Excellent news! I have an interview set up for Tuesday! A real live interview! Which leaves me a full day and a half to write the feature, or do damage control if the interview doesn't work out. Hurrah!
All this, I feel, can be explained by my orange lighter, which was lost last night and then found again this afternoon. The loss of this orange lighter, you will recall, symbolized deep gloom for me, an indication that the direction of my life was fragmenting. Things appeared to worsen when I discovered it in the dryer, squeaky clean after a swirl through the washing machine and a ride through blasting heat with socks and underwear in the dryer. It wouldn't light. THE FLAME HAD DIED! My life is filled with such tragic, obvious symbols ...
And yet, I refused to throw it out. I set it on the counter and willed it to live, and an hour or so later, it did. It burned a pure sunset flame, and life began to improve. I made a potato salad and went for an hour-long walk. It feels like spring, although the fucking rain won't let up. I have an interview. It's possible I'll receive a passing grade on my assignment. Weboggle has cast a loving glance in my direction - I've won three times.
I bought a new orange lighter yesterday and now I've lost it. My life feels like it's in ruins. I can't drop the non-fiction class cuz we're a month in. No one is returning my calls. I want to revolt. I want to sell coconuts in some sort of coastal town, load up the coconuts onto my own boat and wear a turquoise scarf on my head to protect me from the sun, and row to all the neighbouring villages, where they will pay for my coconuts with heavy golden coins.
I awoke in a panic this morning, at 6am, fretting over my non-fiction assignment. I haven't taken a non-fiction workshop in 2 years, and had forgotten one crucial detail: sometimes, people don't call you back. They just don't. And your one source is gone. And you have to start over. And it's the weekend, and new sources are hard to find, and I am such an idiot.
I still have Sunday, though. There is hope. A new source is supposed to be calling me by 5, and if she doesn't, I could still call back tomorrow morning and it could work out. Could. It's frustrating though cuz my first assignment for this class was a hack job, as I was sick and couldn't get out of the house so I had to do all my research on-line, and I want this one to be more-than-spectacular to make up for it. Nyeh.
Everyone please take note of the new name down in the links section: it's the fabulous and exotic Danika! Do visit.
Played more pool today, at the Wicket. Was hampered by the tall-person cue. There were at least a dozen cues there, and all the same size! Madness. May be going to Logan's, later on tonight.
Just played four games of pool at the ol' Logan's pub, and it was fabulous. I lost each time, but not by a HUGE margin, so there is hope. I am fascinated by all the variables: ie, how hitting the white ball at a certain angle will affect its trajectory, and how hitting the target ball at a certain angle will do the same. In the past I'd thought if you hit the ball, it would go straight. How very wrong, how very young I was! The whole game is massively scientific. It compels me to learn more, to master the damn thing. Fortunately I have a very competent teacher, and also Logan's has a child-sized cue, which makes things immensely easier.
By the way - are there any "team" sports that don't involve circles? Most use spheres, and hockey and frisbee use discs ... The only one I can come up with is horseshoes, and that's not really a "sport." Any others?
It's been a marvelous evening! I listened to "I Put A Spell On You" by Screamin' Jay Hawkings four times in a row, and am absorbed and hypnotized within the pages of D. H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterly's Lover. I've never read it before and always thought it was smut, and therefore contrived to get ahold of it, but not till Saturday did I finally do so, $1.25 at St. Vincent de Paul. It's one of the most beautiful books I've ever read, and I'm only on page 54. A sample: "How could one say Yes? for years and years? The little yes, gone on a breath! Why should one be pinned down by that butterfly word? Of course it had to flutter away and be gone, to be followed by other yes's and no's! Like the straying of butterflies."
Some intimate medical details - do people ever get offended by this stuff? If so, just say the word. Anyway, I'm taking this antibiotic for a bladder infection, and it's turning my pee neon orange, which delights me enormously. Neon orange pee! The only creepy thing is that on the package, after it says, "Will turn urine orange," it adds, "May stain clothing." What kind of animal do they think I am?! I have this image of white-coated scientists in stark labs writing up these warnings, convinced as they do so that women with bladder infections routinely piss onto their pants and maybe other articles of clothing as well, or else fling their piss at other people's clothing. Good God.
THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Joy
2. Joy-Toy
3. Joygasm (but not for many years, thank God)
THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. joyous
2. Ananda
3. stumpy (Really. And now, to blatantly name-drop - John Lazarus once made fun of me for that screen name.)
THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My genius, obviously. Or, perhaps more accurately, the fact that I think I'm a genius. I don't know the tense differences between "laid" and "lain," for example, although I've been taught it a million times.
2. My hair, when it's cooperative.
3. My writing. But sometimes this makes me dislike myself. Because what is beautiful to others is just fodder to me. What I truly find beautiful - trees in the mist, for example - I am unable to write about.
THREE THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My tendency to be ruthlessly judgemental.
2. My inability to give people the benefit of the doubt.
3. The way I procrastinate.
THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. German
2. Irish
3. Maybe Polish Jew? But we've all heard this story.
THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. The possibility of failure.
2. Right-wing/fundamentalist thought
3. Large groups of people who are more confident than I.
THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Coffee.
2. Cigarettes.
3. Matt.
THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. A brown plaid skirt.
2. Striped socks. (yay clash!)
3. A red sweater.
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS (at the moment):
1. Rage Against the Machine.
2. The Pixies.
3. Metric.
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS (at the moment):
1. "Vietnow" (RATM)
2. "Mad World" (artist unknown - it's the theme song from Donnie Darko)
3. "Darling Companion" (Johnny Cash and June Carter)
THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS:
1. Travel outside of North America.
2. Train an elephant to help with a self-sustainability project in Thailand!
3. Giving myself a break once in a time, you asshole! (wha--?)
THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP (love is a given):
1. Witty conversation and debate
2. A mutual love of cheap-assed all-day breakfasts, and over-priced sushi
3. Good hugs.
TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE
1. Leon Trotsky is my favourite Communist. Ever.
2. I dated an obsessive-compulsive football hero in high school.
3. I know someone who is actually referred to, in casual conversation, as Naked Dave.
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX (or same) THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. Stomachs
2. Eyes
3. A sense of, you know, rugged-ness - no carny folks please - small hands -
THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN'T DO:
1. Ride a bike longer than a block.
2. Do homework except on a hideous deadline.
3. Call in to coast-to-coast AM to talk about weird paranormal shit.
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Reading
2. Writing.
3. Film criticism.
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Start dinner - pasta with a garlic-mushroom-onion-tomato cream sauce.
2. Get all my non-fiction assignments over and done with.
3. Take Sambuca for a walk - we haven't walked for many seasons, she and I ...
THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING:
1. Fiction writer.
2. Therapist.
3. Documentary Filmmaker.
THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. Poland
2. Greece
3. Czech
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. Get a raunchy tattoo.
2. Have a chauffeur.
3. Win a Pulitzer.
THREE WAYS I AM STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY:
1. I problem-solve in a linear way.
2. I like winning more than I like cooperating.
3. I like pants.
THREE WAYS I AM STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL:
1. I cry hysterically over sad news stories.
2. I accuse people of abstract, psychological atrocities.
3. I like skirts.
One of those exhausting days where everything goes wrong and you're crying in the living room while Sambuca blinks and you try to analyze what went wrong and you discover NOTHING went wrong; you just went to school for a workshop; then had an egg muffin and raspberry yogurt, licked off a small plastic spoon; then you went to work and read about lobotomies in This Magazine on your break; and all in all it was unremarkable yet saddening.
Maybe this is just residue from seeing a truly horrible play last night, Hippies and Bolsheviks. I actually fell asleep during this play. Matt was convinced it was a critical act, but no, I was just sleepy and medium-drunk. Come on, though. How to make a play called Hippies and Bolsheviks boring? Also I lost my ticket in the bathroom and suffered the shame of trying to convince ushers, door people, etc. that I had actually paid. The company was good, though - Ben, Matt, and Steph - and much fun was had at Felicita's earlier, playing pool and disgruntling and discussing literature. Now I'm reading D. H. Lawrence, and things feel better already.
It's been a scatterbrained type of day so far, crowned by my early departure from work - a half hour - no one noticed - not even me, until after the fact. Who leaves work half an hour early? I certainly didn't get this behaviour from my father, who would fly into unreasonable rages if I, by sleeping in, made him five minutes late for his self-imposed 45-minutes-early start time at work. Blah.
Major life decisions afoot! It could all change in an instant, depending on my Decisions! Terrifying but oddly liberating. I have to decide what I am willing to compromise and what I am willing to not. I have to decide what part of the world I want to live in this September, and what sort of reprecussions this will have on things like my Relationship. I have to decide if I'm going to go on that creepy Master Cleanse thing, which would de-toxify my liver and leave me a hollow shell of a person for its duration - with zits, ladies and gentleman, because we all know that's what detoxification is about, deep down inside.
I feel like there's some sort of metaphor here that I almost, but don't quite, understand.
Matt and I are going out for sushi tonight! I am so excited! If sushi were a person ... Well, it would probably be Morgan. But this has already been discussed.
Last night Steph tricked me into appearing in her movie. She waited until I was drunk and then suggested I be in a crowd scene. I paw her friend Ian and act like a ditz. I am disturbed by this. I never appear in movies. To make matters worse: all of the other girls in the crowd scene were dressed up to the nines, as they had plans to go dancing that evening, but since I was just there for a few drinks, I was wearing a red hoody and no make-up. Not that I ever wear make-up, of course. But this is another detail that disturbs me. I'm going to be the only girl in the crowd scene who looks like a Little Sister. A drunk Little Sister! I wonder if my nose was red.
But, the drinks at Steph's house were fun. I left at around 11, and brushed past some cops who were on their way in, demanding to know who was "in charge."
I love weekends! This morning I slept in, had two cups of coffee, three cigarettes, and finished reading Unless by Carol Shields. Decent book. Great book actually, but it doesn't have that ZING. I think she wrote primarily for middle-aged women, whereas Lorrie Moore's Self-Help was (I think) primarily for younger people. Margaret Atwood spans the ages, of course.
Idea for new story: a woman decides to combat her fear of aging by actually accelerating her own aging process. Buys a lot of lottery tickets, makes people wait in supermarket check-outs while she digs around for coupons, etc. The danger lies in it becoming shallow and chick-litty, so I'll have to insert something dark and complex. I will push the DARK-and-COMPLEX button on my computer. Possible title: "Emma's Amazing Age Accelerating Cream." We'll see.
Had a wonderful lunch at Hime Sushi yesterday with Steph, Jess, and Bridget. We engaged in an outrageous amount of gossip. Steph and I want to film Jess and Bridget having lunch sometime. It would be like a post-post-post-post-modern My Dinner With Andre, and the conversation topics would swirl around immature men and drinking mishaps. I had a deluxe California roll with sunomono salad and miso soup - still reeling from the sensory pleasure.
I've been thinking about my maternal grandmother, Frances, the one I never met, the one who died in the 70's. I salivate to have known her. In the 40's, according to a photograph in a graden, she looked like Katharine Hepburn; she had a strong jaw and naturally waved hair, and she wore a white dress. She cuddled my father, aged 3, in her lap - he was tiny and had an innocent grin, a grin I still see traces of, although now he has seen too many things to retain that innocence.
My next image of her is in the early 70's, when my mother knew her. There are no photographs, just my mother's story: Dad had bought Mum a massive stuffed Snoopy dog, something like five feet high. Dad brought it home to my grandmother's house to store before he gave it to Mum. Gramma saw it, and thought it was for her. Dad didn't have the heart to tell her. Gramma kept it in the kitchen, and it turned yellow from her chain-smoking, as yellow as Gramma's index finger. My mother, 17, would visit, and see the yellow Snoopy, and know it was her's, and cry after.
I have asked my dad how Gramma died. He said, "A broken heart." This is a wildly unusual thing for my dad to say. He is concrete, practical: he never reads anything except car manuals and the Bible. "A boken heart," he said. I always assumed this was code for "heart attack," as I know my grandmother was an alcoholic - a heavy one, a 26 of whiskey per night - and she smoked, almost as much as Dad, who once smoked 4 packages of cigarettes a day. But he didn't mean heart attack. He literally meant her heart was broken. The booze just made her sad, and the sadness killed her, not the booze. Her husband was dead; her children, for reasons I have not been able to discern, were shuttled off to reform schools, to foster homes. My mother never liked her. The Snoopy was ruined. I wish I could have met her.
I made another irrationally optimistic decision today, and went clothes shopping. When will I learn? Needless to say I ended up with a 26 of Canadian rye and an armful of books, all of which fit perfectly.
Why?
Why?
I am neither fat, nor thin. I am short, but not freakishly so. I have wide hips and a small waist. I am classically pear-shaped. Why doesn't anything fit?
I'll have to bite the bullet and learn how to sew. The first thing I sew will be a pair of jeans. Yes. They will be low-rise with flares, and there will be POCKETS on the ass (gasp), and they will not be made of stretchy material, and they will not be pre-faded, or pre-dirtied, and there will be a button and a fly, with no unnecessary zippers on, say, the thigh, and there won't be any weird lace or bits of leather or stencilled bullshit and such. That's all I really want. They don't exist anymore, in either new or second-hand clothing shops. It's worse than the extinction of the Cowboy, and perhaps related in some way.
Today's accomplishments:
1) Got VISA off my back
2) Got my student loan negotiated
3) Some long-needed ego-strokage in the morning
4) A short interview for the doggy daycare piece
5) Delivered a video camera
6) Bought beer
7) Bought tofu and salted nuts
8) Settled up the Share Organics bill (outstanding since Sept!)
9) Made myself feel like a competent person
Hurrah! That's nine accomplishments! VERY rare. I feel like Leonardo diCaprio in that sense that - well -
Now, must somehow get another interview (at 5:40pm! fat chance) and whip up the 750 word mini-feature. Anyone with connections to doggy daycares or their clients, please feel free to contact me tonight.
20 years ago I...
1) was playing with Fisher-Price sinks and stoves
2) was being catty about food and clothing decisions
3) was a goody-goody at Sunday School
15 years ago I...
1) formed a lot of elitist clubs at school
2) opened a friendship-bracelet making business
3) read books and ate apples during every spare moment
10 years ago I...
1) was unhealthily obsessed with figure skating
2) collected bruises in karate, which I would show off
3) wrote for hours in the camper out in the woods
5 years ago I...
1) took the first bus away from Vernon
2) was indoctrinated into real-life working-class misery
3) learned how to drink
4 years ago I...
1) flitted about the writing dep't with a notebook and a flask
2) developed intense relationships with coffeehouses
3) fell in love with Matt
3 years ago I...
1) survived a summer in Oak Bay
2) was involved in scandals that taught me many things
3) adopted a homeless revolutionary, Sambuca
2 years ago I...
1) had my first national publication
2) stopped eating meat
3) became a SUBtext rat
1 year ago I...
1) became reaquainted with the Felicita's patio
2) hosted the Writing Thang, which yielded a lot of short-short fiction
3) co-edited Apparatus
In the past year I...
1) formed a friendship with poetry
2) worked in telemarketing
3) killed maybe 7 or 8 house plants that I had loved
Yesterday I...
1) saw Napolean Dynamite
2) went home from work early, sick
3) made a complicated pasta sauce
Today I...
1) worked for 4.5 hours
2) went to a film class
3) rode the #7 bus, and got lost
Tomorrow I...
1) research and write my "canine daycare" feature
2) negotiate my student loan
3) go clothes shopping at Leche's
We're watching Amelie in my film class tonight - I can't wait! It's one of my favourite films. My lover did naughty things to me in the Roxy Cinegog the first time I saw it. Photo booths - photo booths are magic. I will never forget the image of the little girl sucking strawberries off her fingers. I think the male lead is dreamy, as does everyone, and apparently he had a hard time adjusting to this, as he had been widely known in France as the director and star of many hyper-masculine, hyper-violent bad-boy movies, and now, everyone thinks of him as that dreamy guy from Amelie. No one even knows his name.
Got an email back from a school in Poland. They said my BFA and my teaching experience is great, but I also need a TEFL cert. Gah! Perhaps I should get one, as I know you can do them by correspondence in something like a week. But I already know how to teach English. And I'm sick of school. But it might be a useful investment.
I've been searching the www for teaching positions overseas. Here's two of my favourites:
"If you are a lethargic closed-minded couch-potato who is afraid of travelling, click somewhere else."
"BLACK MALES to take part in CD PROMOTION in Shibuya and Omotesando. Will involve walking with a dog. February 6th 1 - 8pm. Black males, over 180cm."
I'm still in the depths of sickness. Slept for a marathon EIGHTEEN HOURS yesterday! The world is grey and uncomfortable.
I used to like being sick when I was a kid. I got to skip school, and my mum would feed me canned pineapple and set up a bed for me on the couch in the living room, where I would watch shockingly graphic soap operas.
Now, however: I can't skip school, because in one of my classes I have a story being workshopped, and in another, a story due. I can't skip work because I need the money. I can't watch TV because, it being culturally oppressive, I don't have any channels. I do, however, have canned pineapple, which makes things somewhat better.
Sick. In a pissy mood, too.
Class and work this morning and aft, then pampering myself with fruit, tea, apple cider vinegar (not really "pampering" but it helped), Halls (ditto), a bath, and a nap.
C's coming over at 9, Steph too hopefully, then off to Steamer's to drink and smoke and pretend I'm not sick. Whee! It's been a while since I've seen the old Revellers perform - should be a good show.
Debate: Should I go down to the grocery store for more fruit? Apple juice? Maybe my man will go for me.
I am the world's biggest idiot! (At least there's no serious consequences.)
I slept in and dashed to school at 8:30am. I had to print out and make copies of two different fiction assignments, one of which was 12 pages long, and I was concerned I'd be late for my 9:30 class. Did it all in a flurry, and ran across campus to the classroom - there by 9! Mint! I read lit-mags and revelled for a while. 9:30 came. The class was EMPTY. I stared at the clouds. Laughed sardonically. Why does this happen to me, I wondered. Laughed some more. Panic set in. I searched for classroom-change signs or class cancelled signs. Nothing. I realized I was in the wrong classroom, but I was wrong.
I pestered the secretary and found out my class doesn't start until 10. Am I going senile? I could have slept in.
Oh my GOD!
Okay, the real reason I have avoided the story is this: I was scared to read what I wrote on Sunday night.
That's right. (Read that in a Jess voice.) I was scared, because I wrote the famous 1800 words on Sunday night under the influence of THE GIN, and when I woke up in the morning, I couldn't recall anything except the first page and the last sentence (which was a rather terrifying: "Who do YOU think is the protagonist?" OH NO!) So all of Monday and most of today went by with me avoiding it, even though I carried the disk around in my backpack.
I just finished reading it now, and laughed my ass of the whole way through. I don't know if it's any good, as it's wildly different from anything I've ever attempted before, but it's filled with reincarnated geishas and car salesman who want to make time machines out of Toyotas (!!!) and Woody Allen, believe it or not, is a secondary character. I am highly confused, but somewhat relieved. Joy out - time to get back to work.
1) A plugged ear. Damn, a plugged ear.
2) When I sit on the patio for a cigarette, Sambuca claws at the door. I open it to let her out. She runs back inside, terrified. I close the door. She claws again. I open it. She runs inside, terrified.
3) I haven't won on Weboggle tonight.
4) The sidewalks are icy.
5) I feel ill from having popcorn for dinner.
Two good money things:
1) A GST rebate came in today.
2) I have work-study wages from the past TWO MONTHS to pick up! I had assumed they were direct-deposit, as my regular wages are, but they're not, and I get to go pick them up tomorrow. Hurrah!
Tonight involves chilling in the living room with a beer and a fellow. The plan had been to work on my short story, but I got 1800 words done yesterday, and I'm wicked-tired from 9 hours of work today. There were 30 on-line orders when I arrived at 8:30am. Stupidity. Then DHL-guy forgot to give me copies of the waybills, which caused great stress. So I'm thinking of making a salad.
I saw a man with strange eyes today. They were very, very blue, but not in a pretty way - they were probably the ugliest eyes I have ever seen. There was a strange light behind them that made them glow. They were glassy, so it was probably just a chemical drug, but it seemed like more than that. He terrified me, although he was just somebody in the SUB asking me a question. The strange thing was, my terror was noticeable - I stumbled over my answer and couldn't stop staring at the light behind his eyes - but he didn't notice. I have spoken with crazy people with dangerous eyes before, and when I'm scared, they know, and they smile a little. This guy didn't notice. It made me think he was just high and not crazy, but that brought up another question - who is behind our eyes in those moments when we're not really us?
Hurrah! 236 words of the short story completed! The sense of accomplishment is great. I deserve a break. (Oh, NO ... Where will this lead?)
Today I have made fruit salad (kiwi, grapefruit, apples, and banana), consumed three cups of freshly ground coffee, won twice at Weboggle, and completed one load of laundry. I'm feeling pretty up.
I just read about Anais Nin imagining herself tied with balloons so that, with this sensation of lightness, she could fall asleep. I think she is the coolest person in the whole wide world.
Tragedy. I skipped out on R's birthday rager last night for the purpose of staying in and working on my short story. So mature of me! But I wound up drinking gin and reading Soviet memoirs and visiting time traveller web-sites, instead. Also decided not to make soap, which I had been excited about.
But today I'll do it all: six pages of the story, minimum; laundry; dishes and floor scrubbing; and the weekly organization of the huge box I throw all my correspondence and notes into.
Boring. When will something exciting happen? I think I need to go to Salt Spring, soon, or try some kind of new drug. Possibly start on my taxes?
Friday evening saw the dawn of a new film classic in my world: Vigot Sjoman's I Am Curious (Yellow). A Swedish film from the 60's that was banned in the US on grounds of obscenity, I was initially skeptical: most films that draw obscenity criticism tend to feature the creation of, and fetishization of, feminine ignorance, contrasted with an emotionally fragile and physically un-attractive anti-hero who is riddled with un-examined flaws and whom the viewer is encouraged to identify with. (Pause for breath.) I Am Curious (Yellow), therefore, was an awe-inspiring treat - a 22-yr-old female protagonist flails along urban streets interviewing people about socialism and the concept of non-violence, embroils herself in various unsuitable yet carnally satisfactory affairs, and muddles through a painful and beautiful relationship with her father. Eventually she winds up practising top-less yoga in the wilderness, and, well, I won't spoil the twist ending. What struck me most about this film was its treatment of sexuality: it avoided the idea of woman-as-plaything / man-as-conquerer, opting instead to have both the protagonist and her recurring lover seemingly destroy themselves. There is a sex scene near the end that made me wince due to the emotional and physical violence, and normally seeing a woman in such a position is too overwhelming for me to watch, but the psychology of both characters was so carefully constructed that it came off as realistic, and therefore pivotal, rather than try-hard eye-candy piffle, as evidenced in most of the scenes of Last Tango in Paris. The meld of political frevor and sexual insatiability is compelling and honest, and the cars and sunglasses are glorious! This is the first Swedish film I've seen, and given that Sweden is, politically, the most advanced nation in the world, this is bound to have an effect on its art - I'll be seeking out more.
1. IF YOU COULD BUILD A HOUSE ANYWHERE WHERE WOULD IT BE? Near the beach in James Bay. Every wall would be a different colour, and there would be a garden and an attic and a recording studio and an underground, 24-seat screening room.
2. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE ARTICLE OF CLOTHING? A russet-coloured hemp zip-up hoody with the brand-name "Green Babylon."
3. IF YOU COULD HAVE CHOSEN YOUR NAME WHAT WOULD IT HAVE BEEN? I quite like Joy. Maybe Zoe, which is weird, cuz my parents had considered naming me that. I also like Raine.
4. THE LAST CD THAT YOU BOUGHT? A Smiths cd.
5. WHERE IS YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE TO BE? I love being in the kitchen when I'm making soup. I also like a cigarette and a massive coffee on the patio at Moka House. There is a pavilion on the waterfront on Salt Spring Island that I make a point of drinking at whenever I go for a visit.
6 WHERE IS YOUR LEAST FAVOURITE PLACE TO BE? The shabby grocery store down the block, and all bus stops.
7. WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE IN THE MORNING? It varies. 7:30 most days, 11 or so when I get to sleep in.
8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE MEAL? Sushi with sunomono salad and vegetable tempura!
9. WHAT MAKES YOU REALLY ANGRY? Politics.
10. IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE? The guitar and the harmonica.
11. FAVOURITE COLORS? orange, red, green, and purple.
12. FAVOURITE CHILDREN'S BOOK? It's called Pepper and Jam and it's about these homicidal cats, but I can't remember the author, and I always vaguely look for it when I'm at bookstores.
13. WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE SEASON? Autumn. I love the smell and the clothes and the dying leaves.
14. IF YOU COULD HAVE ONE SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Invisibility! And flying!
15. TATTOO? No, I fear I'd look trashy with a tattoo. Or that I'd get something stupid, like a ski-doo.
16. CAN YOU JUGGLE? Hardly.
17. THE ONE PERSON FROM THE PAST YOU WISH YOU COULD GO BACK AND TALK TO? I would love to have met my paternal grandparents, both of whom died long before I was born. Apparently they were very sad alcoholic types, although there is a picture of my grandmother in 1943 where she looks like Katharine Hepburn, and my grandfather fought in World War One. World War ONE! I'd love to hear their stories.
18. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE DAY? Days when all I do is read and snack, and Matt does things like make me coffee and compliment me, and there are many voice-mail messages, and I receive interesting mail, and the house is clean.
19. WHAT IS IN THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR? A car? What is a "car"?
20. SUSHI OR HAMBURGER? Gah! You couldn't pay me to eat a hamburger, although walnut burgers are pretty good. Anyway, sushi is the only food that has actually made me cry, the experience was so good.
21. WHO DID YOU RECEIVE THIS FROM? Elisa!
22. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE CARTOON CHARACTER? Lelia from Futurama. Rrrrrecognize. (Does Ali G count as a cartoon character?)
Gah! A 33-hour work week, plus 3 new classes. Madness! I've a short story due in 5 days, a one-page fiction experimentation due in 5 days, a "found" profile due in 6 days, and a reporting schedule due in 6 days. This final semester looks like it's intent on kicking me in the ass.
In other news, there's a new obsession on the horizon: pool. This obsession baffles me. Normally I disdain sports, and in all areas of my life, if I'm bad at something, I will give up and have a cocktail and laugh, immediately. Not so with pool. It breaks all the Joy-rules - I suck at it, I love it, and I want to be the best, erego I will work at it. Weird! This is probably somebody else's fault.
Just got back from dinner and The O.C. with Ben and Steph. Glorious times. Caeser salad, pasta with a mushroom-red-pepper-onion sauce, garlic bread, gin, cheap cigarettes, and various infidelities/tears/lavish parties. Often I wish I had come of age in the 1940's; on evenings like this, I'm glad it's now.
Watched Casablanca last night, and though it dripped with the usual sexism and whimsical domestic ideals inherent to films of the 40's (and 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's, and 00's), I absolutely fell in love with it. Ingrid Bergman had that wierd luminosity a la Marilyn Monroe, Katharine Hepburn, Sophia Loren, Liv Tyler, el al, plus fabo acting chops, and Humphrey Bogart reminded me of James Dean - oddly attractive, with the ability to convey unsympathetic characters in a sympathetic way. The story was a little implausible, but with lines like, "If you don't get on that plane, you're going to regret it - maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life," who cares about plot? All of the primary characters drank and smoked too much, which was very satisfying to watch, and all the men were very witty conversationalists while the women had vast reserves of secrets which they doled out as they saw fit. The fashion was a little iffy, particularly the hats, though I liked Bogart's white suits, and the piano player made the film. He must have been a metaphor for something, but I haven't figured it out yet ... Will have to watch it again soon. *****
Well, New Year's. Well.
As I had a head cold, and it was cold outside (ahh, the IRONY!!), I opted not to party-hop and instead go only to the wine-and-sushi-in-the-Rockland-mansion party. Before we left Bridget and Jess had showed up at the house, drunk to the eyeballs and teetering unsteadily - I wrote down the address for them. I also gave the address to Steph and her Men, because I thought it was going to be a raging house party.
Matt and I arrived. There were 8 other people there, all of whom wore trousers (not pants - trousers) that looked as though they cost several hundred dollars more than my entire outfit. Matt and I were both wearing hoodies, by the way. Yes, it was an upper-class party, and the house was definitely a mansion, and within minutes of arriving I went nervously out to the stone courtyard to smoke by the roaring fireplace, praying that all the people I had invited would not come, and alternately hoping they would, because it would be sure to be a highly disastrous riot. I went in, and ate sushi, and then we engaged in wine tasting, where I stupidly drank all the wine instead of spitting it out. Next things got confusing - Matt and I danced in one of the lavish drawing rooms, and I became upset when I forgot the steps to the tango. Very upset. Then I loudly offered a toast to Jack Layton, and people were shocked. Then we were in some sort of loft mezzanine thing watching the New Year's Eve countdown, and I spilled beer on a pristine creme-coloured carpet and became upset - very upset - when I couldn't get it out. Matt tried to mop it up with his hoody. More confusion, and suddenly Matt and I were trotting home, I without my cashmere jacket, and we were arguing. We broke up on Terrace St. and got back together on Pandora Ave. Then we were home, and tried to have sex on the floor, but something went wrong, I can't remember what. I woke up in bed with all my clothes on, including socks, and realized I had forgotten my cashmere jacket. Also that I could never go back to get it.
And now it's 2005. I need to go jacket shopping.