Let's talk turkey

OK so clearly my days of shit disturbing and getting folks all riled up are over. Le sigh.. I guess that's what happens when you flake on your blog for a year. I'm trying to be better! I swear!

So the architect and I were in the grocery store last night picking up Butch (the turkey)* and the lady behind the till said "what are you guys doing? It's not Thanksgiving yet!" To which I naturally scoffed that of course it is, if you are Canadian. We then had an interesting discourse about the differences between Canada and the US holiday wise - meaning she asked if Canadians have Christmas at the same time as the US. I politely bit my tongue and said yes, of course, but we have way more fun with Boxing Day - Canadians are a pugilistic sort.

So I'm going to see the Crystal Method do a dj set tonight and I'm pretty frickin excited about it. Actually, that's totally a lie. I'm TRYING to get excited about it. It's just that I'd way rather sit in a great restaurant and have a meal and a few bottles of wine with friends than go to a club. Oh I *AM* getting old...




* Please see "Dave Cooks the Turkey". All of my birds since my first experience of that story have been named Butch as an homage.

prop (h)ate

OK so I may be taking the lid off the proverbial barrel of monkeys here, but off we go regardless.

How easy for you is it to be friends with (like invite into your home friends with, not just be cordial to at a social gathering friends with) someone who has political opinions so completely distasteful to you that it makes you feel sick to your stomach?

Case in point - the other evening, a friend of the architect's (and by extension kind of a friend of mine) changed their fb status to 'xx wants you to vote yes on prop 8'. (For those of you not in the know, Prop 8 is the bill which wants to overturn California's decision to allow gay marriage.) I find this morally repugnant. Sure sure, I can understand how you may be religious and not approve of the gay lifestyle, the same way I understand how some people can be anti-abortion.*

HOWEVER what I don't get is the self serving self INVOLVED bullshit idea that you have the right to decide what is ok for everyone else. I mean, aren't we supposed to live in a society that advocates all men equal under god? Moreover, isn't this supposed to be a world in which there is a distinct separation between church and state?

That whole 'traditional definition of marriage' argument is bullshit. Before 1967 (Loving v Virginia), interracial marriages were against the law in many states (still are in many Arab countries). Should we revert to that? Fuck if you want to get really historical, you can find justification for SLAVERY in the bible. We redefine traditions every six seconds - it's the evolution of culture.

We've come so far, people - we've learned so much (as a society) about how to accept people as equals. Let's just take this one more step, ok? No one is going to force you to marry a gay man or a lesbian woman or even go for coffee with them, if it offends you so greatly. Just, please, accept the fact that two men raising a child (or a dog) in a happy household is more of a marriage than an unhappy or abusive man and woman living together ignoring or mistreating their children. Gender does not a marriage make - companionship, friendship, love, and a decision to live together and weather good times and bad; a willingness to make a public and private commitment to be faithful to another person for the rest of your days - let THIS be the only traditional definition of marriage that matters. Let love live.



* Notice here I said anti-abortion, not anti-CHOICE. That's a major distinction and I did it purposefully. While you have the right to say abortion isn't ok for YOU, no way do you have the right to say that I can't make that decision for myself.

fried green tomatoes

I ate too much tonight, and drank too much wine, but what else are you supposed to do when you show up at the gulf coast restaurant and bottles of wine are half off? OK so I may have yakked but it was worth it, dammit. The architect is currently snoring it off at the other end of the couch... I'e been strictly forbidden from taking photos of him while he's snoozering, otherwise I'd have a sweet shot of him with his eyes closed, mouth open, and hands folded across his belly.

Plus now I don't feel so guilty about eating aforementioned fried green tomatoes. mmmmmmmm

I ended up working the salon today, which was pretty cool. I mean, our house is still a mess and I am on the ship tomorrow so no cleaning there, but I figure I can shop and clean and cook and still get a good dinner party together for Saturday. I'm cool like that.

chopin in the dark

The architect is asleep in the bedroom and the chat is asleep on his fugly cushion on the couch and it's 9pm. I cannot possibly go to bed at 9pm. Well fuck it of course I can, it's just that we pulled the couch out today and I napped for 2 hours so I'm only moderately tired instead of obscenely tired like I have been for the last two weeks.

I think I'm getting back into the swing of SD - feeling not quite so alone again. Saturday I went for drinks in the afternoon with a great group of people and it was just what I needed - a few stiff cocktails in good company. Now I'm focused on getting the thank you cards out and the menu planned for my annual Lost Waifs and Orphans Thanksgiving Dinner. I guess this year we're the waifs and/or orphans but whatevs - that makes it even better. I'm just following the Nick Hornby guide to unemployment; breaking my life up into 1/2 hour units and it seems way more manageable.

It rained like a mofo here last night. I like sitting inside listening to the rain - always have. There's something about hearing the water run down through the gutters to the street, hearing the cars hiss by, hearing the wind and the drops hit the windows when you are all curled up inside in your jammies that makes the world feel kinda cozy. Down here, especially, since it only rains so very rarely. I've started scouting for a stand alone electric stove for our living room, since we don't have any heat in here at the moment. There's an ugly gas radiator stored in the cupboard, but I refuse to pull that out when we can get something chic and cozy - something that kinda looks like a fire. I miss my old fireplace.

It gets dark here so frickin' early. I remember being amazed at how much shorter the days were when I moved from PeeGee to Vancouver, now here I am in a part of the world where Zeus shuts the light off at 6pm on the button, banging his thunderstick on the children's doors as he does room check. Lights out... lights out... I'm still trying to adjust, and inevitably I find myself getting ready for bed then discovering that it's only 7.30. When's fall back? That will make it even worse.

thread count and other pressing issues

So here I am back in SD, reclining upon 660 thread count sheets (yay wedding presents!) and drinking pineapple juice trying to kill this frickin' chest cold someone in Vancouver was sweet enough to pass on. Sheets = good wedding presents; colds, not so much, in case you are shopping for the next bride to be on your list.

It's funny how when I was up in Van I missed my house and my stuff, and how once I got back here I missed my friends and family and the kiddo. It's like I don't know what I want. Actually, I do - I want everyone to move here. The weather is soooo much nicer. Seriously. The architect told me I'd get bored of the constant sunshine, but that smacks of ridiculousness.

I am, as well, completely exhausted. The week run up to the reception was exactly that - me going at a dead run trying to get everything ready. In the end, some stuff worked out and some stuff didn't, but I think everyone had a really good time, so that's all that is important, right?

Pocketbook romance

We've been having an email argument (centered around finances, as usual) all day. I've come out of it with a bad feeling in my belly and the worst temptation to just stay in Vancouver after our reception.

This temptation, by the way, is currently being fanned by the sister, who insists upon sending me job ads. Not entirely selfless, this girl, though I puzzle over what place I would have in her life now that she's got herself a steady boyfriend. I digress.

I've spent the better part of the day on the verge of sobbing my eyes out. Nothing like going for a mani/pedi/brow wax and having to choke back the bawl as the esthetician rubs your cuticles away.* The architect is burned out and unable to bring in more money. I am still sans green card and pretty much in the same boat. What to do? My only money option seems to be to stay behind in Vancouver and get a job. Hopefully the parents can put up with me for six months or so and I can put some cash aside. The thought of this, though, leaves me completely in the weeds. I don't have anything anymore - no car, no room of my own, my friends have moved on with their lives. I share the architect's space surrounded by furniture he's paid for. I can lay claim to a few kitchen items and the quilt on my bed - other than that, I have nothing. Nothing.

They say that you are not defined by your material possessions, but you are surely defined by your lack of them, and I have nothing of my own, anymore.





* I have a barter deal going with my manicurist - I poke around at her website and she gives me monthly mani-pedis. No money transferred hands. God I sure did need that pedicure, though.

Fly me to the moon

So I'm heading up to Vancity on Thursday for the second of a billion wedding celebrations. I mean, shit - if you have a good time doing something once, why not keep doing it? Seriously.

Anyhoo, I'm downloading some books to put on my iPhone for the flight. Dude wtf didn't I think of this before? I can listen and only have to carry the phone. Oh fuck let's not kid - I will have to take a couple-twelve books with me anyway, but I mean this idea is the shit.

OMG I just realized it's free burrito day at chipotle.... God I'm going to be a frickin whale.

Into the Infinite

RIP David Foster Wallace, dead from an apparent suicide at his home this past Friday. He was, arguably, the premier essayist of the postmodern era - surpassing (in my opinion) even David Sedaris and Hunter Thompson. His distinctive style - rambling prose, lush facts, and deliciously tangential footnotes - made him both a pleasure and a challenge to read.

I would like to say that I practice the sincerest form of flattery when I make my meagre attempts to construct creative non fiction, and that I model my work after his, but I have neither the talent nor the innate intelligence to do so. The man was a walking encyclopedia of fact and somehow managed to be the Cliff Claven of our generation without being annoying or pedantic. Moreover, what he didn't know, he researched - exhaustively. For example, a footnote to this article on the Maine Lobster Festival includes an apology to the readers of Gourmet Magazine (the article's first publication point) for missing the opportunity to interview the sole member of PETA present at the fest, for the purposes of adding an alternative viewpoint to the narrative.

I respect that.

I respect and relate to the urge to learn *everything* about a topic; the urge to immerse yourself completely in the archane minutiae of a subject matter and burst forth from the other side perhaps not smarter, but infinitely richer than you were a short while previous.

I know nothing about DFW's personal life. I don't know if he suffered from depression, addiction, or societal malaise. I know only that I hope he's now sitting with Damiel and Cassiel, listening in on the words and thoughts and dreams of the world for, if ever there was a sentiment that personified DFW's work, it is "I want to know everything".

It's true

I am sitting on a step waiting for the library to open. Yes I am that cool.

You spin me

So last night I hosted my quasi-monthly geek group gathering. What's a geek group, you ask? Well it's a few people who get together approximately monthly to discuss a peer reviewed article selected by another member of the group*, do some eating, and have some drinks.**

Well, I guess I drank WAY more than I thought I had, because after everyone had left (around 9.30 I suppose), I was all of a sudden LOADED. Like I got the spins and went to the bathroom to force myself to yak. SO GROSS - red wine is kind of like acid coming back up. I'm sure you want to hear that. My point is, that when I came back to bed I still had the spins - I was doing the whole one foot on the ground thing and nothing was helping. Dude how did this happen? I was sure that I'd only had a couple of glasses of wine, though upon closer inspection I guess I did drink about 3/4 of a bottle. But that's not that strange for me. The drunky spinny thing? Not normal. Not approved, to say the least.

In any case, I quite expected to feel like ass this morning, but it's not too bad. I'm STARVING though, and craving pizza, which isn't the best thing for my ever expanding waistline. I may have to buck up and go get some in any case because the rumbling coming from my belly region just startled the cat. Heh.







* Last night our selection was "The Pub and the Irish Nation" by Bradley Kadel. It was pretty good, but was an excerpt from his dissertation so it wasn't completely well flushed out - there was some basic information missing that would have made it much better as a stand-alone article.
** I made Dublin Coddle and soda bread. There was a lot of Guinness and Smithwicks consumed, though clearly not by me.

Ug

OK so there was a House marathon on yesterday afternoon / evening. I started watching somewhere around 4pm and finally tore my eyes away at around midnight when an episode I'd already seen slipped into rotation. Not an episode I'd seen anytime before, mind you, one I'd already seen THAT DAY. I've never really watched the show before, and yet all of a sudden I was fascinated and in deep lust with Hugh Laurie. Rawr. I also drank a bottle and a half of wine as I watched, so I'm not sure how much the one had to do with the other.

At any rate, rawr. I do feel mildly hungover, though - nothing too crazy, just that irritating ick feeling in my left temporal lobe (that's the technical term. Learned it on House yesterday) (Heh).

So I'm going back up to Vancity in a week or two for our wedding reception. We've been half-assed planning it for months and now here it is three weeks away and I'm starting to panic about the money and whether or not we can pull it off. I think it should be ok, but at the same time I dunno how we are going to make it happen, you know? I'm probably just getting nervous, but when I think about the whole thing I start to get a little sicky in my belly. Le sigh.

awesome

I'm sure that everyone has seen this by now, but in case you haven't - here's a fabulous report from the LA Times music blog featuring an A Capella performance by RATM steps away from the RNC.

my cat

Yeah so I was reading on Sabrina, See yesterday how one of her friends threatened to dismember her or anally penetrate her with a hot curling iron or something if her blog degenerated into love and cooking and puppies and crap. Since I'm fairly sure I've already jumped that shark here, I'm going to continue along my merry way.

My cat has pretty much decided in his mind he's a pinup girl or a porn star all of a sudden. I swear you can't turn a corner without being confronted by the no-nutted wonder, spread eagled and airing out his junk. I mean, I can't say for sure that's what he's thinking, but the photographic evidence as illustrated above would certainly go towards supporting that thesis, no?

They've been ripping up the street out front for approximately a billion years and right now it sounds like they are using a dental drill on chalkboard teeth. If I'm not here tomorrow it'll be because I took a kitchen knife outside and murdered the entire work crew. Wish me luck.

I got something to say

So I've been participating in this online talkboard social networking site thingy since we moved down here. I mean, it's pretty fun and it's how we've met pretty much everyone we know in SD, so that's cool, but it also serves to remind me how stupid people can be when you allow them the thin veil of anonymity that the innerweb provides.

For example - in one of the threads the other day, one (married) member of the group was indulging in a bit of online flirting. Someone took it upon themselves to send his wife (another member of the group) a message ratting him out. Now this couple has been together a LONG time. They clearly have boundaries within the relationship for harmless flirting and whatnot, and who knows whether he crossed that line with what he said. However, once a third party becomes involved (i.e. the rat) the wife is almost honour-bound to take action, don't you think? If she lets it slide, she kind of looks like a cuckold, a chump, or something along those lines.

I mean, why do people regress to junior high school the minute they get behind the keyboard? It's like getting to school on Monday and having that girl who pretends to be your friend (even though deep down inside you kinda know she's spreading rumours about you all over the school) come up to you and say she saw your boyfriend kissing someone else. Even if it's not true you a) feel like an asshole and b) kinda have to take action. Gawd I've never been very good at that game.

Dude I'm a flirt - always have been, always will be. It's harmless, though, and the architect knows it. I encourage it in him, he is amused by it in me. However, if someone came up to him at a party and made comments, of course he'd feel like he had to say something to me about it - even if he knows I'm loyal, faithful, and would never betray him. All of a sudden we are in conflict for something that has been, to this point, not a problem. Ridiculous. People should mind their own business.

By the way

Maktaaq has written a fabulous post about the point of blogging. Check it out.

Scrabbling

While some folks (i.e. the sister) have adopted the new EA facebook scrabble as their own, I'm still holding out. The jingly jangly animations etc are too distracting for me. I mean, I'll play it b/c I don't seem to have another option with her, but I'd rather stick to emailing the old school scrabulous back and forth.

I've been reading like a madwoman, lately, and, to my credit, I've been mixing up my brainless mysteries and/or fantasy novels with a nice smattering of non fiction and biographies. I just received my first $5 Borders Bucks coupon (for every $100 spent) and promptly spent it. Also, I've been walking down to the library at least once a week, and perusing our two local used bookstores easily that often. AND the architect's aunt is clearing out her library and is letting me go through them before she donates. Yay!!!

In other boring housewifely type news, I baked bread for the first time in forever yesterday. The brother gave me an artisan bread cookbook for my bday last month and so I gave it a shot (as pictured). I think it's too salty, but the architect says it's still tasty. I'm going to buy more flour and yeast, though, and play around with it. Mmmmmdeliciouscarbsmmmmmmmmmmm

Hockey fans and Whatnot

So the other night when we were on our way into the amphitheater to see that band, what, the radioheads or something, my ticket was checked by a guy in a Maple Leafs tshirt. I made fanboy flappy gestures about the obviously well worn specimen and the guy asked if I happened to be Canadian. I said yes, and I was disregarding the fact that he was wearing a LEAFS shirt because of the overall coolness of seeing a Canadian hockey tshirt in pretty much the southernmost part of California. Really, seriously, I should be mocking him because, well, it's the Leafs, let's not kid.

He said actually I'm a Canucks fan I'm from Vancouver. I was being pushed along by the crowd so couldn't smack him for wearing that trash as a Vancouerite. If I'd known I would have taken him out.

The funny part though was the look on my friends' faces at the chances of running into another Canadian hockey fan while going to see a British Band in the US of A.

We're everywhere.....

Snatch my body any day, mr Yorke.

So yeah, I went to see Radiohead at Cricket Amphitheater last night. Wow is really the only possible response. I mean, besides contemplating the fact that my irritation with all of the drunken assholes perhaps shows a bit of my age, but we won't talk about that in this forum. We here at the Sundae Sanatorium are content to wallow in our own disillusions, thank you very much.

Anyhoo, yeah, so Radiohead is f'ing incredible. The amphitheater has a pit area, seated balconies, and then the top lawn, and we were in the second row of balconies, but more or less directly behind the sound booth at DEAD centre; basically, the sound and lightshow was all set up exactly for us. Can't really go wrong with that, huh? The only thing that could have made it better would have been if the architect had been able to go with me. Unfortunately he had a bit of a snafu with a project and wasn't able to get away in time. Fortunately, though, a friend was only to happy to warm his seat for him.

$12 beers are less than exciting, but what are you going to do? At least it was good beer, not piss-poor molson in a plastic cup.

setlist (for those who care):
15 Step
Airbag
There There
All I Need
Nude
Talk Show Host
Where I End and You Begin
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
The Gloaming
Faust Arp
How to Disappear Completely
Reckoner
Optimistic
Jigsaw
Pyramid Song
Climbing Up The Walls
Bodysnatchers

FIRST ENCORES
House of Cards
You and Whose Army?
Just
Paranoid Android
Street Spirit (Fade Out)

SECOND ENCORES
Videotape
Lucky
Everything In Its Right Place

A simultaneously awesome and terrible personal sidenote:

The kiddo turns 9teen today. Those of you who've been around for a while may recall some of the crappy stuff he's gone through, so I just thought I'd fill you in =)

It's interesting

...how reading stuff I love doesn't always inspire me to blog, but being irritated usually does. I'm sure that's extremely healthy. Heh.

I won't get into what it was that irritated me specifically (I don't want to open a big ol' can of shitstorm here) but suffice it to say that I read some blogger's posting, disagreed with it and with most of the comments, replied along that vein with backup facts and links, and, after moderation, the blog-owner failed to post it. While I agree that everyone has the right to control the comments on their space, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me to refuse to encourage respectful dialogue within an internet forum. Well, unless you are afraid of being proven wrong, of course.

Whatever, though, I happened upon this blog quite randomly and cannot fathom going back, as there are so many good blogs out there.
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Anyhoo...
Now that I'm down in Amurrika, I get to listen to Pandora again, which rules. It's such a cool way to discover new music, and there's even an application for my iPhone*. Last night while I was cooking dinner I felt like listening to some groovy cocktail type chill music, so created a station based on Thievery Corporation. It occurred to me at the time that this station would be equally fantastic for both dinner parties and sexytimes. Now these two activities don't appear to be that similar (orgiastic Romans aside), but when you think about it, they aren't that far apart, either. Both involve two (or more) (perverts) people coming together for sensual exploration. Both have begin with an appetizer, a main course, dessert, and cleanup. (I'm purposely leaving out the salad and cheese courses, because, well, ew.) For both events, you want a soundtrack which enhance the experience but doesn't distract from it - preferably something that has a bit of a groove and will fill in any quiet spaces. Something sexy - the musical equivalent of a seduction; a sultry look or an oyster** or strawberry dipped in champagne.

Or at least that is what I generally prefer when in le boudoir - nowadays, anyway. Back when I was younger my stereo was usually playing ministry or something equally aggressive. But then my definition of a really fancy dinner was fettuccine alfredo and a glass of chilean cabernet, so there's no accounting for the tastes and predilections of a 19 year old, I suppose.



* Yes I said iPhone! I am now the proud owner of a new 8gig 3G iPhone, thanks to the always handsome and charming Architect. Yay for husbands!
** I actually don't like oysters, and have recently discovered a bit of a nasty allergy to shellfish. However, I hear that they work well as an aphrodisiac, so there it is.