Nothing like a little shopping to lift a girl's spirits. So, yesterday I decided to buy one new outfit. Skirt, pant and purple silk top: $110; 5 pieces of ridiculous jewellery: $5.70; 2 new piercings: $50... lifted sprits? one warm VISA card (certainly not priceless). Wearing my new clothes has only kept the high going. For anyone who doesn't believe in retail therapy: I feel sad for you; also: lunch is on you, because you're obviously saving your money.
Was very much looking forward to OLA Superconference tomorrow as well (that's right, I said Superconference - because when librarians get together, it's always super. Please try to reign in your jealousy.). Now, there's 25 cms of snow between me and the conference and I'm very much contemplating taking the day off. Little Quinn is just too beat up to be on a highway during a snow storm. I need a new car. Good thing I wasn't really depressed.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
hey, look out into left field
I'm so done being heartsick.
Here's the first page of the story that precipitated the week-long hiatus.
Enjoy :)
Lucy stirred her now-cold coffee. The heavily beating rain muffled the sounds of the lunch rush. She was the last of the breakfast crowd, her plates whisked away efficiently hours ago, her cup filled for the fourth time. She felt like a fool. The woman who had filled her cup had even looked at her with pity. This was the last time she would sit on this stool, she vowed, the absolute last time. Staring out at the sidewalk, watching people rush hither and yon, she knew she was being ridiculous. There were just so many more important things to be done than to keep vigil on three metres of crowded pavement. She wanted to be in the crowd, not an observer to them. Swigging the bitter dregs in her cup, she pushed off the stool and strode purposefully out door. Heedless of the rain pounding on her – streaming down her neck under her long black leather – she turned the corner and disappeared down the subway tunnel.
***
Precisely 17 days earlier, Lucy had been sitting in Flo’s Fifities Café enjoying the largest, strongest cup of coffee she had had in a long time. It was perfect: burnt and bitter from being in the percolator too long. Her waitress, whose nametag announced her as “Karen”, had offered to make a fresh pot, but Lucy had insisted that she get what’s left and made a big show of enjoying it. Karen seemed to appreciate the gesture: Lucy was nothing if she wasn’t charming. In the city for less than 24 hours and she already thought she would have to stop by more often. It was still early downtown; her stool facing the window allowed her to watch the streets fill in fast with briefcases and blackberries, double-breasted suits and trench coats. Spring was arriving, and the confusion could be found in the varying degrees of warmth with which these denizens dressed. Flo’s did steady business from 6am onward – but at 8:30, the lineup for a coffee-to-go was almost out the door. She couldn’t blame them: the coffee here was better than any triple grande, half soy, half breve, 1 pump cinnamon dulce latte offered elsewhere. She had tried them all – but this was almost as good as Bogota or Marakesh. Having absolutely nowhere to be at 9am afforded her the luxury of indulging in her favourite past-time: people-watching. Most people viewed people-watching as a hobby; Lucy, however, attacked the task with intent and fervour.
People fascinated her, always had. She remembered (ages ago when she still felt young) spying on a couple while they went about their garden. Their intimate touches, easy conversation, exchanged smiles – how the young Lucy had longed to have that same camaraderie with someone. For the first time, she had felt jealous and cheated. When Izzy and Ish teased her later, she had lashed back at them in way that one could only regret. Not that she would change anything – not that she had been wrong – just that she should have chosen her words more carefully. Asking why wasn’t always going to give you the answers you wanted.
These coffee-to-go people were boring – there was a sense of sameness to them. Same gadgets, same black pumps, same pinstripe, same knots in same ties. Dull. She had just resolved to find more varying pursuits when something flashed in the corner of her eye. Ice blond hair – so light it appeared almost blue in the still-weak sunshine. Broad shoulders on top of a tall frame. Long strides. And then, just like that, gone. But not before a distinct frisson of static familiarly jolted up her spine. Almost upending her cup, she rushed out and around the corner, but there was no sign of him. Frustration and relief collided violently. Too long. Mikhail.
***
Here's the first page of the story that precipitated the week-long hiatus.
Enjoy :)
Lucy stirred her now-cold coffee. The heavily beating rain muffled the sounds of the lunch rush. She was the last of the breakfast crowd, her plates whisked away efficiently hours ago, her cup filled for the fourth time. She felt like a fool. The woman who had filled her cup had even looked at her with pity. This was the last time she would sit on this stool, she vowed, the absolute last time. Staring out at the sidewalk, watching people rush hither and yon, she knew she was being ridiculous. There were just so many more important things to be done than to keep vigil on three metres of crowded pavement. She wanted to be in the crowd, not an observer to them. Swigging the bitter dregs in her cup, she pushed off the stool and strode purposefully out door. Heedless of the rain pounding on her – streaming down her neck under her long black leather – she turned the corner and disappeared down the subway tunnel.
***
Precisely 17 days earlier, Lucy had been sitting in Flo’s Fifities Café enjoying the largest, strongest cup of coffee she had had in a long time. It was perfect: burnt and bitter from being in the percolator too long. Her waitress, whose nametag announced her as “Karen”, had offered to make a fresh pot, but Lucy had insisted that she get what’s left and made a big show of enjoying it. Karen seemed to appreciate the gesture: Lucy was nothing if she wasn’t charming. In the city for less than 24 hours and she already thought she would have to stop by more often. It was still early downtown; her stool facing the window allowed her to watch the streets fill in fast with briefcases and blackberries, double-breasted suits and trench coats. Spring was arriving, and the confusion could be found in the varying degrees of warmth with which these denizens dressed. Flo’s did steady business from 6am onward – but at 8:30, the lineup for a coffee-to-go was almost out the door. She couldn’t blame them: the coffee here was better than any triple grande, half soy, half breve, 1 pump cinnamon dulce latte offered elsewhere. She had tried them all – but this was almost as good as Bogota or Marakesh. Having absolutely nowhere to be at 9am afforded her the luxury of indulging in her favourite past-time: people-watching. Most people viewed people-watching as a hobby; Lucy, however, attacked the task with intent and fervour.
People fascinated her, always had. She remembered (ages ago when she still felt young) spying on a couple while they went about their garden. Their intimate touches, easy conversation, exchanged smiles – how the young Lucy had longed to have that same camaraderie with someone. For the first time, she had felt jealous and cheated. When Izzy and Ish teased her later, she had lashed back at them in way that one could only regret. Not that she would change anything – not that she had been wrong – just that she should have chosen her words more carefully. Asking why wasn’t always going to give you the answers you wanted.
These coffee-to-go people were boring – there was a sense of sameness to them. Same gadgets, same black pumps, same pinstripe, same knots in same ties. Dull. She had just resolved to find more varying pursuits when something flashed in the corner of her eye. Ice blond hair – so light it appeared almost blue in the still-weak sunshine. Broad shoulders on top of a tall frame. Long strides. And then, just like that, gone. But not before a distinct frisson of static familiarly jolted up her spine. Almost upending her cup, she rushed out and around the corner, but there was no sign of him. Frustration and relief collided violently. Too long. Mikhail.
***
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
sometimes, someone else says it best
"Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid." ~ Dostoevsky
Oh Fyodor, you are a genius.
Oh Fyodor, you are a genius.
Monday, January 28, 2008
on abandoning loved ones
So, this was a weekend of losses. First, Timmy will be gone for 10 business days. This makes me sad. I miss his snoring sounds in the night (they're very soothing, not at all like human snoring). I read somewhere that anthropomorphism is a way of coping with loneliness. This makes me even sadder. But alas, he is with the FutureShop people now, getting the dust sucked out of his fans so that he can breathe better and stop wheezing while we're crafting at war. As a result, I am cut off from all my favourite past-times: FaceStalking, online comics, messenger and, of course, blogging about all the inanities that fill my day. Only my books keep me going, but there's only so much Vic Lit I can handle at one time.
The loss of computer companionship is not all: humans are giving me a hard time too. I've rehashed this story so many times, I'm tired of talking about it. But, needless to say, "friends" can sometimes be just as sucky as anyone else... especially when they're male. Every camel has its straw. Long story short: someone I thought to be a very good friend (certainly a very old friend) acted like an even bigger jerk than normal. As Jadek points out regularly, I wouldn't let anyone get away with the amount of crap Krys throws my way, but yet I let it slide. Frankly, Krys doesn't really push me too far (possibly because he knows better than to poke the sleeping dragon), but the last few months have been unbelievable: cancelled plans, last-minute confirmations, almost never responding to social invitations without prodding... just a general disrespect for other people's time and a carelessness for their feelings. Anyone else would have long ago surmised that he isn't interested in hanging out with us, no? So. I'm taking it at face value. I have so little time to spread about, I can't imagine why I'm spending any of it with someone who seems to appreciate it so little. A curt text message and an equally curt one-word-response phone call is the last we've spoken. JC says it's not the end of it but I don't think Krys will even notice that something's wrong. Awaiting the fallout; I will probably be disappointed by just how anticlimactic it will be.
long story even shorter: humans suck.
The loss of computer companionship is not all: humans are giving me a hard time too. I've rehashed this story so many times, I'm tired of talking about it. But, needless to say, "friends" can sometimes be just as sucky as anyone else... especially when they're male. Every camel has its straw. Long story short: someone I thought to be a very good friend (certainly a very old friend) acted like an even bigger jerk than normal. As Jadek points out regularly, I wouldn't let anyone get away with the amount of crap Krys throws my way, but yet I let it slide. Frankly, Krys doesn't really push me too far (possibly because he knows better than to poke the sleeping dragon), but the last few months have been unbelievable: cancelled plans, last-minute confirmations, almost never responding to social invitations without prodding... just a general disrespect for other people's time and a carelessness for their feelings. Anyone else would have long ago surmised that he isn't interested in hanging out with us, no? So. I'm taking it at face value. I have so little time to spread about, I can't imagine why I'm spending any of it with someone who seems to appreciate it so little. A curt text message and an equally curt one-word-response phone call is the last we've spoken. JC says it's not the end of it but I don't think Krys will even notice that something's wrong. Awaiting the fallout; I will probably be disappointed by just how anticlimactic it will be.
long story even shorter: humans suck.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Canada Reads: Timothy Findley's Not Wanted on the Voyage
If you know me at all, you know I love the religious themes in literature. It all stems from first-year English Lit with the yummilicious Professor Santesso (oh, I wish we hadn't parted on such bad terms, Aaron). There, with the daunting Paradise Lost before me, I discovered the rich mythos behind the dull Gospel stuff and rediscovered all those books we like to call the Old Testament. Some of my favourites stories are from there: Adam and Eve, Noah's Ark, Moses and Red Sea, Esther and the Judges... so compelling was Milton's work, I actually read the Bible (cover to cover) for the first time (and many times since). Can't say it strengthened my faith or anything, but it gave me a whole new appreciation for it. Since then, I've read and loved Diamant's Red Tent, Spenser's Faerie Queene, Julian Barnes' History of the World in 10-1/2 Chapters, etc.
Enter Not Wanted on the Voyage. While reading Barnes, someone had complained it was a Findley ripoff. I must confess I avoided Findley like the plague after an unfortunate run-in with The Wars. Even though I knew it was a re-telling of the Noah story, I couldn't get over my emotional trauma. But this year's Canada Reads list has it on there and I really wanted to read all five books this year, so... I thought I'd start with my least loking-forward-to.
Wow. I may give up the Findley-ban.
Of course, everyone knows the basic Noah-story: God disappointed with humans (again), tells Noah to build ark and board his entire family and every animal two-by-two, God floods Earth, much dying ensues; many months later, Noah sends a dove, it comes back with olive branch, God loves humans again and promises to never lose his temper. Pinky swears, with a rainbow and everything.
NWOTV was a GREAT read: sarcastic, sad, full of deep characters and insightful dialogue. And the characters stay with you a long time. Japeth, Hannah, Mrs. Noyes and Lucy were fabulous to read. But my runaway favourite is Mottyl (that beautiful cat on the cover, and after whom, if I could abide by cats, would name mine), whose anger and sorrow are so eloquently expressed that I actually cried several times when reading her lines. But there's also humour and joy to balance out all the sadness, which is really how life is no? Findley tells you about the Ark in detail, about the sons and their wives, about cruelty and senility, camaraderie and overcoming adversity. Mostly, though, he tells you about the animals (One-Tusk, Hippo, Crowe, Unicorn and his Lady, the Cormorant, Demons - both one and two-headed - Gryphons and the singing sheep) who are truly the heroes of this story. A fabulous read and a great start to Canada Reads.
Enter Not Wanted on the Voyage. While reading Barnes, someone had complained it was a Findley ripoff. I must confess I avoided Findley like the plague after an unfortunate run-in with The Wars. Even though I knew it was a re-telling of the Noah story, I couldn't get over my emotional trauma. But this year's Canada Reads list has it on there and I really wanted to read all five books this year, so... I thought I'd start with my least loking-forward-to.Wow. I may give up the Findley-ban.
Of course, everyone knows the basic Noah-story: God disappointed with humans (again), tells Noah to build ark and board his entire family and every animal two-by-two, God floods Earth, much dying ensues; many months later, Noah sends a dove, it comes back with olive branch, God loves humans again and promises to never lose his temper. Pinky swears, with a rainbow and everything.
NWOTV was a GREAT read: sarcastic, sad, full of deep characters and insightful dialogue. And the characters stay with you a long time. Japeth, Hannah, Mrs. Noyes and Lucy were fabulous to read. But my runaway favourite is Mottyl (that beautiful cat on the cover, and after whom, if I could abide by cats, would name mine), whose anger and sorrow are so eloquently expressed that I actually cried several times when reading her lines. But there's also humour and joy to balance out all the sadness, which is really how life is no? Findley tells you about the Ark in detail, about the sons and their wives, about cruelty and senility, camaraderie and overcoming adversity. Mostly, though, he tells you about the animals (One-Tusk, Hippo, Crowe, Unicorn and his Lady, the Cormorant, Demons - both one and two-headed - Gryphons and the singing sheep) who are truly the heroes of this story. A fabulous read and a great start to Canada Reads.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Peek-a-Boo!
Well! One week gone and I feel like I've been away a lifetime... hello? anyone still receiving?
In my quest to be a more fulfilled person (and to stop whining about boys) I've done two things to soothe my creative soul. I shall expound upon them at length below. But first: I missed you. Let's never fight again.
1) Bellydancing Classes: oh yes, you read right. With Nish in tow, there are enough shoulder punches, hip-sits and Egyptian walks to keep any girl happy (and said girl's gluts unhappy). So, we're working on isolation techniques (insert all the clever witticisms about art imitating life here) and coordination (ha!). I'm not the worst person in the class: I remember to "hold an egg" "have an attitude" and "bounce my hip, not my leg" well enough. But I still can't get the "step, switch, turn" thing. I hate switching...why can't things just stay the same? Anyway, there's a "routine" of some sort at the end. I intend to be sick if any kind of audience is involved. Big bonus: buying a ching-ching belt!
2) Writing: have started and finished my first short story in over 7 years. I don't know what happened, but I went to Queen's and my creative writing went to hell (same diff, eh H2?). Anyway, "Lucy" appeared a few weeks ago and she wouldn't leave. She's the pushy sort, always telling people what to do, always thinking she's right (stop saying I'm describing me! geez.) . She demanded I tell her story; I was compelled to oblige. In the meantime, she introduced me to Izzy, Ish, Mikhail and Elle (yes, Elle-in-real-life, you read right). I had a tonne of fun writing her story - it took me 35 pages, but hey, I've always been verbose.
While in the midst of all this, my computer got sick (very sick) and I had to do most of the typing at work while on desk. Not the best place, but at least I wasn't bored (for the first time in months).
Anyway, thanks for coming back and staying a while. I'll be here more when Timmy comes back to me. Right now, he's living at Jadek's house where he is being fed hot microchip soup and being treated to soothing formats and driver updates. It's a nice vacation for him, but I do miss him. Lots. But not nearly as much as you, dear reader, not nearly as much as you.
In my quest to be a more fulfilled person (and to stop whining about boys) I've done two things to soothe my creative soul. I shall expound upon them at length below. But first: I missed you. Let's never fight again.
1) Bellydancing Classes: oh yes, you read right. With Nish in tow, there are enough shoulder punches, hip-sits and Egyptian walks to keep any girl happy (and said girl's gluts unhappy). So, we're working on isolation techniques (insert all the clever witticisms about art imitating life here) and coordination (ha!). I'm not the worst person in the class: I remember to "hold an egg" "have an attitude" and "bounce my hip, not my leg" well enough. But I still can't get the "step, switch, turn" thing. I hate switching...why can't things just stay the same? Anyway, there's a "routine" of some sort at the end. I intend to be sick if any kind of audience is involved. Big bonus: buying a ching-ching belt!
2) Writing: have started and finished my first short story in over 7 years. I don't know what happened, but I went to Queen's and my creative writing went to hell (same diff, eh H2?). Anyway, "Lucy" appeared a few weeks ago and she wouldn't leave. She's the pushy sort, always telling people what to do, always thinking she's right (stop saying I'm describing me! geez.) . She demanded I tell her story; I was compelled to oblige. In the meantime, she introduced me to Izzy, Ish, Mikhail and Elle (yes, Elle-in-real-life, you read right). I had a tonne of fun writing her story - it took me 35 pages, but hey, I've always been verbose.
While in the midst of all this, my computer got sick (very sick) and I had to do most of the typing at work while on desk. Not the best place, but at least I wasn't bored (for the first time in months).
Anyway, thanks for coming back and staying a while. I'll be here more when Timmy comes back to me. Right now, he's living at Jadek's house where he is being fed hot microchip soup and being treated to soothing formats and driver updates. It's a nice vacation for him, but I do miss him. Lots. But not nearly as much as you, dear reader, not nearly as much as you.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Now Playing: Monster Movies
In the last two days, I watched two monster movies: Cloverfield and I Am Legend. Not only is this a serious detour from normal movie-going behaviour (I tend to save scary movies for Halloween marathons) but to watch TWO in as many days. Well. It does lead to inevitable comparisons, so why even try to avoid it? Here's what I had to say about the movies on Flixter:Cloverfield:
okay acting (Hud was hilarious) and nice special effects (when you can actually focus on it, which isn't often) but overall too short and a little too reminiscent of Blair Witch. Still: fun :) 2.5 stars out of 5.
I Am Legend:Who knew? I had originally passed on this movie because I didn't want to watch another "zombie" movie. I was wrong. First of all, Will Smith is a phenom in it: it's basically just him and his dog for most of the movie (flashbacks and CGI zombies can't really count) and he did so well. The directing was tight: I haven't watched a movie that both scared the holy hell out of me AND moved me to tears. Fabulous - you gotta check it out. 4 stars out of 5.
...in direct comparison, though, I Am Legend makes Cloverfield look bad. Yeah, Cloverfield was fun and stuff, but for pure suspense and emotional investment, Legend is untouchable. Both Nish and I were dropped down as far as we could go in our IMAX seats, cursing each other for agreeing to see this movie and whimpering along with Sam. It was stellar. Cloverfield would have been a perfect marathon movie (short, shallow and easily dismissed); Legend would have killed a party mood totally. Where Legend leaves lots to talk about when it ends (the Fred incident is a good example), Cloverfield goes for a cheap end-of-credits trick. If you have a craving for a scary movie: check out I Am Legend and leave Cloverfield for another time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)