"Hey, I've been seeing you in the paper quite a bit lately!"
"You're really getting your name out there, aren't you?"
"Everytime I pick up the paper, I see your name!"
"You're becoming quite well-known now, aren't you?"
Uh oh. I didn't mind getting teased by a few family members and my colleague about being in the paper a few times, but now that other people are noticing it, I am starting to worry. I hope this doesn't become my demise. I think I may have to lay low for the next few weeks.
Actually, I don't think I have to worry about any downfall at all. I am simply becoming famous, thanks to my heterosexual soulmate, Amanda. You can't imagine how honoured one feels when one gets their picture in the Winchester Press right beside Daisy the cow.
The meeting went so-so last night. It gave me a lot of energy and good ideas, though. If only everyone there would quit it with their ramblings and do what I say, we'd get some good events off the ground.
On another note:
My life has been turned upside down. Baba no longer listens to the Arrogant Worms, I am tolerating green peppers, and my colleague has become a dancer.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Geschichte
This is some fiction that I wrote a few months ago. Only read it if you have some time to spare.
Upon waking up, I couldn’t help but notice how dark the room was. It couldn’t have been later than four o’clock. Everything in the room stood menacingly in shadow, as if refuting the possibility of having any light at all. The half-shaded window gave no indication of any sun. I sat up from bed, knocking my book on the floor, and opened the shades completely. It was a pure, listless grey, with a pathetic wind, not strong enough to sway the dead-looking trees. The trees surrounded the dilapidated barn and the once-in-bloom small apple orchard. The barn, which I believe once sported a cheerful, red border and a glowing white front, was now saturated with years of grey winters, wet springs, and bird droppings. The paint was peeling, and all that I could see now was the grey, decaying wood underneath. Farther off, I could see a bit of the road winding away. It was grey, just like the sky, just like everything, it seemed. I sat back in bed, leaving the shades wide open. I picked up my Richard Bach book and opened it up to where my UNESCO bookmark held my place. As soon as my eyes fell on the writing, I realized that I didn’t feel like reading. I tossed the book aside and sighed. I also realized that I didn’t want to be here anymore. I decided to go outside for a walk, maybe buy a chocolate bar.
It took a bit of convincing before he would let me go outside. He is convinced that because I am still sick, I should stay in bed and drink tea, or even vodka. As much as I understood that I needed rest, I couldn’t rationalize the reason for drinking vodka. It wasn’t easy trying to tell him how I knew that vodka would not make me feel better; rather, it would probably make me feel worse. Also, he didn’t understand how I couldn’t stomach food. I guess the rationalization was, “You’re sick? Well, you need nourishment and a lot of it!”
As it was true that I wasn’t feeling one hundred percent better, it was also true that I couldn’t spend another minute cooped up inside. It was suffocating and lonely. Well, being outside did not combat the loneliness, but at least I felt a little more refreshed. I walked down the potholed street, skirting puddles, and feeling the dampness enter my coat. It’s easy to escape the cold, but it is impossible to escape the dampness. It had already coated my skin, and it would be mere minutes before I would feel it inside me, harshly chilling me right to the bone. I shivered and kept on walking. Before reaching any of the small, coal-burning houses, I stopped by an old tree. It struck me because it didn’t simply fade into the grey landscape; it was a rich brown, with large, healthy branches, reaching towards the sky. The dominating brown of the tree seemed like it was challenging the bleakness of the sky. It didn’t seem to belong here. The contrast was simply amazing. Then, I got an idea. I walked away from the tree, and titled my head all the way back, so all I could see was the sky. I got just the effect I wanted: all I could see was grey, pure grey. It felt like I was in a dome, or more like a grey world. It felt like it was all around me, washing over me, covering me. It was closing in on me, but I couldn’t look away. The grey was actually intense; I never thought grey could be intense. The sky had so much history; it had seen countless joys and tears. I was mesmerized. Wind rustled through the tall grass, and my eyes finally wrenched themselves away from the sky. I took a large breath of air and continued on my walk. I just wished that there were a lake or a river or anything, just a body of water, somewhere nearby. This grey wouldn’t be so hard to handle if there were at least a lake of some sort.
The heavy, lethargic air instilled within me a feeling of hopelessness. For weeks, I couldn’t quite pinpoint what was making me depressed, until I realized that every morning I woke up, I drew open the blinds and saw nothing but grey. I realized how anti-climatic my morning ritual had become. In the movies, you always see the girl jumping out of bed, opening her blinds, and the sun streaming in, so much that she has to squint. I remember also having those moments. Even though I may not have been always particularly glad to be up in the morning, the sun always made it seem so much better. The moment the blinds open and the moment the sun gently strokes my face..! Oh, how delicious! How I desperately yearned for that bright ball of fire.
I continued walking, but then I another thought came to me.
As much as I felt more hopeless and down than usual, I, strangely enough, found beauty in the grey countryside as well. There was some particular beauty that struck me as I walked down the bumpy, windy road. It wasn’t only the unaltered grey sky; it was everything. It was the old buildings, the narrow roads, or the pure simplicity of shovelling coal to have heat. Perhaps the good that this grey did to me was that it made me feel contemplative and dreamy. I thought a lot, read and wrote a lot.
I stopped in my tracks. I suddenly realized I was in front of the girl’s house; the girl who had told me that she had a piano. The girl who always smiled. The girl whose eyes sparkled and danced. The girl whose skirts and dresses were too long for her and dragged in the mud. I smiled slowly. I squinted at her house, looking through the windows, trying to see her smiling self, but her house was too far from the road to see anything clearly.
I didn’t dare open the rickety gate and walk up her laneway. I took a step back.
Across from her house, there were large patches of grass. A few oak trees stood amidst cluster of flowers and weeds. I went up to the largest oak, and I slowly took off my coat. I looked up at the grim sky. I saw a gust of wind gently shake the oak’s top branches. I looked away.
I carefully removed my blouse, my pants, my boots, and my socks. I cautiously touched the ground with the palm of my hand; it felt cool but very inviting. Removing the rest of my garments, I rolled up my clothing into a little ball and set it by the large oak. The grass flattened as my entire body stretched across it. My lower back and thighs felt the scratchy tickle of the blades of grass. I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky before closing my eyes. The dark branches curled around the sky, creating my own haven. My eyelids fell close. I felt safe. I could trust the sky to protect me now.
I thought I could faintly hear the girl laughing, but I am sure that it was only the wind.
Upon waking up, I couldn’t help but notice how dark the room was. It couldn’t have been later than four o’clock. Everything in the room stood menacingly in shadow, as if refuting the possibility of having any light at all. The half-shaded window gave no indication of any sun. I sat up from bed, knocking my book on the floor, and opened the shades completely. It was a pure, listless grey, with a pathetic wind, not strong enough to sway the dead-looking trees. The trees surrounded the dilapidated barn and the once-in-bloom small apple orchard. The barn, which I believe once sported a cheerful, red border and a glowing white front, was now saturated with years of grey winters, wet springs, and bird droppings. The paint was peeling, and all that I could see now was the grey, decaying wood underneath. Farther off, I could see a bit of the road winding away. It was grey, just like the sky, just like everything, it seemed. I sat back in bed, leaving the shades wide open. I picked up my Richard Bach book and opened it up to where my UNESCO bookmark held my place. As soon as my eyes fell on the writing, I realized that I didn’t feel like reading. I tossed the book aside and sighed. I also realized that I didn’t want to be here anymore. I decided to go outside for a walk, maybe buy a chocolate bar.
It took a bit of convincing before he would let me go outside. He is convinced that because I am still sick, I should stay in bed and drink tea, or even vodka. As much as I understood that I needed rest, I couldn’t rationalize the reason for drinking vodka. It wasn’t easy trying to tell him how I knew that vodka would not make me feel better; rather, it would probably make me feel worse. Also, he didn’t understand how I couldn’t stomach food. I guess the rationalization was, “You’re sick? Well, you need nourishment and a lot of it!”
As it was true that I wasn’t feeling one hundred percent better, it was also true that I couldn’t spend another minute cooped up inside. It was suffocating and lonely. Well, being outside did not combat the loneliness, but at least I felt a little more refreshed. I walked down the potholed street, skirting puddles, and feeling the dampness enter my coat. It’s easy to escape the cold, but it is impossible to escape the dampness. It had already coated my skin, and it would be mere minutes before I would feel it inside me, harshly chilling me right to the bone. I shivered and kept on walking. Before reaching any of the small, coal-burning houses, I stopped by an old tree. It struck me because it didn’t simply fade into the grey landscape; it was a rich brown, with large, healthy branches, reaching towards the sky. The dominating brown of the tree seemed like it was challenging the bleakness of the sky. It didn’t seem to belong here. The contrast was simply amazing. Then, I got an idea. I walked away from the tree, and titled my head all the way back, so all I could see was the sky. I got just the effect I wanted: all I could see was grey, pure grey. It felt like I was in a dome, or more like a grey world. It felt like it was all around me, washing over me, covering me. It was closing in on me, but I couldn’t look away. The grey was actually intense; I never thought grey could be intense. The sky had so much history; it had seen countless joys and tears. I was mesmerized. Wind rustled through the tall grass, and my eyes finally wrenched themselves away from the sky. I took a large breath of air and continued on my walk. I just wished that there were a lake or a river or anything, just a body of water, somewhere nearby. This grey wouldn’t be so hard to handle if there were at least a lake of some sort.
The heavy, lethargic air instilled within me a feeling of hopelessness. For weeks, I couldn’t quite pinpoint what was making me depressed, until I realized that every morning I woke up, I drew open the blinds and saw nothing but grey. I realized how anti-climatic my morning ritual had become. In the movies, you always see the girl jumping out of bed, opening her blinds, and the sun streaming in, so much that she has to squint. I remember also having those moments. Even though I may not have been always particularly glad to be up in the morning, the sun always made it seem so much better. The moment the blinds open and the moment the sun gently strokes my face..! Oh, how delicious! How I desperately yearned for that bright ball of fire.
I continued walking, but then I another thought came to me.
As much as I felt more hopeless and down than usual, I, strangely enough, found beauty in the grey countryside as well. There was some particular beauty that struck me as I walked down the bumpy, windy road. It wasn’t only the unaltered grey sky; it was everything. It was the old buildings, the narrow roads, or the pure simplicity of shovelling coal to have heat. Perhaps the good that this grey did to me was that it made me feel contemplative and dreamy. I thought a lot, read and wrote a lot.
I stopped in my tracks. I suddenly realized I was in front of the girl’s house; the girl who had told me that she had a piano. The girl who always smiled. The girl whose eyes sparkled and danced. The girl whose skirts and dresses were too long for her and dragged in the mud. I smiled slowly. I squinted at her house, looking through the windows, trying to see her smiling self, but her house was too far from the road to see anything clearly.
I didn’t dare open the rickety gate and walk up her laneway. I took a step back.
Across from her house, there were large patches of grass. A few oak trees stood amidst cluster of flowers and weeds. I went up to the largest oak, and I slowly took off my coat. I looked up at the grim sky. I saw a gust of wind gently shake the oak’s top branches. I looked away.
I carefully removed my blouse, my pants, my boots, and my socks. I cautiously touched the ground with the palm of my hand; it felt cool but very inviting. Removing the rest of my garments, I rolled up my clothing into a little ball and set it by the large oak. The grass flattened as my entire body stretched across it. My lower back and thighs felt the scratchy tickle of the blades of grass. I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky before closing my eyes. The dark branches curled around the sky, creating my own haven. My eyelids fell close. I felt safe. I could trust the sky to protect me now.
I thought I could faintly hear the girl laughing, but I am sure that it was only the wind.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Stop laughing!
After two unhappy landowners accuse Greg for laughing at them and not taking them seriously...
They leave, and he complains to our secretary.
“Do I look like I’m laughing? I must be the happiest person on the planet. They kept telling me to stop laughing. Am I a laugher?” Greg asks exasperatingly
Darlene suppresses a snicker. “You’re definitely not a laugher.”
“A laugher. I mean, come on”, he moans. “It must be my …fat cheeks, or something.”
______________________
The very last thing I wanted to do today was to stay indoors. Today was a beautiful, crisp morning with no shortage of sun. I just wish I could have stayed outside, maybe reading a book, writing, passing the ball around with Bab, or simply cycling around. Alas.
I just wrote an entire entry on wasted potential and drab lives, but I couldn't structure it in a way that I was satisfied with it. So, this is what you get instead:
Yes, that is a picture of a piercing blue-eyed Gilles Duceppe. He looks quite fetching, no?
They leave, and he complains to our secretary.
“Do I look like I’m laughing? I must be the happiest person on the planet. They kept telling me to stop laughing. Am I a laugher?” Greg asks exasperatingly
Darlene suppresses a snicker. “You’re definitely not a laugher.”
“A laugher. I mean, come on”, he moans. “It must be my …fat cheeks, or something.”
______________________
The very last thing I wanted to do today was to stay indoors. Today was a beautiful, crisp morning with no shortage of sun. I just wish I could have stayed outside, maybe reading a book, writing, passing the ball around with Bab, or simply cycling around. Alas.
I just wrote an entire entry on wasted potential and drab lives, but I couldn't structure it in a way that I was satisfied with it. So, this is what you get instead:
Yes, that is a picture of a piercing blue-eyed Gilles Duceppe. He looks quite fetching, no?
Monday, August 22, 2005
Strip Club Adventures
The evening started off on a very good foot, considering that Colleen was later arriving to Alanna's than I was. At around ten to eight, the three of us clambered into the car with the airport as our destination.
We decided to wait for Andrea right by the escalator, so Andrea wouldn't be able to see us right away. It was a weird arrival. She just turned around the corner, and there we were. She actually found us when we were supposed to find her. We then told her that we had a surprise for her. This made her giddy.
The four of us then drove to the Rideau Centre to pick up Robyn. I should mention now that this Robyn is a girl, and the Robyn in my previous entry is a guy. She gets into the car, Colleen gives her a birthday gift, and then we are off.
Andrea had earlier requested that we stop at Bubblicity, so we did just that. I had a frothy, chocolate yumminess, whilst everyone else chose fruity drinks. Andrea was the only one who had tapioca pearls in her drink. They were yummy. We were all in good spirits, but Andrea was bouncing off the walls. She had so much energy; I guess that's what a four hour and thirteen minute aeroplane ride does to you.
Her energy was slightly contagious, so even Alanna became a bit more bouncy. Unfortunately, this wasn't a good thing. Alanna sat up in the booth and announced:
"Woo, I can't wait to see the naked men!"
Colleen, Robyn, and I look at her, very puzzled. This was supposed to be a surprise for Andrea. Was Alanna trying the obviously-we-are-not-going-there-since-I-mentioned-it-outloud tactic?
Andrea's eyes widened. "A strip club!!!" she says excitedly.
Alanna slaps her forehead, realizing her mistake. "Oh, shit..."
After a few "Alanna! It was supposed to be a secret!", we decided to take our leave. Some of us had trouble walking. Alanna, Colleen, and Robyn were all wearing some sort of Stilletos, so they kept on tripping over their feet.
At around eleven pm, we were en route to the male strip club, Hot Shots. I was all proud that I knew where I was going. It wasn't until that I hit Maisonneuve street and that it turned into a highway that I completely lost all sense of direction.
The girls panicked with various shrieks of "ahhhh" and "where the hell are we going?" I was a bit thrown off, so I was not looking at the highway signs. I finally got off at the first exit, in purpose of turning around. It appeared that I had left my brain at home because I hopped right back on the highway, going the exact same way I was going before, when all I wanted to do was turn around.
"Miranda, what's going on!"
So, at last, I get off at another exit and successfully turn around. We finally made it back to somewhere we recognized. How on earth were we supposed to get on Maisonneuve without going on the highway? We were all stumped.
"Let's phone Alex!" suggests Alanna brightly.
"Don't you dare", I say menacingly. I did not exactly have the best track record in terms of navigation. Tonight was supposed to be my chance to prove myself, that I didn't always get lost. There was no way that I would tell him I was lost. Oh, and honestly now, it was not my fault; the road turned into a highway when there was no indication that it would.
"Come on, Miranda, he'll know where to go", presses Alanna, "besides, we can pretend that we took a car separately from you and that just we're lost."
"Until Alex hears Miranda's laugh, and he'll be like 'what's that?'" adds Andrea.
"We can tell him that we took her Mom along," suggests Alanna. Robyn laughs.
"Hey," says Alanna, "I bet Miranda's Mom would love to come."
"She'd just find the whole thing hilarious", I say.
Anyway, finally we realize what way to go (in between Alanna's observation, "look, that sign says to Aylmer; we can go there and tell Alex we were lost!").
We all shriek of glee when we get to Hot Shots. After paying our cover charge, we eagerly go into the club, our minds filled with nothing but hot, naked, lubed up men. There are girls on the stage right now, doing some girl-on-girl action. There are fully clothed males lying on their backs on the stage. We wonder why.
Are they dead? Passed out? Are they sleeping? Weird.
The five of us slide into a booth and order drinks. The large room is filled, naturally, with scantily clad girls and completely naked girls.
Now, where are the yummy dudes?
We ask the waitress about the guys, and she says that they recently stopped having male strippers!
NoooooooooO!
Hot Shots is no longer Hot Shots; the entire strip club is solely Pigale now, the female strip club. We are disappointed, but since girl strippers was our back-up plan anyway, we decide to stay.
I enjoyed watching these girls and critiquing their dance moves and bodies. We had quite a good time. Alanna says that the bum shakes were a "bit much" for her, even though she did enjoy the sliding down the pole movement. We scoffed at some of the outfits, and we were scared of the bathroom.
Oh, yes. There was also the "Champagne Room". I was all pumped to go into the "Champagne Room", but no one else wanted to go with me. It sounds so elegant, don't you think?
As a one o'clock in the morning snack, poutine at the Elgin Street Diner was had. Actually, Colleen, Alanna, Andrea, and Robyn all had poutine, but I ate their famous peanut butter and jelly and banana sandwich with a hot chocolate. I do believe the waiter laughed at me. I do believe I told him to shove it.
I was still fairly awake when I had dropped Alanna and Colleen off at Alanna's place. So, I did the only thing there was to do: I stayed up until five thirty. Amanda remarked that I looked particularly dead the following day at work. Her description was not far off.
Does anyone know of any male strip/male exotic dancers clubs in the Ottawa/Gatineau area?
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Less Cogitation
On Wednesday, Robyn and I hopped into the car for our first road trip. After our first stop, which was getting him lunch, we went to the old Winchester Township building. This administrative building was used before North Dundas amalgamated. It is now used for storage and also for the trucks that do the road maintenance. He needed to pick up some bottles of orange spray paint. Whilst he was talking to a guy, I was poking around, something I do far too often, when I stumbled across the old offices used before amalgamation. The ceilings were streaked in yellow, remnants of the days of yore, when one could light up inside. It was pretty eerie, though. I could hear a radio playing softly somewhere, but all the offices were empty, albeit the lights being on. I felt that its disuse brought on this feeling of over-use. No one was around -- was I back in the seventies? It felt like I was in a time space continuam.
GROUNDBREAKING NEWS!
I am no longer marrying Leonard Cohen. Although I continue to love his poetry and voice, it is this that shatters my heart. Unfortunately, Lenny does not have the retirement money he thought he had and is knee deep in several lawsuits. There goes my plan of marrying rich.
Sum up of the Dinner Party:
I was very impressed by the large selection of cheeses that were available for munching. Among the many guests in attendance, there was The Black Tower, Miss Cat's Pee, Foot, and my favourite stink bomb. The bruschetta and cinnamon sticks were quite delectable, but it was the chocolate cheesecake that took the cake (ha) for being the most delicious. Hats off to Alanna for her impressive cooking/baking skills!
I enjoyed the wine, though that has nothing to do with the back of the car. The end.
GROUNDBREAKING NEWS!
I am no longer marrying Leonard Cohen. Although I continue to love his poetry and voice, it is this that shatters my heart. Unfortunately, Lenny does not have the retirement money he thought he had and is knee deep in several lawsuits. There goes my plan of marrying rich.
Sum up of the Dinner Party:
I was very impressed by the large selection of cheeses that were available for munching. Among the many guests in attendance, there was The Black Tower, Miss Cat's Pee, Foot, and my favourite stink bomb. The bruschetta and cinnamon sticks were quite delectable, but it was the chocolate cheesecake that took the cake (ha) for being the most delicious. Hats off to Alanna for her impressive cooking/baking skills!
I enjoyed the wine, though that has nothing to do with the back of the car. The end.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Rant
Watering lawns should never, ever be allowed. It is disgusting that people waste gallons upon gallons of water solely for their own vanity. They want their little, quaint yard to look nice and presentable, so they douse it in water, without any regards as to what they may be damaging. They are using our drinking and washing water to water weeds around their house. It is ridiculous.
Why do people have this idea in their head that our resources are endless? Since when do we have an infinite amount of water? I wish people were more conscientious of how precious our water is. Us North Americans already waste enough water as it is. I guess we North Americans think that we will always have the easy life, so we might as well take advantages of all of our luxuries. That's the dumbest theory ever. I always make a point to conserve, even if I will have trees, air, and water to last me over a lifetime.
My neighbour is one of those people who do not care or are aware of the environment at all. She always leaves her car running. I understand if someone just hops out for a minute, but once she left her car running for a whole ten minutes whilst I was waiting inside. Also, for some reason, she does not like opening her windows in her car. If it is a comfortable temperature outside, nothing is opened or turned on. If it is hot, she turns on the air conditioning. It is almost as if she has a fear of the outdoors. I like having opened windows and feeling the wind and the outside air, but she boycotts this altogether. There was this time that I opened the window for a few moments longer than I normally do (I usually open it for a few seconds when we get into the car when it is stifling hot), and she promptly closed it on me.
It bothers me when people make no effort to recyle, not to mention when people litter and take the environment for granted. People can be so idiotic. Environment is always put in the back seat in regards to economic development and progress. Profit is always first, and environment always falls last. Sure, we all know that it is favourable in the short run, but not in the long run. I don't understand those who do not care for the long run. So, we'd rather make the big bucks now and then have unclean air seventy years from now, for example? I suppose there are people there that only care for their lifetime and perhaps for their childrens'. After they die, who really cares.
New topic:
The stupid machine was there again today. First, he has to annoy us by bringing his little kids to church; then, he has to march out onto that soccer field and be an oh-so smooth soccer player. He is overly confident, and he makes sure to make it clear that he is undisputedly the best. At one point in the game when he was playing goalie, the ball was kicked out past the net. I ran and got it for him, and he says to me: "Hey, Miranda, thanks", looking at me straight in the eye. He is the most fake sincere person. He must know that I find him annoying; it is not difficult to tell if you are irritating me.
I had an interesting conversation with Dad yesterday in regards to international economics and trade. There is a lot that I find confusing and difficult to grasp in terms of how money can grow to be worth more or lose its worth altogether. One cannot simply print tangible money and hand it out to the people. I guess you have to look at it more like bars of gold. A bar of gold is still the same, even if you cut it up in smaller pieces. I don't know. I don't really want to talk about this more until I know what is going on. If someone could clear this fog up for me, it would be greatly appreciated.
This rant wasn't really supposed to be this long. Thoughts trigger other thoughts. When I was cycling back from soccer, I noticed someone was watering their lawn, and, well, since I complain about that so much, I thought I should write about it.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Slippy
Yesterday, I volunteered for the International Youth Day at the World Pavilion. It is a great building, even though it is mainly there for promotional reasons. I set up and manned a booth for Canada World Youth.
The morning was slow, but the afternoon picked up, especially during the African Drumming Show. Overall, though, the event was well attended.
I love the kind of people that do this sort of thing and that work in fields such as communication, establishing contacts overseas, raising awareness, etc. Sometimes, you'll get a few people that are overally positive and that drive you nuts, but in general, the people tend to be very smart, laidback, open-minded, and have many, many stories to tell. I had a good number of interesting conversations with some of the people there.
At around lunchtime, another volunteer for CWY came to help me with the booth. She only stayed for two hours, so I didn't really see the point, but it was nice to have someone else there to talk about CWY experiences.
CJOH, CBC, and another television station unknown to me came to film snippets of the event. CJOH filmed me when I was talking to a woman who had an avid interest in what I was saying. I love talking about CWY and various personal experiences to other people, especially when they are interested (int'rested). That's when CJOH was filming me, so I suppose I also enjoy putting on a good show.
My feet were a bit achy at the end of the day, so I ended up putting a MINES MINES banner across my forehead and sitting down besides the guy who was promoting mines awareness. He left early, so I swiped a few DANGER LANDMINES stickers and a CIDA t-shirt.
I went back to Alex's after an arduous day of volunteering. After having a delightful potato salad, Alex left, and treebeard came to visit. He was getting a tad tiresome, and even when I asked him politely to leave, he insisted he stay. He even ended up jumping into bed with me. He preferred the stuffies, so he stayed a good distance away from me. He was quite the chatterbox. As I was trying to fall asleep, he kept talking about his instrument of love. I am sure that this was a treebeard impersonator because I am sure the real treebeard isn't so stubborn.
Due to my organ playing commitment, this morning found me at church. I hate annoying children. No, wait, I hate stupid parents who bring their whiny toddlers to church. What two year-old enjoys sitting on a hard, wooden pew listening to some guy drone on about some long-haired hippies no one has ever met?
Parents: stay at home with your kids. Don't whine about not being able to come out. Church will probably not be around in the next fifteen years, so you can be patient now and come out then.
The morning was slow, but the afternoon picked up, especially during the African Drumming Show. Overall, though, the event was well attended.
I love the kind of people that do this sort of thing and that work in fields such as communication, establishing contacts overseas, raising awareness, etc. Sometimes, you'll get a few people that are overally positive and that drive you nuts, but in general, the people tend to be very smart, laidback, open-minded, and have many, many stories to tell. I had a good number of interesting conversations with some of the people there.
At around lunchtime, another volunteer for CWY came to help me with the booth. She only stayed for two hours, so I didn't really see the point, but it was nice to have someone else there to talk about CWY experiences.
CJOH, CBC, and another television station unknown to me came to film snippets of the event. CJOH filmed me when I was talking to a woman who had an avid interest in what I was saying. I love talking about CWY and various personal experiences to other people, especially when they are interested (int'rested). That's when CJOH was filming me, so I suppose I also enjoy putting on a good show.
My feet were a bit achy at the end of the day, so I ended up putting a MINES MINES banner across my forehead and sitting down besides the guy who was promoting mines awareness. He left early, so I swiped a few DANGER LANDMINES stickers and a CIDA t-shirt.
I went back to Alex's after an arduous day of volunteering. After having a delightful potato salad, Alex left, and treebeard came to visit. He was getting a tad tiresome, and even when I asked him politely to leave, he insisted he stay. He even ended up jumping into bed with me. He preferred the stuffies, so he stayed a good distance away from me. He was quite the chatterbox. As I was trying to fall asleep, he kept talking about his instrument of love. I am sure that this was a treebeard impersonator because I am sure the real treebeard isn't so stubborn.
Due to my organ playing commitment, this morning found me at church. I hate annoying children. No, wait, I hate stupid parents who bring their whiny toddlers to church. What two year-old enjoys sitting on a hard, wooden pew listening to some guy drone on about some long-haired hippies no one has ever met?
Parents: stay at home with your kids. Don't whine about not being able to come out. Church will probably not be around in the next fifteen years, so you can be patient now and come out then.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Camp commentary
Every time I am around children for a good chunk of time, I am thrown back to my years of yore before I discovered that the opposite sex was not, in fact, a breeding ground for cooties.
What are the major factors that make children children?
Their innocence
New experiences
They harbour that "never been touched" feeling (that I made reference to earlier) that is extremely appealing. There are so many things that they have not seen or done, and that is part of the joy with children. When they see you do something that you deem to be normal or if they see you wear something slightly outlandish, their little minds will find this spectacular because it is so new and exciting!
And then I get to thinking back of my own experiences. Some things that I saw when I was young had such an impact on me. I will never forget Mary at Upper Canada Village who drew a portrait of myself and taught me how to crack my nose. I will not forget Danny, my babysitter, who cultivated a most creative imagination, and who secured my passion for drawing, performing, and being someone I'm not. I tell you, flamboyantly gay babysitters are the best!
I think the ages 9-12 are the most interesting. It's when they start and discover who they really are and what they really like and dislike. This is the time when you become you. And this is the age where you can see possible potential budding.
There is a boy in my camp who has the most intense and dark looking eyes. I don't believe he is older than eight; though, he speaks as if he were nearly thirteen. Girls will fall for him later on in life, and he may become one of those proverbial "hunks".
On an unrelated note, where on earth are these girls coming from? When did Baba become popular?
I ask you this: why didn't I have a hoard of guys following me around in high school?
Answer: they were intimidated by my greatness, intelligence, stunning looks, incredible sex appeal, integrity, charm, amazing personality, and my wicked sense of humour.
What are the major factors that make children children?
Their innocence
New experiences
They harbour that "never been touched" feeling (that I made reference to earlier) that is extremely appealing. There are so many things that they have not seen or done, and that is part of the joy with children. When they see you do something that you deem to be normal or if they see you wear something slightly outlandish, their little minds will find this spectacular because it is so new and exciting!
And then I get to thinking back of my own experiences. Some things that I saw when I was young had such an impact on me. I will never forget Mary at Upper Canada Village who drew a portrait of myself and taught me how to crack my nose. I will not forget Danny, my babysitter, who cultivated a most creative imagination, and who secured my passion for drawing, performing, and being someone I'm not. I tell you, flamboyantly gay babysitters are the best!
I think the ages 9-12 are the most interesting. It's when they start and discover who they really are and what they really like and dislike. This is the time when you become you. And this is the age where you can see possible potential budding.
There is a boy in my camp who has the most intense and dark looking eyes. I don't believe he is older than eight; though, he speaks as if he were nearly thirteen. Girls will fall for him later on in life, and he may become one of those proverbial "hunks".
On an unrelated note, where on earth are these girls coming from? When did Baba become popular?
I ask you this: why didn't I have a hoard of guys following me around in high school?
Answer: they were intimidated by my greatness, intelligence, stunning looks, incredible sex appeal, integrity, charm, amazing personality, and my wicked sense of humour.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
The makings of a hippie
It is rather difficult to express, in words, how much I love the outdoors. Today was another one of those beautiful summer nights: the ground is warm, but the air is cool. Night always makes things more mysterious. You also feel special because you feel that you are experiencing something on your own, as many people are sleeping or in their homes at this time of night. It's really that "never been touched" feel that is so enthralling.
I say that my love for the outdoors is difficult to express in words. It's true. It would be much easier if I could take you outside and show you exactly what I love so much. I just came back from cycling with my brother, and I love the feeling of the cool wind in my hair, throwing my arms up into the wind, and just singing at the moon.
I love combining my love of the outdoors with my love with people. You know, I truly do enjoy people. Although many people can be frustrating and annoy me, I still love people because of their diversity. They can be so interesting, smart, stupid, or just downright hilarious. They can be impossible, annoying, energetic, or full of integrity. They can be serious or goofy. They can be pretentious or plain.
I also love finding people who have that certain magic, that certain glow about them, that lets them appreciate the tranquility, softness, and strength of nature. It's just great when people appreciate nature that much and will stop and admire a terrific sunset, a sparkling lake, or rolling hills.
Speaking of people, Bab ran into a few friends of his about an hour ago now and has not been seen since.
It figures. Almost all of his friends are girls.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
A cute girl in braids gets busted!
This is just stupid luck. I was driving to Andrea's house to pick up the video camera from her Dad. So, I hop in the car and go. At the curve that takes you around the park, I see a police car parked with two policemen outside. They stop me and say that they're doing a "seatbelt check and a driver's license check". It's obvious to see that I'm wearing my seat belt, but when they ask for my license, I reply that I don't have it. I tell them that I'm literally one minute from home, and I can go back and get it. He doesn't want that. He asks if I have any ID on me. I have nothing. Okay. So he goes back to his police car for a few minutes. I'm just sitting on the side of the road wondering what the heck is going to happen. He comes back and says that he's checked my name on the computer, and I indeed do have a valid license. Okay. He then asks me for my insurance.
"Um, just a minute", I say, as I root around in the glove compartment. Truth be told, I have no idea what car insurance looks like, as I have never seen it before. I root around furiously, looking at every piece of paper to see if it says "insurance". There are so many papers in there and I don't really know what I'm looking for. This is when I start to panic a little. I felt invincible before; there is no way that a policeman would ticket a cute, innocent girl sporting braids and wearing a flowery dress.
"I'm sure the insurance is here, but I don't really know what I'm looking for. I don't know how it looks," I say pathetically, hinting for him to help me look for it.
Stubbornly, he replies: "It's your responsibility as a driver to know what the car insurance looks like."
I feel so helpless and stupid. I repeat myself, "But I'm sure it's here..."
He booms in with, "Do you know that I could charge you over 300 dollars for not having your license or insurance on you (as far as you know)?"
"Oh" is my feeble reply.
He leaves and goes to his car again. He comes back a minute or two later and says:
"Okay, I'm going to give you a warning about the insurance, mainly because you don't know if you have it or not, but I'm going to charge you for not having your license."
So, I'm fined ONE HUNDRED AND TEN DOLLARS because my stupid license is a QUARTER OF A KILOMETRE away.
"Is this your first ticket?" he asks singsongy to me. What a slap in the face.
"Yes", I reply quietly.
I drive away and instead of continuing on to Grantley road, I turn around to go home. I promptly burst into tears and wail to my mother.
When someone first hears this story, their initial reaction is disgust, and they tell me I should fight it. Then, after thinking about it for another minute or so, they realize that the policeman was justified as I did not have my license. He was just really nasty. Mum thinks that the police were just trying to reach quota, as it was the end of the month, and it was an easy fine to give.
"Um, just a minute", I say, as I root around in the glove compartment. Truth be told, I have no idea what car insurance looks like, as I have never seen it before. I root around furiously, looking at every piece of paper to see if it says "insurance". There are so many papers in there and I don't really know what I'm looking for. This is when I start to panic a little. I felt invincible before; there is no way that a policeman would ticket a cute, innocent girl sporting braids and wearing a flowery dress.
"I'm sure the insurance is here, but I don't really know what I'm looking for. I don't know how it looks," I say pathetically, hinting for him to help me look for it.
Stubbornly, he replies: "It's your responsibility as a driver to know what the car insurance looks like."
I feel so helpless and stupid. I repeat myself, "But I'm sure it's here..."
He booms in with, "Do you know that I could charge you over 300 dollars for not having your license or insurance on you (as far as you know)?"
"Oh" is my feeble reply.
He leaves and goes to his car again. He comes back a minute or two later and says:
"Okay, I'm going to give you a warning about the insurance, mainly because you don't know if you have it or not, but I'm going to charge you for not having your license."
So, I'm fined ONE HUNDRED AND TEN DOLLARS because my stupid license is a QUARTER OF A KILOMETRE away.
"Is this your first ticket?" he asks singsongy to me. What a slap in the face.
"Yes", I reply quietly.
I drive away and instead of continuing on to Grantley road, I turn around to go home. I promptly burst into tears and wail to my mother.
When someone first hears this story, their initial reaction is disgust, and they tell me I should fight it. Then, after thinking about it for another minute or so, they realize that the policeman was justified as I did not have my license. He was just really nasty. Mum thinks that the police were just trying to reach quota, as it was the end of the month, and it was an easy fine to give.
Monday, August 01, 2005
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