It's been pointed out on the internet umpteen times, but I just feel the need to reiterate.. if you find yourself making a statement, then adding a 'but' or 'however' you may just end up completely discrediting your original statement and revealing a lot more about how you think.
Examples:
"I'm not racistbut I really think Native people need to get over it already."
=
"Actually, I kind of am."
"I'm not homophobic, but I just wish they wouldn't flaunt it everywhere."
=
"Actually, I kind of am"
"Of course rape is wrong, but maybe she should have not sent out so many 'mixed signals'/been walking out alone/let that guy buy her a drink/been alone with that guy/drank so much"
=
"I actually think there are times when rape is justified. "
"Of course those cops shouldn't have beat that guy up, but if he didn't have anything to hide, why would he not give them his name?"
=
"Although I will say cops beating civillians is wrong, it's actually pretty normal and to be expected when someone doesn't submit to authority"
If you find yourself saying but after similar statements ("I'm not sexist, but.." "I'm pro-choice, but..." and even examples like "I'm no feminist, but {insert pro-feminist statement about gender equality here}" take a long hard pause and think about whether your following statement is going to discredit your opening.
I was introduced to a new term the other day - Hate-Reading. You know, that thing when you continually read the same web site or subscribe to the same media outlet even though the thoughts and opinions expressed are generally full of fail and make your teeth itch?
One of my recent hate-reads has been Slate.com's resident advice giver, Dear Prudie. The other is The Stir by CafeMom (with the exception of Jenny Lawson and Becky Harks - they're pretty awesome) but that's a blog rant from another day.
Anyway, dear Prudie usually has few gems up her sleeve, such as the post linked above where she basically plays into the idea that someone who drinks heavily can't really be raped, they're probably just ashamed. Yup, we're still not over this. Twenty-first century, even. Yeah, Prudie is kind of an asshole but that's not really what I'm talking about here.
It brought up an interesting discussion on feministe regarding good consent when drugs and alchohol are involved. Somehow in these discussions there is always someone who wants a clear line in the sand showing exactly when someone is too drunk to consent, like legally. It's friggin' sketchy, like people want to know "exactly To what extent can I take advantage of a situation before I am legally culpable?"
Dude (or Dudette, because you know, it happens) if you have to ask, you probably have or will cross that line.
Where's the problem of erring on the side of caution and if you're not in a position where you're entirely sure you have genuine consent, then politely back off.
Remember that movie, the one where Michael Cera played Michael Cera playing every role he's ever had and sang "These Eyes" and Jonah Hill was fat and loud and the cops blew up the car and the drunk chick tried to blow Michael Cera but he said no because she was pathetically drunk?
You can learn a lesson from that movie. A lesson besides the one that says cops are generally bored and really do want to be your friend, because they're afraid of becoming irrelevant and old. Shocking, I know.
Worst thing that happens when you say to a drunk person that you're not comfortable having sex with thm when they're drunk is that you don't have sex that night. Not the end of the world.
Okay, one guy argued that someone could take great offense at you refusing to have sex with them, and assume you are an agency-denying, patriarchal slut-shamer, to which I say that consent works both ways. The non- or less-drunk party also has the right to say no, regardless of the other person's hurt feelings. So in that situation I say that the worst thing that will result from saying no is that you don't get to have sex with an asshole that night.
Before I close off I just want to mention that "erring on the side of caution" doesn't have to mean that once that bottle of wine has been cracked that all bets regarding sexy times are off, no matter who you are. Mileage is going to vary depending on the consenting adults involved: their trust levels, previous dialogue, and hell, alcohol tolerance comes into play as well. Just remember, affirmative consent is the presence of "Yes", not the absence of "No". And if that yes is more like a Yesshhhh, unless you Trust each other well enough or your date just happens to have a lisp, take that yessssshhhhh with a grain of salt, because it's a damn site better to be called an asshole than a date-rapist.
As you may be able to tell from my display picture, my hair is currently a shade of pinkish red not usually found in nature. Originally part of a Halloween costume, I decided I liked this look and would keep it for a while.
Needless to say, reviews have been mixed, and I totally accept that.
The other day however, my friend Tess and I were sitting in the timmie's downstairs from work and a woman i know, who shall remain nameless, came in and lined up. I said hi, and the following conversation ensued:
Her: what did you do to your hair? (I've kind of gotten used to this line of questioning)
Me: I stuck my finger in a socket
Her: that wouldn't turn your hair... Well, what do you call that color?
Me: I call it "I used to be red but I have showered many times since then"
Her: ugh.. You need to dye it back.
Me: I dunno. I like it.
Her: (in what i'm guessing was an attempt at humor) yeah but what you want doesn't matter, other people still have to look at it
Me: yeah I'm not particularly concerned with other people.. Haha. Like I said, I like it.
Her: really, though, it doesn't look good.
At this point I shrug and go back to my conversation with Tess.
When I posted about the incident on Facebook I got a whole lot of support and compliments, which was awesome and sweet, but missed the point, which was "who the hell asked?"
Like I said, i'm totally cognizant that this particular aesthetic choice is not to be everybody's cup of tea. I've recieved my fair share of backhanded compliments ("well, you're still very pretty") from people who don't get that I did this on purpose. I would think, though, that unless it has been solicited, so-called constructive criticism should be kept to oneself.
I mean, how many times should someone have to say "well, I like it" before they take the hint and drop it. My own dumbfoundedness at the gall and my generally sweet nature prevented me from getting really nasty, which maybe I should have. Hell, even my grandma only got to make so many comments before I finally said "listen lady, if you don't let it go, then next time I see you, it's going to be Green.". And I LOVE my grandma.
If I ask someone's opinion, then I expect an honest response. Otherwise, don't rain on my fuckin' parade.
It's pretty basic Kindergarten 101 stuff: if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.
Read a post on Feministe today about an advice column on Slate.com that questioned what to do when your seat-mate on a flight pulls out a lap-top and starts watching hard-core porn during the flight. The letter-writer in this case was a grandmother travelling with her daughter and small grandchild.
Not surprisingly, a lot of people's response was "Oh hell, no. Call the flight attendant on that shit," because that's a pretty blatant broach of other passengers' personal boundaries, natch. Regardless of the age of your seatmates, I would think it's safe to say this is never cool.
If you're ever wondering if it's appropriate to watch porn on an airplane, well, unless you are chartering your own private jet, one should usually err on the side of "Porn on an airplane? What the hell is wrong with you?"
A few people asked the question 'Okay, well where do you draw the line? What if it's not porn per se, but a movie or show the occasional scene of graphic sex or violence such as Dexter (which I use as an example, because it generally has a fair amount of both and I'm not really familiar with a lot of other shows).
It's hard to draw a line in the sand, because different people have different tolerance levels and are triggered by different things - imagine if you will, having trauma-related PTSD and finding yourself with a seatmate watching a movie with a graphic rape scenes like The Accused or Precious.
I'm not sure about everyone else, but if it were me, I'd rather go a couple hours on a plane keeping my viewing at a PG-13 level or lower, than ask someone who may be easily triggered to just get the hell over it and let me watch my movie in peace, especially when considering that in most economy flights, you're practically sitting on your seat-mate's lap.
But where to draw the line? What can be considered acceptable and what is not? It's virtually impossible to tell these days what one may find acceptable for public viewing and what one may not.. especially if you get kids involved. (Again, if it's porn on a plane, just don't.)
What surprises me is how few people consider simply asking their seat mate "Hey, I was thinking of watching this movie but it's kind of graphic in parts. Would it bother you if I watched it?" Worst case scenario, seat-mate might actually say "Actually I'd really appreciate if you didn't." Or they may say it's okay but decide since you have spoken to them that they want to be your bestie now and chat you up when all you want to do is watch your movie.
In the name of courtesy though, I'd be willing to take that risk.
As a society we seem to be developing a phobia of actually talking to people and creating dialogue. We'd rather draw hard and fast lines of etiquette in the sand than actually reaching out to each other and creating dialogues around personal boundaries. Respecting one's boundaries is a way of being empathetic.. to say "Hey, I get it, you're not cool with this and I respect that."
Another post having to do with boundaries I found interesting was in regards to not forcing children to hug and kiss relatives and friends at Christmastime or other gatherings. We've all known a kid that doesn't like to hug or be hugged, and it's common for such a child to be admonished for being rude to not accept hugs and kisses from family members. However, in trying to prevent abuse it is important to teach a child that their body is their own and that no one is allowed to touch it without permission. So I think it would stand to reason that it might be confusing to a child to encourage bodily autonomy while simultaneously say 'but you still have to kiss Grandma'.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think rudeness is acceptable and if my kid refused to hug or kiss someone, I'd let them know that they still have to say hello or thank you or the appropriate acknowledgement.. but if they don't want to be hugged, that's okay. Some people are very uncomfortable being touched.. whether it is tied into psychological issue or a physical issue - some are very sensitive to touch and it can be over-stimulating.
Respecting a kids boundaries also teaches them to understand and respect the boundaries of others. Paying attention and respecting a child's boundaries can also help a parent be aware of issues. My oldest daughter, as a toddler/preschooler was ridiculously affectionate.. WITH EVERYBODY. She even wanted hugs from strangers.. anyone who made eye contact with her, pretty much.
I remember her running up to an elderly lady pushing a walker and exclaiming 'Up! up!'. Another time in a bank, she ran up to a young boy who was probably no older than eleven or twelve and threw her little arms around his legs. This poor kid looked like he was going to die of embarassment on the spot.
Being such an affectionate little thing, I paid attention when she didn't want someone to hug her.
There was a time when the ex-hub and now-wife had some company over including one or two people they didn't know. My usually exuberantly affectionate preschooler refused to give this one guy the time of day. Instead of vying to have attention lavished on her, she quietly guided her sisters into another room, away from the company. I don't know the details, but this one guest ended up later saying things to now-wife that had crossed a few of her boundaries and left her quite upset. I have little doubt that T. picked up some kind of vibe from this guy.
I think small kids can have the ability to read adults better than we can of each other, because they have not yet been socialized into prejudices about different people, and may be able to better follow their instincts when it comes to getting 'bad vibes' from someone.
Just like we should listen to those around us in order to show courtesy and respect boundaries, with kids while there are times to teach, there are also times to listen.
(705): God help me. So drunk guy tells me his friend likes me* and wants to dance... I say sure if he wants to come ask me I will dance. No, dude is 'too shy' and won't come ask**. End up dancing w/ drunk dude who is currently sporting a pretty wicked asscrack. I'm in hell.
(705): Oh and now drunk dude has requested I sing "18 and Life" by Skid Row. I can't even make this shit up.
My milkshake totally brings all the drunks to the fucking yard.
*having never previously met, spoken or seen me. **I'm expected to go ask him. Apparently I'm in grade seven.
Interesting post on the forums today regarding Honesty versus Bullying. In my time, I have seen far too many people justify degrading others in the name of honesty. The philosophy that honesty is the best policy seems to be interepreted by some to mean 'you are welcome to say any thing that comes into your head to another human being regardless of if it is hurtful or not'.
No. Full Stop.
Honesty is the Best Policy means that when given the choice of telling the truth or telling a lie, in the long run, the truth is probably your best option, because lies beget more lies.
Honesty is not a free pass to insult people or be hurtful towards them.
I know I am overweight. Most people who are overweight are fully aware of this. Unless someone asks, "Hey, Do I Look Fat In This?" or "Why Can't I Seem To Lose Any Weight?" it is not acceptable to tell someone their pants make them look fat, or suggest that they'd lose weight if they didn't eat so damn much, and then defend yourself by shrugging your shoulders and saying "Hey, I'm just being honest."
No, my friend. You are not "just" being honest. You are also being an asshole.
Standing at the busy intersection a young woman in her mid-twenties watched the light turn red out of the corner of her eye. When the cars started into the intersection, she did a quick survey to make sure there were no cars in the right-hand-turn lane. Although the light facing her direction was still red and the pixellated amber hand beckoned her to hold her place, she started out into the intersection, knowing the way was clear.
A little man watched from the corner as she strode confidently into the street with head held high and sucked in his breath. When the walking man appeared on the traffic signal he dashed across the street to catch up with her.
"Excuse me! Excuse me miss!" She kept walking, either ignoring him or not realizing she was the miss he was addressing. Meeting her stride, he tried to get her attention again. This time she turned.
"Why did you do that?"
"I'm sorry?" she asked, puzzled at this odd little man who was attempting to keep up and doing a not-so-good job at it.
"The light. It hadn't changed. But you went anyway. Why? Are you in a hurry?"
She stopped in her tracks. This was a bizarre line of questioning indeed. Shrugging, she replied "Well, the way was clear. So I decided to go."
The little man furrowed his brow and shook his head. "No, no," he said, clearly troubled. "The light had not changed. You can't go if the light hasn't changed. That's the rules."
She looked at him for a long moment before she replied. "That light is there for the our protection. But as people, we are able to make decisions, to gauge risk and to decide, ultimately whether we walk, or we don't walk. Sometimes it's necessary to break rules, even small ones, to remind us even for a split second of our free will. Of our agency over our own bodies and minds."
He looked around as he pondered her words, but when he turned again, she was already down the street.
Been a little quiet the past few days, I know. Going through some stuff. Had to cut off contact with someone who was very important to me in order to save myself a whole lotta time going through the emotional wringer and would you know it pretty much blows? Big time. Running the gamut of emotion, angry, sad, self-righteous and well.. you know how it is. Boys n' such. So I've been disgustingly emo over the last 24 hours. I've had a few of my closest girlfriends be super supportive as I got all weepy and snotty and introspective about it, even though over the last 12 months or so the "I swear this time it's really DONE" has been nothing new to any of them.
But I swear, this time, it's really done.
Hit the local Party On The Dock this past weekend, which proved to be quite the raucous affair. There was much beer, much dancing to all-ages friendly (as in 9 to 99) cover bands. Okay, this is something that gets me every year. The headliners are a group called Northern Harbour, who bill themselves as
The Ultimate Jimmy Buffet Tribute Band!
But.. if it's true as some say that Jimmy Buffett is essentially a cover artist himself, then wouldn't a Jimmy Buffett cover band really just be a generic cover band that happens to play Margaritaville and Let's Get Drunk and Screw? (which, incidentally, Northern Harbour DID play much to my amusement).
Anyway, was a fun-filled evening. We closed the party, headed to the local bar, closed the bar, got food, ended up at the park and next thing you know it was all "Oh hey. Hello, 5 am! Fancy meeting you here!"
A word of advice: Sitting down by the water in the wee hours of the morning may sound like an awesome serene idea, but you change your mind quickly when you wake up in the morning with goose shit on your pants. Had awesome Karen-Walkeresque moment the next day as my bestest and I sat in her backyard feeling rather rough and a small child was driving around in one of those Power Wheels dealies. Shielding my eyes from the sun I asked "Is it really necessary for that kid to be driving that thing this early in the afternoon?"
I'm fucking witty when hungover, I tell you.
My shitty mood after last night's drama nearly resulting in an ass-kicking today as I got a wee bit snarky with some folks who insisted on ignoring the giant No Loitering sign on the front door of our building and wound up with a rather frightening woman up in my face because apparently I'm doing a huge disservice to their hanging-around-in-front-of-Tim-Hortonsing by not-so-subtly suggesting her friends try standing 2-3 feet to the left or right AND NOT IN FRONT OF THE FUCKING DOOR.
How silly of me.
And then some guy got his ass handed to him in the parking lot about an hour later. Cops and everything. I have a great view from my desk. And YES, I DID call 911, as buddy was taking quite the beating but I guess someone beat me to it because all I had to say was the address and "Fight" and they said "Yeah, we're already on our way." at which point the cops pulled up.
I swell with absolute pride at my town, which is NOT AT ALL white-trashy in ANY WAY.
Today my geek worlds collided. For about 6-8 years I was a soap fan. To be clear I was regular follower of the Guiding Light. It started when I was hospitalized at 18, after which I drove my ex-husband nuts with it for years, and when the Sister and I lived together we watched religiously.
I stopped watching after I moved out on my own in 2005, as I wasn't home when it was on and I didn't have a VCR. The show was cancelled in 2009 and a little part of me was heartbroken that I never saw the last episode. I found out today that in 2006 Marvel Comics did a Guiding Light crossover based on a halloween storyline where Harley (one of my favorite characters) gets super powers and becomes a heroine by the name of 'The Guiding Light'
Har Har.
So this evening I wasted a whole lot of time looking up clips from this story arc on YouTube, and trying to find out where I can get my hands on the comic portion of the storyline, which apparently included Spiderman and the Avengers, as well as GL characters such as Buzz Cooper and Gus Aitoro (*drool*)
The link to the Comics Alliance page has a preview where you can see some of the other drawings. I enjoy seeing the characters rendered in comic style.
The story arc on the tv side is atrocious, but what do you expect? Part of the fun of soaps is the groaningly bad melodrama and improbable story lines. Hell, that's part of the fun of comics too.
Mild Trigger Warning for Body Issues and Dieting. If you're triggered by these things, you might want to skip this post.
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I recently read an article link on Feministe's Shameless Self-Promotion Sunday that nearly knocked me out of my seat with its clarity.
Nahida's post on learning to receive compliments struck a chord with me. She discusses the habit among women to immediately downplay ourself when offered compliments.
Woman 1: "Oh, that's a lovely dress!"
Woman 2: "What, this old thing?"
Rather than taking credit when we are complimented ("Thanks! It's my favourite."), we have a terrible habit of self-deprecation, unconsciously putting ourselves down in an attempt to appear modest. It's mostly a learned behaviour, as supported Nahida's anectdote about the girls on the playground. My own experience wasn't so much "You're not supposed to say 'Thank You'" but it definitely wasn't cool to say "I know."
I'm terrible in my inability to graciously accept a compliment, especially in two areas: My music/art/writing and my recent weight loss. After losing about 60 lbs, I found I had a ridiculously difficult time receiving compliments in regards to my new body. I'd consistently jump to point out how much further I had to go ("Thanks, I still have another 25 to lose, though").
It took some time before I stopped myself and went "Hang on a minute! I've worked damn hard at this, and I deserve to feel good about it." For a time, I started responding to the "You've lost a lot of weight, you look great!" with "Thanks. I feel good." This has helped me not only receive the compliment, but downplay the emphasis on how my weight loss has affected my looks and put emphasis on the more important issue, which has been the improvement on my health. I felt this was important because in the past my weight has fluctuated due to stress and illness and I always found it bothersome when I'd get complimented on it.
"Did you lose weight? You look amazing!" "Really? 'Cause I feel like shit."
Still I slip back into bad habits though. Even today, a friend on Facebook mentioned she had seen me and asked me my secret, to which, in typical Andie fashion, I responded with "Four years of Weight Watchers and a whole lot of patience. I also took up kick-boxing a year ago. Oh, and shit load of self-loathing and amphetamines."
Yeah, I'm kind of an artiste in the medium of comedic self-deprecation.
Why did I feel the need to add the last part? I can assure you it had nothing to do with amphetamines, but probably a little to do with self-loathing, or at the very least, lack of self-confidence. I still have days of mild body-dysmorphia where I feel gross and fat, even though the rational side of me knows I am not, and this has been exascerbated by the knowledge that I've probably put about 10-15 lbs back on. I almost feel sometimes like if I accept the compliment graciously that I'm somehow being un-genuine. Which is bullshit.
I've also been trying to learn how to graciously accept compliments regarding artwork and music, especially music. In the last year or two I've taken to playing at a lot of open mike nights, as well as posting videos of myself to Facebook (and once, even here). Compliments I receive on a performance I always feel the need to point out where I fucked up, or missed a chord change, or my voice cracked. Putting aside the occasional backhanded "You play good, for a girl" compliments, I enjoy the feedback, and it definitely bolsters my confidence as far as my abilities go, so why the need to downplay what I have basically been honing for the last seventeen years?
I liked Nahida's suggestion about calling out people who refuse to accept a compliment, because it is a bit rude, a way of saying "I appreciate your intent, but you don't really know what you're talking about." and THAT is ingenuine. And kind of rude.
As a feminist issue, all I really have to ask is how can we expect our talents, contributions and accomplishments to be acknowledged and celebrated when we ourselves are so apt to put them off as "Oh, it's no big thing, I just..?"
It might just be a big thing. So go ahead and say it. Without downplaying, without self-deprecating, without denying.
I am not generally a charitable person, in the strictest sense of the world. I don't make a whole lot of cash donations to charitable organizations. I know, I know. But I'm a woman on a budget, plus I'm kind of a misanthrope who questions if my charitable donations are really going to someone who needs it. I never said I was a good person.
Today I read a letter that first made me laugh, in that horrible 'Oh my god, I shouldn't be laughing at this' kind of way. It was a letter written to Jenny at The Bloggess from a woman named Ally, of Christchurch, New Zealand.
As you may already know, Christchurch was hit by one huge sumbitch of an earthquake on February 22, and Ally was writing in hopes that Jenny, in her vast interwebs popularity, would be willing to ask her readers to help the people of Christchurch in their time of need.
I think organizations like the Christian Children's Fund and the Humane Society could learn a lesson from Ally. Honesty is the best policy. Don't guilt people, don't fucking depress them.. because what happens then? People get depressed. They get overwhelmed, because they want to help ALL the starving children and ALL the abused kitties and puppies with their big sad eyes and distended bellies and flies on their faces.
Then what happens? Your average Joe or Josephine.. they feel bad. And resentful. Because You, Charitable Organization, have made them Feel Bad. And We Can't Help Everyone. And what do we do with unpleasant feelings? We tune them out. We change the channel when Sarah McLachlan starts singing ".. in the arrrmmmms offf annnn annnnngelllll" and the little puppies and/or African kids come on the screen.
And then No One gets help.
I love Ally's approach here. Honest, direct, and creative.. and effective.
Pretty darn good. That's probably my best way to describe this weekend. No complaints here.
Friday night I picked up some Sushi for dinner at the local RCSS, and since they've changed the delivery day to Friday, it was very very fresh. I really want to go out for actual restaurant sushi but I'm good with grocery store grade in the meantime.
Headed down to the Legion for karaoke with mom and Sharon. Dad was already there for darts. I haven't been out since before Christmas so I was having some withdrawal. Ended up having a blast and getting some work out of the deal. Looks like I might have a gig hosting the karaoke night on my kid-free Fridays. I go in on the 11th so that Lance, our current KJ can train me on the equipment. Pretty awesome. Some extra cash to go towards my house-downpayment-fund for two nights work a month, for being where I might already be any given Friday. Can't beat that.
Speaking of house hunting, mortgage calculators of the ilk that you find on real estate sites are bullshit, and depressing as hell. According to the mortgage calculator, I can afford roughly $278 a month for a mortgage (which puts me at about $38,000 for a house. I can't get a mobile home for that little around here). I pay $700 bucks a month rent, plus hydro and I am not behind on my bills, and I'm managing to pay down my debt so CLEARLY I can afford more than $278 a month for a mortgage.
So eat me, mortgage calculator.
Back to happier things. While at the Legion a group of about 10 snowmobilers/cottagers from Strathroy come walking in, most of them around my age (couple older dudes, and at least one paperboy). My first thought, as one of the youngest available women in the Legion was "Oh! Hello Boys! Happy Birthday to Me!"
Normally I'm about as socially awkward as they come but on Friday, whether it was the beer or just a general sense of well-being and oneness with the world coupled with just feeling like holy-shit-I-am-one-hawt-mamma I was kind of on that night and lapping up the attention, especially from one of the cuter guys, who bought me a beer and asked for a dance. He was a riot, and we spun and twirled and made clumsy attempts at dipping while his friends hooted and hollered and we all sang along to any given songs. What a fun bunch they were, and I was feeling full of confidence.
Saturday I got up and went into town to take some clothes to the Salvation army and attempted to find a plain wood frame I to use for this print that I bought at the craft sale I did a few weeks back. I can't for the life of me remember the photographer's name but if I remember it I will link back. In the meantime, please, no one steal this image, kay? I'd feel really bad if you did. 'preciate it. I just want a plain wood frame so I can paint it. I'm thinking either red with white polka dots, or black with white polka dots.
Saturday afternoon I went ice skating with my friend Tessa and her boyfriend and her kids. My ankles felt like jelly and I think I need to invest in some hockey skates. I think they'd be more conducive to my skating style than the figure skates I currently have. We left soon after Tess fell and bruised her arm pretty good, which was unfortunate and quite surprising since Vegas odds would be on me being the one that wiped out, but I miraculously didn't fall once.
Saturday night I grabbed my guitar and headed to the local church for their coffee house night. I showed up a bit late so as a result I was dead-last on the roster, but I held out and managed to get a few songs in.
Here's what I played:
When I Come Back - NQ Arbuckle and Carolyn Mark (I posted a vid of myself playing this a while back. You can see it here)
I Make the Dough, You Get the Glory - Kathleen Edwards (I've always kind of considered her a poor-man's Sarah Harmer, but I enjoy this tune a lot.)
Just a little Open Mic Ettiquette 101. Everyone wants a chance to play. If the mode number of songs people are playing is four, it might be poor form to play seven, you know?
Because I was very last on the bill, I was a little late to catch the free show being put on by Run With The Kittens at one of the local restaurants, but I did manage to make it about halfway through their first set. I've never actually heard of them before, but I found them enjoyable. Their sound is an odd mix of experimental sounds and blues-based rock. When I listened to them, all I could think of was the Moldy Peaches tune Downloading Porn with Davo (NSFW people). Later I found a similarity to catl as well.
Sadly, although a great restaurant, I found the Explorer's Cafe lacking as a live music venue. Lacking space to move, that is, so I left at the intermission as my claustrophobic tendencies were making me a bit twitchy.
Today was laundry and grocery shopping day. I met up with my mom and sister at the seventh circle of hell and promtly informed them that I was totally compromising my principles just to hang out with them, because I rarely shop at Wal-Mart if I can avoid it.
Feeling accomplished as I managed to make both Jello and Rice Krispie Squares for the girls lunches. Making them homemade is way cheaper than buying these things. A box of Jello costs about 69 cents and makes around six servings.. a pack of jello cups is about 2.99 and they have four.
With a box of Rice Krispies (4.99), three bags of marshmallows (@1.27 each, so $3.75 let's say) and a half pound of butter (1.50) you can make 4-6 dozen rice Krispie squares. A box of 8 individually wrapped ones are about 2.99. Plus by making the stuff, you get around the litterless lunch manifesto of the schools.
Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of a litterless lunch, and we should all do our parts to cut down on garbage. But telling a kid to take a granola bar out of it's wrapper and bring it in a container is bullshit. And I doubt the school is going to come to my house and wash all my bloody plastic containers. So I tell the girls "No, it's not litterless, but it's still less litter."
I'm at the grocery store, and I'm looking for guacamole. This is a FoodBasics, so it's not like a high-end grocery store. I check the aisle with all the dips and such and find nothing. So I head to produce because sometimes they have dressings and stuff.
Me: Do you know where I might find guacamole?
Stockboy #1: Hmm.. i'm just produce, so I'm not really sure, but I can ask someone. We do have avocadoes if you want to make your own.
I've made my own guacamole before, and it turns out I'm not very good at it.
Me: I've made my own, I'm pretty bad at it. Rather just buy it pre-mixed.
I follow the guy about 6 aisles over to another guy. They discuss.
Stockboy #2: Are you the lady that needs help?
Me: Yup, sure am.
Stockboy #2: Here, follow me.
I follow him back to the first aisle that I check. He scans the shelves. Looks perplexed.
Stockboy #2: *sighs dramatically* They've moved it. Hold on a second.
Leaves, coverses with a woman in the bread section. Returns.
Stockboy #2: So it turns out we don't carry guacamole anymore. We used to but now we don't. We have avocados though, if you want to make your own.
Me: I've made my own, I'm pretty bad at it. Okay, thanks anyway.
Take the girls to the check out. Explain that we'll be going to another store after this.
Me: We'll go to Foodland after this, they'll have some.
Cashier: Was there something you weren't able to find.
Me: Yeah, guacamole. You guys don't carry it apparently.
Cashier: Oh.
I was not ready to fly home Thursday. I missed the girls, and I missed my guitar and beyond that.. well, I would have made do. I would have forged the girls some passports, and had them and the axe shipped to me if it meant I could stay on the beach for just a little while longer.
Nonetheless, I got up early, packed up all my shit and headed down to breakfast. You know how you can never seem to pack everything up the same way you did when you arrived somewhere? Yeah, I'm really glad I'm not big on buying souvenirs for people. I had a drum, a chess set, and a flute and a plinky-plunky weird instrument to bring home.. somehow, someway, I got it all into my suitcase, oddly enough, and ended up with LESS in my carry-on bag even. The plan was to check out and then take all my stuff to Kaylee and Mindy's room since check out time was 1pm, but my bus for the airport didn't leave until 8pm. This would save me either paying for late-checkout, or storing or lugging my shit around for the rest of the day.
A few times I was close to tears, I did NOT WANT TO LEAVE. All I could think of was having to go right back to work on Monday, and snow. Holy crap, I did NOT want to see snow. Especially knowing that we were supposedly supposed to get a giant mother of all snow-storms here, and knowing that my car would be sitting at the Park N Fly for a week in all that B.S.
So I spent the morning on the beach, guerilla-tanning because to my naked eye, I still looked Irish as all hell. Go SPF 30. I set my phone alarm so I would know when it was time to go check out. When I went to the check out desk, I ran into Alain the Quebecois taxguy and his friend at the front desk heading out for an excursion. In the name of keeping what happens in the tropics, in the tropics, I chit chatted, told them I was checking out and wished him a pleasant remainder of his holiday but did not ask for contact info. He kissed me good bye and wished me well and that was that.
I just shared a rather awkward lunch with an elderly German by the name of Fritz who spoke not a work of English. After a stilted introduction, we chewed in silence for a good ten minutes. Upon finishing, I didn't want to just walk away so I said a quick "Guten Tag, Fritz," as it's the only German I know. "Ah, Danke Shen (sp?)" he replied.
I think I've hit my weirdness threshold for this trip. - Vacation Journal, 02/04/2011
Yup, the lunch with the elderly German man was an interesting point to the trip. For the remainder of the day we kind of took it easy, sat on the beach some more, then went back to the plaza for a while as we still had not completed our souvenir shopping. We spent a good amount of time in one store that was being run by two friendly local girls, one of whom was fascinated with both mine and Kaylee's facial piercings and expressed a wish to get something of her own done. The music they were playing was killing me, in a good way.. they were playing bossa nova type covers of Guns 'N' Roses songs by an unknown (to me) female singer. Most other GNR fans might kill me for this, but man, they were AWESOME and I wanted to find out where I could get the CD, because I would have played the hell out of that at home.
I made a mistake in my last post and it was actually the last night while we were waiting for the buffet to open up that we ran into our family from Listowel and had our pictures taken.
About five minutes before the bus for the airport showed up, I realized I didn't have my travel documents in my purse and I pretty much lost my shit. After rifling through my bags near tears and muttering 'ohshitohshitohshitohshit' I ran like the devil back to the girls' suite and lo and behold there they were, on the kitchen table, so I grabbed them and ran like the devil back to the lobby.
Getting on the bus I struck up conversation with my seatmate, whose name escapes me now, and it struck me how comfortable I got over the week with just talking to strangers. A week previously I had sat silent and awkward and not talking or making eye contact. One week later I was telling this guy from Newmarket my life story.
Vacations make you friendly.
I narrowly escaped an awkward three and a half hour plane ride when I misread my boarding pass and sat myself down in row 11, seat H only to discover 10 minutes later that J, one of the young hamilton boys who had been systematically avoiding and/or being vaguely awkward with me since things had gotten a bit hot'n'heavy at the beginning of the trip came and sat down in seat J. Hoo boy, yes that would only happen to me. Weird. However, one of the other guys came up and made the discovery that I was in HIS seat, to which I had to ask "Well, where the hell am I sitting?" to which I replied to myself "Oh, you're sitting another ten rows back, you jackass."
So I suffered 5 or so minutes of awkwardness of looking creepy in exchange for 3 hours of awkwardness sitting one seat away from my holiday booty call. I'll take looking like an idiot who can't read a boarding pass, thanks.
However, these guys were not to get rid of me so easily, because after the flight, and customs and such I got my stuff and got on the shuttle bus to the Park N Fly, and all bloody twelve of them were on the bus.. and as it turns out, were parked about six spaces away from me. Oh, and the good news is that my car had maybe 2 cups of snow on it, so there was no digging to be done, which is good because I had a 3 hour drive to Mildmay to embark on so that I could attend the wedding of one of my best friends that day.
That's right, I de-planed, drove out to farm country in the middle of the night and went to a wedding the next day, because I am hard-core like that. It was a beautiful wedding too, small but very elegant, and pulled together in a very short period of time. Krys and her new hubby Dean seemed ridiculously happy, and I am happy for them. Warms this cynical jaded heart of mine.
The restaurant where they had the reception was attached by a small corridor to a sports lounge so after all the family went home, we went to the lounge and in all our wedding finery had some beers and did some karaoke. I ran into the ex-girlfriend of one of my online friends who lives in the area. After I introduced myself she rang him up to let him know I was in the area. Unfortunately our ride ended up leaving before he got there so we were thwarted on meeting in person once again. Such is life.
Sunday we all went out for breakfast in Walkerton before I headed out to see my Grandma Ruth. We had a nice visit, then I headed home as I was having dinner at my other friend Tessa's place that night, which was a good time, I met a friend of hers and we've been chatting since. Tess also packed me leftovers for lunch the next day and it was kick ass. So all told, I didn't get home until 8:30 sunday night, just in time to have to work Monday.
Yup, so apparently the day I flew in did NOT count as one of my days, so my seven day trip actually had eight days.
Author's note: I had two wisdom teeth extracted yesterday. I apparently have the healing abilities of friggin' Deadpool because I was able to go to work today and have taken maybe three T3's in the last 36 hours for pain. Or fun. Whatever.
So Thursday morning I got up and hopped on the hotel interwebs once again to try and get a hold of Karen, but with little luck. After depositing some towels and bags on some beach chairs, I tried calling out, and got a hold of Ryan who informed me that she was on a bus on her way to Puerto Plata as we spoke. Since we weren't sure where exactly the bus was going to drop her off, I sent out a series of text messages, and eventually figured out that the bus had dropped her off just outside of the Playa Dorada compound. The three of us set out on foot to find her, which we eventually did, wandering around out near the shopping center.
Not having seen each other for about 8 months, we did a comedic slow motion Chariots of Fire run at each other as a means of saying "Hi". As we made our way back to the hotel we decided to hire a cab to take us into Puerto Plata proper for a few hours so we could shop for souvenirs for the kiddies and get some lunch. Karen negotiated the cab for us. It was quite a sight to see my very blonde, Irish/scandinavian looking friend speaking fluent Spanish with the cab driver, while negotiating as well as through most of the ride to town.
Note on Dominican traffic.. holy hell am I glad I never followed through with my plan to rent a car to go to Santo Domingo, because drivers there are friggin' NUTS. I'm pretty sure there's no posted speed limit, and people actually honk to communicate to other drivers, rather than as a mere expression of road rage. Oh and we saw a couple carrying a barbecue. On a frickin' MOTORBIKE. Yeah.
The driver took us to a flea market type place, where we explored the various stalls that mostly had a lot of the same stuff that we had seen in the other flea market, and in the mall and being sold by the wandering beach vendors. There was one stall that had a lot of potions and powders and voodoo-ish type stuff, including baby dolls hanging from the ceiling with blood-stains (fake or real, I don't know). It looked kind of like my house at halloween, and I finally understood what some people meant when they said that dead baby dolls were disturbing.
We had lunch at a local restaurant, but still tourist-board approved so as to avoid all that pesky cholera and whatnot. I attempted to order off the menu in Spanish but probably came off like kind of a dink. The restaurant had a neat atmosphere.. it appears run down, but when you look closely, the chipped plaster and exposed brick is all painted on. I had some fried chicken, but the meat portion was huge and I couldn't finish it all. Over lunch we all got caught up on what had been going on in our lives and Kiki told of her varying adventures in academia abroad.
After lunch we went to a large department store which was basically the Dominican equivalent to Zellers or Wal-Mart. They had shirts on for super cheap and I thought about adding to the collection, but instead bought a lovely tramp-top to wear out for my last night on the island. Oddly, the large box store was the only place we went where they would NOT accept U.S. dollars, which I found odd.
We came back to the hotel afterwards but were informed that without paying upwards of 60 bucks for a day pass we wouldn't be able to bring Karen into the hotel. Fortunately Reynaldo, a friend we made at the hotel informed us of a public access to the beach that we could get to by crossing this huge empty field. while we were making our way across I kept getting struck with the idea that snipers were going to start shooting at us from nearby buildings. Weird, I know.
After chilling out on the beach for an hour or two, we walked Karen back to the bus so she could head over to another resort to visit her cousin who was also in the country that week. We got caught in a rainstorm on the way out, only the second instance of rain we had the whole week (the first being a light mist the day we went on the Runners excursion).
I may have napped. I am not sure. Maybe that was the day before. We may have gone straight to dinner. No, no, that's not right. We ran into our "Family" and insisted on having a family portrait taken, then ran into some of our H-town buddies who would be leaving on the same flight the next day, then we got dressed for dinner one last time at Michaelangelos, and one last awesome canneloni.
After dinner we sat out by the pool bar and attempted to play some cards until the disco opened but we discovered the card pack had two Jacks of spades so our three-handed Euchre game was thwarted and we were left with crazy eights, which gets old fast. We watched one of the live shows which was pretty cool, and we danced with a couple of the animators, one of which took a shine to K, but would prove to be a giant ass-hat later in the evening. While at the disco I met up with Alain from Quebec again who invited us to come to Coco Bongo, but at the time it didn't look like we were going to go. After we started chatting with one of the couples who had been on our excursion, Paul and Katherine, a lovely couple from Quebec as well, said they were going to go check it out, we all changed our minds and decided to go.
At Coco Bongo's K's wee admirer started being a douchehat and had her really upset, to the point where when our Hamilton friends showed up, they were called into do damage control, as this guy had her freaked right out. They were good guys and helped her out. Later we told our friend Reynaldo about it, and asked if this was just a cultural thing we didn't pick up on and he pretty much confirmed, "No, that guy's just a dick." While at the bar I had run into my friend the Quebecker, who after some conversation asked if he could come by my room to say hi. For reasons unknown I said sure (and no, it actually had little to do with alchohol). After the awkward situtation with the sketchy douchehat Kaylee and I had gone back to the hotel and talked for quite sometime, so I was surprised when Mindy showed up (she had left the bar earlier due to back issues) and told me that he had been looking for me. More surprised I was when about half an hour after I got back to my room there was a knock at my door. So I let him in and we visited (okay, shit, made out) for a bit, before I sent him back to his room. Hey, the deal was just to say hi. Amiright? Yeah, thought so. Hey, it was my last night there. Sue me.
"could totally handle a Bill Murray-esque Groundhog day, under the circumstances." - Facebook Status Update - 02/02/11
I feel like I've done my math wrong somewhere, because this post will bring us to day six and there is still two more days. Maybe the first day when I caught the flight into Puerto Plata doesn't count. ~shrug~
Wednesday was beach day, all the way. I had hopped onto a computer just after breakfast because I was expecting to hear if my friend Karen, who lives in Santo Domingo with her hubby and child, was heading up to Puerto Plata that day. I jumped on the Facebook to try and send messages of love and hugs to my kids via their stepmom, since I had been having a bitch of a time trying to reach them by phone. Sunday night I kept getting their voicemail, Monday night I couldn't get through to the front desk of the hotel, and Tuesday night I had gotten through to the desk but kept getting a "Spanish spanish spanish, all circuits are busy" message. So I went the techno route via the hotel interwebs.
It was while on the Facebook that I got word from my friend Mike that his brother and my other friend Sean had gotten the call for the double-lung transplant that he's been listed for. I went 'Oh shit' at first because I was on Sean's 'to-call' list in case of the pager going off, but our other friend Dan was ready and available to take him down to TGH. The odd part though was that the previous night when Sean had got the call, the girls and I had been discussing him at dinner. Spooky, no? Sadly none of the harvested organs were viable, but this does mean that the real call is that much closer.
So Kiki told me she wouldn't be able to make it up until Thursday so we decided that Wednesday would be an awesome 'Lay-on-the-beach-and-do-fuck-all' day. And that is what we did.
It. Was. Grand.
Okay so at one point we did wander up to a flea market one or two kilometers up the beach. Once again, I could not handle the uber-aggressive vendors. THERE IS NO BROWSING. You cannot express even a modicum of interest in something because then the vendors are ON YOU LIKE FLIES ON SHIT. Seriously. One of the vendors who sold under the name "Mr. 100 % Off" (yes, and dude, I'm TOTALLY going to hold you to that) gave each of us free anklets. We were going to buy some fancy wraps, but the day or so previously, Kay and Min had bought paintings from this guy, and upon browsing the other vendors and seeing the same painting and being offered it for five dollars less than what they had bargained down too, we decided to take business elsewhere, as the guy was a con.
But yeah, the over-enthusiastic vendors really made me miss shitty North American customer service.
We created a fun little game of "Horrifying Beach Bingo" which consisted of spotting the following beach Don't's:
Leather Tan
Giant floppy hats
Mankini/Speedo (These are never a good idea. NEVER A GOOD IDEA. I don't care WHO the hell you are. Just Don't. Don't Do It.) Fortunately we never saw any honest-to-God Borat-inspired mankinis' but Speedos' abounded.
Thongs (male OR female)
Sweaterback
Manboobs
Blacksocks with sandals
Gold Chains
I was determined to locate some kind of Perfect Storm of all of these factors, but thankfully it never happened.
Feeling profoundly lame after Sallying out the previous night I was determined that my game face would be ON for that night. We went to the poolside bar to listen to the entertainment but I found it lacking in excitement. The band played all the hits from 1986-1994, but I'm pretty sure the singer was making it up as she went along. Let me put it this way: Lady In Red was a horrible preachy song back then, and it still is now.
During the intermission they had a 'sexy dance' competition for the men to participate in. Oddly, something like 7 out of 8 guys who participated were from Quebec, yet they weren't all there together as I suspected (the 8th guy was from Manchester). To reiterate my second day post: "It's January. Canada is Cold. We don't want to be there."
While poolside we made the acquaintance of a 40-something Revenue Canada worker from Quebec City, and his friend who had arrived the previous night. Friendly and somewhat charming, we chatted with them for a while before we decided to head to the disco.
I love the DJ. Here's something about me. I am a DJ's worst nightmare, because I generally request songs that are A) unknown or B) not really appropriate for the occasion (I've gotten better on the second one though. Even on my birthday I couldn't get a song played for me. But when I requested a fairly well-known song (La Roux's Bulletproof) I noticed that this DJ was pretty much just YouTubing videos for the playlist so I took the chance and requested a song that's been absolutely, turn-it-up-to-30, kicking-my-ass lately, Best Est 2019 by Times Neu Roman.
I heard the opening bits, and I tell you, I LOST MY SHIT. This would never happen in Canada. I made Kaylee and Mindy stay to dance, because dammit, I was going to effin' DANCE MY EVERLOVING ASS OFF to that shit. Oh. Hells. Yes. I may have made a spectacle of myself.
"I can hardly fathom a breakfast buffet that does not have BACON." - Vacation journal 01/30/11
Yeah. Breakfast buffet and NO BACON. Little sleep as well. We were in fine shape on Sunday morning after being out until 5 am. I am told that the morning after I left, there was bacon at breakfast. Kaylee even took pictures to prove it. But all week, no bacon. Half decent potatoes, half decent eggs.. soggy french toast and coffee that is a very small step down from Espresso. And no bacon.
Had orientation 2.0 since I went with the girls to theirs then we tried to get the room situation all sorted out. Since there were no double-occupancy rooms left, they gave the girls a suite (yeah, kitchen, sitting room etc) across the way from me. It was pretty sweet. Nyuk.
I didn't even bother taking pictures of my room. I probably spent more time in theirs.
Sunday was a beach day, so we got some drinks and headed for the sand. I was approached by the vendor, Elsa who had offered to braid my hair the previous day. I did kinda want to get it done, so I got it over with and ended up saving myself a lot of harassment for the rest of the week. The beach vendors are so aggressive. It's all you can do to just stop making eye contact. However there was one guy that consistently made us giggle over the course of the week. He was selling stuffies and as he came down the beach he'd call out
"I HAVE A MONKEYYYYY! MONKEYY SEEEEEE, MONKEY DOOOOOO!"
Holy hell.. I just found a video of the monkey man! Sweet Jesus!!
(unrelated note.. I now have Tweeter and the Monkey Man in my head. Headstones version as opposed to the Wilburys. I've been thinking about Hugh Dillon a lot lately.)
We threw around a joke that we could bastardize the monkey call into a dating call-to-action (" I have a Vagina!!" but never really put that theory to test. Yes, we're pretty much nuts.
After the beach, we got ourselves all gussied up and hit Edens' Grill for dinner in honor of Miss K's birthday. As mentioned, I had pre-arranged a cake and when we showed up they had put balloons on the chairs and rose petals on the table. Out of the two a la carte restaurants we only ended up eating at the grill the one night. When they brought out the cake, it was.. well, interesting, to say the least.
First, I wrote down her name. Second, I love how you can tell by the smeared chocolate that this was actually the second (or maybe third?) attempt at writing the message. Guess what's getting sent to CakeWrecks.com?
We disco'd again that night, but all in all it was a fairly early evening.
It all started when I was about 13 years old watching MuchMusic, I happened across the video for At The Hundreth Meridian. It was one of the lesser known singles off what was at the time The Tragically Hip's fourth and best-known album Fully Completely.
In my pubescent mind, I could not have imagined that I'd be so taken with a strange lanky man in a truck cap and a hawaiian shirt, or that I'd embark on a lifelong fascination with the music this man and his equally talented bandmates created.
The video was not so much an introduction as an awakening. Sneaking into my sister's cassette collection, I was thrilled to not only find Fully Completely but the band's previous endeavour, Road Apples. Upon listening I found I already had songs like Little Bones and Locked in the Trunk of a Car embedded in my subconcious.
One thing people may not know, but the band, consisting of Gord, Rob Baker, Johnny Fay, Paul Langlois and Gord Sinclair, still tours with their original lineup, after almost 30 years. In January of 2007, a good 14 years after my initial awakening to all things Hip, I was finally able to see the band live in concert, with original lineup intact. But getting there wasn't easy. I am always amazed at stories of them playing in half-filled clubs, where here in the Great White North, tickets tend to sell out within minutes of going on sale.
Once in 2000, when I was living with the ex-hub in our shit-tastic little room in hell .. erm .. Barrie, I came home from work, tired, pregnant, sore and just sick of life in general. I was greeted at the door by the ex-hub grinning ear-to-ear.
"I have a surprise for you!" he exclaimed. I groaned, as usually a surprise meant that he had bought something we didn't need and couldn't afford. At this time MuchMusic was running call-in-and-win contests on the station.. one of the few luxuries we did have in the shit-hole was cable, which was included in the rent.
"I won tickets to see the Tragically Hip".
I blinked. I blinked again. Then all horomonal hell broke loose and I began sobbing and slapping him about the shoulders (I'm not proud of this, bY the way).
"THAT'S NOT FUNNY!! THAT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU JOKE ABOUT!!! YOU DON'T JOKE ABOUT THE HIP!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???!!! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT???!!!" Somehow he manages to calm me down and convince me that it was true, the tickets were on the way in the mail, the show was on the 23rd of December. Merry Christmas indeed, right?
Sadly no. As I have mentioned previously, the time in Barrie was a blackhole of suck and we had no money, no ride, and no one who would drive us to Toronto two days before Christmas. We weren't even able to find someone who could use the tickets. They went to waste. I have the unused tickets to this day.
Have you ever seen a sadder sight? I think not.
Fast forward to 2004ish. I'm living with my sister, who at the time is the head bartender at the local bar/home away from home. I've come home early after attending a street party where I was having a marginal time, but really not feeling it. I've hemmed and hawed about going out to the bar, but decide to stay home instead. The next morning, my sister asks where I was as she had tried to call me with important news, and that I should come to the bar. Turns out the owners daughter had tickets for a Hip concert the following weekend that she had brought in with the idea that the bar could give them away as a spot-dance prize. Knowing of my obsession, my sister talked to manager and told him about my lifelong desire to the see the Hip live, and they had come to an agreement that if I came in that night, they could see about me winning. But she was unable to get a hold of me.
Why she didn't leave me a bloody voicemail message, I don't understand to this day... because I was even considering going that night anyway. If I had know, I would have ran in a second. *sigh*
Finally in 2007 I had both the money, vehicle and deft enough typing fingers that I was able to procure one single solitary ticket to a Barrie show. Have you ever seen those clips of girls on the Ed Sullivan show with the girls screaming and crying in the audience? That was pretty much me at my first Hip Show. It took me a good two hours to come down after the performance. I was by myself in the audience and I couldn't have given a shit.
Me at my first Hip concert. Not really, but you get the idea. Source
The show was fabulous. The pictures, not so much. But I got this one.
It sounds like a cliche, if you're Canadian and you say you LOVE the Tragically Hip, but somewhere between my burgeoning adolescence and my evolving musical tastes, something clicked and the spastic performance and lyrical content spoke to me.
It was a song of theirs that led me to my favorite book, Hugh MacLennan's The Watch That Ends The Night, after an interview revealed that the third verse from Courage was basically pulled from that book. I read it, and have probably read it 20 odd times since.
Wheat Kings was the first dance at my wedding. Yeah, I know. How innapropriate is that, right? For those who do not know, Wheat kings is a song about David Milgaard, a man who spent 20 years in prison for a murder he was later cleared of. How Romantic. DJ didn't have the song we requested so it was a last minute choice of 'Hey, it's slow and we both like it!'
There was poetry. I wrote poetry for Gord Downie when I was a teenager. I know. No, I'm not posting it, but you can read some of my other bad adolescent poetry here.
There's actually a pretty cool site you can check out that has a bunch of theories and histories behind a lot of the songs, as Gord likes to sprinkle the lyrics with various historical and geographic references. Kinda like Stompin' Tom that way.
It's pretty cool, you can search by song, or by subject. But yeah, check it out. One of my goals in the future is a road trip where i can visit all the places mention in various songs. Maybe not Copenhagen, that might be a bit of a stretch. But let's see here..
Bobcaygeon, ON (check)
Central Park, New York City (home of Gus the Polar Bear From Central Park)
I'm not sure what the point of this post is, other than to showcase a severe and long-standing case of extreme fangirlishness.
Okay, so I won't show you the sad poetry, but here's some of my Hip-Inspired artwork. Incidentally, these are the only two paintings I've ever sold. Thanks Sharon!
Day four of this godawful throat-infection whatever the hell I have. Second day home from work. For four days I've felt like I have a giant gob of something or other right in the back of my throat, but whenever I try to dislodge it through swallowing or coughing I'm wracked with pain. My ears are starting to hurt as well, and I've taken to turning the closed captioning back on the myriad of movies I've been watching in order to pass the time. I'm hungry as all hell but the only things I've been subsisting on are soup and toast and tea.
I called my doctor's office to see if they were still running a walk-in clinic. It seems I had this wrong, it was an after hours clinic, appointment still necessary. Now, first off, my doctor is awesome. I credit the guy with saving my life on more than one occasion. He's always been good about answering any questions I've had (or my mom's when I was in hospital), checks to see what my drug coverage is before prescribing me stuff (when necessary... I left my old doctor because I felt he was a pill pusher) and always asks about work/home/ general stress levels and such.
But oh my god, I hate my doctor's office. Getting an appointment is a pain in the ass. First, the line is always busy. If I do manage to get through, I am inevitably put on hold. This wouldn't be such a problem if it wasn't for the fact that one day I was in the waiting room when the phone rang and I watched as the receptionist put the caller on hold to finish the story she was telling to another assistant. NOW whenever I get put on hold I sit and wonder if they're just standing there talking about their weekend. As someone who answers phones as part of her own job, it's appalling. I'm pretty sure if I were to put a customer on hold so I could finish telling someone about the party I went to on the weekend, I wouldn't have this job very long.
Then if you get through, it's usually a three week wait to get an appointment, which is useless, since I'm sick now. This usually means going to emerg, or ploughing through and doing nothing. To me the Emergency room is for emergencies. You know, when you're having a heart attack or you've just chopped off an extremity or have been shot in the ass with a pellet gun or you're doubled over in pain from some mystery ailment. Sore throat and general malaise is not an emergency.
I accidentally let both my portable phones go dead. Seems when I made banana bread last week and needed to free up an outlet for the mixer I unplugged the phone charger, not the charger for the powerdrill. As a result I had to call from my cell.
Rec: Doctors' Office, Can I get you to hold please?
Me: Uhm, no actually, I'm calling from a cell phone, I'd rather not hold. I just have a quick question.
Rec: *exaggerated sigh* What is your question?
Seriously? Pardon me for not wanting to pay by the minute for dead air. Nope, don't even get the benefit of cheesy on hold music. Just an intermittent 'beep beep' to let me know they haven't hung up on me outright.
Speaking of cheesy music, I feel I am failing as a mother. Yesterday my nine-year-old asked me to mail a letter for her. It was a fan letter.
To Ke$ha.
T's new role model. Oh lucky lucky me. *sigh*
Yes. My darling oldest daughter has decided that's she's going hero worship a watered-down Lady Gaga who likes to sing about brushing her teeth with Jack Daniels. Her new ambition in life is to be a fashion designer so she can make clothes for this woman.
Bask in my pride, all.
I think this is her way of rebelling early. She plays Top 40 radio in her room, and next thing you know, she'll be wearing Aeropostale and watching reality TV.
I do kind of wish I had scanned the letter before I sent it, though. I may be failing in exerting my cultural influence, but on the bright side, her penmanship has already surpassed my own. So that's something.
While we're on the subject of cheesy music, I've had Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" in my head all morning. After a broken sleep of many small snippets of bizarre yet vivid dreams that are all but faded from my memory now. Something about a dock, and swimming, and Reegs as a baby, and Hamish Linklater being my cousin, only his name was Shaun. Weirdness.
So me and my swollen-ass glands are headed back to the couch to rewatch a few more movies until it's time to go pick the kiddies up from their dad's.
This is not going to be a fun-filled post, so if you're looking for something fun and fluffy today, well, there's some nice menu's that will direct you to some of my other posts.
I was talking to a friend of mine about the video I posted in my New Year's post about 'How to Be Alone'. I'm sure many of you have seen this one, it was pretty popular this year. Anyway, we were discussing the difficulties of being a male by yourself in public versus being female by yourself in public.. namely the difficulty of being perceived as the 'creepy would-be rapist' versus the difficulty of having to be on the lookout for the 'creepy would-be rapist'.
So it struck me funny that I would come across this article on Schrodinger's Rapist (aka'd as 'A Guy's Guide to Approaching Women without getting maced') via April's year end round-up at Ethecofem. Well, I kind of found it through the year-end round up via April's critique of the original article, which I'll get to. Anyway, it struck me funny, because it nicely explained my argument of the risk women run being in public alone.
Although I also recommend reading the article in full, I'll give you the gist of it. Big Bang Theory fans will know this from season one, but anyway, the concept is based after the Schrodinger's Cat experiment. Long story short, scientist puts cat in a box with a vial of poison that will break open at any given time. While in the box, the cat can be considered both alive and dead, since we don't know which it is. However once the box is open, it can only be one or the other. Starling's article applies this to the perception of a stranger in a public place (or a party or anywhere really) as a way to explain to guys who, for the most part are probably well-intentioned and only interested in striking up conversation. However, the article points out, we as women out alone in public do not know what your intentions are, and until they become clear, you can be considered Schrodingers Rapist - that is to say, you both are a potential non-rapist and a potential rapist.
I'll point out here that the fallacy in this metaphor is that in Schrodingers original experiment, once the box is opened the cat is obviously alive or dead. However, in this application, taking into consideration that most rape and assault is committed by someone close to the victim, our metaphorical box is only opened once the person in question has been exposed as a rapist. As long as they haven't raped or assaulted anyone they're still metaphorically 'in the box' which is pretty fucking depressing, for men and women alike. No really, it is.
Now, I don't believe that Starling's article was meant to imply that this is how all women think when they are out in public. At least, I sure hope not, because I know I don't... well, all the time. I think it's offered as more of an explanation as to why some women may not be comfortable or impressed with what may be a guy's totally innocent compliment or attempt at conversation. And although you may be a nice guy with good intentions, we don't know that. Simple as that. As Starling states, some people's risk threshold are higher than others.. Me, I'm one of those girls with a low risk factor. This is probably due to the fact that *knock wood* I haven't found myself violated after being in a high-risk situation. Some women have experienced assault, and as such, they have a no-risk threshold.
Now, one may counter this with 'Well, I don't know if a girl's had a traumatic past...' and I'd be inclined to agree, that no, it's not up to you to know if someone has had past trauma. But it is up to you to read cues (as mentioned in Starling's article) and know when to back-off. Because I agree, when you ignore the 'please leave me alone' cues and continue to press for attention, you cross that line from well-intentioned friendly dude to pain-in-the-ass-douchebag to potential threat.
The downside of this article, as April argues, is that it does tend to paint this picture that all men are potential rapists, when that is simply not the case. Let's take into consideration the rather dire stat given that 1 in 60 men will have committed sexual assault in some form in their lifetime. Pretty fucking depressing, isn't it? If you have trouble wrapping your head around that statistic, keep in mind that this isn't limited to the stranger-in-a-dark-alley trope... this includes date rape, coercion, having sex with someone who has limited capacity to consent (so drugs, alchohol.. even 'Hey, my girlfriend is sleeping.. now's a good time') .. basically, any sexual activity without explicit consent.
Here's the good news: That mean's that for every potential threat, there's roughly 59 well intentioned friendly dudes' out there. Hooray for the good guys!!
Here's more bad news: Sometimes it's pretty fucking hard to tell the difference, until it's too late. And if someone has been a victim of assault before, sure as shit, they're going to have their guard up in certain situations.
Myself, as a girl who has walked home alone late at night many a time, walked through the brush with my headphones on, occasionally forgotten to lock my door at night, flirted with guys at bars, met people I had only talked to online and *gasp* even consumed alcohol in the presence of (only) the opposite sex, all without incident, well admittedly, my risk threshold is pretty high. But every so often my spidey sense gets a tingling and I know I've stepped into a potentially volatile situation.
I once chatted online for a period of time with a guy I had met on a dating site. One day we were talking about meeting, and I mentioned that I would like to meet for coffee because I wasn't comfortable meeting someone for the first time in my own home. Like, shit man, I have kids to think about. This guy got his panties in a bunch which both pissed me off, and freaked me out. It worried me, because it seemed like such a little thing to get so agitated over, and it pissed me off because it was like "Sorry man, your hurt feelings DO NOT trump my personal safety." I made the decision then and there not to meet with the guy and it took a few more conversations consisting of how unfair I was being and how unreasonable and how I had led him on etc before I said enough I just stopped answering the phone. Because in my mind, at that point, he became a threat to me, the threat having been communicated through a sheer lack of regard for my personal boundaries.
And this is where I think Starling is coming from... If you ignore the 'Please leave me alone' cues, you become 'that guy'. The guy who thinks that his desire to interact trumps a stranger's desire to be left alone. I will however, agree with April that its unrealistic to say never approach a woman unless she's for sure open to being approached. Some of us would like to be approached. I know I would, once in a while. But if you approach a girl, and she's giving off the 'please go away' vibe, then take the hint.. or you become 'that guy'. Because let's face it.. it's 'those guys' that fuck up dating and trying to meet people or trying at all to negotiate any type of friendly/professional/romantic relationship with the opposite sex. They fuck it up for women, who have to be on their guard and they fuck it up for other men, because now women see well intentioned friendly dudes as potential threats. Way to go, That Guy.
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. Upon listening I found I already had songs like Little Bones and Locked in the Trunk of a Car embedded in my subconcious.
, after an interview revealed that the third verse from Courage was basically pulled from that book. I read it, and have probably read it 20 odd times since.
