction,' a canonical example of which would be, 'Chuck is tough to talk to.'"<br /><br />"Chuck is tough to talk to" is in turn derived from a structure like, "It is tough to talk to Chuck," often called a "tough movement." (I refuse to consider what the Americans I know use the phrase "tough movement" to describe, call me a coward, I don't care.)<br /><br />The authors then trace a four-step path from "It will be tough to watch that game" to "tough watch."<br /><br />Which leaves me feeling both more informed and strangely ignorant, a state the Brits call a "soggy crumpet."<br /><br />Or not.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-20334720297066714282009-03-16T09:13:00.000-07:002009-03-16T10:06:30.606-07:00daniel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxHcZ_Umf6RjJ27FWT3ert_sExhxnrjGcwGSi0hLUXPlohuWPyhgqtNvds2S2pe78bn3CFByC-1UMLSoXLdVUvE9R1QHhb4-WwJ-J5rvs0U3w04GIVigmguoj1mjxIQUtThdXgcDPpTI/s1600-h/airplane2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxHcZ_Umf6RjJ27FWT3ert_sExhxnrjGcwGSi0hLUXPlohuWPyhgqtNvds2S2pe78bn3CFByC-1UMLSoXLdVUvE9R1QHhb4-WwJ-J5rvs0U3w04GIVigmguoj1mjxIQUtThdXgcDPpTI/s400/airplane2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313828085028946946" border="0" /></a><br />I've had the song <span style="font-style: italic;">Daniel</span> stuck in my head today (no idea why, I don't think I actually heard it anywhere).<br /><br />I've never understood this song, but I've also never attempted to analyze it -- until today. And folks, I'm here to tell you, analyzing the lyrics of an Elton John song is not something anybody should do as long as there are more potentially rewarding occupations open to them, like brushing their teeth again. Or lying face down in a ditch.<br /><br />But since I've done the legwork, I feel I might as well share the results: the song makes no sense.<br /><br />Consider:<br /><br />Daniel is traveling tonight on the plane/I can see the red tail lights/heading for sp-ai-ai-ain/Oh and/I can see Daniel waving goodbye [1]/God it looks like Daniel/Must be the clouds in my eyes [2]<br /><br />OH-OH-OH/Daniel my brother/You are/Older than me/Do you still feel the pain/Of a scar that won't heal?/Your eyes have died but you see more than mine[3]/Daniel you're a star/In the face of the sky.<br /><br />They say Spain is pretty/though I've never been/Daniel says it's the best place/he's eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-ver seen [4]/Oh and/ he should know/he's been there enough [5]/Oh I miss Daniel/Oh I miss him so much [6]<br /><br /><br />[1] I can see Daniel waving goodbye, although I've just told you I can see the tail lights, which suggests I'm BEHIND the plane, and more importantly, I can see them 'heading for Spain,' which suggests that the plane is OFF THE GROUND, so how exactly I'm seeing Daniel waving goodbye is puzzling but I don't really think it's [2] the clouds in my eyes because I've also told you Daniel is traveling TONIGHT, a time of day during which clouds are not usually an obstacle to vision -- PITCH BLACKNESS is. If, on the other hand, the clouds are truly in my eyes, then it sounds like cataracts, which means (as will become clear in the chorus) that this song is about ocular health.<br /><br />[3] Daniel has, apparently, been the victim of an accident that's robbed him of his sight, but how the scars from that accident could have failed to heal is puzzling, and why Daniel and his unhealed scars would be permitted to board an airplane perplexing. Moreover, the image suggested is grotesque. 'Your eyes have died but you see more than mine' is, of course, just bad English, unless Daniel's eyes have died but he sees more than my eyes -- i.e. he sees the stewardess coming to ask him if he'd like a hot towel for his scars that won't heal.<br /><br />[4] Although he's blind, so that's not really a rousing endorsement. And you're going to say, 'What if he saw it BEFORE he went blind?' in that whiny tone you adopt when you think you've trumped me and I'm going to respond, 'Then he still is hardly in a position to discuss it in reference to other places because presumably, he no longer sees the places he travels. Plus, I just get the idea Daniel is young. Don't ask me why.'<br /><br />[5] I don't think multiple visits would have made a difference. Did I mention he's blind?<br /><br />[6] Although he left approximately three minutes ago and I apparently pursued his plane right out onto the runway.<br /><br /><br />Well, there you have it, Elton John's <span style="font-style: italic;">Daniel</span> deconstructed. Next week, who is Delta Dawn and just what is that flower she has on?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[Above right: Look closely, you can see Daniel. No, really. He's waving goodbye.]</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-55131842614354699222009-02-22T10:09:00.000-08:002009-02-22T11:01:18.743-08:00cheaper by the dozen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmu_nBHy-x-jT9XDp5QuteyJAUhQPiMSmWf6C6NFc-PzoVBcZneIChRmNwQmgA1L1nyPuca5idHTrcZUlDybad20W2QnFgYcCkdhiLAvdFHneAs5n9SR_gbxb20mYYEn6APv6DjTZpu0/s1600-h/sale.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 84px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmu_nBHy-x-jT9XDp5QuteyJAUhQPiMSmWf6C6NFc-PzoVBcZneIChRmNwQmgA1L1nyPuca5idHTrcZUlDybad20W2QnFgYcCkdhiLAvdFHneAs5n9SR_gbxb20mYYEn6APv6DjTZpu0/s400/sale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305695726514555746" border="0" /></a><br />My mother loves a sale. Her most recent purchase was a new furnace and I know that if she was given the option of buying one and getting one free, ours is now the only house on the block with surround heating.<br /><br />Her inability to resist a good deal meant that one year, when she had to replace some broken figurines in our Christmas nativity scene (broken, most likely, by my little sister who used them like barbies in a way that would probably have gotten us excommunicated had anyone notified the papal authorities) we ended up with five kings, no Joseph and two Baby Jesuses (Babies-Jesus?). I've milked this particular story in print before, but my mother has to forgive me - my siblings and I provided much of the fodder for a newspaper column she wrote during our formative years. She's known payback was a possibility since we learned to read. (Which is probably, come to think of it, why she delayed that so long, telling us reading was "un-Canadian.")<br /><br />Besides, my point today (and I do have one, don't be fooled by the cleverness with which I've so far hidden it) is that I have inherited my mother's love of a deal. I can no longer pay full price for anything without cringing - often visibly. But my mania also makes it hard for me NOT to buy things that have been marked down.<br /><br />Today, for instance, it caused me to buy an exacto knife (with extra blades), a set of precision screwdrivers, and two bungee cords although I have no immediate plans to hijack a commercial airliner, customize my home electronics, or leap off the Sydney Harbor Bridge. (To be strictly truthful, the bungee cords are the mini variety, and would not support my leaping off anything, although they might support one of the cats. I'll let you know how that turns out.)<br /><br />I bought them because each item, although of little to no use to me at present, cost only 30kc.<br /><br />THIRTY CROWNS PEOPLE! How could I afford NOT to buy them? And why didn't I also buy the mini flashlight (complete with AAA battery) and the duct tape and the sanding block? Won't I feel the fool if tomorrow some tragedy, easily avoided with a little timely sanding, befalls me? What CAN'T be improved by duct tape? And I could be using that flashlight right now to see what's under my fridge!<br /><br />I swear, I'm almost ready to pull on my boots and go back to the store right now. It's not like I'll be able to sleep tonight, knowing all those BARGAINS are happening just meters away from my front door.<br /><br />And as my cousin T.C. once said (I've decided to start referring to members of my family by their initials, like they're characters in an 18th century <span style="font-style: italic;">roman a clef</span> - or United Nations programs):<br /><br />"There's a fine line between being cheap and being wise with your money.<br /><br />And I'm cheap."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-84153802897987434622009-02-11T01:01:00.000-08:002009-02-11T01:37:12.108-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJPsI1xpNXK6TXpwUcpeHKRRR_V0jo7lS3BEwgGnKXqYlzw2B41QZL2RZVXzrFbhuLtv9ok5hC8nDcP7dbSWLUm7x0AkF6YRCHuHsmF0nfZhEBvDuy-dPWtopKNr8yI8ms9lgeJmKyAY/s1600-h/crazycat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 99px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJPsI1xpNXK6TXpwUcpeHKRRR_V0jo7lS3BEwgGnKXqYlzw2B41QZL2RZVXzrFbhuLtv9ok5hC8nDcP7dbSWLUm7x0AkF6YRCHuHsmF0nfZhEBvDuy-dPWtopKNr8yI8ms9lgeJmKyAY/s400/crazycat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301467179391241394" border="0" /></a><br />There's a great book by Muriel Spark called "A Far Cry From Kensington" about a woman who works in a publishing house.<br /><br />I read it a number of years ago, and two things (a stupendous number, by my standards) have stuck with me.<br /><br />One is the phrase "<span style="font-style: italic;">pisseur de copie</span>" which the main character hisses at one of the company's hack writers as she passes him in a park. It's presented as one of those moments of liberating revolt we all experience from time to time (most recently a friend of mine who, faced with yet another stonewalling Czech bureaucratic type refusing to do anything to assist her said - in fluent Czech - 'I understand about your regulations. But you're a cow.' ) The sort of moment that leaves you both pleased and appalled at your own sheer gall.<br /><br />The other thing I remember is the advice the main character gives a would-be author (a retired British admiral, if I recall correctly) who is having trouble making himself write. She tells him to get a cat. A cat, she says, will curl up on his desk and sleep, providing the tranquil atmosphere necessary to composition.<br /><br />I've been thinking about this advice this morning, as I sit at my desk attempting to 'compose' while my cats re-enact the Battle of Guadalcanal around me.<br /><br />I think my mistake was in assuming twice the cat would mean twice the tranquility. This, for all of you would-be writers out there, is not so.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-45967807212746806432009-01-23T01:02:00.000-08:002009-01-23T01:31:16.096-08:00the ghost of employment pastThe company that employed me when I first came to Prague has long been a source of comedic gold for those of us (and we were legion) who worked there.<br /><br />I left many years ago, after I'd been rudely deprived of the opportunity to quit, but my understanding is that subsequently, wearied by the demands of dealing with adult employees, they switched first to part-time students, then later to one of the less-uppity breeds of monkey to staff their enterprise.<br /><br />I've always been vaguely aware they were still out there, doing that thang they do, but today I found them listed as a sponsor of a seemingly presitigious world alternative energy summit, and their company "bio" is worth reproducing.<br /><br /><span class="default" style=";font-family:Tahoma,Arial;font-size:100%;" ><span class="default" style="font-family:Tahoma,Arial;"><span class="default" style="font-family:Tahoma,Arial;"><span class="default" style="font-family:Tahoma,Arial;">[NAME EXCISED TO BE ON THE SAFE SIDE, THESE PEOPLE ARE LITIGIOUS] is a digital news provider and media monitoring service scanning more than 50,000 news sections from over 5,000 newspapers and online publications and indexing nearly 80,000 new articles every 24 hours. [NAME EXCISED] is hand edited providing the most comprehensive and up-to-the-minute information available in various delivery formats regarding world affairs including the latest developments in every country's economy, business, industries, politics, international relations as well as human rights, religion, terrorism, and much more.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><br />Hand edited. Did you catch that? None of that funky foot editing we were all up to in the early years, or that brief, glorious period when Stepan introduced his 'editing machine' (bulky and coal-fired, but surprisingly accurate nonetheless).<br /><br />And I have been searching high and low for a source monitoring the "latest developments" in terrorism! Bravo, old company of mine! Most news sources refuse to acknowledge terrorism as a sector with a future.<br /><br />I also like how emphatic they are about covering every aspect of "every country." The evil ex-employee in me wants to write and ask why they don't have any coverage of Freedonia, or Aftakislamastan, or Shangriladida Valley because, I can assure you, if they didn't immediately launch such a service, they would certainly consider it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-66637182002101988692009-01-23T00:43:00.001-08:002009-01-23T01:32:50.389-08:00oh what a nightOh sure, Michelle Obama looked like she was having fun on the night of the inauguration but did she wake up with gum in her hair?<br /><br />I ask because I did, and as I'm trying to spin it as a sign I had a really good time that night, it would help immensely to know the First Lady had had a similar experience.<br /><br />I honestly can't explain the gum: I remember noticing a piece of paper with writing on it in an ashtray, I remember being intrigued enough to try and open it and read it (found correspondence and all that), and I remember realizing it did not contain a piece of someone's life but rather, a piece of someone's gum. I do not, however, remember transferring that gum to my hair.<br /><br />My companions that evening claim not to remember either, but I'm not sure I believe them.<br /><br />I will endeavor to rise above this unfortunate beginning to what was supposed to be a brave new era. After all, Obama began it by retaking his oath of office, what's a little gum by comparison? (Although I have to say, it would be way better if I could blame it on the Chief Justice of the American Supreme Court, but try as I might, I just can't seem to do that).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-34064774905436095792009-01-11T05:57:00.000-08:002009-01-11T06:44:27.593-08:00what to wear to a financial crisis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2lStnAMbspN7EQvaepKjcPayIcmw97-pet3gxzqwy4PvAjvxwb6T__I1Oq-6sG3VptR0gXPE3KVBpz8xGYwUMqRtw_PRxYfCUiAsPS5iadV2Q8iDhbeXRYzvNjFJVax7PA464o9SkKQ/s1600-h/carollb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2lStnAMbspN7EQvaepKjcPayIcmw97-pet3gxzqwy4PvAjvxwb6T__I1Oq-6sG3VptR0gXPE3KVBpz8xGYwUMqRtw_PRxYfCUiAsPS5iadV2Q8iDhbeXRYzvNjFJVax7PA464o9SkKQ/s400/carollb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290045176518166066" border="0" /></a><br />Finally, the antidote to all the "gloom and doomers" who will go on about credit crunches and bad loans and looming financial ruin when all I really want to know is, WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?<br /><br />Stepan, who clearly shares my concerns, was kind enough to send me <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2009/01/04/fashion/20090104-street-feature/index.html">this clip</a>, in which<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>New York Times</span> photographer Bill Cunningham takes to the streets of New York to find out how women in that fashionable city are coping with the current financial crisis. As Stepan put it, "It's like if Jimminy Glick got on his bike and started stalking women, snapping photos of them around NY and rambling about what they're wearing."<br /><br />What New York women are doing, it seems, is wearing old clothes - and so can you! Dust off that classic Balenciaga coat from the '60s - you remember it, the one with the spiral seam? The masterpiece you loaned to the Metropolitan Museum of Art? It's still there? Well, get it back, sister! Break the glass if you have to - this is an emergency!<br /><br />Reach into the family trunk and pull out a Schiaparelli from 1938! Preferably one with a large sea urchin embroidered on the shoulder (I believe 'schiaparelli' is Italian for sea urchin).<br /><br />I don't have access to the "family trunk" at the moment (my own fault, of course, for having opted to live abroad, my sisters are no doubt sashaying around covered head to toe in decorative crustaceans even as I write), but I reached into my closet (actually a wardrobe thingy from IKEA but <span style="font-style: italic;">passons, passons!</span>) and found clothing so old it should have been given to the Smithsonian, never mind the Metropolitan Museum of Art! Much of it, mind you, is ragged, or moth-eaten, or too small, but I'm sure if I wear it with the proper devil-may-care attitude, I'll be able to carry it off.<br /><br />On the other hand, the ragged, moth-eaten, too small look was big during the last major financial crisis, and could very well come back. Fashion is cyclical, after all - just like something else I could mention but won't. No "gloom and doomer" I!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[Pictured, above right: Another woman who managed to dress well during trying times - Scarlett O'Hara, who found the answer hanging not in her closet, but in her window.]</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-79575002087703772392009-01-08T08:18:00.000-08:002009-01-08T09:03:55.781-08:00and another thingI have to say one last thing about my new apartment and then I promise I'll find something else to talk about (just a heads up, though, that "something else" might be <span style="font-style: italic;">Joan of Arcadia</span>, a TV show I've become addicted to this holiday season about a teenage American girl who talks to God).<br /><br />As I type, somebody up there (as in my upstairs neighbor, not God) is learning to play "Killing Me Softly" on a <span style="font-style: italic;">saxophone.</span> This is so wonderful words almost fail me. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Strumming my pain with his fingers/Singing my life with his words</span>." It doesn't work on any level - you can't strum a saxophone (and yes, that is the voice of sad experience talking) nor can you sing and play one simultaneously. This may be the most inappropriate song for saxophone ever, second only to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" or "Piano Man."<br /><br />And just when I thought things were as good as they could possibly get, his DOG started HOWLING along! Clearly, that puppy has been the victim of a love gone wrong.<br /><br />This is all greatly preferable to the ambient noise in my old apartment, which consisted of all the other people in the building getting along smashingly because they were all RELATED. The hallways echoed their happy family chatter, the footsteps of children running upstairs to visit Grandpa (whose old <span style="font-style: italic;">Hustler</span> magazines were stacked merrily in the hallway outside his door, awaiting some lucky recycler), the clink of glasses as they picnicked in the verdant backyard, the buzz of the circular saw from their in-house sawmill - it was like an entire village crammed into one building.<br /><br />They were killing me softly with their sheer propinquity.<br /><br />And yes, that's a word you'll be seeing more of in 2009.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-24816647341582970972009-01-06T03:19:00.001-08:002009-01-06T04:07:26.529-08:00snow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopNmKHy5n2k2OxSFWmezoA2TEEsRwIzJmw8iSZNg4Xzuvc-_VHyPfFwWO33YbP_Tn2N0_lviABA_hPlFH7uDowBkdrS6c4_b5KdCF6bwzthmUF1oX3iFWn7z2a0O2Mk__-Z5sLXhXsyg/s1600-h/snowsharp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopNmKHy5n2k2OxSFWmezoA2TEEsRwIzJmw8iSZNg4Xzuvc-_VHyPfFwWO33YbP_Tn2N0_lviABA_hPlFH7uDowBkdrS6c4_b5KdCF6bwzthmUF1oX3iFWn7z2a0O2Mk__-Z5sLXhXsyg/s400/snowsharp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288148859014645106" border="0" /></a><br />I started reading Orhan Pamuk's "Snow," and lo and behold - it started snowing. Coincidence, or is 2009 to be my year to control the weather? I'm leaning toward coincidence, personally, but will put off reading "The Perfect Storm" until 2010, just to be safe.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-48642436712530434992008-12-31T04:51:00.000-08:002008-12-31T05:08:22.036-08:00other voices, other rooms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN4wolt5ZBps34Fj1271_OlHQJwSCGOJopme8-M0-d3lwUJxxgnwWRHmfZ7XbqSvbEwdTN7dy94Vezgd5Dp1sHOSH_bjpDrIAY8rxFKI_d-GPJBbHNFpkkof2I2ylsNoDZIoKnfL3p1o/s1600-h/trapps.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 92px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN4wolt5ZBps34Fj1271_OlHQJwSCGOJopme8-M0-d3lwUJxxgnwWRHmfZ7XbqSvbEwdTN7dy94Vezgd5Dp1sHOSH_bjpDrIAY8rxFKI_d-GPJBbHNFpkkof2I2ylsNoDZIoKnfL3p1o/s400/trapps.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285939646905040082" border="0" /></a><br />I'm really liking my new apartment, even as its less attractive aspects become apparent - the neighbors across the hall, for example, whose stereo sounds like it's in my bedroom and whose musical taste runs, sadly, to Ricky Martin and Christina Aguilera.<br /><br />And the neighbors upstairs who, as far as I can tell, play recorders and clog - slowly. I don't even know if slow clogging exists, but it's the only activity I can conceive of that would correspond to the sounds I'm hearing from upstairs. Perhaps they're just learning to clog. Or perhaps you have to clog slowly if you're trying to play the recorder at the same time. Both seem plausible explanations to me.<br /><br />I'm not worried about it - for one thing, it may be seasonal, something they indulge in only once a year (which would explain the lack of expertise). For another, it's only happened after 11 in the morning, and most days at this time, I will be at work, leaving them free to slow-clog their brains out.<br /><br />Mostly, though, I find I like the mental image of them - I've decided they're some sort of recorder-based, slow-clogging, Czech version of the von Trapp family, and that, somehow, makes it all okay.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[Pictured, above right: My upstairs neighbors.]</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-19227771798447497062008-12-29T11:20:00.000-08:002008-12-29T12:03:35.763-08:00the corkscrew chronicles<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinNBbS8ph8OjldErMP5k0F8olU-avKXA_FzwdG1veLp0QtSApFePiHCmy5EgXtvzj4y4RhRydAiyGwxMlsPm0Vc87lWHiHoI2Xdx7s1mSoeEyrlJSYVdC3_94TZL9wT4dK8e59KAcATk/s1600-h/hallandoates.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 126px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinNBbS8ph8OjldErMP5k0F8olU-avKXA_FzwdG1veLp0QtSApFePiHCmy5EgXtvzj4y4RhRydAiyGwxMlsPm0Vc87lWHiHoI2Xdx7s1mSoeEyrlJSYVdC3_94TZL9wT4dK8e59KAcATk/s400/hallandoates.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285303988625860226" border="0" /></a><br />My recent adventures in corkscrews reminded me this is not the first time they've caused me grief.<br /><br />Some years ago (it's not for me to say how many), I was studying French in a town I'll call Pate a Papier (Pulp and Paper), Quebec. My roommate was a schoolteacher from Newfoundland, and through her I met another Newfoundlander - a very tall, very brash, very blond girl who called me "Brainchild" because, having absolutely nothing else to do in Pate a Papier, I did my homework. Through her, I met the Quebecois guy with whom she did a weekly language exchange. He was about a foot shorter than she was and as dark as she was blond, and I came to think of them as Hall and Oates.<br /><br />When my roommate returned to Newfoundland at Christmas, she advised me to "be very cold" to Hall. She didn't elaborate, but the unspoken message was, "or pay the price." Moments after she'd left (or so it seems, in retrospect), Hall called to invite me to attend the school Christmas party with her and Oates. Throwing my ex-roommate's warnings to the four winds, I agreed.<br /><br />The night of the party, they arrived to pick me up in Oates' car. Hall announced she had a bottle of wine to drink at the party but no corkscrew. I realized I had none either. Oates, however, announced that he had one, and that we'd simply have to return to his house and get it.<br /><br />What he meant, I realized 15 minutes later, was that his MOTHER had one and we could return to the house he shared with her (and his father) and borrow it - but only after I'd been introduced to his parents and looked at photos of their cat swimming in the toilet.<br /><br />Wait, it gets worse.<br /><br />We arrived at the party, opened the wine, I poured a glass and detached myself from Hall and Oates as quickly as possible. Until, that is, Oates approached me in a panic, asking if I'd seen his mother's corkscrew. I told him I hadn't, and he looked like he was about to burst into tears. If he didn't find it, he said, his mother would kill him. Or maybe make him swim in the toilet. I can't remember, but whatever the threat, it scared him. He told me I had to help him search, and I, being a nicer person in those days, did - wandering around the hall, peering surreptitiously over people's shoulders, trying to find the corkscrew.<br /><br />I had no luck, and told Oates as much, but he had a new plan: he'd talked to the DJ, who had agreed to give me the microphone after the next song so that I could announce, in English, that we were missing a corkscrew and could we please have it back.<br /><br />Now, to this point, I'd kept a very low profile in our program, and the idea of being known as the girl who lost her corkscrew at the Christmas party did not appeal to me at all, but I couldn't see anyway out -- Oates was so upset (and Hall was SO gone). Oates was by now standing next to the DJ, holding out a microphone toward me, and so I began the long, horrible walk to the DJ booth, thinking that I could always transfer to another university after Christmas. Just as I was reaching for the microphone, a guy ran up and handed Oates his corkscrew.<br /><br />An 11th hour reprieve.<br /><br />Joyfully, I returned to the party, and after Christmas I returned to the university. But I never again returned a call from Hall or Oates. I was very cold. I'd learned.<br /><br />[Pictured above right: A girl from Newfoundland and her Quebecois language exchange partner, or Hall and Oates. Your call. And while we're on the subject, if you haven't watched <a href="http://yachtrock.com/">Yacht Rock</a>, you should.]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-76701890055009019832008-12-28T06:47:00.000-08:002008-12-28T07:08:41.362-08:00seasons' greetingsRecent accusations of racism (see previous post) have left me bloodied but unbowed. I've been accused of worse, you'll remember - of homophobia, of clubbing seals (for fun, not fur), of stealing the movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Wimbledon</span> from the Planet DVD on Spalena.<br /><br />Perhaps I will become more culturally sensitive as a result. Perhaps not. It's a crap shoot, really.<br /><br />I've been enjoying a very relaxing holiday season during which I've mixed long stretches of reading with short bouts of energetic unpacking and picture hanging. My apartment now has a decidedly split personality - the living room is settled, the bedroom looks like a squat. It's the sort of contrast that occurs frequently along the Czech/German border.<br /><br />Relaxing as the holidays have been, they haven't been the source of great posting inspiration, so rather than treating you to a condensed version of the plot of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Constant Gardener,</span> I think I'll just wish you all happy holidays!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-79598592364552691522008-12-19T12:34:00.000-08:002008-12-19T14:20:17.521-08:00moving target<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fliod40Uug6UmU9Rl9u8d_l6D5qkDEp_gMd1nYejUrTYAPA6hUOmZMzk8kDERQEAWkj6JzbLBBm9FAlffpQQXqqIK7uGBe6FcXKz7lgJiQdkWbATFsrCuMTa7aCt78vyh8hwXcE2DJE/s1600-h/scoop.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 96px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fliod40Uug6UmU9Rl9u8d_l6D5qkDEp_gMd1nYejUrTYAPA6hUOmZMzk8kDERQEAWkj6JzbLBBm9FAlffpQQXqqIK7uGBe6FcXKz7lgJiQdkWbATFsrCuMTa7aCt78vyh8hwXcE2DJE/s400/scoop.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281612973852683074" border="0" /></a><br />I've been moving since the beginning of the month. The idea of having an entire month in which to complete the process sounded great at the outset, but has actually just prolonged the agony. Like watching all of "Runaway Bride" instead of just puking during the trailer ("In a world where brides run away...").<br /><br />I've been living in the old apartment while I "clean" it - i.e. lie on the couch and watch "Friends" and wish cats could vacuum - but I actually moved most of my worldly possessions to the new apartment on December 2.<br /><br />That night, having once again had to do a ridiculous amount of the lifting and carrying although I'd hired two movers this time (side note: you know you've been rattling around a town too long when your Albanian mover takes a good look at you and says, "I'm sure we've met somewhere before.") I bought a bottle of wine to have a glass and relax at the old place, forgetting I'd moved all my corkscrews to the new place.<br /><br />Exhaustion battled desire for drink and desire for drink won, so I went in search of a corkscrew. I returned to the store where I'd bought the wine, realizing as I approached the clerk that I did not know the Czech word for corkscrew (I chalk this up to being a beer drinker rather than stinking at Czech, although I also stink at Czech). I successfully mimed opening a bottle, however, and the clerk got it but told me she couldn't help me. She suggested I try the Chinese store up the street. "They have," she said, then paused, as though mentally cataloging all the things they had, "Everything?" I suggested. "Everything," she agreed. And that's true, because I'd hit the them up up earlier in the day for packing tape, and they'd had that.<br /><br />So I returned to the Chinese everything store and used my miming abilities to ask the extremely uninterested girl behind the counter for a corkscrew. Rather than answering me, she yelled to a guy in the back room in Chinese, and judging but what followed, I'm guessing what she said was:<br /><br />"Hey, Hung Li, whitey here want to drink wine out of ice cream scoop, you got one?"<br /><br />To which Hung Li apparently replied, "Now I hear all! Send her back I fix her up."<br /><br />So, nodding and smiling the way I do when I'm not sure what Chinese people are saying but I want them to realize I respect them and their ancient culture, I went into the back room where Hung Li handed me an ice cream scoop.<br /><br />"No," I said, in my halting Czech, "Have wine. In bottle. Need to open. Need..." (and here I did my bottle-opening mime, being careful to avoid any hint of a scooping motion).<br /><br />"HA!" said Hung Li, then rooted around through a shelf containing every kitchen implement known to man and produced a corkscrew. I thanked him, and, trying desperately to ingratiate myself, asked him the word for corkscrew in Czech. He immediately yelled to the girl at the cash desk:<br /><br />"Now she want CZECH LESSON! Stupid melon! Don't she know two day ago I in Shanghai stick KNIFE in white people???"<br /><br />Girl at the cash desk (to guy in back) "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Corkscrew! Corkscrew!" (then to me) "29 crown" (then to guy in back) "Corkscrew! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"<br /><br />"Thank you, goodbye," I said, still gamely smiling and nodding.<br /><br />"Goodbye! Goodbye!"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[Pictured above right: Something I probably could drink wine out of, if I had to.]</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2080417048817285067.post-25164896122551598612008-12-05T01:49:00.000-08:002008-12-05T02:57:34.307-08:00putting the 'rogue' in 'prorogue'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZqHNdxNyl5r5qJlb7h_hUZrDR1LTCL754G0GbDGZinFZ17BETOHaFkmAZYDgqcF8c8lDa7RxHTAOOaCkPcxR63nx79I3kT8vyCfHaWkPCI3xSb9RSR41zYMb_m3jT13z6Q0snf8Gb7sw/s1600-h/sirguy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 100px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZqHNdxNyl5r5qJlb7h_hUZrDR1LTCL754G0GbDGZinFZ17BETOHaFkmAZYDgqcF8c8lDa7RxHTAOOaCkPcxR63nx79I3kT8vyCfHaWkPCI3xSb9RSR41zYMb_m3jT13z6Q0snf8Gb7sw/s400/sirguy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276250957787563810" border="0" /></a><br />I have been remiss and I apologize. I have left you wandering unattended in the thickets of Canadian politics while I watched "You Are What You Eat" and redecorated my blog.<br /><br />To address the most pressing issues:<br /><br /><ol><li>Yes, everyone in Ottawa gets a "snow day" as a result of parliament being prorogued. In fact, they get a snow month and a half (or more). It will be nothing but snow angels and snowball fights on Parliament Hill until January 29th.</li><li>To "prorogue" is not a euphemism for something nastier. Although, in this case, it could be.</li><li>The governor general of Canada is the head of state and the representative of our actual head of state - the Queen of England.</li><li>Yes, that is sad.</li><li>The role of the governor general is largely ceremonial, except for those rare occasions, like this one, when the fate of the government rests in her (or his) hands. It's like, at the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded, sending the mascot up to bat.</li><li>In recent years, it has become fashionable to appoint minorities and women (or minority women) to the post of governor general - so we've had Ukrainian, French Canadian, Chinese, and Haitian governors general. It's a way of appearing open and tolerant as a society without giving these people any actual power (well, it usually is). It also draws attention away from the reality which is that, with the exception of the 10 minutes during the early '90s in which Kim Campbell was prime minister, Canada has always been ruled by white men.</li><li>I, personally, am torn between my hatred of Harper (and my desire to see my erstwhile debating club buddy turfed from office without time for rebuttal) and my fear that a coalition supported by the separatists/sovereigntists would be doomed to perdition from the outset.</li><li>I believe it's time to ask ourselves, "What would Sir Guy Carleton do?" (WWSGCD). Sir Guy (pictured above, right) was governor general not once but THREE times between 1768 and 1796. Surely during his long tenure he did or said something that could be applied to today's situation. I really hope somebody has the time to do a little research and find out what that something was.<br /></li></ol>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0