::alio!::

end of trial

I spent much of yesterday's recess (when I got away from the Wayner, who followed me to lunch, ordered the exact same thing as I did, and then complained about it) watching a seagull walk around in front of the Courthouse. I admired its feet -- the perfect balance between land birds' agility and water birds' seaworthiness. I found myself pondering what it would feel like to have those flexible pads walk up your leg, or your back. How heavy is a seagull?

But I no longer have to ponder such imponderabilia. I AM DONE TRIAL! It goes on without me to finish this afternoon, but I am not there.

I depart this afternoon for Silver Lake, for five fun-filled days with the Pie. I'm missing C-Day -- THANK GOD! I think if I didn't get out of the city this weekend I would have a nervous breakdown.

So, I want all of you to behave yourselves, don't do anything stupid this weekend, and bring umbrellas.

HAVE A GREAT LONG WEEKEND!

long time short time

The stomach situation?

Through sheer mental determination (read: stress), I have managed to pull every single one of my abdominal muscles.

TADA!

But I'll be fine if I sit still and don't get harassed for a few days.

And it's a long weekend next week, with a short work week. And I only have to be in Court for two of those days, and I'm taking Thursday off, so it's only a thre-day week for me. The following week, I'm taking Monday off, working Tuesday and Wednesday, and then having my wisdom teeth taken out on Thursday, taking Friday off. So I'm ripe for the relaxation.

If I don't see you or talk to you before, HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND!

Cherry popsicles, shiny blue cars, and summer dresses,

Out.

duty calls

This is kind of a duty post. I feel guilty for only writing in here when I have nothing better to do. Alas. So here you are.

Well, I graduated. I now have a degree in Anthropology, with the Highest Honours. I'm officially a grown-up -- until I go back to school in the fall, that is. Graduation was kind of a disappointment, as I'd thought it would be. So many people you don't know, sitting around . . . I made friends with the girls around me, who were in my part of the line, but didn't really get to see my class, only half of whom came to the ceremony. Totally failed to get together afterwards, although not through lack of trying on my part. Ended up at Tim's (check out his singing sister) with Stefan, Carla, Cara, and the Pie. It was peaceful. Then, not wanting to go home, the Pie and I adjourned to a ridiculously sketchy motel on Prince of Wales. Very amusing.

And it rained.

But when isn't it raining?

My mother's show turned out all right. It didn't rain them. We're all still recovering from the bustle of having so many hundreds of people in our house all day.

Other than that, life is . . . hectic? Trial has been extended for another week, with this week as a brief respite from it. Apparently, according to Wayner's daughter, my client blew the case for us that one day I wasn't there. Ah well. Less work for me.

Man, I had a four day weekend, but it's already over. Where does time go?

Another thing, which I was just pondering in my journal (yes, I have one -- since 10 November 2000), is why the hell do I post and write here and elsewhere? What is the point? Why do human beings feel that intense desire to perpetuate themselves, to make some lasting element of Self that will remain when the rest of the human corpse has long since become fertilizer or ash? Odd.

That was not a warning that I will be ceasing operations at allythebell.net. No sirree, just a ponderance of one so clearly insane.

Speaking of allythebell.net, I will shortly be moving house, from Stefan's Magpie server to one run by a friend of Chel's. The lovely Rachelle is also taking over the maintenance of this page, and will be setting up a new design of mine in the near future. So stay tuned, aight?

Peace, biatch.

Out.

Buggy McWestNile

Still working on this damned transcription. And Wayner wants me to bring a recorder next week and transcribe it word for word. If it takes me two straight days to decipher my shorthand, how the hell long does he think it will take me to do it verbatim? Sheesh.

Anyway, I took a break to hang up some laundry outside. Then I heard a big sploosh, and then a whole bunch of little splashes coming from my turtle pond. At first I thought that one of my turtles had upset itself and was trying to sort itself out. Then it occurred to me that my turtles were still in the basement.

When I went to investigate, I saw this black thing undulating around in the pond, trying to get out. It was a crow. Crows can't swim. I called my dad and we fished it out with a shovel. It's sitting on my front lawn, recovering from the shock and drying off. Although it doesn't look healthy. At all. My dad thinks it's a really large starling, but I'm pretty damned certain it's a crow, a very small one. Its feathers are all raggedy, and when we first put it on the grass, it looked like it was having a seizure. Now, it could just be because it's waterlogged and in shock, but even so. I mean, how does a crow fall out of a tree and land in a tiny pond unless it suddenly couldn't fly?

Thus, I've named it Buggy McWestNile, and I left a message on the dead crow line at the City of Ottawa Public Health Department. The number, by the way, is (613) 580-6744 x 26138, if you needed to make the call.

I'll keep you posted. Now back to work.

it's all about who you know

Relations are fortuitous.

Driving home with the Pie last night from our hilarious sojourn with the LCI girls and various assorted males in attendance (we met this fun girl named Sheri -- I wonder if we'll ever see her again? She has Cait's and Andy's numbers now!), we were headed slowly down Elgin Street through the maelstrom of traffic and people that makes up that particular area on a Friday night. There was a lot of stop and go, because that's what it was like, and we were slow enough that we were deeply involved in a conversation (never you mind what it was about).

The next thing I know, this cop on the corner is directing the Pie to pull over. I didn't know what the hell was going (so I was less than sober -- sue me). I thought they were pulling us over for a random alcohol test, which had me worried, because the Pie only has his G2, and he had drunk a couple that afternoon, and another that evening, before we left -- not particularly legal.

Apparently, though, he had just followed some other guy through a red light. Totally blatantly. And hadn't realized there were like "a thousand" cops around that corner (or so the nice officer said).

He asks the Pie a few questions while he runs the license through the system. Sniffs his breath. The Pie readily admits to having had a beer. Asks for insurance and registration. We can't find the registration. It's not in the car at all. You hear the dispatch come through, saying, " . . . black two-door, registered to Andrew. Bernard. Maxwell. Flood." So that's a relief, the car's not stolen, and the Pie isn't drunk. No registration, though. So the ensuing conversation went something like this:

"Do you know what the fine is for running a red light?"
"No, I don't."
"It's $190. So I'm going to give you a ticket."
"Okay . . . "
"And because you don't have your registration, I'm going to give you a 72-hour suspension, which means that you have to go down to the police station in the next 72 hours -- do you know where that is?" [gestures down Elgin Street]
"-- Yeah, I know where it is, my dad's a cop."
[The Pie said later he detected a gleam in the officer's eye at this point.]
"JOHN?"
"Yes." [a little uncertain as to what's going on]
[now, here's where the officer tries to trick the Pie, thinking that Maxwell is part of a hyphenated name, when actually it's one of his innumerable middle names]
"John MAXWELL?"
"No, John Flood. He retired around 2000."
[PAUSE. The officer straightens.]
"Have a good night."

As we drive away, the officer calls out to us, "This is the last warning you'll ever get, Andrew!"

And that was that. It's not like he purposely played the Cop card, but it kind of happened, and it saved his insurance quite a bit.

And that's my story. We drove home VERY carefully after that.

Working on a weekend is never fun. At least I can do this stuff at home in the briefest of shorts and tank tops, and marvel at the marvellously hot day brewing outside. Alas. And they say working for the Man is a 9-5 job!

close encounters of the tipsy kind

Where the hell did May go?

Sorry it's been a while -- Court, you know. And yes, it's as boring as I said it would be, except I have to take notes and pay attention, and I'm eight feet from Her Honour, so I can't fidget or make noise or anything.

I feel like I'm in a sensory deprivation chamber all day. I missed the huge thunderstorm yesterday because I was in a soundproof box with no windows. I dislike the courthouse. I dislike this trial, because I know we're going to lose. Alas.

Anyway, a crazy drunk man walked into my house yesterday afternoon, and made it all the way to my mother's room before my brother noticed he was there. He was apparently looking for money, and he was drunk because his daughter was sick and he didn't want to hear the sound of his wife's voice, or so Chris said. He escorted him out, and locked the door. He didn't call the police, because I think the dude was bigger than him, and you don't really want to get a drunk man angry when he's bigger than you. Chris is pretty little, only my size, really.

Something else I was going to say . . . forgot it. Anyway, I have a new mp3 player ($300 later) with a THREE YEAR EXTENDED WARRANTY. Cross your fingers. I'm off to the Courthouse shortly, to wait out the day in silence. Unless the witnesses keep talking to me and the Court Clerk makes fun of me again. Damn him . . . Later!