::alio!::

Seymour . . .

For the record, I was actually WORKING before I made this post!

Chel has posted another peculiar survey. Being far too mature and above all this, I, of course, hesistated only a moment before filling it out myself. Where do you get those from, Rachelle?

What else is news? Not much. I have more work than God to do in the next few days, so you're not going to see me or hear from me much, save maybe the occasional frantic post, or a "save me" email, if you're lucky and I like you enough to let you know I'm still breathing.

Thusly, I demand wings to be delivered to my inner workings forthrightly.
FEEEEEED MEEEEEE . . . .

Anthros and Injuns

I had a dream last night that I fell off a chair and broke my left leg in ten places, but they wouldn't give me a cast at the hospital, so I had to hand in my assignment (which I still haven't done, and am not inclined to do) on one leg.

6:04 PM

So, I ended up doing the assignment, but I did it poorly, out of spite.

This morning, I participated in a sweetgrass pipe ceremony with Stephen Augustine, who also told us the Mi'kmaq creation story. It's not often you get to smoke a bowl with a real Injun Chief!

Also, Dubya's going to be in town tomorrow. I'm tempted to huck a tomato in his direction, but I suspect I'd get shot for it. However, it seems there's a more passive plot afoot, one to "Paint the Town Black." So, to show you know Shrub's a war criminal and has killed thousands, wear black, or a black arm band if you're in the city. Hang black in your windows and on your doors, and cover outdoor lights and streetlamps with black.

Pleasant weekend

My father replaced one of the lightbulbs in the refrigerator, and I now have a new perspective on life. You'd be amazed at how much I can see.

Yesterday was fun. After some farting about, the Pie and I met up with Amanda and we went on our merry way to the toy store, which was, in itself, an experience.

In need of a stiff drink thereafter, we headed to the Fox and Feather, and I had a lovely fettucine with prosciutto and shrimp. Andy would only eat my leftovers after I had removed all traces of crustacean.

And Finding Neverland was sooooo good! The three of us felt completely emotionally drained after that. It was great. I mean, combine two of the best actors together in one movie about one of the greatest stories of all time, and you can't fail. It wasn't what I expected, not having read any of the reviews, but it was GOOD. See it.

Now to see if I can get my homework done before I have to go out.

Oh, and Mand: that pig tail reference must've been in an email I sent you, because it's not on the page. Also, you'd better not be even LOOKING at your thesis today. I'm assuming that the fact I haven't heard from you means no news is good news? Keep me posted. ;)

5:04 PM

So, Jon now has a web journal. Note that his page has a writeback feature. Note, however, to make your life easy, you must subscribe to the journal page and create a conformist blog of your own. Thus I refuse to become a part of this lacklustre LJ community. But feel free to join and become one of the nameless multitudes. And harass Stefan if you wanna see some commenting going on here.

Out.

progression

I am never so comfortable as when I'm sitting around in my slippers and bathrobe with a towel on my head. Why can't I make this standard dress code?

So,

things are progressing. I still haven't heard back from the 'Piques, so I have to figure out what to do about that. I sent my little letter to a general email address last time. I think I might send it again to more specific people, with the intimation that I will call them during the week to see what they think.

But the Pie Sr. has come up with a former Blackhawk for me to interview, and I'm just waiting for my Aunt Gerdie (daughter of original Ottawa Senator and Hall of Famer) to get better and I have an interview with her, and I'm about to email my uncle and see if he can get me Scotty Bowman, as promised (they play golf together whenever my uncle's in the country).

I think I also have to make an educational field trip to the Hockey Hall of Fame. I think I'll do that when I go see Lisa. Anyone wanna come?

A turnaround kind of day

Some of you may not know it, but very recently, someone very special came into my life. This person is strong and slender and fills me with great joy every time we touch. It's official, folks: I'm in love, and I'd like y'all to meet him. Everybody, this is Blinky.

My new favourite person in the world. I just thought you'd like to be introduced.

p.s. Andy, you're very nice, too! ;)

5:21 PM

Haven't heard yet from anyone wanting to come to Tdot with me (see posts, below). Anyone interested? Lemme know.

I nearly had a spaz at work. It was so hot and stuffy and airless that I felt I was going to expire at any moment.

I hope you appreciate the colour change. I'm trying to be as obnoxious as possible so it will irritate Stefan into doing something about it. Interestingly enough, the two colours I have chosen are opposites: rgb(128,255,0), and rgb(255,128,0). Pure coincidence.

I have "Sunshine of Your Love" in my head, thanks to Jon, and "Andy You're a Star," thanks to Andypie. And this little ditty that Jen and I made up as we marched in tandem down Richmond Road at lunchtime today. MMMMMMMsssssushi.

6:53 PM

Mmm, nothing like the sensation of the waistband of your spandex girl jock digging into the bulbous flesh of your side, which constitutes the pre-menstrual bloat, and choking on your second Motrin of the day, to make you feel like a WOMAN!

*grumbles and heads off to hockey, where she knows she'll freeze to death because she plays in a tin can*

9:22 PM

I had THE BEST game tonight. It was so much fun. Detroit and I got into a scrap at centre ice, which was ridiculous, because she's a grade eleven teacher who is best friends with Dr. MacLeish from LCI. She calls me Indiana Jones, on account of me being an anthropologist.

But I digress.

I only fell once, and it was SPECTACULAR. I turned too fast, did a nifty pirhouette, and landed in a twisted heap, my stick flying halfway across the ice.

I had a BREAKAWAY, which didn't last long, because I can't skate all that fast, and that came off a STEAL. I had a nice BLOCK while on defense, and one of the guys, Alan, and I did play-by-play from the bench, which was hilarious.

AND

I SCORED NOT ONE BUT TWO GOALS! The first one was nice, because I caught the goalie off guard and slid it between his skate and the pole from about three feet out. The second was a steal from someone else, whereupon I did one of my magic spins (because I can't stop, right?), and flung it five-hole. I ROCK.

And that's my story. OUT.

Laundry lunatic

The neat thing about walking through the Farm every day is that I get to appreciate the change in seasons in a totally different way than if I walked through the city. I have seen the sun set over a field of corn, and I have watched ducks swim in the rivers and ponds created by winter runoff. For the past few months, I have watched geese gather their forces in preparation to fly to warmer climes.

Yesterday I saw pigeons. Now, I'm not a big fan of the pigeon. I think that they are ugly and disease-ridden, and I curse the arrogant royal who was stupid enough to bring them to North America.

But what I saw yesterday was enough to alter my view somewhat.

The final harvest is in and all the fields have been turned over. This is as good a time as any for birds to dig through the softened soil in search of food.

Yesterday morning, I watched a flock of pigeons do this, admiring their synchronous flight pattern whenever they were disturbed. The causes of this disturbance were usually the addition of another flock of birds, and this happened every few minutes. Each time a new flock of pigeons arrived, twenty or so more birds had been added to the group.

Finally, as one, five hundred birds took flight and crossed the road down which I was walking. I found myself cringing involuntarily when the sound of a thousand flapping wings surrounded me, as it was reminiscent of a Hitchcock film.

This airborne sea of birds landed in a field close to where I would be passing by. As I approached the flock, I watched them adjust and readjust themselves, like an undulating silver sea. It was probably one of the coolest things I have ever seen.

Something that's not cool is the high-handed behaviour of a certain Wayner, who, in his arrogance, has decided that Jen and I must attend a party at the Chateau Laurier on 16 December, 6-9 PM, held by the company from which we purchase title insurance. GRRRRRR! I can think of seven thousand other things I would rather be doing than going to a party with my BOSS. But Jen said it's free, and it's open bar, so it can't be all bad. I hope, as she said, there will be many other hapless employees stuck there, like ourselves. I just wish, as my attendance is mandatory, apparently, that I would at least get paid (maybe overtime, as it's after hours?) for this garbage.

Wow, this was the fastest post ever. Back to work before the Wayner emerges from his lair!

2:20 PM

The Wayner is brushing his teeth. For real. With a toothbrush. Imagine that. So this will be another lightning post.

Coming back from lunch, Jen and I stood waiting for the light at the corner of Byron and Churchill. There's a laundromat there, and a small child was standing in front of the glass door. She was cute and energetic, so I watched her for a bit, until it became apparent that she was LICKING THE DOOR. This is almost as bad as eating toothpaste. In pointing her out to Jen, the child thought I was waving at her, so she began to jump up and down whilst waving and simultaneously licking the glass. She continued in this fashion, weaving back and forth with her tongue being the only contact between her and the outside world, until her mother caught on and removed her. But she had those blinky shoes, with the red lights. If you can find any of those in adult women's 7-8, or men's 5-6, Christmas is only a month away . . .

5:43 PM

Still a little grumpy. Before lunch, the Wayner chastised me for something that wasn't my fault. See, I had this Motion ready to file, and I put it in his inbox for his final approval. He took it out of the box and it was lost in the pile of paper that is his desk. As a result, it's now past time for filing it at the Courthouse, so we're essentially screwed. Apparently, this is all my problem, because I'm an idiot, and wasn't psychic enough to anticipate his thoughts. *sigh*

And I was supposed to see Cait tonight, but she's got an ear infection and third year ECON is getting her down, so I've booked her for Sunday. I guess I'll have to make due with the ol' ball and chain instead. ;)

First appearance of the Red Dragon

I keep waking up to these amazing emails. By the time I get to school, my face usually hurts from how much I've been smiling. But I guess it's a small price to pay. *sigh* I'm such a girl . . . *starts humming the theme to "Sleeping Beauty"*

So, my presentation was fantabulous. Visual aids were markedly appreciated. All in all, I think we took nearly two hours, which is good for two people. And it left time for Amanda to take me to Mike's and force beer on me (she had tea, the pussy). We made plans to go see "Finding Neverland" and to instigate an introduction to the Red Dragon on Saturday. The Pie is invited, but he hasn't met the Red Dragon yet, so I'm not sure that would be a good idea. ;) Oh, the crypticity (is that a word?)!

Now I'm at work, whiling away the hours doing myriad pointless dictations involving Wayner rambling (it's a special technique perfected only by him), and closing files. I'm hoping to have the mountain that's under my desk taking up my leg room gone by the end of the week. That's the plan, at least. I also have to revise a separation agreement and I'm not sure about the wording. I'm putting that off to a time when I'm in the office with other people who know more about the Family Law Act than I do.

I'm irritated that I'm at work, but I brought this on myself. I have what will amount to a seven-page detailed outline of my thesis due tomorrow. It includes a fully fleshed-out thesis statement and introductory paragraph, a chapter outline, with headings and subheadings, including what we plan to put in each section and why, and an extensive bibliography. Luckily, due to that ass-pulling I mentioned a few weeks ago, I have the rough stuff already handled. I just need to pad it a bit.

And there's something scary going on in the hallway outside the office. I think someone's transporting something heavy and ungainly into one of the other offices. I hope it's not a bomb.

*sets cheerily off back to work*

Movie listings

I had a nasty nightmare last night that kept coming back, even though I woke myself up from it three times. I was a little shaken today. I won't describe it, as it was too disturbing.

I felt pretty zen, however, after an hour and a half of Qi-Gong meditation in my experiential methodology class. So zen, in fact, that I decided I would rather not go to my pointless Human Rights class, which always stresses me out with its fruitlessness.

So I went to Westgate and picked up a few things. And I had a HUGE sub from Subway, one of them toasted ones. It was pretty good. I still can't get over how different that place is since I used to work there. And I've long since stopped requesting that they cut the bread old-school, with the U-gouge at which I was so proficient. There's such a high turnover at these places that none of those kids would know what I was talking about. So, despite dropping half the contents of my sub on my lap, I am sated, and will be so for sometime.

With a full belly and a clear mind, I'm *almost* looking forward to going to work. I still have some notes to take on my presentation (BTW, Andy, that clip plays fine off the CD on my computer, so I'm hoping it was just the PC we were on last night), and then I'm set for the morrow. I might watch a movie or something when I get home. I have to get up early for the chiropractor, but I can handle that.

Andy and I saw "The Incredibles" last night. It was pretty funny. There was a lot of humour that would not have registered in children's minds, but which was pretty funny to us. There's this particular scene in a Winnebago that's quite amusing. I recommend it.

I actually want to see a lot of movies this season:
Alexander (although Colin Farrell looks uncannily like my brother)
SpongeBob (don't tell anyone!)
Alfie (Jude Law is just too cute)
Motorcycle Diaries (nothing like a spiritual journey to whet a social scientist's artistic appetite)
Polar Express (I like Tom Hanks, okay? I admit it)
Ray (DAMN this looks good)
Shark Tale (Will Smith is perfectly symmetrical. 'Nuff said.)
Bridget Jones 2 (Apparently, I'm getting Stefan and Andy to watch the first one, then I'm dragging them to see the second -- HEEHEE!)
Vanity Fair (I liked the book, and I love Reese Witherspoon)
Surviving Christmas (only because I like that scene where Ben Affleck gets hit in the head with a shovel -- I could replay that for hours)

Also, I got a very sad email from Lisa yesterday. She's heading to India on the 21st of December, but her connecting flight from Providence to Mumbai leaves her in Toronto for NINE HOURS. So she wants me to go and see her. Seeing as I haven't seen her since August, and won't see her again until our joint birthday adventure in March, I'm willing. However, I'm not too keen on spending five hours sitting next to an annoying stranger on the bus, so if anyone wants to come with me as a travel companion, maybe see your peeps in Tdot, please let me know. It's a Tuesday, so I figure I'll get that day off work. Maybe Chel, if she's super nice, will let me crash at her place, which means I can come up Monday night and then be fresh as a daisy for Tuesday. But I've got a month to figure this out.

Anyway, I should get my ass in gear, stop flirting with the Pie over the internet, and get some work done before I go to work. *Sigh*

Monochromatose

It was laundry day yesterday. I sorted the clothes into darks and lights, then realized that the lights were miniscule compared to the mountain of darks. So I re-sorted that pile nicely into blues, blacks, and reds. Why? Because apparently, those are the only colours I wear.

And you know you're a very special kind of girl when you pull wet clothes out of the machine and you have to disentangle a ridiculously flimsy thong from around a hockey sock, and remove a silk stocking from the sleeve of a jersey. I lead a double life, it seems.

Today is accomplishment day. Andypie has returned from Markham for good, so the pressure is off to complete all my masterpieces during the week. This is good. I think better in my pyjamas. Even better in a bathrobe with a towel on my head. I have no intention of getting dressed today.

Email me if you've got something to say. I'll be around . . .

Lawyers should be supervised

Story of the WEEK! (Chel, you'll love this)

Whilst going for coffee this morning, my lovely and inimitable coworker, Jen, who is a smoker, but who is quitting as a Christmas present to me, told me a story.

We hide her smoking habits from the Wayner, in order to avoid a long-winded and pointless lecture. He likes to think of himself as very moral, see, and this causes a lot of problems.

Yesterday, however, she got CAUGHT OUT!

SCANDAL!

Sitting on a park bench, enjoying her lunch time ciggy, she became aware that the Wayner was screaming at her from across the street: "JENNIFER? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!"

Barreling across the road to where she was sitting, he proceeds to lecture her on the evils of a tobacco addiction. Blah blah blah . . .

Then the conversation turns to how the Wayner had a stinky lunch, and forgot his toothbrush. Too lazy to actually brush his teeth, he merely purchased a tube of toothpaste and proceeded to consume it. Jen then informed him that, wait a second, toothpaste is poisonous. It's got all sorts of nasties in it like fluoride and formaldehyde and detergent, and it's not something you're supposed to eat.

Being the lawyer who is never wrong, the Wayner whips out his shiny new tube of toothpaste -- from which, according to Jen, a substantial amount was missing/had been consumed) -- and read the label out loud. And the label, of course, listed the ingredients, and warned that this product was not meant to be ingested, never use more than a pea-sized quantity, children under six should be supervised when using this product, etc. . . .

Feeling stupid and put-out at how the tables had turned, the Wayner mustered no more than a, "uh, well -- see you later," before he took off.

This will entertain me for a while. Let me ask you this: how can a fifty-six year-old man be SO STUPID that he EATS TOOTHPASTE?

I'll take that as a No.

Typical Wednesday, except I fell asleep in class and got caught. There are only eight of us, so this is legitimately a problem. Went to Mike's instead of Olly's with Amanda and Konnie. Filled Mand in on the Red Dragon. She's intrigued, wants to be introduced.

I also got a letter back from the dude at the 67's. He doesn't want to meet with me, but wants to protect his players' downtime. As if a one hour interview is too much for them, because they have too much homework to do, and they spend their weekends travelling across Ontario. Pshaw. But it was a pretty definitive NO, so I'll have to come up with somewhere new. Either the 'Piques (might have the same problem) or the Nepean Raiders. We shall see. I have to find out if I have to revise my ethics proposal or not.

I'm on FIRE!

What was on fire at Carleton today? There was a huge amount of smoke pouring out of the new Athletics Building at around 730 this morning, and when I was walking through Azriele Theatre at around 1115, they were testing out the fire alarm.

Christine tells me that there was a stabbing at Olly's and it's temporarily closed, so be advised that the regular Wednesday meeting has been relocated to Mike's Place. Same time, different locale. Maybe Blair will come this time, now that it's in a respectable establishment.

When you ask someone what their favourite colour is, do you ever ask them why? Somebody asked me once, and wasn't satisfied with my answer of "I dunno," so I felt obligated to come up with a better one. I don't know what made me think about this today -- perhaps I just needed filler -- but this is my explanation.

When I was a small child, my favourite colour was red. It seems to me that many small children name that as their number one colour. Anyway, as time went on, I felt I had to pull away from the conformity that came from having the most common colour as my favourite. So I switched to green. I picked it because it was the colour of life, verdant plant vegetation and whatnot. That I lived in a tropical rainforest area at the time was probably part of the impetus for this switch.

But I still always remained drawn to that incarnadine hue. So I switched back. And I'll tell you why:

Red is sometimes the only colour animals can see. It's one of the first that babies learn to distinguish, which would explain why it's the favourite of so many toddlers.

Red is also a universally significant symbolic colour, cross-culturally. It negates all the binary oppositions we humans like to construct our cosmologies upon. It's the colour of life, but also of death; the colour of love, but also of anger; it's associated with females and fertility, but also with males and virility. Not every culture has a name for all the tints in the rainbow, like mauve, fuschia, vermillion, puce . . . but I bet you that every single society, every single language structure and dialect on this planet, has a word for RED.

*ahem*

Good thing: I found my keys. Actually, my mother found them. They were in a jacket I don't wear very often. Go figure. Maybe I can find my jacket in a jacket I don't wear very often.

Bad thing: because I wasn't in the office last night, I didn't do any work. And so now I have to do today's and yesterday's, so I'll likely be here until 10 or 1030 at the earliest. Plus I have an annotated summary to hand in tomorrow. This could be interesting. You may hear from me again, in an exhausted frenzy. If I start rambling about sports psychology, just chalk it up to the fact that I am a big nerd who keeps losing her possessions.

Reiteration

My day, in chronological order:

You know those days where you're convinced you have egg on your face or something, because everyone seems to be staring at you? This was one of those.

Got an email from the Ethics Committee telling me my Official Certificate of Approval was in, and I could pick it up and henceforth commence my research. So I picked that up, and was wished the best of luck by Leslie, the coordinator.

Went to Meditation class. Sat with Darryl. We talked, and I found out more about him. Then I managed to give Prattis new information. That's right, Mand, I told the FAMOUS IAIN PRATTIS something HE DIDN'T ALREADY KNOW. I know that review should garner me good marks. Then, as class ended, I left Darryl in the company of the object of his desire. I don't know yet who I'm rooting for, but I'm dying to find out what was said. Darryl will be accosted tomorrow morning.

Went to Human Rights. It was boring. I got an 84 on my latest review. I left at the break and went to get an article I need for my presentation next week. The guy at the library copy desk kept looking at me funny, which increased my paranoia. He took a long time putting money on my card. While I was waiting for that to kick in, I went to the Anthro lounge to get my article. I was leaning over the fourth-year filing cabinet (only grad students get a cupboard) and I hear someone come up next to me and say, "Hello." To my UTTER HORROR, it's Derek Smith, the hated Scottish archaeologist who tried to ruin my career in second year, and who consequently I tried to have discredited. We don't get along, in short. Being polite, pretending this was nothing out of the ordinary (usually he glares at me and talks charmingly to whoever I'm with at the time), I say hello back. We pass pleasantries. He asks me what stage I'm at in school, and what my focus is. I tell him fourth year symbolic, which he merely nods at, because he doesn't know anything about that. More pleasantries. I pass on that I have a class with him next term, The Ethnographic Enterprise. He gets really excited and encourages me to come and have a chat with him, as this course is going to be "a very interesting seminar." Oh god. I got out of there as fast as I possibly could, but as I left the lounge, he said something I didn't catch, but which I feel was semi-important.

I figure he just had a senility moment (he's gotta be at least 100, by his estimation, as he apparently clearly remembers WWI), and has forgotten that we hate each other. Or he's dying and wants to bury the hatchet. Although he's looking remarkably robust this year. I'm glad he's retiring at the end of next term, though. I don't think I could handle coming back to Carleton and seeing him there.

Coming home, it was remarkably warm. I didn't wear a jacket, and there was a strangely tepid breeze wafting along with the cold one. Hm. The sky was pink and I saw a turquoise Tracker, which made me think of Andy. I couldn't decide which one was more flamboyantly gay. While this one was a more flaming colour to Andy's merely purple jeep, the decals on the side bore no resemblance to the shiny pink penis that adorns Andy's car. So it's a toss-up.

Then I get home and I spread the joyous news of my Certificate, and I show it off.

Then I check my email:

"Hello Alison," (one message reads)

"Thank-you for considering the Ottawa 67's for your research. Unfortunately, after conferring with our coaching staff and others involved with hockey operations, the Ottawa 67's Hockey Club is unable to permit such research with its players.

"I am sorry that we are unable to help you conduct your research, I wish you the best of luck for your research paper. Feel free to contact me should you wish to discuss this further.

"Sincerely,
[name of person I wrote to]"

Well, shit.

So, the question that's on everyone's minds and lips right now is
WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO NOW?

Truth is, I haven't a fucking clue. I've sent the email to my supervisor and the ethics coordinator, hoping for some ideas. I can always apply to the Gatineau Olympiques, as they'll still hold that local interest bit, but the laws in Quebec are different, and I'd have to reapply for ethics clearance, which will take forever.

I am daunted; however, I am still determined. You know me when I set my mind on something. I haven't worked for a year for this to have it fall to shit. My current state of "Oh Shitness" is merely temporary. I'll figure something out.

And to top it all off, I appear to have lost my keys. I can't get into my office or my house. So I'm not at work right now. So I'm missing out on getting paid for my time, and I will likely face the wrath of my boss when I go in tomorrow to see if they have a spare set of keys.

And I need a drink, but there is actually NO wine in my house, believe it or not.

*sigh*

Update 14 November, 11:45 PM

If I had a dinosaur,
just think what we could do:
he could lift me off the floor and take me to the zoo.

And if I had a dinosaur,
just think what we could see:
we could look inside the cloud above my balcony.

And if I had a dinosaur,
just think where we could go:
all the way to Grandma's house to play her piano.

-- Raffi

It's a compulsion

FUCKER. Mother pussbucket and all that entails.

I had like a page and a half of amazingly pithy things to say, but then Putty went nutty on me and I lost it all. Remind me to save things when I get long-winded. Damnit, it was good, too. All about how my winamp had AI and was anticipating my mood of exhaustion by playing all my mellow stuff. I even had an exerpt in Spanish about how my stereo was broken and that was the only reason I let Andy kidnap my Weakerthans CDs. Grr.

So NOW what am I going to tell you?

Hrm.

Remind me to tell you about the walnuts, if I haven't already done so.

Oh yeah.

Throughout my pitifully short existence, I've started myriad journals, diaries, logs, idea books, etc. Each entailed a daily regurgitation of the trials and tribulations facing me as I interacted with society at large. The entries detailed the boys I had crushes on, who said what to me, and contained excruciatingly detailed accounts of my regular routine.

But what can an eight-, ten-, thirteen-year-old have to say about experiences of daily life that would have any bearing on ANYTHING whatsoever? The daily exploits of a shy, pot-bellied prepubescent are not really worthy of the space I wasted in recounting them.

So these daily entries had a tendency to peter out after a week or two weeks, and the notebook they contained was relegated to some corner or another as I found something more entertaining to occupy my time. When you grow up on a high-security military base surrounded by beach and ocean and the entirety of it is at your disposal, you find things to do pretty quickly. Until recently, I still had a few of these peculiar monologues hanging around. To read them again made me wince at my presumptuously precocious arrogance and overly melodramatic accounts of truly mundane and unimportant activities. My penmanship was pretty good, though.

Strangely enough, all these defeats did nothing to curb my literary ardour. In addition to reading far too many supposedly enlightened novels as a child, writing bad poetry, and making up the most peculiar plays possible (I was a weird kid, okay -- not weird cool, just WEIRD), I began collecting notebooks. I blame my early follies on my obsession with office supplies. There's something so inspiring -- and intimidating -- about a crisp clean sheet of blank paper, a new pen, and only the limits of your imagination and motor skills to keep you in check.

So I kept going, every few months or so beginning a new book, a fresh start with the same hackneyed ideas. I finally realized my utter naivete when I was about fifteen or so, and stopped the senseless killing of trees by not writing any ridiculous diary entries. I never stopped collecting notebooks, however.

Then, in my final year of high school, I started again. I was hesitant, at first, knowing my previous attempts were nothing more than ridiculous grammar exercises. I was (and still am) reluctant to call what I do writing in a diary. It's different than that, and I don't want it to be associated with the stigma that comes from doing that. I suppose there's less of a poor connotation attached to it now with the innovation of the live journal, but even so, keeping a hardcopy representation of an everyday life is not something you want people to know you do.

At first, I didn't even mention names in my little book, just hes and shes and various inferences to events involving the same. I didn't simply recap my days, either. It was more my response to the same, like a detached critique of my actions and reactions in the concerning circumstances. It made for a rather cryptic read, but even now I can still determine who and what I was talking about. I still have some of the same opinions as I did back then, and I probably would react to them the same way now as then.

In addition to not concerning myself with the details, I don't force myself to sit down every day and vomit nonsense onto the bound pages. I write when I feel like it, which usually turns out to be once a week, Saturday morning, when I wake up but don't feel like getting out of bed. Sunday mornings, when I'm procrastinating and refusing to do homework or laundry. When I'm trying -- like now -- to avoid accomplishing anything that needs doing. Any time, really, but no time specifically.

I used to write more in my little book than I do now, but I have more responsibilities than I used to. Also, with the inception of allyrxntz last year (now sadly defunct), I found I was pouring out more of my rants onto the internet than I was on to the paper page. I'm sure you've noticed that I do that now, with allythebell.net. But these are more philosophical exercises and rants than they are my private opinions about various events in my life. My little books still remain the repository for all my secrets. I suppose I should keep them hidden, but I really can't be bothered. And keeping it out of sight would keep it out of mind, and I would end up bottling up a good many things that writing helps me to keep in perspective. I mostly use my little books as a tool, a prism to focus my insecurities, and a mirror to reflect them back to me in a way that shows me how insignificant many of them really are.

I take my little books with me when I travel. There's nothing so soothing as spewing thoughts on to paper when you're waiting to make your connection in a foreign airport. It's also helpful for recording fieldnotes when you encounter a sociocultural phenomenon that bears recording and remembering.

I'm now on volume FIVE of my little books. Crazy. I guess I actually CAN stick to something every once in a while. You're probably wondering why I bothered to write this little essay. Truth is, I don't really know why I felt I had to share this information with you. But I wanted to say something on Wednesday about this whole deal, except that the Mary Jane and the beer switched my priorities.

*sigh*

I guess what I'm trying to articulate here is that I started writing on 10 November 2000. Last Wednesday marked four years that I've kept this going, and I just thought I'd tell the world.

That's all.

Walnuts

Shit, I keep forgetting my fucking laundry! It's still waiting for me. AND I forgot my keys this morning, couldn't get into the office.

But now for some business:

First, BEN: I know you're talking to me. I'm not shafting you, I just don't know how to talk back. So HI!

Second, People at Large: we need to figure out Saturday's driving. Stefan's mildly freaking out.

The people who are going are Jon, Sharon, Stefan, Carla, me, Andy, Melinda, and Matt.

Jon and Sharon are taking the truck, so they're good to go.

I will be in possession of a large and shiny new SUV at around 5 Saturday. I can sit five pretty comfortably in that sucker -- even big people can sit in the middle, because there's ridiculous leg room. Matt said something about driving, but Stefan now also says he can drive, although that goes against the whole reason we planned this in the first place. Andy also has a car, but it's not conducive to either comfort or conversation, so I veto that.

Also, what are we doing when we get there? How long does it take to drive there? Will we have time for dinner, or just drinks?

Talk to me, people: allythebell@gmail.com.

UPDATE 12 November, 11:30 AM

Okay, as it stands now, there will be six people in my SUV, one illegally stuffed in the back. I'll give whoever that is a blanket. We will prolly miss dinnertime, as Stef has to be there at 6:30, but Jon wants us to meet him at the Red Fox. I have a link to a map somewhere.

So, basically, I want people to get into maybe two different spots, so I don't have to drive all over hell and begone to get you. I figure I'll prolly be seeing Andy during the day, so he'll already be with me. Stef, if you can get Carla to Bell Street, or you can get yourself and Minda to Carla's, I can pick you up there, and then Matt, I can just swing by your place on the way.

Comments? Questions?

UPDATE 12 November, 2:12 PM

Here is the plan, as Andy outlined it to me, and as confirmed by Cara:

Jon will drive Sharon.

Cara will drive Matt.

I will drive Stefan, Carla, Melinda, and Andy.

Jen and I spent our lunch watching THE coolest sociological phenomenon known to man. We were late back to the office. I can't write it out in clear detail, so remind me to tell it to you. It's unforgettable, and completely amazing.

REMIND ME TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE WALNUTS! (and no, it's not "dick in your mouth!" Stefan).

Update 12 November, 3:11 PM

You know what? FUCK IT. I give up. I OBBBBVIOUSLY can't come up with a plan that keeps people from freaking out at me, so I wash my hands of the whole thing. Tell me what to do, and I will obey, oh Master.

WednesSurrealDay

(further update below)

Surreal was today's middle name. So it was like WednesSurrealDay. And Dali can't hold a candle to Milkdrop. That shit can melt stuff like you can't even believe.

It began in class. Blair, my professor/supervisor, decided that, as there were only six of us in our thesis class today, we were going to write outlines for our projects and discuss them. Not having done any research, not having any theoretical background for ANYTHING, and not knowing what the hell I was talking about, I managed to pull a completely coherent thesis statement and outline, with subsections -- subsections! -- out of my ass in about five minutes. It was elegant in its stark simplicity, and practically flawless. I've now done pretty much all my work for the next two weeks. Technically.

And Blair kept making these hilarious little comments which apparently only I could hear, as I was sitting closest to him. Then he dropped his pen and quietly freaked out because he couldn't find it. I don't know if he was hungover or on crack, but it was pretty funny.

Then we went to Olly's, as per usual. Oh, as a follow-up to the other day, Cute Bartender is NOT Cute Human Rights Boy, but it's easy to see how I confused the two. At the bar, Stefan appeared several hours ahead of schedule, and Carla the Lovely brought DONUTS. TO OLLY'S. And I saw that it was Good.

And then Stef and I left, and Konrad came with us, and Konnie smoked us a teeny but tasty joint and we moseyed down Bronson against rush hour traffic, which was a little scary. We ended up in a toy store, which has more surreal connotations than I would ever feel comfortable talking about on a website, and I saw the Red Dragon for the first time. That's code, see. *wink*

Then we went to Zak's and had ourselves a meal, and got Chris to drive us home. But whilst waiting for the Japanese Blond (he totally owed me for stealing my car on Monday), Konnie got accosted by a bum. We didn't absorb much of the conversation, as Stef and I were busy defacing public notices on pitbull banning, but we heard Konnie's thesis topic come up a few times.

After dropping Konrad off, Stef and I headed to Bell Street, where we had a brief but profound encounter with Minda, and then we curled up to watch Pi, which has THE most fucked up ending I have ever seen. But it's mathy, so if you like that, you'll love it.

We then watched ourselves some Milkdrop. Ask Stefan if you don't know what I'm talking about. And Andy called, and that was good. Stefan made fun of me for being all girly, but what can you do?

Then pho.

Then here.

I'm going to go to bed soon, although Chel left me with a situation on the rise and a cliffhanger, and I'm DYING to know how it worked out in the end (you'd better tell me, Missy, or there'll be BEATS).

I have the day off work tomorrow. I'm going to get my hair cut, and -- *gasp* -- maybe do my laundry early. And do some research, try to revise my ethics proposal, put some feelers out to the Ottawa 67's . . .

And I'm going to get a flu shot. Now, I'm not going to give you a list of pros and cons here: I'm just going to tell you. If you want to have any sort of prolonged contact with me this winter, and, by proxy, with my mother, you MUST get a flu shot. No negotiations. Her health is just too fragile for her to get sick, and none of us at the Bell household really want to risk it. So, if you love me and you want to see me, get it done. Please.

Okay, good night, all.

9:08 PM

I keep forgetting my laundry. It always occurs to me that it's sitting in the washing machine, waiting for the dryer, at the most inopportune times. So by the time I'm in a situation where I could do something about it, I've forgotten. So I'm behind on my laundry. But my new underwear is shiny happy clean.

I haven't accomplished as much as I'd hoped to today. I mean, I got my flu shot (have you gotten yours?), I got my hair cut, and I resubmitted my ethics proposal revisions and sent the same proposal to the Ottawa 67's. I found some articles for Monday's review in my meditation class. But I haven't really done anything about the homework situation. I just feel lethargic today, as if I've done enough, you know? I don't want to do more. Well, there's always tomorrow before hockey, and then there's Sunday. My grandmother's 97th birthday lunch is on Sunday. I can't imagine living that long. But it means I have to be home at a *reasonable* hour on Saturday night, okay?

Bleah, homework is overrated. It's taking up the time I would normally spend doing research for the essays I have to write. Little do they know that I would actually be studying if they didn't give me so many pointless mini-assignments to do. Alas.

You notice I'm still here, though, rambling on and on incessantly? I'm tired and grumpy that it's not yet tomorrow. My arm hurts from the flu shot and I'm just plain restless. But far too tired to go out and do anything about it. And if I wanted to, I couldn't, because everyone's got their own schedules, see.

I can't wait for November 26th, when my weekends will no longer be so hectic and I can spend Saturday and Sunday afternoons in my pyjamas, spewing academic nonsense all over my computer, and I don't have to do my homework during the week when I get home from work/school and I'm grumpy. Don't get me wrong, my weekends recently have been absolutely amazing, but they're anything but restful. ;)

DENT

I handed in my Research Ethics Application for approval this morning, around 11:00 or so. She told me I could have approval within the week, which was amazing, because you're supposed to have to wait a month. But she had the Psych and Social Work kids' stuff to do, and that's pretty high risk. Mine's practically a ball of fluff in comparison.

I got home this afternoon, and I'M APPROVED. I have to make four changes, pretty minor ones, and then I'm set to contact the Ottawa 67's. This is unbelievable. Instead of freaking out in December, trying to contact people during the holiday season, I now have a full two months before I start my research. Hah-HAH!

Talk about prompt service.

Other than that, the day was pretty generic. Gossiping with Darryl, then with Amanda. And school and stuff. I learned about roles and altarcasting in social psych, but I already knew that -- just not in the jargon-y terms thrown at sophomores these days.

And that's my story.

Oh, wait, I realized after I logged out of Magpie that that wasn't my story at all. Okay: so, I took my mother to the chiropractor this morning. When I came back, I couldn't back into my driveway, because the lady across the street is getting a new roof and her car and the roofer's truck were in the road. I also had a shitload of crap (i.e. my mother's scooter) in the back of the SUV, which has the smallest field of rearview of any car I've driven. So I drove in.

When my dad backed out this afternoon to take my mother to physio, he backed into the lady's car. There's a huge dent in her door, and some paint missing from the SUV, which is otherwise fine. But he just didn't see it. He's kind of mad at me, but I think that's just cover for him being mad at himself for not paying enough attention. I really could not have backed in this morning if I'd tried. I would have run into my OWN car, and then *I* would be the one in trouble. So better him than me. He left a note with our neighbour. I guess this is as good a time as any to get to know her. She seems pretty nice.

I also guess this is a bad time to ask if I can take the SUV to Perth on Saturday. Perhaps I'll save that until tomorrow.

And THAT's my story.

6:58 PM

Oh JOY! I just realized I get the day off work on Thursday, because it's a government holiday! I love working in the private sector but being intimately connected with that of the public. I'll come in for a few hours, but WEEHOO! I can finally get some WORK done!

know-it-nothing

I would be at work, but some Japanese Blond (ooh, d'you like my Thievery Corporation allusion?) stole my bloody car. So now I have to wait for the huge honking SUV to return home before I can go. *grumbles*

On a lighter note, a hot (according to Allison) boy gave me his number today and I didn't even have to ask for it. That the boy was Darryl is neither here nor there.

I actually didn't have all that bad of a day. I spent mostly ALL of meditation class writing notes with Darryl, who was writing them to Tiffany. We now have a Plan. You are not privy to it, so I will not explain. I've also convinced Darryl to come out to Olly's on Wednesday, although he's doing this thing for the GLBT Centre, and I don't think he's allowed to SAY anything all that day. Hm. My next goal is to get Tiffany to come. It won't be that hard, I don't think.

Then I went to Human Rights and Allison and I sat through half of one of the most BORING lectures in the world. Allison's a Law major, and I just finished preparing a research proposal for the Carleton Ethics Committee, so neither of us really appreciated the lecture on codes of behaviour. Plus, we already knew the answers to all of the questions, and kept answering them under our breaths, to the scowls of the know-it-all-who-knew-nothing who was sitting next to me. MAN! I always want to shoot that girl. She's the kind of person who likes to talk in class, but who has NO IDEA what she's saying. She started talking today about some anthropologist who had done something in the Trobriands, but she didn't know who it was, and she had his research topic all wrong. In our minds, and in the notes Allison and I were writing to each other, we were screaming, "IT'S BRANISLAW fucking MALINOWSKI!" Now, not to sound all nerdy to those of you who aren't anthros, but Malinowski was basically the creator of the form of research we do in the field today. His work is considered a classic, and it's the FIRST FUCKING THING YOU LEARN in Introduction to Anthropology. So if you're an anthropologist and you have no idea who Branislaw Malinowski was, then you're a fucking retard and you should be shot. Or at least bound and gagged so you can't drive me NUTS for three hours. She actually turned to me at one point and said, "Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

Nope.

But I think that the guy Allison and I call "cute boy" (in the Anthropology department, that just means he doesn't have two heads), is one and the same with the guy at Olly's Amanda and I call "cute bartender." I'll have to check. But that would explain why he was so nice to me the last time I was there. He prolly recognized me.

Anyway, Allison and I skipped out at break, as we are wont to do, and stood in the Freshman Corridor (the part of Library Road that runs past the Azrieli Buildings and MacKenzie) and made fun of the freshies for an hour or so. I ran into LeeMing, who's looking shorter than ever. I should email her. But Allison's going to try to come on Wednesday. So that will be another Pole to add to the group. *sigh* I guess it all started with Malinowski, these Polish anthropologists . . .

Hm. There was something else, but I can't remember what it was. I should feed the dogs and get myself to my McJob. My brother just called -- AGAIN -- to apologize for stealing the car. I could have made him come home, but then he would have been bitter. Although he should know by now that the car is mine on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. *mutters*

You may hear from me when I'm bored at the McOffice.

8:10 PM

AAAAAAAA, you fucking fucktard of a Wayner! Why do you keep taking my meticulously organized files apart and then blaming me for the disorganization? WHY?

*grumbles and says several extremely rude and very unflattering things about someone called "the Expectorating Goobermonster." then stomps her foot*

Fish on Fridays

It appears to be snowing . . .

Whoa, home at a reasonable hour on a Friday night? This is a first.

Shout out to Stefan and his Carla, who both had shitty days. I wish you peace, love, and hockey sticks. And cookies. And corduroy duvets. And stuff. *hugs* Also, shout out to Amanda, because she's new here, and she's facing a dilemma of gargantuan proportions. Remember what I said about the scale, Mand.

My day was actually not that bad, despite my strong desire to give the Wayner a solid SMACKING. The People's Elbow never looked so easy . . . but I digress. Amazing fish and chips at the Newport for lunch. They always remind me of special occasions when I was little. My dad would rent a VCR and we'd get some movies, usually for a birthday or when Dad passed his board and got promoted. We would go down to Dartmouth Harbour (imagine my "r"s as I say that), and I would watch the fishermen bring their catch up to this little shack, whereupon the sketchy character contained therein would turn the fish into Majesty. Then the freshly battered and still extremely hot fish would be plopped in a newspaper cone full of fresh chips and I would sit with them in my lap on the way home. *sigh* Memories of Nova Scotia.

Anyway, there was more desire for smacking as the Wayner made me witness a Will and then create magical forms with five minutes to go. Jen and I barely got out of there alive. But all day I was thinking, "it's FRIDAY, it's FRIDAY!" so it couldn't be all that bad. I had an insulating layer of anticipation surrounding me.

Then I came home and cleaned my room in record time. You should see it -- it's amazing.

Then I went to my first hockey game (at an undisclosed location, although I'm sure you'll figure out where it is eventually). It was pretty fun. I got a shot on goal and I broke up a rush. My team (White) got its ASS kicked, though. Meh. There are some guys in the group. One goalie is about twelve or so, the other is four times his size and nearly fills the net. Then we have three players who are guys, husbands to some of the women in the group. They're all really nice, and they play down to our level. One of the guys is dead ringer for Peter Bondra -- it's creepy. But very nice. Anyway, the Dark team had two guys and the big goalie and the organizer's daughter, so we lost. I think the final score was something like 8-3. I'm not sure, though. I wasn't counting.

But it was a fun experience. Not the humiliation involved in Hockey School. This was just a bunch of chicks having some fun. I'm going back!

Anyway, got home, hung my stuff up to dry (I REFUSE to have stinky equipment!) and organized myself to go see the Pie. Stefan became cryptic and then only showed up later, so I saw him for maybe half an hour, but we'll work something out, Stef.

And now I'm home. I'm going to write an email, and then go to bed. I have some laundry to do. I should do that now, too. Why? Well, I plan to be completely incommunicado for most of the rest of the weekend. If you know where I'm going to be, don't call me. Unless someone dies. Actually -- don't call me anyway. Dead people have a habit of staying in bed (haha, Freudian slip. I meant "staying dead"). So I'll find out eventually. You may (or may not) hear from me on Sunday. Who knows?

That being said,

I

am



out.

News, in Brief

Good morning! It was a frosty day as I made my way to work a short time ago. All the leaves decided to say goodbye to the trees and I was showered with yellow and orange bits of organic matter, which I happily kicked my way through, five-year-old style, as I trudged on my merry path.

Here is the news of the day:

1. JON HAS A GIRRRRRLFRIEND!
2. We have a monkey in the Whitehouse.
3. Zholtok excused himself from a game and died five minutes later. I remember when he was first having heart problems, but I figured he was okay. This is sad.

The rest of the news follows a lighter thread. I got it all from my lovely and inimitable co-worker, Jen.

4. Yasser Arafat is in a coma. I don't know if this is good news or bad news. Personally, I think of the world's evil, he's prolly the nicest one of the bunch, and I have a lot of respect for him. I'll be sad when he dies. As a point of conversation, though, you should consider all these dictators, like him, and Castro. They're getting old and frail (Castro fell over himself last week and broke his knee). Who's going to replace them when they die?
5. It's a dog-eat-dog,lawyer-shoot-lawyer kind of world we live in. I only wish this would happen to someone I know . . .
6. Britney Spears is pregnant. Are we surprised? I guess she REALLY can't pretend she's a virgin any longer.

And, finally,

7. God bless Canada! I have no comment to this story. It's just pretty ridiculous.

More bulletins as events warrant.

wUnderful

Yo.

I just got back from my grandmother's. It was my dad's 57th birthday yesterday (can you BELIEVE that?), so this was a little shindig for that. I got caught up at Olly's with Carrie, Amanda, and Damon, so I had to book it home in a less-than-completely-sober state and then leave again to head downtown to dinner. I haven't quite sat down yet. But Olly's was great. I'm glad Manda and I have made that a tradition. It makes sense, you know. We're all graduating together, and we've had classes together since the beginning. We might as well get to know each other. Damon was pretty funny, though, because there was him and the three girls, who are all 21 or 22. He's 30. Half the time he didn't know what was going on -- unless we were talking about hockey. We'll have to make Konrad come next time so he won't feel so alone. I intend to have the entire class there by the end of term. We gossiped about the latest scandal in the Anthropology Department -- it's a doozy, but you won't know the people involved, and I don't want to spread it around too much, so I'll spare you. And I ran into Amy, a tall and striking redhead I met at Stefan's Hallowe'en party ("What's with you and redheads?" asked Amanda). Once Amy figured out who I was, minus the blood and excessive eyeshadow, she immediately put me on her mailing list for her shows (she's a musician -- go figure). NEAT.

Shit.

I had something incredibly pithy to say at this point, and I chuckled about it on the way home tonight, but I've completely forgotten what it was. Damn.

I will leave you now. I've been saving an email for last, and it's the last.

9:53 PM

What do you think about adding a little coffee flavour, Coffee Crisp style, to Wunderbar? I think that would be good.

Freudian(-ish) slip?

Well, my boss has left me NO work to do. What the hell? It means yes, I can go home early, but it also means that I don't get paid for my time. Grrr . . . Also, we have this client whose last name is Kearney. Said client pronounces the name as "KERNEY," which is how most people pronounce it. The Wayner USED to say it "KERNEY," but has recently lapsed into calling said client "CARNIE." Do you think this is a statement about his opinion of his client?

God, I had a BORING day.

On the plus side, the ethics lady said that if I could get Board approval for my HRP, she would ensure I got permission from the 67's. So, um . . . WOO-FRIKKIN'-HOO!

Other than that, though, yeah, the day was a bust.