Crying the Ugly Cry

I woke in a terrible mood this morning.

Actually, that's not entirely true.  I woke up in a half-decent mood, having had a fun-filled night of music with an awesome group of people, and a new prospect of some fun people to jam with.  The girls had stayed the night at their dad's so I woke to a quiet house and no one I had to worry about getting out the door but myself.

Since it had been about a week since I had done so, I decided to step on the scale and immediately my mood went to SHIT.  You see, I've been keeping fairly vigilant over the last week or two and aside from a slip-up with an order of cheese wontons and some toaster strudels, I figured I've done rather well.  My scale disagrees, the bastard.

Some people allow themselves a 'cheat day'.  I, apparently, cannot have a cheat MEAL without thoroughly fucking up my progress.

You know how sometimes one thing will set off a domino-effect of hating everything in the world and ignite a desire to kick puppies and tell small children that there is no Santa Claus just because why should they live in a world of happy innocence when everything around you so clearly sucks?

Anyway, the immense frustration of making no progress in spite of over a month and a half of effort (and being very good the last three weeks, Wonton day notwithstanding) snowballed into a spiral of loathing and general resentfulness of all the things in my life that are not as I would have them... being consistently broke, not having clothes that fit and refusing to give in to the recent gain and buying new ones, being perpetually single.  For the first time in five years I RSVP'd to my staff Xmas party as one, hoping to avoid the yearly conundrum of trying to figure out who I can bribe with a free meal to be my date (I used to be able to bribe with a free meal and an open bar, but after last year's Xmas party, I'm not sure that I wouldn't be lying about that).

I got thinking about people who are no longer in my life, and about hurts that people have inflicted on me in the past and I found myself getting very, very bitter.  It was all I had in me not to call in sick and stay home all day, mournfully playing my guitar, feeling sorry for myself and crying the ugly cry.

Yeah, I have one of those.  The puffy-eyed, red-faced, scrunched-mouth couldn't-possibly-hide-that-I'd-been-crying-if-my-life-depended-on-it ugly cries.  It's kind of like this sketch below, but with less Adele and more Neutral Milk Hotel.  And no damn ice cream.



I have nothing against Adele, she's great. I just can't reach the same notes she does.

Anyway, as one does in these days of social media I reached out via the Facebook and posted a (rare I think, anyway) poor-me post in search of support.

And I got it, in droves.

Usually I like to think I have a fairly positive outlook on life, albeit wrapped in a vaguely cynical and sarcastic candy shell.   However, I'm not half the pessimist I used to be, and on a good day I can usually count my blessings and run out of toes.

Sometimes, for a moment, when things like the upcoming holiday season, get overwhelming I lose sight of these things and focus on what is wrong.

The wrong stuff still sucks.  Being poorish sucks, and so does the loneliness. I have a lot to be happy about as well.  I'll get back to that place, at some point.  Today was a low day, admittedly, and I'm not entirely over it, but at least I know that when I find myself in a dark place I have people in my life to hold a match for me.

A post in honor of Movember or "Dirty Porn-staches Abound"

Oh Movember.  So many dirty pornstaches.  Secretly, or not so secretly, I love it.  Last Thursday, a group of mustachioed men at karaoke lipsynched at my friend Tess and I and it was the greatest, funniest thing ever.

I'm reminded of a story of a few years back.  A co-worker of mine had grown out a rather nice goatee.  It was working for him, until he shaved off the ... um.. the 'tee and left the goat?  Is that a terrible way of putting it?  Okay well, the beard was gone, and just a mustache left.

It was distracting.

I had to say something, in the name of the public good.  "Dude," I said, being awesome and definitely not a dork and never EVER too old to use the word dude. "What is the deal with your porn-stache?"

"I beg your pardon?"
"The porn-stache.  What is up with that?"

My friend looked rather indignant.  "That's a little personal, don't you think?"

I thoroughly confused by his indignance.  Okay so my question wasn't exactly tactful, but I didn't think asking what possessed someone into a particular style statement was overly personal.  I asked him what he meant.

"I don't see that my reading material is your business, and besides that's hardly suitable conversation for work."

Light bulb.

"NO!! no no.. PORNSTACHE.  Like, Mustache?"
"Oh.. oh Jesus."

This why you choose your words carefully folks, or you may accidentally out co-workers on their questionable reading material.

If you're reading this now, I still apologize.

On that note, with Movember almost over, I leave you with this classic clip from The Tick

HEAS Rhetoric: Understanding how weight =/= health

Cross-posted at MyFitnessPal.com

In response to a blog post I recently read from Balancing Jane, I wanted to hash out how to reconcile the idea of the "Healthy At Every Size" (HEAS) philosophy by reframing how we look at weight loss in relation to health.

Many have pointed out that the correlation between weight and health is not as direct as the media would have us believe. Being overweight is not always an indicator of poor health, just as being average or underweight is not an indicator of good health.

In my comments on the post I proposed a simple change in framing to kind of articulate how the rhetoric around weight loss can be reconciled with the HEAS principles by focusing not on size but on choices.

For example, one might say something to the effect of:

"My friend recently lost 100 lbs. As a result, her blood pressure and insulin levels have evened out."

This phrasing indicates a direct correlation between weight loss and health and implies that it was the loss of 100 lbs that directly contributed to an increase in the friend's health.

Now, what if we worded it as the following:

"My friend recently started making changes in her eating habits. She's been watching her portions and choosing more fruits and vegetables and less processed junk. As a result, her blood pressure and insulin levels have evened out. She's also lost 100 lbs."

In this phrasing, the change in the friend's health is not correlated with her weight, but with her food choices and activity level. The weight loss is treated as an additional benefit of her choices rather than the causal factor. If we left out the last sentence, and did not mention the weight loss, one could reasonably argue that by changing habits one could achieve better overall health, without weight playing into it.

I'm gonna let you in on a little something.

It's probably thoroughly un-progressive of me to say this, but I have a confession.

I kind of want to be the Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

Go ahead.  Laugh.

I would.

It's true, though.

I want to be a muse.  I want to inspire someone to live life to their fullest.

I'd like to be that crazy, quirky, fascinating girl who breathes life into someone who has otherwise lost all interest.  Destroyer of the Cynical.

I'd like to be the object of undying affection, fascination, adoration.

I'd like to be the person who changes someone's whole outlook on life.

I'd like to choose who would be that person.  Which is where the fantasy falls apart, I guess.

Meh.

I've had a couple glasses of wine tonight.

Avatar Generators, Body and Gender Normativity

So, having too much time on my hands and possibly some bizarre form of narcissism, one of the things I like to do is make cartoon avatars of myself.  If I stumble across a cartoon generator, I have to make a version of myself.  I just have to.

And since I am somewhat of a chameleon, changing looks fairly often, I sometimes have to update them.  But some examples:

Myself, as a Pickle. 

Sadly, there's more where that came from.  I'm not sure why the need to cartoonize myself.  Maybe it's because I see myself as vaguely cartoonish to begin with. Maybe, like I said previously, it's some bizarre manifestation of a narcissistic personality disorder.  More than likely, I'm just bored and spend too much time on the intertubes.

What I've found that irks me somewhat is that, with the exception of the Simpsons generator and the South Park generator, it's very difficult to find my body type represented in these generators, so a certain suspension of disbelief is required.  I'm sure it just comes across that I totally see myself as some skinny broad but no, truth is, the cartoon generators don't give me much choice but to be some skinny broad.  The Simpsons generator, if I recall, did allow for a choice of two female body types.. a slim build, and a slightly thicker build (as shown in my own av above).  The South Park generator is the only one (that does a full-body av) that I found that doesn't default to a slim female body, mainly because it defaults to the short, dumpy form that everyone in South Park Colorado is blessed with.

Being recently shorn, I found it less difficult to find my hairstyle represented as well.. Most generators have a wide assortment of long hairstyles for female-presented characters, but not so much for the short styles.

I'm also perturbed that one generator, called Rebel Girl, didn't have an option for glasses.

Anyway, that's a few observations I found.  In all honesty, I'm sure a book could be written on the ways some of these sites, like girlsgogames.com and dressup247.com enforce a whole whack of gender and heteronormative crap onto the young, web-savvy preteen girls which seems to be their market.  Likewise, generators like the Marvel Make-Your-Own Superhero enforce their own ideals on boys and girls (when you choose your initial character shape, you have three choices.. a huge muscly dude, a grotesquely huge and muscly dude or a slim, large-breasted woman).

It'd be kind of awesome to see avatar generators that are capable of incorporating a wide array of body types, shapes, colours, hair types and less gender-normative options as well.  Does anyone have any examples of good sites like that?

They'll give anyone a license to teach these days.

First off, let me say that I agree with the idea that by constantly shielding our children from all and any type of conflict we are not providing them with the coping skills that become necessary when one gets out into the 'real world' and learns that ... *gasp* you are NOT a special and unique snowflake and not everyone will like you.

However, it's important that we not forget.. children are PEOPLE and deserving of respect just as are adults. I don't subscribe to the idea that any show of childhood aggression is bullying.  But I won't deny that it definitely happens more than it should.  I also believe that kids learn aggression from adults around them and that one of the ways  to combat it is to teach kids not that they are a special and unique snowflake, but they ARE a human being and worthy of respect, of both their peers and adults around them.

Case in point:

I let out a pretty good string of obscenities when I read a story about a Phys. Ed. teacher in Wyoming who handed out 'Hurt-Feeling' reports that asked those filling out the report if they were 'thin-skinned, a pussy, a little bitch' and so forth.  Not only did these report use a wide plethora of extremely misogynist and homophobic language to describe the kid reporting the incident (because, you know.. only girls and gays have feelings... feelings that get hurt) he refers to the person being complained against as a 'Real Man'.

Of course, because Real Men taunt and torment and tease others in their constant quest to be the Alpha, the manliest of manly men.

And they're letting this guy teach?

Stuff like this is why I get my panties in a bunch sometimes when people discuss childhood bullying and abuse - and make no mistake, THIS is a bullying tactic, through and through. It's hard to break through the idea that adults just don't give a shit when there are assholes like this in the teaching profession.  I was bullied as a kid, for a good year at least, and later in other instances and I never told anyone.  If a kid like me, with a supportive family and half-decent teachers wouldn't seek out adult intervention, what hope do kids have who have to depend on this jackhole?

By the way, Baldy McScaryPants was reprimanded for the forms and ... um.. demoted, I guess?... from Phys Ed. coach to...

... get this...

A MOTHERLOVING GUIDANCE COUNSELLOR.

"HELP ME HELP YOU.. TO NOT BE SUCH A WHINY LITTLE BITCH!!"  Dear Gord, send it back to Hell.

I'm not sure what bugs me more about this:  The fact that this guy who is supposed to be in a position of trust and authority is waving a flag stating "I don't give a shit about you or your precious fee-fees" or that he's also reinforcing the idea that if you speak up about someone hurting them, you are not a Man.  You are a sissy or worse, a girl. (subtext: No one wants to be a girl.  Girls are icky.  So are gays.  Because they are like girls and have girly-hormones).  Men Don't Have Feelings.  Only Girls and Sissy Gay Boys Have Feelings.

God help the kid that comes for guidance who happens to be a girl, or gay, or both.

It makes me sad that there are dedicated honest people waiting for teaching jobs while this dude is probably setting up a whole new generation of Columbine kids with apathy and hatred.

Photo Credit: Jezebel.com

Holding myself accountable.. that's what this is about, right?

So, I haven't done an MFP monday (formerly WWWednesday) post in a while.  Mainly because I figured that after a few weeks of "Gained xxx number of lbs." or "Stayed the same.  I don't want to talk about it." would get old after a while.

The progress has been slow going, to say the least.  Although my ticker says I'm down 2lbs, as of two or three days ago, I was pretty much where I started.  I've just not been tracking gains, only losses.  Once I'm down below my recorded weight, I'll start updating again.  It just got so frustrating seeing that 0 on my ticker.

I had a week that I thought I did well, and stayed the same.  Then I had a pretty good week but fell apart on the weekend and ended up gaining two pounds.  Then I kind of went off the rails and said 'fuck it!' for a few days.  As you may guess, this was pretty easy considering it was halloween and I had all sorts of candy and chips at my disposal.  However I think hormones played into my fluctuations because then I was down 4lbs.. then up 2 and so on..

So now I'm thinking of weighing in tomorrow morning but I know I'm going to be frustrated as fuck if there is no happy change in the numbers. How the hell did I deal with all this the first time around?  I had so much more to lose then, but it seemed to come off much easier, then.

Oh well.

In other news, my NaNoWriMo progress is.. well.. stilted I guess.  I'm up to 2600ish words and at this point I think I'm supposed to be somewhere in five digits.  But every time I sit down to write I find I'd rather write here.  The story I'm writing is semi-autobiographical and through it I'm trying to work out a lot of shit in my head, mainly regarding some past relationships.

I'm getting in the mood to be crafty again, even in spite of the sewing machine disaster of this past weekend.  Through Freecycle I was able to procure some old cuckoo clocks and parts which means lots of GEARS and SPRINGS!! I plan to try and play around with some Steampunk type stuff.. frames and such.

The downside of these clocks is that they smell like they've spent the last 20 years in an unventilated room with someone who insisted on chain-smoking and exhaling directly into the box where they were being stored.  I think I'll be sure to avoid offerings from this user in the future.  Should be pretty easy, his emails were covered in crucifix images and Biblical verses.  I won't miss that.

The girls want me to fix one of them up as an actual clock.  I may try it.  There's one that has the yodelling guys that come out and walk around in a circle and then go back into the clock again.

I tried to take some pictures with my phone, but it's a loaner that I got from Rogers while they fix mine and I'm having trouble figuring out how to send pics.  Oh and the kids broke MY camera.  So y'all may have to just use your imagination on this one.

Little freakin' heathens.

In the span of 12 hours I vanquished a fear and had it realized again.

I don't go around saying it very often, but I'm pretty smart.  With the standardized tests to prove it.  So it's frustrating when there's something I really want to master but I JUST.  CAN'T.  FACKING. DO IT.

For a long time now, I've wanted to learn to sew.  I can do simple things like hemming pants or repair a split seam, but I really want to learn to design and create things.  Thing is, sewing by hand is slow and bullshit.

I have a sewing machine that was given to me by my mother, which was given to her in turn by her mother which was bought as a gift by my grandfather and has been used maybe 8 times in total.

This would be the monstrosity right here.

My Nanny wasn't much of a seamstress and my mother always preferred to used the old Singer that was given to her by.. oh.. hrm.  Some female relation or another.  I think it was my great grandmothers.  Anyway, she likes to use that one (probably because unlike this one, it doesn't have a whole table attached to it).

Sewing machines elude me.  My mother was still making my halloween costumes when I was 24 because I would get this lofty idea that I would sew my own costume, I'd borrow her Singer, sit down in front of it and promptly forget the method for setting up the machine, despite Mom having shown me 47,000 times before.  Gord forbid I'd have to change a bobbin.  Forget it, not happening.  I'd get all flustered and it wouldn't be long before Mom was sewing my costume for me.

Pathetic.

So when I got this one, I had every intention of learning to use it.  I took it out on one or two occasions and would do a few test runs.  My first attempt resulted in this:

That was enough to scare me off for oh say... a good year and a half.  Meanwhile though, I kept hanging on to old T-shirts with dreams of making them into pillows and quilts and such.  Today I braved the machine again.  I threaded it, got the bobbin set up with the help of the 50 year old instruction booklet and much to my delight I managed to mend a couch cushion and two of the girls shirts.

I was on a roll.  I went into town that afternoon and excitedly told my friend Lori about how I had braved the sewing machine and that I was going to learn to make shit, starting slow with simple things like pillows.

I guess I got too big for my britches because tonight I cut up some fabric and pinned it and set to work.  I decided to try the zig-zag setting, but for some reason everything kept getting tangled, so I played with some settings and tried to adjust the tension.

I fucking broke it.

I have barely touched this thing over the last 2 years because of my intense fear that I would somehow break it and would end up with a very heavy side table.  I broke the goddamned tension dial.  As I was turning it, the dial popped off and springs went flying everywhere.

And I don't know how to put it back together.

You said it, Natalie Dee.

I'm not dealing well.  I'm not good at feeling stupid and this epic failure on my part is way more upsetting than it should be.  

*sigh*  Faaaaack.  Anyone have any expertise on how to fix a 50-year-old sewing machine?

Photo Credit:  www.nataliedee.com

I am a Pacifist, this is why I remember

*Originally Posted November 11, 2009

November 11th is not a celebration of war.

It is a solemn reminder of the devastation that can occur when apathy and ignorance allows oppression to spread like a disease.


It is a reminder that all these things we take for granted, our freedoms, our comfort, can be snatched away in a moment.

Now with two generations of whom most of us have never known the fear or the loss of loved ones through war, it is more important that ever that our young be educated, and that those of my own generation educate ourselves. By forgetting our past, we are destined to repeat it.

I choose to acknowledge that we cannot fully appreciate peace without recognizing the atrocities of war.

I wear the red poppy out of respect and to educate. I wear it for my grandmother who lost not one but essentially two brothers in battle - one never returned, one returned, never the same. I will wear it ever November 11th so long as our battles are fought in defense, never in offence. In the name of freedom, not in gain.

I don't know if it's in poor taste to post this video, as it is satire but I've always felt humour was something that helps people cope with horrific things they may not otherwise be able to wrap their head around.

There's about 1000 Penn State Students that need a good hearty Throat-punch and a number of staff that need way worse than that...

SEVERE EFFIN' TRIGGER WARNING LIKE WHOA FOR SEXUAL ABUSE.


I've never cared much for football.  The only things I care less about than college football are NFL Football and to an even lesser extent, CFL football.

I care a shit-load about kids though.  Which is evidently more than I can say about the jackholes at Penn State that were rioting in protest over the sacking of long-time coach Joe Paterno after he was fired for helping cover up for a former player after the player was caught raping a small child in the locker room.  TWICE.  Over ten years ago.

Let's let that sink in for a moment, shall we?

Mike McQuery, assistant coach, walked into a locker room sometime in 2002 and found Jerry Sandusky sodomizing what looked like a 10-year-old boy.

Again, take a second and think about the build of your average football player.  Now think about the size of the average 10-year-old boy.

Yeah.

McQuery, in all his wisdom, turned around and walked out.  Now, call me crazy, but I think the proper response in this situation may have been a physical intervention in the 'GETOFFTHATLITTLEBOYYOUTWISTEDFUCK' vein.  That's just me.  Seems a little more pro-active than 'Oh.. hrm.  I need to go think, but as you were, gentlemen.'

Instead he walked into Paterno's office, told him and was effectively told "No, we're not going to call the cops.  We'll let the administration take care of it."  Then both he and McQuery washed their hands of the situation while the administration handled it to the effect of telling Sandusky "Hey, Jerry.. if you're going to rape little boys, can you please not do it on campus.  Mmmkay, thanks."

It gets even better when you consider that this was NOT the first report of Sandusky's misdeeds.  In 1998 a janitor stumbled across Sandusky performing oral sex on another small boy in the locker room.  And again, walked out.

What the fucking fuck?

Now it seems that Sandusky took his dirty work somewhere off Penn State campus and got caught.  Someone decided NOT to sit on their hands and in the wake, the dirty details of the other children he victimized have come to light and Penn State University is in a world of shit, because they've been covering up for Sandusky all these years.  Because football, you know.  Way more important than preventing child-rape.  Clearly.

*swallows bile*

So the President stepped down, and Paterno has been fired, as he should be.  Penn State students are rioting.

Are they rioting because it took so goddamned long to bring these allegations to light, and fire some of the people responsible for covering up?  No, it's because their precious coach got fired and who's going to coach the big game now?  Each one of the kids crying over Paterno and the good name of Penn State being ruined should be punched in the throat.

Fucking hell.

A commenter on Feministe's article tried to paint Paterno as sympathetic and torn between conflicting ethical dilemmas.  Protect the school's good name or potentially put a child-rapist behind bars.

"We all have to balance competing ethical obligations all the time, let’s at least do each other the courtesy of admitting that it’s difficult.  I’m not saying what Paterno did was right, I’m saying it was understandable."

Um. No.

Full Stop.

There is no way that not calling the police after witnessing a child rape, or not INSISTING on calling the police after someone else witnesses a child rape, does not make you the worst person in the whole fucking world (outside of the rapist themselves).  There is no 'competing ethical obligation' here.  The only ethical obligation was to those kids who were victimized by Sandusky.  Not to the University, not to the team and definitely not to Sandusky.

To the Penn State rioters:  Paterno is NOT the victim here.  He is culpable, just as the school president is culpable, just as McQueary is culpable as they KNEW that Sandusky was a predator and they looked the other way to protect the 'good name of the school'.

Every time you whine about the 'witch hunt' you are figuratively slapping a nameless little boy in the face and saying "We don't care about you.  You mean nothing.  We only care about the game."

Disgusting.

Edit:  For future reference, other universities or organizations may want to use this handy, simple flowchart for reference, care of Adulting:

Going to get all 'mommy-blog' on you because this was so cute I could have died..

So, while I was cleaning my kids room this weekend, I came across a writing assignment belonging to mine youngest child.

Authors Note:  I was going to scan the pages and transcribe them, but then I realized that when my computer crashed a few months ago, forcing me to install a new OS, I lost a lot of my programs, including all the drivers for my scanner.  That being said, when I get off my lazy ass and find the drivers and reinstall them, I will include photos but for now I'm just going to transcribe what i found.

I may have 'awwwwhhhhh'ed out loud to myself.  I won't deny it.

All About Guitars

Dedicated to My Mom

By: Reagan.

All About Guitars. 

#1 Strings Guitars have Six strings.  They go dark, lighter, lighter, lighter, light and the last one is the lightest.  It also gets skinnier.  There's also these little bulbs on the top and on the bottom.  Six on each top and bottom.

#2 Kinds There are two kinds of guitars.  An electric guitar and a rock guitar.  The sound on a rock guitar comes from the hole on the guitar but the sound on an electric guitar doesn't come from a hole it comes from a stereo because there is no hole on it. 

#3 body Last I'm going to you about the body of the guitar.  There's a head, long neck, and the hips, arms, stomach, and back all together.  There is no legs, hair or butt cause it would look silly.

Once again, I really wish I had my shit for my scanner hooked up but I'm ass-tired and last time it took me DAYS to figure out how to install all the drivers on this bloody Mac, so for now, you'll have to use your imagination.  But as soon as I get it set up, I'll update this post with pictures.  I couldn't even manage to find a good child-like font that could be applied to random blocks of text.

I'm doing it wrong.

Of bars and bunk beds

A quiet but relatively busy weekend this weekend.  Friday night was spent moving furniture and cleaning the disaster area that is my children's room to prepare for new bunk beds.  

Back when we had the house fire we were fortunate to receive a great number of donations to replace the furniture we lost, including a beautiful set of metal bunk beds, the kind that sleeps double on the bottom and single on top.  The younger kid, about 20 months old at the time, was forced to make the transition into a 'big girl' bed rather quickly as who wants to buy a brand new crib for a kid who will likely be out of it in three months anyway?  

These bunks served us well for the last 6 years but about 8 months ago I started looking out for a set of twin bunks either for sale or by barter.  You see, the bedrooms in our little cottage are rather small, and for two growing girls, I figured I could free up a lot of floor space this way.  Plus the mattresses were getting old and the children were complaining of discomfort sleeping.  It was pretty ridiculous, but I was holding off on buying new mattresses because I still hoped for new beds  - no use buying a new double when I wasn't going to use it.  

It got to the point where the kids would rather sleep on the couch or on an easy chair than in their beds.  I'm the only person I know who still - quite reluctantly because Gawd knows, I LOVE having my bed TO MYSELF - had 'the family bed' with a 10 and 8 year old.  I was about to break down this week and buy new mattresses just so EVERYONE could get a good night's sleep when one of my dearest friends texted me to let me know she had located some bunks that would well suit my needs.  So being the Amazon I am, I dismantled the old bunks and carried the damn things out to the shed all on my own and then set to work cleaning the room, including what was once 'under the bed' - aka where socks, Webkins, spare earrings, books, more socks and barbie clothes go to die.

You know it.  Amazon.

My friend, her significant other and another friend of ours made it out to my place with the beds after having to fashion some hardware that was missing from the set.  After everything was set up I attempted to make conversation while surreptitiously gazing at my children's bedroom, in awe of all the extra floorspace.

Saturday was a day of laundry and yardwork and removing Halloween decorations, as there comes a time sometime after November where it is no longer fashionable nor socially acceptable to have dead babies on your front lawn.  Philistines.  Also, the yard was getting jungly and the freaky mysterious 'Where-the-hell-did-they-come-from' Morning Glories had long ago taken over the front porch.  They were, by this time, quite dead though so I decided maybe it was time to take my porch back.

Seriously, though.  I don't know where they came from.  I have not in my history planted Morning Glories.  My sister did when she lived there, but that was four years ago and to the best of my knowledge they are not perennials by any means.

Saturday night my other friend and her SO and I headed to Collingwood to see the Schomberg Fair... again.  This is my fourth show now so I imagine that puts me into some kind of weirdo Dead-head category now.  Truth be told, I'm going to be a little sad when these guys make it really big (which I am pretty certain is bound to happen).  I'll miss that recognition and appreciation one gets for showing up and supporting a pretty awesome trio of local musicians.

A great show, even with a smaller than usual crowd - then again, it's Collingwood and I didn't gather that the downtown had a thriving nightlife.  They played pretty much every song off the new EP, Mercy  as well as a number of older tunes I had not heard played live before.  Even "Dark was the night, Cold was the ground" which had been requested by myself at previous shows, so I was stupidly excited over that one.

Sunday the girls came home to their surprise and were quite happy with the new beds and their newish mattresses.  I haven't had any company for the last two nights and I couldn't be happier.

Sometimes the way into a girls heart is through her record collection.

Before I get into the topic at hand, I want to mention that this morning I opened my email to the following:

Vindication at last.

Some of you may remember last December I waged a brief campaign to have Joel Plaskett follow me on Twitter after being unceremoniously Twitted and dumped.  It was a spectacular failure of epic proportions, although I do thank all two of you who helped me try to get #comebackjoelplaskett trending.

Delayed gratification is still gratification in my books.

Anyway...

I came across the following article on Jezebel the other day and if I had been drinking any liquids at the time, I guarantee they would have been snarfed all over my computer screen.

Shockingly, Liking Nickelback Will Not Get You Laid

Chalk that down as my FAVORITE HEADLINE EVER.  I know, making fun of Nickelback is pretty cliche by now, but frankly I find it well-deserved for continually making a mockery of our home-grown music industry.

Oh, full Disclosure:  I have owned one album, and seen them in concert.  And it was okay for a while.  Then there was Photograph.  After that... well, I don't want to talk about it.  Let's just say, when the only local rock station  has a playlist of roughly 15 songs, and 8 of them are by Nickelback, and each song is starting to sound more like the one before it except that the lyrics get more douchey and mysogynistic than the one before, well it's enough to make you yearn for the day when they were just mildly annoyingly introspective.

But I'm not here to rag on them.  At least that's not my primary reason for being here.  I got to thinking about how music had affected my relationships.  As someone to whom music is a large part of life, the article made sense.  I could see myself judging someone if they told me Nickelback was, like, their favorite band EVER.

I don't think I have ever actually rejected a guy over music.. although I have judged guys I've dated over their enjoyment of the movie Hard Core Logo.  And their have been guys whose musical tastes have made me like them more.

I'm not sure if I could ever love someone who didn't at least have a passing enjoyment of the Tragically Hip, who couldn't appreciate them on even the smallest level.

I will however, judge you if you like Papa Roach.  True story, this band makes me violently angry.  The ex-hub used to play them and it got to the point where I begged him to NEVER EVER play them while I was within earshot, after one day I ended up in the back bedroom with a pillow over my head while I cried.  I'm still to this day not sure what it is about them that triggers me, but holy shit.  Remember the scene in BioDome where the National Guard came and tried to get Pauly Shore and Stephen Baldwin to come out of the dome by blaring The Safety Dance?  I'd probably react the same way, and just dance my ass off and enjoy the party (because, you know.. if your friends don't dance they're no friends of mine).

Tell me this shit wouldn't set you off as well.

But if I was in a hostage situation and the National Guard (or the RCMP, I guess) came and starting playing Papa Roach, I'd likely surrender, throw myself on their mercy and possibly beg them to shoot me.

I don't like them.

The ex-hub and I had similar tastes but they diverged after a while.  Once, as I was getting into a very mellow folkish phase, he was getting into Korn and the like, this being the late 90's and very early Oughts.  Sometimes when you hear a song you like enough times you will eventually start to hate it.  We all know this.  Thing is, it works the other way as well.  Despite absolutely loathing them (but without the same violent reaction as to Papa Roach) I had eventually heard them enough that I started to hum along to a few tunes.  One day the ex came home and went to put a CD on, and eyed me rather suspiciously as he pulled "Follow the Leader" out of the stereo.  His eyes had widened and he pointed an accusing finger at me and cried "YOU WERE LISTENING TO KORN!!"

I was caught.  I had no recourse but to shrug and grin sheepishly.

Nu-Metal.  Kind of like New Coke.  Look how well that turned out.

In the midst of our split (years later... we didn't split because I started liking Korn), during one of the many "What the hell happened to us?" conversations, he tried claiming that I had 'changed' and that he couldn't even handle the kind of music I listened to anymore.  This from a guy who had started playing in a fucking country band.

*sigh*  Such is life, amirite?

I find nowadays an eclectic taste in music intrigues me.  I dated a guy briefly whose musical tastes played like a game of "One of these things is not like the other."  His favorite artists had included Nirvana, Pearl Jam, The Doors, The Rolling Stones and...

Lady Gaga?

"Rly?"  "Ya Rly."

I kid you not.  He even had Pokerface as his ringtone.  For the longest time I associated that song with him.

One of the things that really got me with the most recent ex was upon going to his house for dinner the first time, he went to put on some music and asked if I preferred "Radiohead, Neil Young or Sinatra?"  Now, I'm not a devoted fan of any of these performers, but the sheer juxtaposition of these three seemingly unrelated acts resulted in my heart going aflutter.

Neil Young=Sexytimes.

Although I'm fond of guys with an enthusiasm for music, I'm not sure I would date a serious musician.  Having spent time as a band-wife I can tell you it sucks, especially if you're someone who would rather be on the other side of the footlights.  It ends up being like a really unfunny episode of I Love Lucy.

My jealousy was never had this kind of awesome result.

I could still handle being sang to.  Call me hokey, but especially so if it was this:



I still think this is one of the sweetest songs ever.  Sounding like Brad Roberts isn't even necessary.

Photo Sources:
www.100XR.com
www.graphicshunt.com
unrealityshout.com
yvettecandraw.blogspot.com

Oh, and by the way.  I went and signed up for NaNoWriMo because I'm a masochist like that.  If anyone else is participating, please feel free to be my 'buddy'.