Family. You can't live with them and you can't live without them.
I moved out recently and this adage came to mind when my folks arrived for a feast of Italian excellence put together by my roommate and me. The older I get, the more evident the role reversals with my parents are that seem to play out in the theatre called life. This night was a prime example of this observation.
Upon the arrival of said blood relatives, a sudden vibrant sense of energy filled the room. Something to do with the prospect of payback for all those years of free loading from my end. They entered the room excited and talking over one another. Not even paying attention to what the other was saying.
My mother immediately sauntered over to talk to my roommate while my dad came into the kitchen to show me something. With gusto my dad started wild exclamations over a really hilarious song he heard. I smiled politely trying to verify if the spaghetti noodles were ready to join our digestive systems.
Suddenly an all too familiar blaring sound filled the kitchen. Country music has a place in the world but I would never have made the suggestion of my father's iPhone.
What's that? I asked knowing very well what it was.
He fiddled on his PDA and paced the kitchen - actions more commonly associated with this man - while crooning "honey, I'm still a guy," somewhat less familiar.
Meanwhile my mother looked at me and asked,"Is supper ready?"
I shook my head and returned to tending the corn.
She mumbled something to the effect of finding a couch to crash on and disappeared into the deep recesses of my basement suite.
Suddenly this vision of me flopping down on my mothers couch flooded my mind numerous times when she invited me over for dinner. I couldn't help but smile.
I turned to say to my dad, "since when have u liked Country???"
"Since I borrowed your car."
I rest my case.
Still trying to figure out what play I'm stuck in. Something Shakespearean perhaps? 5 ticks say tragedy 20 ticks say comedy. Perhaps Comedy of Errors??
Monday, August 31, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Cellular Detoxification & the Real Harry Potter
Could the real Harry Potter please stand up? Please stand up! Please stand up!
This cleanse was quite satisfying. At first I was a frantic skeptic. I had the signs of being an avid junkie. My fingers itched for T9. I kept wondering what everyone was up to. Somehow meeting up with people seemed a lot harder all of a sudden.
What if they didn't see me next to the big clock in Gas Town?? Or what if I had a big contract coming through and no one could reach me.
About halfway through the second day of no cell phone service, most of these ridiculous questions subsided and I started to relax. All of a sudden I became almost invincible. To have a power to disappear in a crowd and no one know that I was there. Captain-Fly-On-The-Wall.
I started to like this newfound freedom. It detoxified my constant need to be in the know. To be available 24/7.
How this all came about was my cell phone no longer held a charge. And convenient too. I had been practically sanding the sidewalk with it when no one was looking, dropping that Motorola from such great heights but it was very much "the cat came back" the very next charge. I truly despised it because it was resilient. It had girth. All the sexy sleek machines all came out on the market right around the time that I had to settle for this craptastic piece of machinery called a phone.
Then it happened. The charger was shot just like that. Within minutes I was on the phone with my cellphone provider negotiating. Granted the iPhone 3GS is sold out across the country at the moment and I didn't want to pay the full price for it but I guess I could settle for the 3G considering what I had before this. Then the salesperson hacked my daydream with those dreaded little words. "That'll take 'bout 5 business days ma'am."
Excuse me? Me without phone for 5 days.
So there I was. Contemplating several options, none of which were rational -- I'm sure. I thanked her and got of the phone. Thus, started minute one of the cellph detoxification process.
Gradually I got used to it and came to terms. After a while I embraced it.
Finally the little package arrived in the mail and the front desk clerk at our office handed me the prize.
Startled I asked her, "What's this?" Almost a subconscious refusal of the anticipated goods.
I opened it. Shiny, sleek, and so much information at my fingertips. Oh no. I was available again. My heart sank. I was getting used to the solitude.
Today I took my baby down to the Apple store to get proper coverings for it so that I could protect every inch of equipment. I love these field trips because I finally feel at home with Mac users. It's like one big marketing cult. Not that I buy in completely but I've sure branded myself accordingly. It's not just the commercials I promise you. The interface is totally designed for me in mind. Hey it even rhymed. See how washed out my brain cells are?
I caught a sample conversation of what it was like in this wonderful abbyss of electronic goodness.
One Genius Bar employee was excitedly telling another genius bar employee that he was excited when the colour shuffles first came out. He quickly explained that it was his dream to collect every single colour in order to colour coordinate with his wardrobe. When the eavesdropping hit this high point I had to look over and at least get a load of the speaker's outfit.
And there you had him, could the real Harry Potter stand up? Oh wait, he was standing in front of me. Pen in hand, poised as if a true quidditch wizard. Somehow I felt like this was a telltale sign of home. The crisp and ripe conversation of geeks and genius side by side.
I have inaugurated the purchase of the iPhone - inspired by the Genius Mr. Harry Potter to name my phone. It has a name and I am intending to tend to it as if it were a child so that it will outlive my last phone. And in honour of a fine family tradition it shall be given a name. Not after a colour mind you -- as my close cousin has done for hers, but the most bizarre name that could come to mind first so that it fits in with the strange breed of apple marketing junkies such as Sir Harry. I introduce to you my Myrtle. She could be your crazy aunt thrice removed or she could be my phone, but crazy Aunt Myrtle is quicker than a turtle or quite a lovable phone at that.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Ape Wild: Going Guerrilla
The checklist:
- Ski mask
- Ninja outfit
- Gloves
- Flashlight
- Location map
- Stake out
- Meeting time
- Anonymous team
- Bucket
- Shovel
- Water
- Soil
Check. Check. & Check.
I sat in the Canadian Tire parking lot and waited for the crew to arrive. Death sounds eminent just based on what I was preparing. Whether it was to be my own or someone else's, it was rather foreboding. From the sounds of what I had to prepare I very well could be a “hit person”. Yes, it is illegal, yes, there is a plan of attack, and yes it calls for an army of help. Give up as to what I’m referring to? It’s Guerrilla gardening.
I read about it on a blog recently. Thought it was a fantastic concept and decided that certain neighbourhoods in the area could use this rigorous regime.
I announced my plans to several friends. The blank stares in return made it quite clear that not all understand the point of this exercise or feel that it is necessary. I updated my facebook status and boom a couple friends jumped on board. (They knew what I was talking about!)
The most PC and cumbersome title for this new movement is the “Volunteer Community Beautification Project.” A friend of mine came up with this mouthful. That’s what we are prepared to tell the cops any time we are caught gardening on private property. The point of it is to make an ugly space pretty. Tracking my course? If not, it's alright.
It all started in London England’s grand metropolis where someone one day woke up to the fact that there are no green spaces. So they decided to add them to any place possible. In cracked sidewalks, abandoned mailboxes etc.
Granted we have lots of green, but sometimes there are spaces that could be spruced up. Plus it’s fun to get dirty and learn a skill that I am not particularly aware of with my friends. Although I have to say that I don’t recommend stealing the plants to beautify any square footage. Buy them and then find a space.
Now that I rent my pad, I don’t have the luxury or heresay as to what adorns the space in front of house. It was a blast last time, and this time, for all of my skeptical friends, I encourage you to come out. Message me on facebook if you want to join the rebel recruits.
I'm know, I'm so not a rebel.
- Ski mask
- Ninja outfit
- Gloves
- Flashlight
- Location map
- Stake out
- Meeting time
- Anonymous team
- Bucket
- Shovel
- Water
- Soil
Check. Check. & Check.
I sat in the Canadian Tire parking lot and waited for the crew to arrive. Death sounds eminent just based on what I was preparing. Whether it was to be my own or someone else's, it was rather foreboding. From the sounds of what I had to prepare I very well could be a “hit person”. Yes, it is illegal, yes, there is a plan of attack, and yes it calls for an army of help. Give up as to what I’m referring to? It’s Guerrilla gardening.
I read about it on a blog recently. Thought it was a fantastic concept and decided that certain neighbourhoods in the area could use this rigorous regime.
I announced my plans to several friends. The blank stares in return made it quite clear that not all understand the point of this exercise or feel that it is necessary. I updated my facebook status and boom a couple friends jumped on board. (They knew what I was talking about!)
The most PC and cumbersome title for this new movement is the “Volunteer Community Beautification Project.” A friend of mine came up with this mouthful. That’s what we are prepared to tell the cops any time we are caught gardening on private property. The point of it is to make an ugly space pretty. Tracking my course? If not, it's alright.
It all started in London England’s grand metropolis where someone one day woke up to the fact that there are no green spaces. So they decided to add them to any place possible. In cracked sidewalks, abandoned mailboxes etc.
Granted we have lots of green, but sometimes there are spaces that could be spruced up. Plus it’s fun to get dirty and learn a skill that I am not particularly aware of with my friends. Although I have to say that I don’t recommend stealing the plants to beautify any square footage. Buy them and then find a space.
Now that I rent my pad, I don’t have the luxury or heresay as to what adorns the space in front of house. It was a blast last time, and this time, for all of my skeptical friends, I encourage you to come out. Message me on facebook if you want to join the rebel recruits.
What do they call organized anarchy?
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Thought of the morning
I was sent a long list of generalizations about women that men hate as a humorous email forward. There were a couple of questions that men hate and I just thought I would pose the observation that I have been stewing over.
The one that stuck out the most was when a woman asks a man if she looks fats.
Now the response given in the email was that we as women should never ask a man this question. Too true, but the women actually should ask is "do you like me the way I am." Ultimately, we don't ask this question because the resulting answer, if it's no, is not an answer that we want to hear. The guy just comes off as heartless if he says no. If he says yes and he means no, you have bigger issues at stake. The point is one rhetorical question is posed in the hopes of receiving an expected answer back and you have no control over that rhetorical question.
I guess it comes down to, don't ask a question you don't know the answer to.
The one that stuck out the most was when a woman asks a man if she looks fats.
Now the response given in the email was that we as women should never ask a man this question. Too true, but the women actually should ask is "do you like me the way I am." Ultimately, we don't ask this question because the resulting answer, if it's no, is not an answer that we want to hear. The guy just comes off as heartless if he says no. If he says yes and he means no, you have bigger issues at stake. The point is one rhetorical question is posed in the hopes of receiving an expected answer back and you have no control over that rhetorical question.
I guess it comes down to, don't ask a question you don't know the answer to.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Keeping the Peace Lily
I made a mandate a while back to keep a plant alive at work. Equipped with the proven prediction that this would be a challenge for me, I set out to landscape the office with a robust plant.
I ended up at a florist shop speaking in a foreign form of English trying to explain my predicament to a blank faced individual. I sense second languages aren’t a strong point of his.
The florist gestured at a scrawny Peace Lily. I read the tag instructions. Sounded like it could be robust.
The single petal bloomed and turned green almost immediately.
Each week I vigilantly watered it. Observed subtle changes in growth, or lack thereof.
Petals started to go yellowish. So much for being robust. Although even in the toughest of conditions – like the Sahara, nothing grows.
My coworker suggested that I get it plant food. I thought that water was enough?? As much as man cannot live on bread alone, apparently plants need more than water.
I read the silly little tag. Sure enough the plant needed fertilizer twice a month.
So I went out in search of plant food. Shortly after getting into the rhythm of feeding the plant its’ food, it grew 4 more petals. The petals shortly thereafter turned green.
I knew I was doing something wrong. Cacti have been a problem for me from time to time. Having a cacti farm was not going to be my calling in life. Nor was a landscaping business.
My coworker took one look at it and said, “Perhaps it needs more soil and a bigger pot.” She must have been right because when I came back from vacation the leaves had brown tips. The fact that my boss was gone on vacation and no one watered the plant while I was gone might have had something to do with the situation.
A diseased plant had gone from bad to worse.
My coworker sort of poked the yellow leaves and suggested a few problems that it might be experiencing. All of which required more gardening tools so I set out for the florist shop down the street on Friday. This time ensuring that I didn’t go to my previous stop.
I got there to find a startled florist when I explained the fact that I had by observation tortured our Peace Lily almost to extinction.
“How on earth do you kill a Peace Lily?” She asked while gathering bunches of babies breath for a purple bouquet. She was the expert so I figured that it would be best to listen to what she had to say.
I explained the situation.
“It’s almost impossible to kill those plants.” She said. “Have you been over watering it?”
I shrugged. I don’t think you could drown that plant. It absorbed a lot of water.
“Don’t let there be any access water. You don’t want the roots to rot.”
She then asked if I pinched off the flowers. Startled I realized therein lies my problem. I had not done that.
The clerk then pointed at the Peace Lily that she was in the process of selling. It was in worse shape than mine. This gave me satisfaction to know that my Peace Lily was not the ugliest to grace this earth.
All of the symptoms that my plant was experiencing were signs of distress in heat but it was fine and I had not killed it.
A spring in my step, I headed back to the office.
I gave the plant a manicure by pinching off the dead growth. I felt bad doing it but it was necessary to make room for the new growth.
I am now watching new buds unfold and to my relief I can keep at least one robust plant alive. It makes sense that by not pruning a plant it in fact hurts the organism. Useless energy is being wasted on a dead portion of the plant so it zaps the proper nutrients from the necessary parts of the plant hence creating discolouring at the very ends of the foliage.
Maybe I can truly become a botanist after all! Hydroponics here I come.
I ended up at a florist shop speaking in a foreign form of English trying to explain my predicament to a blank faced individual. I sense second languages aren’t a strong point of his.
The florist gestured at a scrawny Peace Lily. I read the tag instructions. Sounded like it could be robust.
The single petal bloomed and turned green almost immediately.
Each week I vigilantly watered it. Observed subtle changes in growth, or lack thereof.
Petals started to go yellowish. So much for being robust. Although even in the toughest of conditions – like the Sahara, nothing grows.
My coworker suggested that I get it plant food. I thought that water was enough?? As much as man cannot live on bread alone, apparently plants need more than water.
I read the silly little tag. Sure enough the plant needed fertilizer twice a month.
So I went out in search of plant food. Shortly after getting into the rhythm of feeding the plant its’ food, it grew 4 more petals. The petals shortly thereafter turned green.
I knew I was doing something wrong. Cacti have been a problem for me from time to time. Having a cacti farm was not going to be my calling in life. Nor was a landscaping business.
My coworker took one look at it and said, “Perhaps it needs more soil and a bigger pot.” She must have been right because when I came back from vacation the leaves had brown tips. The fact that my boss was gone on vacation and no one watered the plant while I was gone might have had something to do with the situation.
A diseased plant had gone from bad to worse.
My coworker sort of poked the yellow leaves and suggested a few problems that it might be experiencing. All of which required more gardening tools so I set out for the florist shop down the street on Friday. This time ensuring that I didn’t go to my previous stop.
I got there to find a startled florist when I explained the fact that I had by observation tortured our Peace Lily almost to extinction.
“How on earth do you kill a Peace Lily?” She asked while gathering bunches of babies breath for a purple bouquet. She was the expert so I figured that it would be best to listen to what she had to say.
I explained the situation.
“It’s almost impossible to kill those plants.” She said. “Have you been over watering it?”
I shrugged. I don’t think you could drown that plant. It absorbed a lot of water.
“Don’t let there be any access water. You don’t want the roots to rot.”
She then asked if I pinched off the flowers. Startled I realized therein lies my problem. I had not done that.
The clerk then pointed at the Peace Lily that she was in the process of selling. It was in worse shape than mine. This gave me satisfaction to know that my Peace Lily was not the ugliest to grace this earth.
All of the symptoms that my plant was experiencing were signs of distress in heat but it was fine and I had not killed it.
A spring in my step, I headed back to the office.
I gave the plant a manicure by pinching off the dead growth. I felt bad doing it but it was necessary to make room for the new growth.
I am now watching new buds unfold and to my relief I can keep at least one robust plant alive. It makes sense that by not pruning a plant it in fact hurts the organism. Useless energy is being wasted on a dead portion of the plant so it zaps the proper nutrients from the necessary parts of the plant hence creating discolouring at the very ends of the foliage.
Maybe I can truly become a botanist after all! Hydroponics here I come.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sorry, 4got. Stppd 2 watch Dscvry Chnnl.
I watched seals fornicate for the first time in my entire life this morning. To my initial horror I wanted to tear my eyes away. Strangely enough I didn’t.
I had just befriended some hardcore diehard sporty folk who were willing to bust moves on the dance floor to the wee hours of the morning of an awesome Ukranian wedding the night before to be willing to arise early to glide the water of the inlet with me. Sheer enjoyment/soreness ensued the day after. I might add – we were not facebook friends at this point in time.
The wakeboarder bobbing in the water behind the boat had never wakeboarded in her entire life and only a few yards from where she sat ready and awaiting to discover the joys of wakeboarding, the joys of animal indecencies were taking place. On a positive note, she got up on the first try. A high level of motivation to get herself out of the water that she was sharing with the precarious mammals.
Let’s just say seals aren’t graceful about the act of recreating their spawn. There is an upset in the water as if a huge salmon has been caught and needs to be beat into submission. At first I thought that it was a fight in the water. But as I quietly observed for a few more seconds longer, it was definitely not a fight.
Sometimes life is like watching seals fornicate. It’s such a tragic comedy of an event that you can’t tear your eyes away as if you have the best seat in the house on real life Discovery Channel experiences. Someone pop the popcorn and get the Nibs out. A slap stick train wreck is playing.
I recently correlate this with my newfound hatred for social networking that gets out of control. I don’t despise Facebook, but it is a dangerous tool that can kill common courteousy in our relationships among real friends.
It fakens relationships in a lot of ways rather than enriching them if people are not reminded that there are unspoken rules to follow with any relationship. The same ones that we follow in showing love and care towards one another. But it seems that sometimes when life becomes a popularity contest people tend to forget basic rules that we should follow. And it somehow makes it alright to disregard all common courteousy with people. We can ignore, say maybe, and even say yes and then turn around and “forget.” It is a scape goat for when people don’t feel like being polite. Perhaps it is not a new concept. It's not as if caller ID was invented yesterday.
This has become incredibly apparent to me and has opened my eyes to the great symphony of a calamity of the shmozzle of events that can occur from creating events to attending events to trying to keep events intimate.
Recent events amongst friends of mine and hearing about the fact that Facebook really can create foes faster than clicking the send friend request has made me stop and think about my own level of curteousy with this social networking tool.
I send out a heartfelt apology to people that I might have offended at one point or another. There is sometimes rhyme or reason or none at all to the way I invite people to things. If you haven’t been invited, don’t take it personally. If you have been invited and you really don't know me, I might have misclicked the wrong name. I've done that before too.
If you have ever been excluded from an event and wanted to come, it hasn’t been on purpose and all you have to do is ask to come. I will try to follow up and invite you unless there is a specific reason as to why I can’t. They are general related to spacial issues, proximity or the general purpose/nature of the event. The net result is that I never intend to create a popularity contest. That’s all I can say. I’m careless and forgetful.
For those that have also taking Facebook as a serious planning tool, do remember that others are also careless and forgetful. Remember to err is human. But this is not a justification for behaving poorly.
For those of you who also find you have a hard time juggling this social networking tool. Do one last check of facebook before you head out for the evening. If there are a couple of events that you have the opportunity to attend, sometimes it’s best to try to fit them all in rather than creating a popularity contest. Or just be upfront about the fact that you aren’t going to attend and follow up because you can't go. Keep in mind that Facebook has a way of reminding others that they weren't invited. Once the event is over, many people tend to plaster their photos of their great times.
On the flip side, collaborate. If you find out that an event is occurring, be courteous to the person that is planning an event on the same night you want to have something. Plan your event on a different night.
If you’re missing a once in a lifetime party for an excited house owner for a birthday party and you all happen to be in the same circle of friends chances are someone is going to get hurt in the midst of carelessness. There in lies watching seals fornicate. It makes you want to tear your eyes away but at the same time, the nature of humanity and wildlife is being aware of the good, the bad and the ugly. I suppose it’s what we do with what we learn from watching mistakes, miscommunications, train wrecks and horny westcoastern seals go at it that is most important.
I had just befriended some hardcore diehard sporty folk who were willing to bust moves on the dance floor to the wee hours of the morning of an awesome Ukranian wedding the night before to be willing to arise early to glide the water of the inlet with me. Sheer enjoyment/soreness ensued the day after. I might add – we were not facebook friends at this point in time.
The wakeboarder bobbing in the water behind the boat had never wakeboarded in her entire life and only a few yards from where she sat ready and awaiting to discover the joys of wakeboarding, the joys of animal indecencies were taking place. On a positive note, she got up on the first try. A high level of motivation to get herself out of the water that she was sharing with the precarious mammals.
Let’s just say seals aren’t graceful about the act of recreating their spawn. There is an upset in the water as if a huge salmon has been caught and needs to be beat into submission. At first I thought that it was a fight in the water. But as I quietly observed for a few more seconds longer, it was definitely not a fight.
Sometimes life is like watching seals fornicate. It’s such a tragic comedy of an event that you can’t tear your eyes away as if you have the best seat in the house on real life Discovery Channel experiences. Someone pop the popcorn and get the Nibs out. A slap stick train wreck is playing.
I recently correlate this with my newfound hatred for social networking that gets out of control. I don’t despise Facebook, but it is a dangerous tool that can kill common courteousy in our relationships among real friends.
It fakens relationships in a lot of ways rather than enriching them if people are not reminded that there are unspoken rules to follow with any relationship. The same ones that we follow in showing love and care towards one another. But it seems that sometimes when life becomes a popularity contest people tend to forget basic rules that we should follow. And it somehow makes it alright to disregard all common courteousy with people. We can ignore, say maybe, and even say yes and then turn around and “forget.” It is a scape goat for when people don’t feel like being polite. Perhaps it is not a new concept. It's not as if caller ID was invented yesterday.
This has become incredibly apparent to me and has opened my eyes to the great symphony of a calamity of the shmozzle of events that can occur from creating events to attending events to trying to keep events intimate.
Recent events amongst friends of mine and hearing about the fact that Facebook really can create foes faster than clicking the send friend request has made me stop and think about my own level of curteousy with this social networking tool.
I send out a heartfelt apology to people that I might have offended at one point or another. There is sometimes rhyme or reason or none at all to the way I invite people to things. If you haven’t been invited, don’t take it personally. If you have been invited and you really don't know me, I might have misclicked the wrong name. I've done that before too.
If you have ever been excluded from an event and wanted to come, it hasn’t been on purpose and all you have to do is ask to come. I will try to follow up and invite you unless there is a specific reason as to why I can’t. They are general related to spacial issues, proximity or the general purpose/nature of the event. The net result is that I never intend to create a popularity contest. That’s all I can say. I’m careless and forgetful.
For those that have also taking Facebook as a serious planning tool, do remember that others are also careless and forgetful. Remember to err is human. But this is not a justification for behaving poorly.
For those of you who also find you have a hard time juggling this social networking tool. Do one last check of facebook before you head out for the evening. If there are a couple of events that you have the opportunity to attend, sometimes it’s best to try to fit them all in rather than creating a popularity contest. Or just be upfront about the fact that you aren’t going to attend and follow up because you can't go. Keep in mind that Facebook has a way of reminding others that they weren't invited. Once the event is over, many people tend to plaster their photos of their great times.
On the flip side, collaborate. If you find out that an event is occurring, be courteous to the person that is planning an event on the same night you want to have something. Plan your event on a different night.
If you’re missing a once in a lifetime party for an excited house owner for a birthday party and you all happen to be in the same circle of friends chances are someone is going to get hurt in the midst of carelessness. There in lies watching seals fornicate. It makes you want to tear your eyes away but at the same time, the nature of humanity and wildlife is being aware of the good, the bad and the ugly. I suppose it’s what we do with what we learn from watching mistakes, miscommunications, train wrecks and horny westcoastern seals go at it that is most important.
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