I think I've mentioned this chap before. There is a man on the train sometimes, who blows my mind. He is sooo weird. His head looks like an illustration from some Victorian-era, children's storybook. In the book, his name would be Allistair Winslow Thurston-Sackville and he's got a fairy castle in the garden where only nursey can find him, under the rosebush . Except here's the thing, he's at least 30 years old and his head is gigantic but he looks like a 9 year old, Victorian British boy. He's also at least 6 feet tall and weighs about 90lbs with skin so pale, it's purple. I've seen him on weekend trains, meticulously chewing a sandwich that looked to be prepared by a mother, his mother, I presume. His face is so skinny, the sandwich bit sticks out like a squirrel with a cheek full of acorns. Chew, chew, chew, chew, chew chew...each bite gets a thousand chews, bobbing up and down behind his cheek as he stares off into space.
He looks to be very, not bright, as it were. He walks, with a slight limp, taking tiny slow steps, although his legs are ridiculously long, with his belt cinched tightly at his tiny waist, holding up his mother-bought, navy chinos.
Recently though, I've been seeing him on the morning train. Reading a printout of some sort and looking dazedly around. His facial expression never changes from one of an expressionless poker-face with vacant eyes. Creeps me out. I know he must be mentally challenged but why is he so devoid of emotion?
Like any sane person would, I tried to follow him for as long as I could this morning, from the train. I had to pause and wait frequently, in order to be able to stay behind him, due to his slow gait. I was straining so hard to see what was in his tightly clutched, mesh bag, that I walked through a very busy intersection without even bothering to check if the light was green for me or not. I just followed the bag. Alas and alack, I could not tell what mysteries were within and at my place of work, I was forced to watch him continue on, loping slowly toward his destination of intrigue. Could he work? Does he attend some sort of school for oversized, Victorian illustrations come to life on the bodies of men? Why does he eat his sandwiches so meticulously? Did his mother teach him that? Does she lash him with a switch if he gobbles too quick?
I fear I shall never find the answers to these and more questions.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Do you smell a Danish fish?
I had to stay home Thursday because my sinuses were making me too dizzy to work without being able to lie down frequently. I didn't feel sick so I decided, if I was to stay home, I at least had to accomplish something instead of getting paid. So, I meticulously cleaned the house, then painted a fish. Sinuses are close to the brain right?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
"Why do you act so shy in front of my camera?"
That title is a quote from a great song off a great album (What Happens Now)by Mike O'Neil, by the way.
Dang. I completely forgot what I was going to blog about today. It was smothered by all the other fascinating facts and events of life I guess. My days are so brimming with intrigue, it's hard to even remember my name sometimes.
I was noticing, this morning, how people are so much like dogs, only slightly more repressed. I can see everyone waiting for the train, holding themselves back from sniffing the butts of every new human that walks past. Restraining themselves from whipping their heads around to gawk, open-mouthed and panting at anything that strikes their fancy. Nearly barking at each other to be noticed or to mark off their territory. Some of us are cats and wish all the dogs would fuck-off and leave us alone.
When I exit the train station, I take this groovy, two-tiered escalator in a corridor with smokey, mirror walls. Everyone preens and admires themselves as they glide up or down on the escalator. It's hilarious. People giving themselves that, chin in the air, sideways glance, head cocked to the side look that humans reserve for checking themselves out in a mirror. Blatant self-idolatry. Crazy. I go to great lengths to avoid catching even the merest of glimpses of myself. Who wants to see that?? Not me. I can't stand seeing myself as it has nothing to do with what I think or feel in my head. I can't reconcile the two.
I've talked often of not ever feeling like I'm dressed to kill, or lookin' good in the 2 thumbs up in the mirror at yourself way. It's not really got to do with feeling unattractive or whatever. It's the whole chasm between what is shown and what is inside. My looks have nothing to do with me! I didn't choose them. I have very little influence on them. They are a misrepresenting falsehood is what they are. I disassociated from them a long time ago. Begone physical self, I said. I have no use for you, nor does anyone else.
Unfortunately, it's not that easy. Mirrors being a prime culprit in the constant barrage of reminders of the physical self. Each time I am forced to confront the image of myself, it's a grating, uncomfortable ordeal.
Oh I know, the physical does shape the internal self. Had I been born a striking beauty, I'm sure it would have changed some of my internal focus and priorities. Had I been born a hideous monster, the same would apply. I just think it's a shame is all. For all of us. Seems such a nuisance to have to manifest physically.
I had a detailed and drawn out mental and psychological evaluation in my late teens. One of things that poppped up as being particularily interesting to the researchers was my complete inability to form abstract thought when relating to my physical self. Made perfect sense to me. Still does. They scrambled to identify it clinically somehow and failed. Suckers. As far as I'm concerned it's perfectly normal. Just keep all mirrors and reflective surfaces away from me, and I can think and be just fine.
That wasn't really what I had planned on blogging about. It still hasn't come to me. All this talk of mirrors....
Dang. I completely forgot what I was going to blog about today. It was smothered by all the other fascinating facts and events of life I guess. My days are so brimming with intrigue, it's hard to even remember my name sometimes.
I was noticing, this morning, how people are so much like dogs, only slightly more repressed. I can see everyone waiting for the train, holding themselves back from sniffing the butts of every new human that walks past. Restraining themselves from whipping their heads around to gawk, open-mouthed and panting at anything that strikes their fancy. Nearly barking at each other to be noticed or to mark off their territory. Some of us are cats and wish all the dogs would fuck-off and leave us alone.
When I exit the train station, I take this groovy, two-tiered escalator in a corridor with smokey, mirror walls. Everyone preens and admires themselves as they glide up or down on the escalator. It's hilarious. People giving themselves that, chin in the air, sideways glance, head cocked to the side look that humans reserve for checking themselves out in a mirror. Blatant self-idolatry. Crazy. I go to great lengths to avoid catching even the merest of glimpses of myself. Who wants to see that?? Not me. I can't stand seeing myself as it has nothing to do with what I think or feel in my head. I can't reconcile the two.
I've talked often of not ever feeling like I'm dressed to kill, or lookin' good in the 2 thumbs up in the mirror at yourself way. It's not really got to do with feeling unattractive or whatever. It's the whole chasm between what is shown and what is inside. My looks have nothing to do with me! I didn't choose them. I have very little influence on them. They are a misrepresenting falsehood is what they are. I disassociated from them a long time ago. Begone physical self, I said. I have no use for you, nor does anyone else.
Unfortunately, it's not that easy. Mirrors being a prime culprit in the constant barrage of reminders of the physical self. Each time I am forced to confront the image of myself, it's a grating, uncomfortable ordeal.
Oh I know, the physical does shape the internal self. Had I been born a striking beauty, I'm sure it would have changed some of my internal focus and priorities. Had I been born a hideous monster, the same would apply. I just think it's a shame is all. For all of us. Seems such a nuisance to have to manifest physically.
I had a detailed and drawn out mental and psychological evaluation in my late teens. One of things that poppped up as being particularily interesting to the researchers was my complete inability to form abstract thought when relating to my physical self. Made perfect sense to me. Still does. They scrambled to identify it clinically somehow and failed. Suckers. As far as I'm concerned it's perfectly normal. Just keep all mirrors and reflective surfaces away from me, and I can think and be just fine.
That wasn't really what I had planned on blogging about. It still hasn't come to me. All this talk of mirrors....
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Pants pants pants...pants.
In the land outside of France, the ladies do wear pants. So do the mens.
Click on the pants to see more of the pants I made for fun and practice. Crazy hippy pants by gum.
Click on the pants to see more of the pants I made for fun and practice. Crazy hippy pants by gum.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I don't drink beer
So I found a product that helps with PMS. I've been trying it on and off for almost a year. If I don't take it, I get 2 weeks of PMS. If I do, I get 3 days. However, since PMS is like matter and can neither be created nor destroyed, the 2 weeks worth, just compacts itself into 3 days. So for 3 days I am completely, completely, completely inhuman. Today is day 1 of 3. I can't even believe I am upright today. Every function of my physical and mental self is somehow deranged. If I get through today without some sort of blackout or mad rampage, I will be thankful. So which would you prefer? 2 weeks of bad, bad PMS or 3 days of OH MY GOD I AM POSSESSED BY SATAN, pms?
I chose 3. The product, by the way, is Estrosense or Estrofactors. It contains broccoli compounds that bind to xenoestrogens and you eat lots of fibre and rid yourself of them. Glad to know? Sure you are!
I have all these little, tiny, discarded staples on my desk from documents I have been checking, that look like robot chest hair. It's gross. Why can't the robot wear a damn shirt?
I just wrote this whole rant about the "miming clown" essence in certain aspects of Quebec culture. It wasn't mean-spirited, just observational, but I at least have enough presence of mind today, to know that my judgement is completely unreliable for the next few days so...deleted.
In fact, why don't I just sign out now, before I inadvertently start thermonuclear war or the render some species extinct with a chain of events sparked by my words.
Oh, which reminds me, before I go, to tell you what a nerd I am sometimes (always).
I have discovered that there are earwigs in my garden this year, eating my plants. I read that you can create traps for them by setting shallow dishes of beer in the garden before nightfall. They will crawl in, get drunk and drown. Okay, so they don't get drunk, they just drown, but anyway...
So after work, I stopped at the variety store to buy a beer. One beer. We don't drink so we don't have these sitting around like many people do. I never drink beer so have no idea about brands. I wanted to buy something cheap but wondered: Was it alcohol content that mattered? Quality of hops? Smooth, light taste? What do earwigs need to be drawn to their death of beer?
As I stood staring at the beers, people decisively reached in front of me for their pick of beers. Note the plural. Everyone bought a pack of, or at least 3 or 4 beers. I was buying only one beer and for some reason, was super self-conscious about it.
Will the check out guy know I don't drink beer and think I've had a bad day or bad news and am trying to drown my sorrows with one girly beer? Will he wonder why I'm buying the cheapest, grossest beer possible? Will people see the dressed-for-work girl walking around with nothing but one beer and assume I'm going home to my empty bachelor apartment to share it with my cat?
Here's a brilliant idea, I'll explain myself to the chap at the cash. He's a young, groovy sort of guy. He would be the long-haired guy from Dazed & Confused if they made a Quebec version. Friendly, funny, easy-going, sort of permanently stoned air about him...
He says, "Will that be all?" no hidden meaning intended, but I laugh knowingly and say "Yep. One beer, is all."
He lets that slide, no problem, hey, he's an easy going guy. I could have just left it at that, but no.
"I'm going to kill insects with that beer."
He pauses, as he is a native french speaker, he needs to process both my English and the bewildering content of my sentance.
"Are you really going to do that?"
Ah finally, an entrance way to my justification.
"Yes I am. You can put beer in shallow dishes in the garden and kill the insect pests with it."
Ever the trouper, he bounces back to make light of this seriously delivered, unnecessary information.
"Ha-ha. A little for the bugs, a little for you."
Again! I could have just chuckled and left it at that. Awkward conversation, nicely saved by the Store guy. Nope.
"Ha, ha. No. I think this beer is bad for humans also." (Because I know beer, right. Joking about cheap beer. Ya, I'm totally cool. Ya beer. Me and beer. Ya.)"
Another pause from him. "That's pretty good beer."
"Oh is it? I don't drink beer."
* * *
Another fantastic social interaction on my part. Cheers to me. By the way, it did sort of work (the beer trap). I'll try it again but I'm getting T to buy the beer from now on.
I chose 3. The product, by the way, is Estrosense or Estrofactors. It contains broccoli compounds that bind to xenoestrogens and you eat lots of fibre and rid yourself of them. Glad to know? Sure you are!
I have all these little, tiny, discarded staples on my desk from documents I have been checking, that look like robot chest hair. It's gross. Why can't the robot wear a damn shirt?
I just wrote this whole rant about the "miming clown" essence in certain aspects of Quebec culture. It wasn't mean-spirited, just observational, but I at least have enough presence of mind today, to know that my judgement is completely unreliable for the next few days so...deleted.
In fact, why don't I just sign out now, before I inadvertently start thermonuclear war or the render some species extinct with a chain of events sparked by my words.
Oh, which reminds me, before I go, to tell you what a nerd I am sometimes (always).
I have discovered that there are earwigs in my garden this year, eating my plants. I read that you can create traps for them by setting shallow dishes of beer in the garden before nightfall. They will crawl in, get drunk and drown. Okay, so they don't get drunk, they just drown, but anyway...
So after work, I stopped at the variety store to buy a beer. One beer. We don't drink so we don't have these sitting around like many people do. I never drink beer so have no idea about brands. I wanted to buy something cheap but wondered: Was it alcohol content that mattered? Quality of hops? Smooth, light taste? What do earwigs need to be drawn to their death of beer?
As I stood staring at the beers, people decisively reached in front of me for their pick of beers. Note the plural. Everyone bought a pack of, or at least 3 or 4 beers. I was buying only one beer and for some reason, was super self-conscious about it.
Will the check out guy know I don't drink beer and think I've had a bad day or bad news and am trying to drown my sorrows with one girly beer? Will he wonder why I'm buying the cheapest, grossest beer possible? Will people see the dressed-for-work girl walking around with nothing but one beer and assume I'm going home to my empty bachelor apartment to share it with my cat?
Here's a brilliant idea, I'll explain myself to the chap at the cash. He's a young, groovy sort of guy. He would be the long-haired guy from Dazed & Confused if they made a Quebec version. Friendly, funny, easy-going, sort of permanently stoned air about him...
He says, "Will that be all?" no hidden meaning intended, but I laugh knowingly and say "Yep. One beer, is all."
He lets that slide, no problem, hey, he's an easy going guy. I could have just left it at that, but no.
"I'm going to kill insects with that beer."
He pauses, as he is a native french speaker, he needs to process both my English and the bewildering content of my sentance.
"Are you really going to do that?"
Ah finally, an entrance way to my justification.
"Yes I am. You can put beer in shallow dishes in the garden and kill the insect pests with it."
Ever the trouper, he bounces back to make light of this seriously delivered, unnecessary information.
"Ha-ha. A little for the bugs, a little for you."
Again! I could have just chuckled and left it at that. Awkward conversation, nicely saved by the Store guy. Nope.
"Ha, ha. No. I think this beer is bad for humans also." (Because I know beer, right. Joking about cheap beer. Ya, I'm totally cool. Ya beer. Me and beer. Ya.)"
Another pause from him. "That's pretty good beer."
"Oh is it? I don't drink beer."
* * *
Another fantastic social interaction on my part. Cheers to me. By the way, it did sort of work (the beer trap). I'll try it again but I'm getting T to buy the beer from now on.
Monday, June 09, 2008
I'm melting.
So summer has hit, kerplowy, just like that, boiling hot and humid. I have a sneaking suspicion this summer will be awful. Humid and unbearable. "That's the spirit Monsterteeth! Have a positive outlook!".
So while I was boiling on sunday, I made a strange dress, the first one I've made. I highly doubt I will ever wear it, but a gal's got to start somewhere yeah?
I posted it on a blog I share with 2 other ladies who share my interest in making clothes and the process involved. I am exploring the idea of clothes for less than perfect bodies and how to feel good in clothes. I also care a lot about recycling old clothes and keeping waste minimal. I want to find a way to offer clothes and things that don't make you feel bad about yourself either for the way you look, or for where your money is going. Saskia and Jenny share this ethos. Our blog is Indemaak. It's Dutch for, "in the process". Also, maak means make. And "in de" sounds like indie. Why Dutch? Well, Saskia is based from Utrecht so we used her Dutchness for extra fun.
We've only just begun, but you can go here: Indemaak to see our projects as they unfold.
So while I was boiling on sunday, I made a strange dress, the first one I've made. I highly doubt I will ever wear it, but a gal's got to start somewhere yeah?
I posted it on a blog I share with 2 other ladies who share my interest in making clothes and the process involved. I am exploring the idea of clothes for less than perfect bodies and how to feel good in clothes. I also care a lot about recycling old clothes and keeping waste minimal. I want to find a way to offer clothes and things that don't make you feel bad about yourself either for the way you look, or for where your money is going. Saskia and Jenny share this ethos. Our blog is Indemaak. It's Dutch for, "in the process". Also, maak means make. And "in de" sounds like indie. Why Dutch? Well, Saskia is based from Utrecht so we used her Dutchness for extra fun.
We've only just begun, but you can go here: Indemaak to see our projects as they unfold.
Friday, June 06, 2008
CBC to shit on our unofficial national anthem.
I just read on the CBC website, that Wednesday night's Stanley Cup Playoffs (which I had been following religiously: Pens, you will reign next year...) was the last time they will play the Hockey Night In Canada Theme. If I hated the CBC already, which I do, I hate them forever and ever now. THEY CAN NOT DO THAT!!!! It's the fucking unofficial national anthem of Canada! Who does not have memories of hearing that song, Saturday night after dinner, from late winter till spring, while playing with Lego or something, sensing the excitement from the adults watching, knowing not to try to get your Dad's attention for at least 3 hours, even if you managed to figure out how levitate or spontaneously combust. And who's mom or dad doesn't remember the exact same thing themselves, from when they were kids(providing they are Canadian)? What in the bloody hell???? Everyone loves that theme, even people who don't watch hockey! They won't renew the rights they say. Idiots. A blazing, stinking example of everything that is wrong with the world. Blind, stubborn, heartless, selfish bureaucracy. Fuck you CBC. I hope some other sports channel buys it and everyone stops watching you forever.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Hawks
Hawks are circling in front of the window at work. I'm 28 storeys in the air. There are at least 10 of them. They just keep circling near the window. Don't they circle when they spot prey? Oh, they've gone. For now.