Songs from Now/here

"Rockin' around the Christmas tree"

2006-04-01T10:19:00.000-07:00

"Slow like honey"

2006-03-29T09:40:00.000-07:00

It's another slow day at work today, so... the specials are named after bars I have been to and am somewhat sentimental about:

--Koerner’s 3 Cheese & Mushroom Omelette (pub at UBC, site of many a good Honours bash)
--Free Pour Joe’s Smoked Farmer’s Sausage Scramble (in Whitehorse; only bar in Canada with a free-pour licence; went with Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes)
--The Orbit Room Chicken Feta Wrap (in Toronto; Colin snuck me in there when I was 17 and visiting him in TO)
--The ‘98 Baked Brie wrapped in Filo with raspberries & a salad (quite possibly the sketchiest bar I have ever been in--with Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes in Whitehorse, of course)
--Open Faced Fulford Turkey Mozza Melt (our local pub on Salt Spring)

"Do not go quietly unto your grave"

2006-03-28T13:15:00.000-07:00

The fun never stops around here. Never, I tells ya. (Unless James and I are fighting... which happens less than it used to.) I mean, I just danced the Time Warp at work. I’m having one of those “it doesn’t get much better than this” moments.

I suppose I’m easily pleased.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m well-fucked, came third in poker last night and don’t really feel the effects of the (whole, complete, 100%, full 750 ml) bottle of wine I drank last night.

Things are very slow at work this week--very few people coming through the cafeteria these days. I was scheduled for a coffee shift today, but the cashier called in sick--so I’m working coffee and cash and still have time to dance and chat with people and write a blog post. Busy busy busy! So stressful I could weep.

Ha.

So... Poker. We’ve been having tournament-style friendly games for the past five weeks or so on Monday nights. They started out at Aussie Friend Greg’s but moved to Poker Friends Barry and Damon’s place, as their set-up is better for a crowd. Plus PF Damon has nice chips--almost like real casino ones and infinitely better than the plastic ones we were using before. Although Damon and Barry don’t make Wollongong Breakfast Stew for us like Aussie Friend Greg did.

Despite having never played poker until we started having these games, I’ve been doing pretty well. With the exception of one week--last week, went I went all in on the first hand and lost and then bought back in (bank rolled by Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes) and didn’t place--I’ve broken even or done better. This doesn’t really make me a good poker player, however--I get by on luck, mostly, which you can do in a house game. Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes lectures me (I call it lecturing--he calls it poker pillow talk) about poker, and from the sounds of it casino poker is quite a different deal. I’ll be finding out in person mid-April, when we go to Vegas.

In honour of last night’s game, I have named the specials after poker stuff: Pocket Aces Capicolli Scramble; Tomato Cilantro Green Pepper “You’re Just Bluffing” Omelette; All In Chicken Ranch Wrap; Straight Draw Beef Dip; and Trip Queens Mozza Burger. This is one of my favourite things about work: getting to name the daily specials. I usually use literary references--Madame Defarge’s French Revolutionary Toast is a favourite, and one day I used The Princess Bride as my theme--or people’s names, so the poker theme’s a bit different. But I like it--as does one of the big-wigs here, Jim. He was amused.

So I mentioned Vegas up above, all casual-like, but really I am mad stoked about it. Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes and Aussie Friend Greg are going to Cuba together in April, and flying out of Las Vegas. So the three of us are going to drive from Salt Spring to Las Vegas together, and then when the boys fly to Cuba, I’ll fly to Seattle, have a night there and then ferry home. I’m hoping that we’ll go to Vegas through San Francisco, Yosemite and Death Valley. In San Francisco, I’d like to visit Art Fibres and go to 3150 Sacramento Street. This is the address that Brautigan gives in The Abortion: An Historical Romance 1966 for the library, and there is apparently a library at that address. Then Yosemite and Death Valley will be just beautiful--I’ll get to see a real desert with James--and Vegas will be unreal and bizarre and poker-filled. Even just the driving will be great; I may be very often nervous in a car with James but I’ve never been unhappy. It just feels good to drive with him. And I like Aussie Friend Greg quite a bit; we get on well.

Working coffee and cash today means no skiing. I’d hoped to get a few runs in after my coffee shift, but instead I work a full eight hours (and maybe a little more). Which on the money side is good--I was supposed to be laid off for the last two weeks of the season, but then they fired a perpetually late and very slack coworker and I got her shifts. This is where the money for Vegas is coming from: since I’m not getting my two-week ski vacation I’m getting driving and gambling. I’ve been doing more cross country than downhill, since I tend to ski in to work most days, but I am really enjoying the downhill when I do go out. I’m not sure if I’m a better skier, but I’m certainly a more daring one. One day on my own, I skied my first-ever black diamond run (by the name of Ruby Tuesday) and then about a week later, James and I went downhill skiing together for the first time ever. This also proved to be the first time I skiied through trees, off of jumps and out of bounds. It was very nervous-making at times--I’m just gald I made it through without crying or taking my skis off and walking down--but I think with James at my side I can get down anything.

My best run of the season was actually at Whitewater, near Nelson. James, Greg and I went up there for a day of skiing, and for the last run of the day, we hiked a ridge and skied down to the road. The snow was just amazing--so much light untracked powder (the true, great advantage to back country and trees). It felt so good... I was whoohooing in the trees, and as Housemate Blaine said later that night, once you start whoohooing in the trees, there’s no going back. James and Greg were skiing off of cliffs and crazy things like that, which was just incredible to watch. It was doubly nice to finish the day with such a good run, as earlier in the day I had one of the worst. I skied a few runs with the boys before they took off to do some back country (Whitewater has very little in-bounds terrain, but great access to back country) and on the second run, they took me into some steep trees. It was just over my head, and rather awful at times. At more than one point I was sliding head-first downhill towards trees and it was just so freaky. I felt quite shaken after, and was on top of that a bit sick of James’ lecturing me about poker on the chair lift (I’d won the night before [a decent amount of cash, too, as we’d had eleven people playing] and he had to set me straight about my abilities [or lack thereof]) and I was PMSing (I’m so hormonal off the Pill--so, so hormonal), so the first part of the day actually kind of sucked but was totally turned around by this one fabulous run. And it was a long one, too--it must have been well over an hour of skiing. And hitching home was fun, too.

Things are busy social-life-wise around here. Parties, dinners, poker... We had a Christmas revival dinner on Sunday night, which culminated in burning the Christmas tree in the snowbank outside the house. It flared up and burned out quickly, so fortunately the neighbours didn’t get wise to what was happening and call the cops on us. The burnt-out tree is still stuck in the snowbank outside; I put a single ornament on it and it looks simply charming. I loved our dinner party, simply because I had no idea entertaining for 22 people could be so easy and stress-free. We didn’t fuss about a thing and everything went off without a hitch. Special brownies for dessert surely helped with that.

We’ve had lots of visitors, too. Housemate Jon’s girlfriend from England visited for almost two weeks, and James’ sister Jill was here for a few days. This was the first time I’d met anyone in James’ family, and I think it went well. She’s very different from him--much more easily worked up (James is so mellow about most things). This means that James’ parents now certainly know for sure just what kind of relationship it is that James and I have. He was rather vague with his mother when he first told her I was moving in--left it unclear whether I was just another housemate or actually the live-in girlfriend--but I’m sure she knows now. James received an email from his parents the other day suggesting that they fly out and visit him before he goes to Australia and I half wonder if they’re hoping for a chance to meet me.

Things between James and I are, I think, quite good. Not perfect--we have one problem that we haven’t quite figured out yet. I suppose it’s only recently that we really came out and said “The problem is x” and I think with a bit more time it will get sorted out. We don’t really have more time, though--at least not now. I’m leaving Rossland on the 4th (the hill closes on the 2nd, then there’s a staff party on the 3rd), and James will join me on Salt Spring for a few days. Then we head down to Vegas, following which he will be in Cuba for about two weeks, then Coachella and then back up to Salt Spring for another visit. Mid-May he’ll be heading back to Vegas for a friend’s bachelor party and from there he’s going to Australia. I’ll spend the summer working on Salt Spring, and hopefully in the fall we’ll meet up again. For a while we thought that I’d get a working holiday visa and that we’d live together in Australia, but I’ve backed off from that. Things are better between us when I respect his need for freedom--I’m an awful lot of relationship for a guy who hasn’t had a girlfriend in three years. So we’ll travel together in the fall--maybe in Australia, maybe in South East Asia--and then I’ll probably end up back in Rossland for another ski season at Red. I can get my job here back, and already have all the necessary ski equipment. I guess I do hope that in the summer when we’re thinking about the fall that James will want us to live together again. It seems quite far in the future, though, and I know just how often plans and hopes can change, so I’m okay with leaving it up in the air.

Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes actually just passed through here a little while ago. He and our coworker Art left Art's cell phone number with me so that if they're not back from ski touring by 6pm, I can telephone. What a nice way to be made vaguely nervous for the rest of the day. Art is teaching James about avalanche safety...

"Waitin' for the day your ship'll come in/ And the tide's gonna turn/ And it's all gonna roll your way"

2006-02-27T00:13:00.000-07:00

For Australia...

"Come away with me"

2006-02-24T19:21:00.000-07:00

So, Housemate Blaine screwed up somehow regarding the gas bill--I say somehow because I'm not sure of the details and I don't want to know because I'm trying really really really hard not to be a bitch about this--and so there hasn't been any heat in our house for well over twenty-four hours. I'm in bed right now, still wearing the coat that I wore to walk home from work (chickened out of skiing to work this morning because it was just too cold to get out of bed that early, and Kate was coming to pick James up anyway), under my down duvet and my down sleeping bag. It's sooooooo cold.

Fortunately this doesn't matter so much for James and I. Our co-worker, Non-Aussie Rob, is away tonight and so he offered that we stay at his place overnight. He was thinking of it in terms of a night away from the household being nice for James and I, and todya co-worker Kate called it romantic, but really James isn't romantic at all. In any way. Never ever ever. Honestly I didn't even think he'd want to take Rob up on his offer, but he actually said he'd like it. How nice! So tonight we can warm ourselves by a wood stove--which at this stage is all I'm thinking about. I'm tempted to take off now and tell James to meet me there...

"If there was a better way to go then it would find me/ I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me ...

2006-02-20T00:02:00.000-07:00

... Be kind to me or treat me mean/ I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine"

Rather unsurprisingly, my parents refused to loan me several thousand dollars so that I can go to Australia with Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes. So after some crying and some talking, James and I have settled on plan B. At the end of the ski season, we're going to go to Salt Spring together. James will visit for as long as he likes/ can, and I'll start working. I'll save up, and then join him in Australia in a few months.

I think James is actually happy that I won't be going to Australia at the same time as him. He wants some time alone, or at least time away from his girlfriend who cries all the time--and he wonders why I cry so much when he goes around saying stupid things like that! He doesn't seem to notice my emotional state until I am crying, so he doesn't realize just how happy I actually am most of the time. And of course adjusting to a relationship after three years of being single is best accomplished by leaving the country (and the relationship). I don't mind that I'm not going to Australia right now--but I do mind that the fact that it doesn't affect James' plans at all that I can't go now. With this plan, I'm the one making all the commitment--giving up a fun summer in Rossland to move back in with my parents and work all the time, while he just galavants off. I'll probably merit no more than an email a week for months on end.

There's a big part of me that doesn't think this is going to work. If he's not interested in being with me now--if he's so keen to be on his own again (and to be with Aussie Friend Greg)--he isn't going to be any more interested four months from now. He says he wants me to join him in Australia, but I just don't feel it and I'm not sure he does either. How much of this is just lip service?

Nevertheless, it's the plan. I'm thinking--trying to console myself in advance--that it won't hurt to save up a bit for myself in general. If I don't go to Australia, I can just as easily throw a dart at a map of the world and take off. I wouldn't mind another ski season in Rossland; I'd like to ceilidh dance in Scotland and hike in the Andes and all sorts of stuff. With a bit of money I could go anywhere and do anything--it just sucks that I'm so much in love that all I want to do is be pathetic and trail around after some stupid jerk who doesn't love me like some kind of puppy dog.

Despite knowing all this, and thinking it rather often, I'd still say I'm happy. I like working at the ski hill--especially my coffee shifts--and I'm going downhill skiing tomorrow (maybe a few runs with James, even [and definitely more black diamond runs!]). I'm getting lots of knitting done--I've figured out my rectangular version of Ella--and may even be able to sell or trade some of my work (I think while I'm on Salt Spring I'll do some knitting-for-profit in a semi-serious way). I am sufficiently happy that I know I can do this lifestyle--this service industry job, roommates, always-almost-broke, hitch-hiking, idle and the-point-is-to-be-pointless lifestyle. And James and I are close and happy alongside the shit. It's better than not being with him at all--just not entirely easy. The soundtrack is good, at any rate.

"Hey good lookin'/Whatcha got cookin'?"

2006-02-16T16:03:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday

This week's question, suggested by Jeanne, is here by popular demand. Thank you, ladies!

What is the most beautiful book you own?

In what way is it beautiful? Is it the illustrations, the binding, a combination of these, or something else?

How often do you look at it, browse through it, read it?

Two books come to mind instantly in response to this week's questions.

The first is the catalogue from the "Modernism in the Making" show of Gustav Klimt's paintings at the National Gallery of Canada. The show was on the summer after I graduated from high school--we actually drove from Sudbury to Ottawa immediately after my last exam that June just to see the show--a total of fourteen hours of driving, just for an art show. At the time, Klimt had been a favourite for a few years, but I'd never seen any of his works 'in real life.' This show was a big deal because it was the first and last time that many of the works would be leaving Europe, owing to the fragility of the paintings (specifically, the gold flake he used). We were in Ottawa for the weekend, and I went to see the show three times. Once on my own Saturday afternoon, once on Sunday with my parents, aunt, uncle and Grandma (I don't think she liked the "reclining nudes" very much), and then again Monday morning with Chris, my "husband." My parents bought me the catalogue from the show as a birthday present. It needed to be ordered, so it didn't arrive into my greedy little hands until the fall. Seeing the catalogue just brought it all back, of course. Everything that was in the show is in the catalogue, as well as prints of other Klimt works. It's a large book, only a paper back, but gorgeous in every respect. I used to have it sitting out as an ornament (to go along with the Klimt prints on the walls). I haven't looked at the catalogue in ages, though. It's in a box on Salt Spring and who knows when it will see the light of day again (I just emailed my parents asking for a loan so I can go to Australia with James, which means I may be getting further and further away from all my things as time goes on [I told them I want to follow my heart--think that'll convince them?]).

The second book is a recently acquired cookbook, the Moosewood Restaurant's Simple Suppers. This was a total impulse buy at the kitchen shop here in town a little while ago. It's actually a vegetarian cookbook, but it's not too vegetarian, as it contains egg and fish recipes. I've made a few things out of it and have been impressed, both with the end result of the recipes and with the ease and short time it takes to make them. It's a lovely book, too. The thing that caught my eye in the shop was the striking use of purple and orange on the cover; it's such a perfect combination. The photographs are gorgeous, too--everything really does look good enough to eat. Good cookbooks are so often a pleasure in themselves--the thick, glossy paper; the photographs; the descriptions accompanying the recipes--it's fun to browse through them, even if you're not looking for a recipe.

I'm sure I have other beautiful books, but they're all packed away--hopefully for a long, long time.

"It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah"

2006-02-15T22:50:00.000-07:00

Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes and I did end up going skiing on Monday (despite the unfinished essay). It was quite amazing. We went off in search of a cabin he'd never been to before, Crow's Nest, but didn't end up finding it. We skied up and up and up forever, and when James figured that we weren't headed to Crow's Nest but in fact towards Lost Cabin (we were following someone else's tracks on the assumption that they must lead somewhere), we decided to make Lost Cabin the destination. But after skiing even further (and further up), we lost the tracks and things were foggy and windy and it started to snow... At that point we'd been out for something like three hours, and most of that had been skiing uphill (and when I say "skiing" I in fact mean side-stepping and herringboning and half-herringboning, because it was too steep to properly ski--at one point James commented that the slope we were climbing would be nice to go down on downhill skis, and when you think that he likes to ski off of cliffs, you get an impression of its steepness), and we were both hungry (I was half-faint with hunger--we'd had a light breakfast and only a handful or two of trailmix along the way) and getting cold, so we decided to bail and head downhill to a cabin that James knew he could find, View Point. We got there after nearly four hours of skiing, and the last downhill section to the cabin was straight into a howling wind that drove heaps and heaps of snow into our faces.

The cabin was a vapour-barrier and wooden pole construction, but proved warm enough once James got the fire going. I realize the photograph doesn't show much, but I took it before going inside, when I was freezing and exhausted and way too lazy to figure out how to turn off the flash on Jon's camera. We had toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches and bananas stuffed with carob chips for lunch (if one can call it lunch at four in the afternoon)--as well as a nice bottle of wine (this was, after all, something of a Valentine's date, even though James wanted to deny it).

The ski back to the highway was gorgeous. It was an easy 5km of gentle downhill, and while we were inside, the sky had cleared just enough to show a golden orange sunset, emphasized by rather glowering clouds in half the sky. We had light enough to ski by, and it only became too dark in the last 100 metres to the highway. We only turned on our headlamps to make ourselves visible for hitchhiking--incredibly, we were picked up before we even had a chance to put on more layers of clothing for the wait.

It was a rather crazy afternoon--certainly the most challenging skiing of my life. I guess extreme cross-country skiing counts as a romantic date in Rossland... Actually James didn't intend for or try to make it romantic; it's not like he tossed rose petals on the wood-chip floor of the cabin or anything like that. And I'm glad he didn't. I just loved that we were out together, and that he was making me nervous in that good old way. Even when I was cold and miserable I was still loving it.

We had a small dose of more typical Valentine's stuff on Tuesday. I baked a red velvet cake in heart-shaped pans (and made dinner, too, but mostly because I felt like it and not because it was Valentine's Day). I'm surprised it turned out as well as it did--it's a tricky cake to make, even in the best conditions. We don't have an electric mixer, so I mixed it by hand, and our oven is just awful, so baking temperature and time were a bit of a crap-choot. My icing turned out a little lumpy, and I had a hard time getting the cakes out of the pans, but other than that it was great. Certainly the boys devoured it enthusiastically--Aussie Friend Greg was over, and the whole household was here, too (Blaine had been away ski touring, so we hadn't had a family dinner in a little while). Luckily there was still some left this morning, so I got to have the traditional cake for breakfast, too.

My downhill gear was all ready today--bindings put on okay, skis tuned up, everything else purchased and ready to use--so I went skiing in the afternoon. I love my skis; they're just right for me. I pushed myself a bit today, and skied my first black diamond run ever (it's called Ruby Tuesday, and can be seen on Red's appallingly confusing trail map). I'm pretty stoked, and eager to do more. Sadly we're entering a cold snap, so I may not be want to be going out on my next days off (I'm working Thurs. to Sun. this week), but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. The only crappy thing about skiing today is that it's made the cold I have a helluva lot worse. I feel like shit right now, and I've been hanging about in bed since I got home from the hill, hoping that I can rest up before going to work tomorrow. I won't ski in tomorrow, but don't want to miss out on skiing in for the rest of the weekend.

"Til I am myself again"

2006-02-13T21:52:00.000-07:00

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Mlle defarge!

Ancient Chinese artists would never paint pictures of mlle defarge.
Mlle defarge is often used in place of milk in food photography, because milk goes soggy more quickly than mlle defarge!
Baskin Robbins once made mlle defarge flavoured ice cream.
Mlle defarge was declared extinct in 1902.
It takes a lobster approximately 7 years to grow to be mlle defarge!
Finding mlle defarge on Christmas morning is believed to bring good luck!
Mlle defarge does not have toes.
Mlle defarge never said 'Play it again, Sam'.
US gold coins used to say 'In mlle defarge we trust'.
Research indicates that mlle defarge will be attracted to people who have recently eaten bananas!

I particularly like #3. Think about this (but not too hard). I also like #10 (today's for-Valentine's-Day-but-not-on-Valentine's-Day-because-everyone-else-will-be-out-on-Valentine's-Day ski involved bananas stuffed with carob chips, warmed on top of the wood stove, and a high level of mutual attraction).

And...

Your Candy Heart Says "Get Real"

You're a bit of a cynic when it comes to love.
You don't lose your head, and hardly anyone penetrates your heart.

Your ideal Valentine's Day date: is all about the person you're seeing (with no mentions of v-day!)

Your flirting style: honest and even slightly sarcastic

What turns you off: romantic expectations and "greeting card" holidays

Why you're hot: you don't just play hard to get - you are hard to get

What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

(We'll judge the accuracy of this one in a day or so--our Valentine's Day 'round here has turned into a two-day event, and there's already lots to tell.)

"Let's go, little darling"

2006-02-13T09:47:00.000-07:00

Rossland really is a friendly town. Last week, while I was waiting for the bus down to Trail, an old man walked up to me and said "If I were sixty years younger, I'd wait right there" (points to street) "maybe with Cadillac convertable, to take you anywhere you want to go." It was very cute.

Last night I had the chance to talk to another old man, this time about bindings. Finding his house took some doing. I thought James said he lived in Happy Valley, so I had a nice, long moonlit walk through Happy Valley. Turns out George lives on the road to Happy Valley--but of course not on the road I took to get Happy Valley--so after walking for maybe forty-five minutes I just sort of happened to randomly choose the right direction, and to a house that sort of looked right. It doesn't help that "there will be a Ford Explorer in the driveway" was part of the directions, and I couldn't tell you what a Ford Explorer looked like if you hit me with one, especially in the dark (it was dark by this time). I rang the doorbell, and decided to let whomever answered it speak first. That way, if it wasn't George, I could stand there looking like an idiot babbling about the Mining School road (for which there do not seem to be any street signs) and a man named Georged with some bindings to sell me. Fortunately it turned out to be the right house.

The bindings were still attached to skis, so I got those too--all for $50. The skis are old school, straight-edged florescent yellow Rossignol ones. Fortunately, the bindings are newer--five years old, and mounted three years ago--and I think they'll be okay. I'm not sure what to do with the skis themselves. I might offer them to Blaine to put on the wall downstairs, or turn them into shot skis--both options conveniently shown here:

(Photo from mid-January; later we played limbo under the shot ski.)

Or Aussie Friend Greg might want them to ski on. He showed up last night--I had the house to myself and was taking a bath, and then didn't have the house to myself when I got out--and there was some talk of him using my skis with the bindings from Non-Aussie Rob (not installed professionally, of course). Who knows.

At any rate, I'm not thinking much of downhill skiing today. As a for-Valentine's-Day-but-not-on-Valentine's-Day-because-everyone-else-will-be-out-on-Valentine's-Day date sort of thing, James offered to take me cross country skiing at Nancy Greene summit. He promised wine and dessert sandwiches (how could a girl refuse?). So this is what I'm hoping for today--but rather suspect that I might be waiting a while for this to actually happen... James said we'd go today if he finished his paper, and he went out to a movie last night, so the paper's not done and well, I think I'll end up spending the day working on the toques I'm making for us and on the Ellaesque shawl. After working this weekend and skiing to work, a day of rest won't be a bad thing... but skiing in Nancy Greene with James would be a lot better. Keep your fingers crossed (so long as it doesn't impede your knitting).

"And I won't watch you waste away/ And I won't fake another day"

2006-02-11T22:52:00.000-07:00

The past couple of days have felt odd--nice things have happened, but the mood has been weird.

On Thursday night, Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes and I skied up to the Rock Cut--a pub out near the hill--for cheap wings and a fabulous smoked salmon and spinach salad. It was almost as though we actually went on a date or something crazy like that--although that was hardly James' intention, as he tried to get Aussie Friend Greg (and anyone else willing) to come along with us. But we're the only two in the house with cross country gear, so we're the only two who went. The trail was brilliantly lit with moonlight--a moon almost-but-not-quite-full. The snow sparkled, and we had the trail to ourselves. It was simply stunning. James pointed out constellations to me.

And I went to the library here in town on Friday evening and made out like a bandit: a Judith Krantz I'd never read before, plus Umberto Eco's latest novel and the dvd of Breakfast at Tiffany's. I'm pretty stoked about all three--watched the movie that night (and actually cried at the ending [seriously--with James in bed next to me trying to sleep, even]), and will bring the Eco to work tomorrow.

And I've been crafty as usual. I dyed my Knit Pick's laceweight using orange, lemon-lime and blue raspberry. The skein is about 1/4 of the orange, another quarter of the lemon-lime and the last half is the blue raspberry. I'm really pleased with the results. It was the first time I'd hand-painted yarn, and even though I flubbed a bit, the yarn looks really good. Next time I'll use less water, and will actually have a proper steamer basket to use. I also decided to cast off the green garter stitch shawl--mostly because I was sick of working on it. It's maybe not quite as big as I would have liked; nevertheless I am happy with it and wore it with pleasure to work today. Having finished with that shawl, I'd like to get some sort of Ella-ish thing going with the kool-aid laceweight. I want it to be rectangular and I haven't yet figured out how to alter the Ella pattern to make it work.

And I've been working, and skiing to work. We're actually having some clear weather around here these days (after almost constant cloud in January), hence the afore mentioned moonlight and the glorious sunlight in which I have skied to and from work. I don't quite understand how I'm skiing so much without seeming to lose any weight or be in the better shape at all, but I'm loving it. The downhill get-up still isn't organized, but I'm sure it'll come together at some point.

But...

Lately James has what one might call a case of what one might call (in honour of Breakfast) the mean reds, and has been thoroughly out of sorts. His health is worsening, he's behind in his schoolwork and he never gets any time alone. He's just so stressed, and of course it's rubbing off on me. I want so much for him to be healthy and happy all the time, even though I know this is impossible for anyone--and especially James. I want so much to be able to do something--anything for him--but I can't. And of course since he has absolutely no concept of what it's like to be in love with someone, he doesn't understand this impulse at all.

I also can't get over how he looks without his beard. He shaved off the moustache on Friday and now looks like he did when we first met--but also at the same time, he looks like such a stranger, and feels like a stranger. A few minutes ago, he came into the bedroom, and I almost didn't recognize him. He kissed me and I wondered if it was really him. I actually wondered who is this strange man who just burst into my bedroom? Despite the stubble, he looks so young and innocent--almost baby-faced, somehow. I'd never noticed before how thin his upper lip is, and while his gorgeous smile is now more visible when he does actually smile, I am more often seeing his mouth turned down in an almost permanent frown. It was surprising to see him smiling at work today; I think he's feeling better. Housemate Jon and Aussie Friend Greg spent an absolute fortune on split boards and back-country gear in Nelson today, and their enthusiasm for their new toys infected James a bit.

So the past couple of days have just been all about the Mixed Feelings. I like my job, skiing, getting to knit so much, living in Rossland, my housemates... but I've gone from actually being happy to be in love with James (for all of about a week and a half) to once again finding it rather painful (to say the least). I mean, I wrote this post while listening to Bon Jovi, for pete's sake (although for the record, the title is in fact from the inimitable Beth Orton, and now I've moved onto Beth Orton, Cat Power, Coco Rosie and Norah Jones, so things can't be all that bad).

"Well I'm changing all my strings/ I'm gonna write another travelling song"

2006-02-09T10:19:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday

How many books do you usually take with you on vacation? Too many? Too few? Do you still have room to pack clothes?

What kind of books do you read on vacation?

Do you read the same kind of books when you're on vacation as when you're at home?

Vacation... what a strange concept. Doesn't everybody have four days off a week, and therefore live in a state of semi-permanent vacation? And really, when you get to knit and read at work, it barely feels like work. I mean, my boss' nickname--that you can call him to his face, not a behind-his-back nickname--is Chunk. That should tell you something. (He said that the caramel latte I made for him on Sunday was "fantastic." Hooray for success at work!)

So, vacation...

Even when I think back to the days when I was in school, or working during the summer, "vacation" still strikes me as an odd word. The kind of vacation when you get on a plane and go somewhere exotic hasn't really happened for me. When I was younger, it was all about the "minivan holidays" in our family. Ususally (with only a few exceptions) there would be a wedding or a party or celebration of some kind, so we'd all pile in the minivan and drive and drive and drive and drive to wherever whatever was going on. Along the way there and the way back, we'd stop at touristy things, and sometimes make large, long, strange detours to look for/ at interesting things. Some of the trips that all five of us have made include a bit of a tour around the maritimes (Jimmy's wedding [betcha that guy doesn't call him own kids maggots!]), a trip to Montreal (March break in Kingston), a trip to Washington (possibly also another March break--I don't quite remember as I was pretty young for a lot of these trips). One particularly outstanding trip was Sudbury to Cold Lake (my cousin Erin got married there) via Winnipeg, followed by a tour of the eastern Rockies (Jasper and Banff) and bits of Alberta (Drumheller, Buffalo Jump). We put over 3000km on the van in about two weeks. This trip was different because it was just my parents and I, with my aunt Mary and my Grandma--no brothers for once. Anyways... On these trips, books were crucial. As was music. You'd spend just so much time in the van driving that you'd go insane without books; as much as I love to look out the window at the scenery, when you're driving almost every day for two weeks, you can't look at the trees all the time. I remember reading the Anne of Green Gables books during the Maritimes trip--we'd stopped in PEI and visited a bunch of the Anne stuff.

In recent years, there hasn't been a minivan and there haven't been very many vacations of any sort, it seems. Certainly when travelling from Vancouver to Salt Spring and back for holidays or weekends away, I'd always bring a book for the ferry. Sometimes it was school reading. The bus ride up to Dawson this past summer (and then living in Dawson) involved a lot of books. There was one day trip we did out to Port Renfrew and the nearby beaches a couple of summers ago with my parents, cousins Rob and Laura and their daughter Amelia, and on the way back I read to/ paraphrased my Kirsten books for her (we'd been playing with Kirsten that vacation [Kirsten was mine when I was a wee little thing, and we kept her for occasions such as this {and now I have to shudder to think of Celle's damn kids playing with her--she's stored right now but if Colin has a girl I might be obliged...}]).

There was a time in my life when I pretty much didn't go anywhere without a book. It would be books for school, or just whatever I happened to want to be reading at the time--I certainly wouldn't save up a book to read on vacation if I wanted to read it at home, and I rather scorn the concept of "summer reading" (you know, light books--there's nothing wrong with light reading, but you can't devote an entire season to it). It was always a sign that the minivan holiday was a good one when I ended up with unread books by the end, and always a bad sign when I ran out of things to read. I don't remember the latter happening too much.

These days, in my current life-as-vacation-vacation-as-life, I'm barely reading at all. I'm actually a bit disturbed at how little reading I'm doing. Since arriving here, I've read The Princess Bride, The Schrodinger's Cat Trilogy, Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World and I'm currently working on Jane Austen's Persuasion and Tom Robbins' Skinny Legs and All. I think part of the problem is that I'm a bit stalled with the Robbins. He's just not doing it for me right now. I think I need to set it aside, and pick something else from the library downstairs. I have this vague desire to pick up Ulysses again, but, well... meh.

So if I'm not reading on my days off, just how do I pass the time? There's something about being here that time just disappears effortlessly. I'm knitting a lot--the yarn and needles for my sweater have arrived, so I've begun washing the yarn (it blooms, so it needs to be skeined, washed and then re-balled so that I can fit-as-I-go), and I'm working on fleece-lined toques for James and I (his was supposed to be a surprise for Valentine's day but he asked about my plans for Valentine's day when the whole cat skiing bullshit was getting resolved [I suppose the nice thing is that we get over our upsets quickly]). I have several other projects on the go at the moment; I actually used the box that the yarn from Knit Picks arrived in as a WIP box, and have my lap top box full of stash yarn. I'm sure I can get some photos with Jon's camera at some point. Maybe today since it gorgeous and sunny out. I've also taken up embroidery, and work at that a bit. And of course there's skiing--stilll only cross-country these days, as I couldn't get the bindings put on my skis because they're "too old." So now I'm sort of half-heartedly looking for bindings; I'm rather poor which complicates things. Plus Settlers of Catan. Lots and lots of settlers. We played back-to-back games last night, if you can imagine. I can easily not pick up a book for days on end here. It's strange but good.

"Ooh such a beautiful way/ To break my heart"

2006-02-08T23:53:00.000-07:00

There was a big Moustache and Cleavage party in town last night at an apartment building occupied by some friends of ours. James shaved for the occasion, and went from this:

... through this:

... to this:

He won the Best Moustache trophy--the decision was quite unanimous. He kept it on today, and I think will keep it for a couple of days. I think I miss the beard already. It was quite soft, especially compared to his stubble, which feels like sandpaper. On the other hand, he's starting to look more like he did when we first met--he was clean-shaven/stubbly during the summer--so from a nostalgia perspective I like it.

I wore my Paris dress, mostly because I wanted an excuse to wear it. Here's us on the couch at our place during the pre-party--it's a good view of the 'tache, and a good shot of me lookin' all sultry in my hot hot hot dress.

I looked very classy doing the shot ski... and a beer bong later at the party. It was a good time (until James told me that he wanted to go cat skiing with another girl on Valentine's day and of course told me this in the most insensitive and cruel manner and so having managed to not break my heart for a whole week and a half, he set me off again--I'm hoping we can push it up to two weeks this time around).

"You're unbelievable"

2006-02-07T09:10:00.000-07:00

So, um. Yeah. I had this post planned in my head about hot tubbing the other night with Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes and his Aussie Friend Greg and I was going to tell you about the beers and the eye candy and the good conversation and the lovely sky above and picking up ski bindings afterwards and then it was going to turn into this thing about how yes, I really am quite happy here--including happy to be in love with James for once--but then I telephoned home last night and received some interesting news. Colin answered the telephone and we had quite the chat. He told me that Celle is pregnant, and that the child is his.

Now, I'd always sort of expected that Colin would knock someone up, but really he's outdone himself here. He knocked up a married woman--by which I mean, remember, a woman who is married to someone else. One of my roommates suggested that we all go on Jerry Springer and it's a sadly appropriate suggestion (let's face it, this is all very white trash).

I did have the decency to congratulate him on the telephone--but of course expressed concern and suchlike to my mom when I spoke to her. She's really upset. Back in the summer, when Colin and Celle were just having a thing together, she described it as one of the worst times in her life, so I can just imagine how she's feeling now. Especially since her mother has been in the hospital since New Year's; at least Grandma's better now, and getting out of the hospital on Wednesday. But my mom isn't telling anyone about the kid, but is leaving it up to Colin to do.

So I'm going to be an aunt at some point in the future--I don't know the due date--but I am uncategorically stating right now that I will not be knitting baby clothes for this thing. I might make a token toque or somesuch, but that's all. Besides the fact that I don't really like kids in general, I'm even less impressed with this particular kid. I'll be waiting until it's old enough to have a personality beyod the folly of its parents before I start liking it.

In other, better news, I've hooked myself up with downhill ski gear--a baby of my own, if you will. It turns out that renting isn't economically viable, even with a staff discount, so I've acquired my own stuff. I had bought boots earlier from the thrift shop ($3), and found a pair of skis advertised on a noticed board in town. I got them for $50, and according to the guys, it was a really good deal. Mark measured them and the tips are fatter than James' skis, and apparently I should be making fun of James because of this. A coworker gave me some old racing bindings he had lying around and I bought new poles from Butch for $34. James has taken the skis, bindings and a boot to the rental shop to have the bindings put on and the skis tuned up, and hopefully they'll be done later today. I don't think this means I'll be downhill skiing more than cross-countrying, because I do prefer cross country, but at least I have the stuff and can go whenever I like without having to deal with rentals. I am knitting myself a new toque to go skiing in, since my pink one doesn't cover the bottoms of my ears. It'll be fleece lined.

"Hungry like the wolf"

2006-01-31T09:01:00.000-07:00

Guess who's getting breakfast in bed this morning?

Me. Me. Me.

"I need your love/ More than you'll ever know"

2006-01-30T10:23:00.000-07:00

I like powder days--not for the skiing, but for the peace and quiet in the house. It snowed 15 cm up at the hill last night, so all the guys--James, the three roommates and one houseguest--took off early this morning to get first chair and fresh tracks. Which means I have the house to myself and it's very nice. I had a rather crazy weekend, and am in need of some down time. I worked split shifts on Friday and Saturday (there was night skiing, so I did coffee during the day and cashiered in the evening), which turned into 11 hours on the job on Friday and 13 on Saturday. Plus I covered a shift for another coffee girl on Sunday. I'm really glad for the extra hours--especially the overtime and the bug, unexpected tip-out from Friday night--but it was quite tiring. Especially since I skied to work once everyday; Aussie Rob just told me the other day that it's an 8 km round trip. Who knew.

Friday's big tip-out--for a very, very easy evening of work--has already turned itself into yarn. I've ordered 17 balls of Fog to make myself a sweater. I also ordered some of the dye-your-own laceweight and two skeins of Sock Landscape in Yukon (of course!).

In the midst of my crazy work weekend, there was a Burns Night dinner at our house. I missed out on the dinner part, but arrived home in time to hear the speeches--a toast to the lassies and a reply to the laddies, both quite funny--and do a little dancing. I wish we'd danced more, because I really like ceilidh (pronounced something like "caley") dancing. Helen and James, our Scottish friends, came over earlier in the week to show our household how to do the dances, so that come Saturday night enough people would know what they were doing to help everyone muddle through.

Learning to ceilidh dance meant an opportunity for photographs, so here we see Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes (aka my totally smokin' hot boyfriend) wearing the hoodie. Last night when I commented on errors and things not done well in the sweater, he genuinely seemed to not know what I was referring to. He said it was perfect.

Overally, stuff here is going really well. I like my job at the ski hill, and have managed to get another shift, so the financial situation is just that bit more comfortable. I (generally) like my roommates and enjoy living with them. I like skiing--and I now have a free season's pass to the hill, and will arrange for equipment tomorrow so I can start downhilling, too. I like the people I'm meeting, even if they're not exactly kindred spirits.

And most of the time, I like living with James and being with him. I think so far he's broken my heart on average about twice a week, but I think--hope--this is going to change. We had a chat about stuff late Saturday night--I was overtired, which meant that I couldn't keep my emotions in check at all, so some stuff came out--and although it wasn't worded as an ultimatum, I suppose it rather came down to one. I just need to him to pay attention to how I'm doing before I start crying (and yeah, he's made me cry a lot this past month, it seems [the sentence "I love you but I hate being in love with you" was spoken]) or I can't stay here. I need him to make me feel like he wants me here, not just tell me every now and again that he does when he's upset me. I can't really believe that our relationship has this volatility to it. A lot of the time things are great, and he contributes greatly to my happiness, but there are also times when he frustrates/ confuses/ hurts me, and it's hard to know what to do with that. Having told him what I need from him, I think he's willing to try--which means I'm going to be a heck of a lot less emotional, which will make things so much easier. He didn't say that night "Yes, I will do my best to make you feel wanted and attractive and show you that I want you here" but his behaviour yesterday indicated that he was definitely listening to what I was saying. So I feel pretty good about us today, and I think this feeling might last.

"You are so beautiful to me"

2006-01-25T12:58:00.000-07:00

It's finally done.

My very first sweater is all set to grace the shoulders of Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes.

It's pretty wonky in spots, but overall I'm really happy with it. And it makes sense that a hoodie for James would be wonky, since he's a bit off himself. I learned a few new techniques working on this piece, even though it is miles and miles of stockinette stitch. I particularly like that there are some things I did without looking up instructions or tips and still I managed to do them okay. For the first time around, it was fun to figure things out for myself in spots.

I particularly like the label I embroidered for it--sewn into one of the side seams--even though I can neither embroider nor sew with any skill at all. I know it looks like an eleven-year-old did this in Home-Ec but I'm proud of it anyways.

The specs:
Chic Knits LoTech Sweat in KnitPicks' Wool of the Andes in Mist
Used fifteen full balls and three part balls (I think)
In the 46" size
On 4.5 mm needles--got gauge perfectly once the yarn had been washed and bloomed

My only complaint with the pattern is the hood. Knit according to the pattern, you end up with a stupid-looking point at the back of the head. Also, the hood I knit didn't fit onto the collar. So I reknit the hood about three times figuring out how to make it curve over the back of the skull, and then reknit it again by picking up stitches around the collar, rather than sewing the hood on.

I'm already thinking about a sweater I'd like to make for myself; I'm going to base it on this. I'd like to do it all in one piece--top-down raglan--as well as add some waist shaping and lengthen it a bit. Before I get around to another sweater, though, I want to finish all my current WIPs and do something with a bit of yarn I bought at the thrift store (mostly odd balls of stuff for little things--wrist-warmers, and maybe a doll and some clothes for my cousin's kid).

James is at work right now, so I can't get him to put the sweater on right now (as much as I'd like to) but I could leave it under the tree for him as a belated Christmas present. Blaine cut down the tree himself--poached it from the ski hill, actually--and is too proud of it to let it be taken down. I'm thinking that at least now it's been up long enough to have gone from being in poor taste to being funny.

But don't expect any kind of sweater-in-action-on-the-man-himself photos; there's no way I'm asking. And I'm really glad my roommate Jon didn't ask what I wanted to take pictures of when I asked to borrow his camera (but maybe I'll borrow it again some day and photograph more knitting--just like a real knit blogger).

[Edit: I decided that since I had the camera and was home alone--no witnesses--that I'd just go ahead and photograph things. Check 'em out over at my Flickr account.]

"LIve by fucking yourself to death"

2006-01-19T10:11:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday (and an update below)

Have you finished any books yet?

If you have, how many, what were they, how did you like them?

If not, why not? Are you currently reading anything that you just haven't finished yet?

Books? Um, what are those? I really don't think I'm familiar...?

Okay. Not quite, but close. I guess I've actually finished three novels, but it only feels like I've finished one, The Princess Bride. This must have been about the fifth time I've read this book; I love it and think it ranks among the greatest novels ever written. I chose to read it again because it's the right combination of intelligent but easy--I still get a huge kick out of what a fantastic post-modern joke it all is, but it isn't really a challenge at all and of course you've got to love the love story.

The two other novels that I have finished but don't feel like I've finished are The Universe Next Door and The Trick Top Hat. These are the first two books in the Schrodinger's Cat trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson, and as I'm reading the trilogy in a single volume, I don't feel like I've finished anything yet, even though I have. I think there's about sixty pages left to go in the last book, The Homing Pigeon. James explained the Schrodinger's Cat thing (a cat in a box is both dead and alive until you open the box [I think]) to me on his last visit to Edmonton, and so I was curious to read these books. They're sort of a cross between Douglas Adams and Kurt Vonnegut, but aren't quite as good as either. They're pretty light reading, which is good these days. I'd started reading Hopscotch by Julio Cortazar before this trilogy, but just wasn't getting into it and didn't feel as though I was doing it justice, so I put it down. I'm not sure if I'll attack it again soon or if I should wait a little longer.

I don't mind that I'm not doing much reading at all. I honestly can't remember the last time in my life when I did so little reading (three and a bit novels in 19 days) but I think it's a good thing. There's just so much else going on--skiing and working and hanging out and cooking and sleeping lots and running errands and knitting. Time is just flying by; there's something about here that time just disappears.

I've starting working. I'm one of the coffee girls up at the ski hill, and I work two days a week. I'd love more shifts, and have been trained as a cashier in the cafeteria as well, so I hope I will work more. I'm pretty strapped for cash but don't want to have to look elsewhere for work.

Besides being a little worried about money, things here are going much better than I anticipated. I'm really very happy with everything. I like my job; I like living with roommates (generally); I like the people I'm meeting; I like cross country skiing; I like living with James; I like James. I'm really feeling now that coming here was the best possible thing to do, instead of just thinking that it was the best thing to do.

The only bad thing about these days is that my grandmother is dying. She's in the hospital, and has been taken off her medications (except for pain killers). She's depressed and doesn't eat--just lies there sleeping most of the time. She's 86, and considering what I saw of her mental/ physical/ emotional condition at Christmas, I can see that it's time for this to be happening--I knew that I wouldn't see her again when I said goodbye Christmas day. She's had a long and full life and all that cliched crap. But it's still kind of hard, especially since I feel a bit alone of about the whole thing. She's been in the hospital since New Year's but my mom didn't tell me until two days ago, and James is away on a road trip right now, so there isn't really anyone here I can ask for support. I'm eager for James to get back, mostly because I just want a hug.

He was actually supposed to get back last night. He and Jon left on Sunday to ski (or board, in Jon's case) four different hills in four days. But instead of getting home last night as expected, he telephoned to say that the rental car had alternator trouble and they were stuck in Penticton overnight. They're supposed to get back tonight. I didn't miss him until last night when he told me he'd be another day (although I definitely noticed his absence throughout the trip--I guess it's just one of those things about shacking up with someone). I've been working on his hoodie while he's been away, and all the pieces are (hopefully) dry after blocking. I just have to knit on the button bands and an edging for the hood, and sew it all together. I think it will fit okay--I compared it to a much-favoured shirt of James' that he left behind and it's the same size. My only concern is that the hood--which I re-knit three times to get the top part looking just right--looks too big for the neck hole, so I may have to re-knit it a fourth time. At least I know how to do the top so that I curves around the skull (the pattern as written results in a big pointy thing at the top--very stupid looking). Jon has a digital camera and I'll borrow it to take some photos once it's done (just like a real knit blogger).

Jon's photos--posted here--might actually interest you. There are skiing and partying photos of the Household and around Rossland.

"They call it stormy Monday/ But Tuesday's just as bad"

2006-01-10T14:37:00.000-07:00

How stupid is this:

I can manage to cross country ski on black diamond trails--used for extreme mountain biking in the summer--and fall down every eight minutes without so much as breaking a fingernail, but I can't walk down the street without falling and injuring myself.

Just as the big bruise on my knee from New Year's Eve has started to fade, I've gone and fucked up my right thumb. We had a big dump of snow Sunday night, so on Monday I went out and skiied in the Monte Christo area. Only some of the trails had been tracked, and so for part of my ski I was breaking through fresh powder. It was hard work but a lot of fun--and occasionally a little scary when I had a hard time telling just where the trail actually was under all that snow. Things were a little steep at times, and I'm not so much good with the hills (yet), so I spent a lot of time falling down. I survived, though. No injuries. No sitting around in the snow waiting for the Search and Rescue guys to show up. I realized as I was skiiing that I hadn't told anyone where I was going skiing or even that I was going skiing at all, which means that if something serious had happened, I could have been in trouble. But I was fine. Better than fine, actually. It was a great ski.

But later in the afternoon, after I'd showered and had a snack, I went into town to check the mail box and to grocery shop. And coming home, walking down across the top of a big, slippery hill, I fell. I took most of my weight on my right hand, which landed smack on top of something very hard inside my grocery bag. It hurt so much, and I felt it all the way up my arm. I now have a bruise running from my wrist to the knuckle on my thumb, and the base of my thumb and lower part of my palm is swollen. It's quite painful--achy and sore all the time, and then a sharp hurt when I try to use it (turning doorknobs is particularly painful).

I think I even managed to make my hand worse today. It snowed again last night, so I went out to ski the Kootenay-Columbia trail. The conditions weren't nearly as nice today--instead of skiing through light, fluffy powder, it was like skiing through mashed potatoes. There was so much snow melt dripping from the trees it felt as though it was raining at times--and sounded quite violent, too, somehow, what with all the rain and the snow falling from the trees. It was not a silent day in the woods by any means. While it didn't hurt to grip my ski pole, any time I needed to put any downward pressure on that pole, the strap dug into the swollen/ bruised part at the base of my thumb. And I needed to put downward pressure on that pole a lot. I'm right-handed, so my right hand and arm are stronger and unconsciously preferred. If I was slipping trying to go up a hill, it would be my right pole that I'd dig in first to keep myself from falling--except that hurt like a bitch to do, and I actually went down on my knees a couple of times because my right hand just didn't have the strength past the hurt.

For all the crappy conditions and the very painful hand, I'd still say it was a good ski. I'm glad to have gotten out today, since as soon as it gets any colder, that trail is going to be sheer ice. And I liked the challenge, even though it involved an awful lot of blue language. Best of all, though, my route led me to a really neat spot. Two people and a dog had hiked the trail I was on before me (they're very multiuse trails--but fortunately nothing motorized), so I just followed their trail until it ended. It happened to end at the top of a hill, looking straight out into a cloud. It was very cool to ski up to this cliff and stand looking out into nothing. On a sunny day, there would be an absolutely gorgeous view, I think. There was even a little bench you could sit on. I think the trail I was on actually goes down the other side of the mountain, but it hadn't been tracked out at all and was under so much now I couldn't see where it went at all. I just turned around and followed my own track out--with much cursing and cussing, of course.

"I wanna rock and roll all night/ And party every day"

2006-01-06T12:32:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday

Do you have a reading plan for the new year? Why or why not?

If you do, what is it?

Theoretically, yes. The plan would be to use this new leisure-time-filled lifestyle to do a moderate amount of reading for pleasure--maybe two or three novels a week.

The reality, however, is a little different.

To say the least.

Since arriving here New Year's Eve, I have read one article and one poem out of the latest Brick and about fifty pages of The Princess Bride. For various reasons, things here just aren't condusive to pleasure reading. First off, I still kind of am working on papers. And second, there's The Household and the operation thereof. Days just seem to disappear around here, somehow. The boys are either skiing or working or both during the day, and then social things happen after nightfall (Red doesn't have night skiing but I think if they did I'd never see James). During the day--with the exception of the day we went to Nancy Green, and yesterday when I skiied by myself at Black Jack and on the Centennial trail (at least 10km, I'm thinking)--I usually deal with any snow that needs to be shovelled, and I grocery shop and run errands and do dishes and try to write and then all of a sudden people are home again, and there's dinner to be dealt with and games of Settlers of Catan to play and people to visit and people come over to visit and then before I go to bed (with James--which does rather interrupt the reading time [but that completely and totally 100% is not a complaint]) I write in my journal. And my days will be even more full now that I have my own equipment and will try to ski as much as I can (but not today--it's raining and I have a cold [caught from James, who's giving his cold to the entire social circle in turn]). And then there's the whole job thing, which has got to happen at some point.

So really, there just isn't time for reading right now and I'm not interested in trying to make time. I'm generally enjoying all the socializing in the evenings, and I like having my days taken up with little, non-stressful tasks (with the exception of writing/ trying to write, which is still hell hell hell). I haven't even gone downstairs to check out James' library, even though I know I should be curious about it and he arranged it so carefully and cleverly before I arrived (quite touching because of Whitehorse).

But if and when I do want to read, it's James' library that I will read. There is a library in Rossland, and one in Trail, but I'm curious about his books. The small library that stayed with me while he travelling this fall proved to be interesting and entertaining (and sometimes even good), and I expect that his larger library will be the same.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you write a Booking Through Thursday post without actually writing about books.

"Then our skin gets thicker/ From living out in the snow"

2006-01-05T15:06:00.000-07:00

In the year 2006 I resolve to:

Hook up with the ugly geek next door.

Get your resolution here

Are there even geeks in this town? Are there even ugly guys here?

I'm thinking that the answer to both those questions has got to be no. They're all ski bums and they're all fairly cute (although none are as knee-weakeningly gorgeous as James, of course). And let's face it, shacking up with a hot ski bum is a way better anecdote than hooking up with an ugly geek.

"I'll be a stock broker/ And I'll get me a wife"

2006-01-03T10:19:00.000-07:00

I've been rocking the whole paper journal thing since getting here, and except for it being a bit tricky to write with James lying next to me and bugging me, I'm really happy with using it as my primary writing space. So... Not so much with the blogging these days. Posts will appear occasionally, and not all regular-like. Except for Booking Through Thursday; I'll try to keep that up.

I'll leave you with the email I sent out with an update and my contact info--minus the contact info, of course!

Greetings from Rossland.

I feel as though I've stepped into another universe. The house here would make Martha Stewart weep: there are five different types of fake wood panelling in the kitchen (six if you open the back door to reveal the unfinished plywood in the back stairs); the Christmas tree (still up in January with no talk of it coming down) is topped with a can of Moosehead; the steam-cleaning didn't quite get all the stains out of the thrift-store rug (but the boys are so proud they steam-cleaned).

There are five of us living in the house: Blaine, John and Mark, as well as James and me. The boys are a nice bunch, it seems. Mark knits, so we talk about that. But mostly conversations here are about skiing and the weather. Since I've arrived, I don't think there's been half an hour of conversation in this house during which skiing hasn't been mentioned; I have a lot of new vocabulary to learn (last night we discussed the precise amount and type of snow that must be falling in order for it to be "puking" outside). People here talk about skiing like English geeks talk about books and professors.

The town itself is very pretty--if a little slippery. I went out on New Year's Eve in my winter boots and came home with a big bruise on my knee to prove that the rest of the winter is going to be spent in hiking boots. I put my pointy-toed high-heeled black leather dress shoes on the boot rack by the back door as a joke (Blaine was very amused). I hadn't wanted to be too casual here but it seems casual is being forced upon me by the conditions.

It's amazing being with James. He's always been this gift I couldn't keep, and what we have now is something I never thought we would have. It's definitely different from the visits we've had in the past--usually those were very tete-a-tete and now I'm having to share him with roommates and friends and the ski hill--but if the past day and a half is any indication, things are going to work out fine.

It's all a pretty big change from where I was a month ago--still in school and not thinking of leaving; living by myself--but it's good. There have definitely been moments when I've wondered what I'm doing here, but I think I'd ask myself that question no matter where I'd chosen be. Learning to live without school and to not be a student for the first time in my life is a big emotional adjustment... Well, James and I are going ski shopping this morning--I'm going to take up cross country and he wants skins for back country--and there's probably fresh snow to be shoveled outside, good meals to cook and eat, decent nights of sleep to get, things to knit... It's time, I suppose, to let these things become ordinary life.

"Like I give a fuck"

2005-12-30T18:47:00.000-07:00

I'm finished a paper and it's so bad I don't want to hand it in. It doesn't feel good to be finished it, because I know it's not finished. I'm about two thousand words short, and I know exactly how I could make those words up. But the emotional resources and the energy just aren't there. This is heartbreaking. I just feel so paralyzed. I don't even want to leave here, even though the apartment is all clean and the movers have taken my things away and all that's left is my stuff for Rossland all packed up. Rossland. What am I thinking? I can't do this. I can't do anything. This is an appropriate corner to curl up and die in; there's even already a spider.

"You know it's time/ That we/ Grew old and did some shit"

2005-12-29T23:23:00.000-07:00

1--books, boa, sarong
2--books, dvd cases, decorative needles
3--books, journals, orange & purple cushion
4--dinner plates, side plates, big rice bowls, asian spoons, soy sauce dishes, glass baking dish, muffin tins
5--flat bowls, small rice bowls, measuring cups, fondue pot, tea pot & cups, salad bowl, measuring cups, electric chopper, pitcher
6--large pot, purple tea light holders, cope bottle, vase, glasses, mugs, clear tealight holders, clay pot, yellow airplane coin thingy, soap dish, spice jars (ikea & other)
7--frying pan, wire basket, stainless steel bowl, small pot, roaster, elephant mug, cutlery, utensils, cutlery tray, garbage cans, iron, paint box, 2 canvases, extension cords, copper dish, bathmat, purple sweater, candle holder from Colin,
8--rollerblades, shoes, bags, velvet jewelry boxes, mink coat
9--mexican blanket, dust ruffle, broom skirt, tilley hat, someone else’s jean jacket, ikea hanging storage thingies, mardi gras masks, good & vintage dresses, hats, grey pants, 2nd set of towels
10--tent, basket o’ sin, black bathroom baskets, key board, square table lamp, speakers, desk lamps, recipe folder, bathrobe, black turtleneck, Look magazine, random stuff off the coffee table, cord for hanging lamp
11--office supplies, photographs, papers, mouse, frame photographs, cds, computer info,
laundry basket--contains yarn

A life all packed and boxed, waiting for me to return. I rather wish that I could have gotten rid of it all--every single last book, shoe, plate and paper clip--so that I could really be starting from scratch right now. (I'd buy a hoodie. Apparently hoodies are de rigeur in Rossland.) All this stuff is just going to sit there, waiting for me to settle down, when the absolute last thing in the world I want is to be settled. Although if it did actually come down to it, I'd probably have a really hard time actually getting rid of everything. I heaved more than a few sighs while packing away my pretty shoes and wonderful books and Paderno pots and tea light holders.

I sorted out packing for Rossland reasonably well. I took my paints out of the fishing tackle box they'd been in, which saved a lot of space, and I'm using the box my iBook came in as a portable craft centre. It has a handle for easy carrying, and emptied of its styrofoam, the box easily holds my paints, brushes, a few small canvases, the yarn and knit pieces of the hoodie-for-Fascinating-James-of-the-Blue-Eyes-that's-not-a-Boyfriend-Sweater, as well as some other yarn and knitting notions. I'll just carry it on to the bus with my small backpack, and it will be handy for keeping things tidy around the house. The space-time continuum was working in my favour today and I managed to cram even more stuff in to the duffle bag (the largest one of these). My poor feather pillow and duvet are going to be flat as pancakes by the time I unpack on New Year's Eve. All the corners are filled with unmentionables, socks, books and suchlike little bits. The hiking backpack is full as well, and it's going to have things strapped to the outside--my sleeping bag, the poster tube, possibly my hiking boots. It's a ton of stuff but doing with less would be unpleasant, and I want the next few months to be thoroughly pleasant.

Tomorrow, I just have to pack up my toiletries, empty the kitchen of food (giving lots to Greg, I hope), take out the trash and recycling and clean. That is, that's all I have to do moving-wise. Paper-wise it's another story entirely (and it's a really scary, awful, abject and downright nasty story that's still making me miserable, so I won't discuss it). I think Brianna will be running me over to Budget to return some unused boxes, and I'll suggest we have lunch, too. My bus leaves a couple of minutes after midnight, and I should be at my new home by 7 or 7:30 on the 31st.

I'm feeling pretty good about the whole moving-in thing. James' screen name on Messenger for the past couple of days has been "you may now call me 'James and'", which I think is totally cute and sweet. As I don't really associate James with cute and sweet it's a nice surprise, and a good sign. It makes me not mind being an "...and Kathryn", which is something I had been thinking I might mind. He scored us tickets to a New Year's Eve party at some hall in Rossland; apparently there's going to be a band. I'd been thinking I'd wear my Paris dress to this, but it will probably be a little much. I know it's the perfect dress for any occasion, but making it the perfect dress for any occasion takes a lot of confidence and I don't think I'll have enough on New Year's Eve. James always makes me nervous, and it will be nervous-making to meet the other roommates, as well as James' friends at the party. So a safer outfit--not a hoodie and toque (I don't have anything against toques and hoodies [James looks totally hot in his] but I just can't dress that way; not on New Year's Eve anyway)--is in order (probably pants, t-shirt and my panta [yes, it's finished and it's totally cute--I'm calling it my Sanity Panta] with the felt flats [lots of time to think while you're packing, you know?]). But it's all so much to look forward to, even though I am nervous about things. It's the little things--like getting a decent night's sleep and eating proper meals and looking at the equisite freckles on James' shoulders in the morning light--that I am most eager to experience. While I don't doubt that the next while will contain its share of fireworks, I want a certain sort of settledness and ordinariness. I'm also quite excited to start skiing; I'm going to try to get equipment as soon as possible. At Fred and Charlie's over Christmas, we watched cross country skiing races on television one afternoon, and while I am entirely uninterested in racing, it did look awfully appealing.

Since everything is packed, I'm spending the night in a sleeping bag, without even a Thermarest or pillow to make it easier. When I was packing the thermarest, I had a little debate with myself, but decided that if I didn't pack it then, it would never fit by morning. I think this was wise. But it'll be cold, hard sleeping tonight. And then a night on the bus. And then night after night with James.

"Rescue me"

2005-12-29T15:17:00.000-07:00

Packing for Rossland is SO STRESSFUL. I wanted to bring everything in my hiking backpack (70 litres) and in a duffle bag (110 litres), plus a small backpack for on the bus. But man oh man. Remember that scene in Mary Poppins when she pulls all the stuff out of her carpet bag? I'm trying to do that but in reverse. I even filled up the empty space inside my poster tube (James suggested I bring posters [at this stage I could kick James' ass for suggesting I bring posters]) with knitting needles and yarn. The duffle bag is stuffed to the gills but I keep giving it the occasional kick in hopes of finding just a little more space. I think I'm actually going to have to mail myself a box of stuff--probably yarn and my painting supplies. But still. Gah. I am not liking this. I wish I could take everything or nothing. I'm so tense I don't even want to keep knitting that Panta I cast on for...

"I want you so bad"

2005-12-28T14:07:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the bus depot (ticket to Castlegar, where Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes will meet me) and to MEC (long johns and fleece pants for skiing [I actually look pretty cute in them, despite the skinny ankles and elastic waistband]). And of course there was a yarn store in between these two points, not out of my way at all, so I went in. And came out with a skein of Noro Silver Thaw (colour #5 seen here). It's lovely and my fingers are itching to knit with it. I'm going to make a panta. But I have to pack and write (plus I'm starting to feel guilty about the hoodie for Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes [seems like every time I hear from him these days he says or does something completely and thoroughly cute and makes me even more eager to move in with him in Rossland] since it's been hanging around for a while now). But packing. Yes, must pack. Must not knit panta. Must not knit panta...

"But if you take that train underwater/ Then we could talk it through"

2005-12-21T14:24:00.000-07:00

Off to Winnipeg today. I have about two hours before my taxi gets here. Taxi? you say. How posh! Well, actually it's Edmonton's stupid transit system: there aren't any buses that go to the train station and their stupid lame-ass trip planner doesn't work. Just like there aren't any buses that go to the airport. It's super easy to get around this town.

I'm not going to post from Winnipeg or check emails. I'm not even bringing a paper journal. I will do some essay writing but I'm giving up on introspective writing until I get back on the 27th. The most I'm going to do it call Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes at some point (we had a messenger conversation today and I feel better about the move, so I think it will be good to actually speak to him--not even talk about move-stuff--and get back to what made me think this is a good idea). Other than that I'll be out of touch. I'm sort of warming up to Rossland: there's only dial-up there and I'm looking to cut down on my internet usuage. I'll still be around here a bit and will still be reachable by email; it will just be a little less.

Happy whatevers, everyone.

"You can call me baby"

2005-12-20T16:38:00.000-07:00

I was out on campus ealier today to pick up a program withdrawl form (I ran into Judith and she joked that she's not dropping out because it takes too much work), and on the way home stopped by a convenience store to get something to read for the train tomorrow. I picked up a copy of Cosmo.

Seriously.

Cosmo.

Cosmopolitan. The January issue, with some woman in a white dress on the cover with the most disturbing breasts.

I couldn't resist giving it a bit of a flip through when I got home and it's so dreadful. Just objectionable on every level. But I'm going to read it anyways. In fact, I'm rather working to resist reading it right now. I moving in with James soon, after all--better brush up on the "Foreplay Men Crave" and "50 Fun Ways to Get Close to Him."

*snicker*

I really should wait until after I've finished my papers before I start killing brain cells this way.

"The good times are killing me"

2005-12-20T02:22:00.000-07:00

Love this.

When I was doing the Kind of Great Sweater Wash of 2005 (I gave up with about three sweaters to go; my hands became chapped from the cold water) earlier today, I found a bright green sweater from the Gap that I bought about six years ago and never wear these days. I decided to full it and turn it into a laptop case. I'd been meaning to make myself one of these (although I had thought I'd knit something all in one piece and then full it, so as to avoid seaming), and the issue became somewhat pressing as I'm bringing the repetitive motion injury machine with me to Winnipeg. So I tossed the sweater (in a tied up pillow case that came untied mid-wash--I must get a zippered one) into the wash with an old towel, and sent it through two hot washes and one cold rinse and a spin. The sweater came out impossibly tiny; it was hard to believe that I could have worn that thing at some point. It looked like a sweater for a four year old. Tiny turned out to be the perfect size, however, as the lap top fits perfectly into the body of the sweater, which means I didn't have to resew the side seams. Instead, I just sewed shut the bottom of the sweater and cut off the arms (I only had purple thread but it actually looks fine and you don't even see it from the outside). I'm not sure how I want to treat the top of the case, so at the moment I've just left the collar and the raglan shaping in tact. I'm going to use the thing as it is now, and deal with the finishing once I'm in Rossland. I'd like to get some webbing for straps--nice and sturdy--and buttons to hold down a flap over the top. It also desperately needs a shave, and some kind of finishing touch to the cut edges. I'm hanging on to the sleeves and may use these to make pockets.

I have just over 2000 words done of The Elephant Man essay, which means that by the time I'm done I will have more than half the required number of words. Since half is what I'm aiming for, this is good. My parents telephoned today and my mom had the nerve to harass me about my papers. Short-lived sympathy, I guess. Just because I'm not weeping into the telephone doesn't mean things are peachy, lady. The whole call made me so glad I have somewhere else to go at the end of the month.

Since I can't mention this in my paper, I'm just going to toss it out here. I love Carr Gomm, the hospital director, in The Elephant Man. He's so sneaky and so totally smug about it at the same time. There's the whole surveilance kind of thing going on in the hallways, and how he writes to Victoria about Merrick. Sneaky sneaky sneaky. And then he's so smugly smug when people find him out. And it all happens in that old man body and up-tight Victorian suit--the crowning touches.

"They call it stormy Monday"

2005-12-19T16:28:00.000-07:00

After last night's freak out, I somehow managed to start working again and I'm now just over 1300 words in The Elephant Man paper. Surprisingly, I might actually end up with something approaching the required length. Things are still going slowly--I find it very hard to just sit and work--and I still hate it, but things aren't quite as abject as they seemed last night. That's the worst of things right now, I suppose. I range from feeling completely numb to absolutely terrified and thoroughly miserable, with the occasional spark of excitement about Rossland and Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes, and also moments of deep worry about having time to get ready to move. It would be easier if I could just feel all the time like I feel now: tense about everything (school, moving, James, Christmas in Winnipeg) but able to work at things. I seem to be taking some of this stress out on my sweaters: I've decided to hand wash them all, and so writing and trying to get boxes delivered is broken up by this oddly satisfying task. I'm thinking when all the sweaters are done, I'm going to organize the yarn stash that I'm not bringing to Rossland.

"I'm a loser, baby/ So why don't you kill me?"

2005-12-19T01:28:00.000-07:00

I think if I hadn't given my desk to Greg on Saturday I'd be under it in a foetal position choking on my own tears. I'm lonely and scared and unable to write. I hate that I told Heather I'd finish. I hate that I see why I should finish and still can't manage to produce any work--even crappy work. I hate that I can't let go of my standards. I hate that I have periods of tentative optimism that are followed by much longer periods of absolutely crushing defeat. I hate that I have to worry about moving out. I hate that I can't sleep. I hate everything right now. I just want this to be over. I don't care about anything except making all of this over. I know that to do that I just have to write. But I can't. I can't. I hate myself for not being able to do this. This is the worst time of my life.

"My body is a wide house/ a commune/ of bickering women, hearing/ their own breathing/ denying each other."

2005-12-18T18:59:00.000-07:00

Very often, while writing papers as an undergraduate, I'd have two moments of inspiration. The first would be the idea itself, when I knew what text I wanted to discuss and the angle from which to attack it. The second would usually come during the writing itself, when I'd suddenly--and very often randomly, while doing something entirely unconnected to paper writing--know exactly how things were going to turn out, and what my "so what" was. The most memorable was last's spring's Oscar and Lucinda, when I came up with my 'it's a novel that invites you to rewrite it' thing (now there's a writing project!).

This term, I had the first moment of inspiration for my papers--coming up with ideas wasn't really a problem. But I haven't really gotten far enough with the others to have had any second moments of inspiration. Crappy space to be in. I mean, what I'm trying to do right now is crappy enough and lacking inspiration just makes it worse.

I did have a mini-moment this evening about my Elephant Man paper; it was more of a how-to-write and not a what-to-write moment but I'm hoping it will still be useful. I'd been wondering how I could narrow my focus to just use "the freakshow" in order to prove my point, but was concerned to still include an analysis of the surrealistic scenes. What I realized is that these scenes can be seen as part of the freakshow--one of the ways that Lynch creates the various freakshows within the film. This is hardly a big breakthrough, and it's sad that I'm having to cling to such meagre stuff as 'inspiration,' but it's the clearest thought I'd had on this paper in 36 hours and I think it means I can start writing again, and maybe actually get into things.

I have to admit, I'm surprised that, having decided to move in with Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes, no one has really questioned that decision. I mean, there's a voice in my head that every once in a while just up and shrieks "What are you thinking? You've known this guy for six months and have spent only about two and a half weeks actually with him? Can you move in with someone based on emails?" This voice, she's shrill. She's loud. She's kind of right. She keeps shrieking at me.

But I can ignore her.

Because there's also the voice of a fourteen-year-old girl in my head screaming "You'll be his girlfriend!!!" as she jumps up and down on the bed (the 1980s version of a swoon).

(And there's the voice of reason in my head, too, who wrote that nice-sounding email to my parents, who is really the most compelling voice of the lot [she's why I'm actually moving to Rossland]. It's just that she isn't the loudest.)

ps. Today's quote? Real honest to goodness poetry for once, instead of song lyrics. From "House of Changes" by Jeni Couzyn.

"'Cause I've been burned before/ And I know the score"

2005-12-17T19:42:00.000-07:00

Hi Thanks for the thoughtful presentation of your situation. We think your idea is just fine. We look forward to chatting with you about your plans - especially the "supporting myself" part!! Actually we feel that if you aren't in school then you would be independent but we can appreciate that you may need some transition assistance. We can talk about that later. For now just focus on your writing and don't worry about other things. We are off to an open house and then a dinner at Mike and Bev's. Should be fun.
Mom and Dad

I'm suddenly really rather nervous. More nervous than I was when I was waiting for their reply.

I like how today, when I was doing some organizing, I found several envelopes of photographs which, while they had many fun and beautiful photographs it was nice to see again, also contained a scattering of pictures of ex-boyfriends. Nice to be reminded of how everything has always ended before, right when I'm starting (intensifying?) something.

"Only fools rush in"

2005-12-17T12:26:00.000-07:00

Hi Mom and Dad,

Things are going well--I'm writing. Maybe a little slowly but it's better than nothing. I think the first paper will be done sometime tomorrow.

I have been thinking a lot over the past few days about how to spend the rest of the winter. I know I've said I'll come back to Salt Spring, but that was just the easiest option to cling to in the moment. School had just become so overwhelmingly impossible and was making me so miserable that there was no room for anything else. Even the good things in my life were shut out. I simply siezed the first thing I could think of that I knew I could do. Having had some time to consider how I want to spend the rest of the winter, another option has presented itself. James and I have discussed it, and we have decided that it would be nice if I spent the rest of the winter with him in Rossland. I'll still ship my things to Salt Spring as planned, and will move in with him and his roommates, and get a job to support myself. Deciding this is one of the things that helped put "the lilt back in [my] voice last night."

I know you must be concerned at this suggestion, but I can only think of this as a good thing and the best option. James is an amazing person--smart, easy to be with, adventurous, strong, kind, interesting, and so much else--even if it has been difficult to express that adequately to you. When I was with him in Whitehorse, I wrote in my journal that "there's just a sense that everything between us is right and fits and is good" and this has carried through the visits we've had since then. I know things seemed rather awful in November, but I think that's understandable. It was a forty-eight hour visit in which we had to deal with so much--his stomach flu, that it was the first time I'd seen him since breaking up with Graham, and many private things besides--that tension was inevitable. But then he turned around and came back, and even though neither of us was feeling well, we still managed to have a really good visit and it felt like Whitehorse again. The things that needed to be figured out were figured out.

Now that I'm (almost) free, I can't see why I shouldn't pursue that feeling. It would just be a winter: James is still planning on Australia, and I'm still thinking of Japan. I'm not looking at this as a solution to the problems I face--but it's a good space in which to try and figure myself out. I'm afraid that if I come back to Salt Spring that I will feel pressured and under a cloud of reproach; I hate to write that because you are so supportive and loving and I love you so much and really appreciate how you're always there for me, but I can't help but worry that once I am away from the immediate stress of school that the focus of your concern is going to shift and make me feel pressured (even if that isn't your intention). Right now I need to work things out at my own pace and spend a lot of time not thinking about things. I also think that things on Salt Spring might be too habitual for me. Entering a new and different situation would give me something to focus on and work at, without being too stressful. I need something in my life and I'm not sure what Salt Spring has to offer me in this way; I can see myself becoming lazy and withdrawn. Going to Rossland seems to present a good set of short term goals--living with a boyfriend and roommates, living without school, I could take up cross-country skiing again, finding a job (and thinking about a job in terms other than saving for school or working to stay in school)--that will require just enough application that I will neither fall into a slothful funk nor feel like too much is expected of me. In this way, it's a bit like when you sent Colin to Salt Spring after he left Toronto: sometimes it's best not to hang around home.

To give you a sense of the situation in Rossland: Blaine, a ski patroller, has rented the house and is subletting the other rooms. He worked for the government last summer testing for water pollution downstream of a fish farm. Along with Blaine and James, the other housemate is John, an Englishman who is in Rossland to snowboard. He worked teaching English in Japan for a few years and, according to James, he reads quite a bit. James likes living with them both; they sound like nice guys. The house has everything one needs; I won't need to bring any of my household items (with the exception of bedding, but that's largely personal choice). There's laundry, and telephone and internet already hooked up. So from a practical perspective, moving in will be quite easy. James currently pays $300/month plus utilities (which will be cheap with four people in the house).

I expect you'd like to meet James, and I would like you to be able to. So we're inviting you to visit us--perhaps towards the end of January, when I've had a chance to settle in and start living?

I know you'll want to talk about this; I am quite prepared to explain further to you how this is a good thing. Call anytime.

K.

"My friends, my habits, my family/ They mean so much to me"

2005-12-16T21:48:00.000-07:00

I'm really feeling the love lately.

In the course of this crisis of mine, people have been unbelievably and wonderfully kind to me. From random people on the internet to classmates to parents, I'm feeling very supported and cared about. It's very, very nice. So thanks to Anonymous, SD and Laura for comments on the blog; to Perrin for our messenger conversation; to Brianna for loving me as usual; to my classmates and fellow Nice Wantons for their kind emails; to Joel in particular for his complimentary note; to my friends who came out to Scholar's today for their company and great conversation; to Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes for that telephone call and for metaphors and for labels and for the future; to Tamara for an incredible email and getting back in touch; to my parents for all the telephone calls, emails and money; to my profs for their kind words and the extensions; to Heather for being such a freaking used car salesman. It's really great to have so many cheerleaders.

Drinks today at Scholar's was particularly good for me. To be surrounded by people bitching about their papers and telling me that they wrote crap was helpful. It was also helpful to be told that profs just don't give out bad marks to grad students; most people figured that it was pretty much impossible to get 50% on a paper (I don't quite believe that--but it was good to hear). Even though Heather told me that I have nothing to lose, it was much more convincing to hear it from my fellow students. I actually left the bar because people put me in such a mood to try writing that I was afraid to waste a second of that feeling.

So I am writing: working on The Elephant Man paper. It's slow going but I have 1 3/4 pages (about 600 words [Christine's requirements are around 5000 words or 18 pages {I'm going to go by pages--classmate Heather gave me a great hint about character spacing} although I really want to just ignore this]). Considering how I feel about writing right now, this seems huge. I've completed the introduction, so I know where I'm going and what I'm doing with the rest of the paper. I'm comfortable with where I am; what I've done is probably going to prove to be the hardest part of the paper.

And if you wonder why I'm writing here and not on the paper... well, let's call it part of the writing process (I have heard the phrase "writing process" quite often lately [eg. "freaking out is part of the writing process"]). I always write often here when writing papers; past terms have proved this. It's just part of the writing process.

"Let's do it"

2005-12-15T17:12:00.000-07:00

Gah.

I met with Heather, the grad chair, this morning. If she weren't an academic, I'm sure she could have a great career selling used cars.

Basically, the way it works is that walking away from this semester, without finishing the work, is a black spot I could never explain away--no one would ever think my justifications sufficient. But: having one semester of poor marks is explainable; it simply looks better to have toughed it out.

So that's what I'm going to do.

I hate having to think this way: to be back to doing something because it looks good. But I'm unwilling to completely screw myself over for getting back into school. It wouldn't just be English grad school at the U of A that I'd fuck up--it would be everything ever. Which isn't good. Because as much as I don't want to be in school right now, I'm not going to trust that to last. And I expect that to a certain extent what Heather said about academia would apply elsewhere, outside.

I hate this.

I've asked for extensions until the 31st of December.

I've decided to write what I want, in the style I choose, for however many pages I want. I am going to write on-topic but will set aside the specified requirements regarding page counts and number of sources. I'm hoping to get about 50% on each paper; this, when the grades for the work I have already produced and my participation are factored in, ought to get me something around 60% overall. A bit of a step down from my usual straight As, but at this point that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but handing something--anything--in.

I'm going to start with my Elephant Man paper first, then do the knitting one and then the Pamela/Anti-Pamela one. I'm hoping that they way I feel emotionally involved with the first two papers will help me get over the fact that I've tried once already to write the third and failed.

I've arranged for moving at the end of the month; it's nice to have that sorted out. I need to work at getting rid of a few things, but I'm hoping Greg will take my desk off my hands (he's coming to look at it shortly) and I'm not too concerned about getting rid of the rest. If I can't find someone to take it off my hands, there's always the alley (too bad Iggy, Aaron and Brad aren't around, or I could get them to bring over their baseball bat...).

The last thing that feels like it needs sorting out is what to do after Edmonton and before going overseas to teach. Most likely it will just be Salt Spring with the parental units and some variety of wage slavery. More appealing is wage slavery in a certain ski town in BC with a certain someone who has apparently referred to me as his "girlfriend who's not really his girlfriend." Apparently I'd get upgraded to "girlfriend" if I do go, but this person hasn't said if I could or should. I know I want to and I think it would be good. And it would be good to have this settled: knowing what's coming after the next two weeks of fire and brimstone would be nice, whether it's Girlfriendville or not.

"On the first day of Christmas/ My true love gave to me..."

2005-12-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday

The grad chair talked me into finishing this term's work, so I'm going to try writing again tonight. But in the meantime, a bit of fun writing about books to work myself up to it (and keep myself from weeping; I have to supervise an exam for Joel this afternoon and must look sane and normal and together for it [can't infect the young'ns with my panic]).

Do you read Christmas-themed (or Hanukkah, or?) stories this time of year? If so, what kind?

Do you have any stories you traditionally read this time every year? If so, what? How did your tradition start?

Oh my yes--Christmas books are a big deal in my family (but not Hanukkah ones--Mom's a bit of a Catholic, nevermind what the rest of us are); for many, many years it was a tradition that my mom would buy a Christmas-related book. She began in 1979 with Andrew's (the oldest child's) first Christmas and kept it up for a long time. It was actually, I think, around 1999 or 2000 that she stopped; it had gotten to the point that she was having a hard time finding interesting books, and the collection was sufficiently large. I love that she did this. It was always so much fun to dig into the books--she usually left them out in a basket in the living room--and find all my old favourites. Getting a first look at the new book was fun, too. There are some books in the collection that I've never read--there are some misses--and some that I've read every single Christmas. Overall, the collection is quite varied and whatever her choice was, it was always a surprise. The books Mom chose generally reflected our age--so the oldest books are "children's" books with minimal story and some of the more recent ones are novels and collections of short stories--although in a fit of whimsy when we were all teenagers, she bought The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

There are two stand-outs that come to mind out of the twenty or so books are old ones that I've read every single Christmas as long as I can remember (and read, I guess). The first is Apple Tree Christmas, which my mom bought in 1988--the year her father died. The story is very sweet and simple--during a storm, a well-beloved apple tree falls and its lost casts a pallor over Christmas, until new ways to have the tree in the family's life emerge--and the illustrations are lovely--a bit simple and amateur-looking, but in a very appealing and enduring way. One of the daughters in the book draws, and there's somehow a sense in the illustrations that they are her pictures. I like this one so much because it is about fathers and daughters, and what dads can do for their girls. In recent years, I've gotten a bit teary-eyed while reading it (and I never cry over books).

The second stand out is, if I remember correctly, the first of the Christmas books: Hilary Knight's The Twelve Days of Christmas. This one is all about the illustrations; I know the lyrics so well there is no point in reading them, and I just look at the pictures. The premise is that a bear brings his girlfriend (who's really his girlfriend, as opposed to "his girlfriend who's not really his girlfriend" [a swoon-worthy phrase if I ever read one]) everything in the song--really everything--so by the end she's got twelve partridges in pear trees, twenty four turtle doves and so on. The illustrations, over the course of the book, show the girlfriend dealing with all these gifts as the boyfriend walks on to the page with the next day's gifts. At the end, the girlfriend holds a carnival with everything as props and entertainment. The illustrations are fantasically detailed, with all sorts of little jokes hidden in the corners--including one particularly adorable running gag with a racoon. It's all done with animals--the milkmaids are cats; the lords-a-leaping are frogs; the ladies dancing are pigs. There's so much to look at on each page, and rediscovering all those little details each Christmas is always fun.

There is a third stand-out in the collection, but it's not a book (and yes, I'm going to talk about it anyways!). It's A Muppet Family Christmas, on VHS, as these were pre-DVD days. Mom bought it when we were all a bit too old for it--us kids were teenagers; it was a nostalgia thing in some ways--but we weren't too old to enjoy it. I think I've rewatched it pretty much every year. The Muppets all go out to Fozzie's mom's farmhouse to surprise her at Christmas, and the Sesame Street characters show up carolling. The Fraggles put in an appearance, too. That's my favourite segment, actually. Kermit and Robin go into the cellar and find a Fraggle hole and go in. They run into some Fraggles and sing a song: "Pass It On" (referring to a special pebble that been in regifting circulation for a while). It's the best song in the whole movie (I think because it isn't a Christmas carol). I also love that this movie is directed by Eric Till, who also directed another favourite movie of mine--Getting Married in Buffalo Jump.

One thing about Christmas in Winnipeg this year is that I won't be able to do my yearly browse through the books. I'm half-tempted to ask my mom to bring the Muppet movie to Winnipeg. My parents, Andrew and I (Colin will be on Salt Spring) are having Christmas Eve to ourselves--away from the extended family--and I think it would be the perfect thing.

"And you may say to yourself/ My god/ What have I done?"

2005-12-14T16:54:00.000-07:00

I'm kind of tense.

Last night my dad emailed to ask me which of my worldly goods I could divest myself of and which I absolutely must move, and so I complied.

Then when I woke up this morning there was an email waiting from him telling me to find myself a moving company, as this is the most cost-effective way. So I spent about an hour on the telephone asking for estimates and found a place that seems suitable (anybody ever used MiniMove?). And then I started thinking about things that I could leave behind...

Dealing with books is emotionally distressing. Putting my copy of The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles in the stack to get rid of sent daggers through my heart. There are some books that just totally reminded me of what I used to love about school; things from the glory days of third year when my marks were stellar and I liked the work I produced were particularly hard to put in the stack of things to be jettisoned. At the moment, I have about seventy books in the keeper pile, and eighty to get rid of... That's cutting my library by more than half. What am I doing?

I just keep reminding myself of what it felt like to be underneath my desk in a foetal position choking on my tears. Everything had burned down to this one point of misery...

It's just that now that life after dropping out has its own reality. I feel again--I miss James but for once there's a glimmer of hope about that situation; I know I'm going to miss my classmates and getting to talk about texts with such smart people; having invited people to good-bye drinks at Scholar's on Friday, I'm now having to deal with emails from people expressing surprise and concern, and each one gives my heart a little lurch; I'm scared to leave this safe place; I'm scared to think of having to get a job that I'm not going to like (and of maybe not finding one, since January's a bad time to try for the sort of work I'll have to be looking for); I don't feel grown up enough to deal with findng a mover and getting boxes and packing everything and getting rid of some things...

Oh god. I just found the prospectuses I'd saved for grad studies at Reading and Oxford and Cambridge... I threw them out without even looking at them. This hurts. This isn't easy. What have I done? I'm not living for this anymore. So what do I do now?

"She is free/ Shadow crossing the sky/ Free from hope and this misery"

2005-12-14T00:05:00.000-07:00

My first day of freedom.

I went out to campus, and took a few things out of my carrel.

I read a copy of the Saturday Globe & Mail that I've been hoarding for the past week and a half.

I did some other pleasure reading: finished Beyond the Pawpaw Trees (began it last night) and started The Ten Thousand Things.

I took a nap.

I wrote a really long and crazy email to James that I'm very glad I sent, even if I was nervous about it at the time (it's chance I couldn't not take).

I went to a poetry reading with Greg.

I watched Moonstruck while thinking (and writing to my parents) about what things I must move and what things I can leave behind.

It was generally a good day. I'm glad it was quiet. This is all so huge to deal with. I know that it was a good decision and I'm going to stand by that. But I also need to reconcile myself to the fact that I am leaving behind some things I enjoy and do actually like.

The most intense thing actually turned out to be the poetry reading. Greg is in the midst of a big, bad breakup with his (now) ex-girlfriend, Naomi. They're broken up but still living together, and it's about as fucked up as it sounds. When I met Greg at his place so that we could walk to the reading together... Well, Naomi had some friends over and when I showed up, it was as though Greg and I were, um, going on a date. It completely totally 100% wasn't a date--it just looked that way. That's how tense and weird stuff is for him and Naomi right now. Fortunately Greg and I could both comment on the weirdness and then set it aside so that we could talk about our problems and be the friends that we are. And then when Greg and I showed up at the bar for the reading, Cecily (my feminist theory prof) was there and she came over to chat. It was just... awkward. She told me that she's known people who have stayed in school even though it was making them miserable and that it just gets worse for these people as they go on, so it's good to get out early. Which was nice to hear--Christine made a similar comment in an email--but I really just didn't want to run into her (or any of my other profs). She seemed concerned and somehow so uncomfortable.

The next step now is dealing with all my worldly goods. There seems to be a lot of stuff I must take, and a fair amount to try to get rid of. I think I can foist the desk off on Greg (and I'm hoping that once he gets here, I can be all "here, have all this stuff too" [he's moving into his own place at the end of the month]). I need to give the place a thorough cleaning, and while I'm doing that I'm going to see what I can weed out. There's clothes I haven't worn in ages, shoes which ought to be tossed and all sorts of odds and ends. I'm a little pack-ratty and nows a good time to deal with that.

I've also decided to send out an general email asking people to come for drinks Friday. I get to announce my decision. To everyone. It just gets more solid by the second.

"And then the lights came on/ In the middle of the night/ What I should do with my life/ How I should spend my time"

2005-12-13T00:28:00.000-07:00

So, I emailed Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes and told him about dropping out and not going to visit him. And he wrote back and made me want to go to Rossland instantly. It was as though he reached into my chest, ripped my heart out and held it before my eyes while he said "See? It still beats."

That whole not feeling anything thing? Totally over.

And before any more life-changing decisions are made, I am just going to categorically declare that I dropped out because it was making me miserable and I just couldn't do it anymore. No other reason. Remember that.

"Got to be real"

2005-12-12T19:38:00.000-07:00

I'm dropping out of grad school.

I'm not even going to finish this term's work.

I feel so good about this.

About two hours ago, I was curled up under my desk in a foetal positition choking on my own tears. Then I called my mom and told her how I was feeling. She was totally supportive and nice about it and I think she actually understood. My dad wasn't home when I called, so she's going to tell him and then they'll call back so that we can decide what to do about moving out and suchlike practical things. [He just called. It was... tough and unpleasant. Mom understands; Dad is disappointed. He didn't say it but I could hear it in his voice. He's going to be putting a lot of pressure on me and I'm probably going to feel guilty as hell because of him.]

At first, I still felt really dead inside. I still wasn't feeling anything. But then that gave way to feeling good. Really good. I know this is right. I'm quite energized right now, in fact. I even got dressed and brushed my teeth and started tidying up the apartment.

I think what's going to happen is I'll move back to Salt Spring and apply for teaching jobs in Japan. According to Perrin, this will take 3 or 4 months (because of the visaing), so I may get a job on the island for the meantime. Or maybe not. It would be cool if I could just relax for those few months--got to Montreal and visit my darling Brianna; see the family in Ottawa; spend some time in Quatsino; maybe actually go to Rossland.

Since I'm not going to Rossland this December.

Yeah, I mean that. It just isn't right to go now. For one thing, I think my mom really wants me at home and I think I'd like to have that support. And it's possible that, depending on when I need to move out, that it will happen when I would otherwise have been in Rossland. And since I'm quitting school, I'm also quitting my RAship and will now be a poor unemployed person as opposed to merely a poor grad student. But mostly it's about Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes. I want to be free and independent and figure things out for myself over the next while, and if I were to visit him in Rossland, I'd risk being seduced by his life. He wouldn't mean to; it would just happen because that's who he is and that's what he makes me feel (confession: if he'd asked me to stay with him in Whitehorse, I would have; from my perspective, it was that good). I'll see him again when it's right. At one point in my recent misery, I idly wished that he could have known me when I was really happy, because I was amazing when I was happy. Well, I'm going to get that back and then we'll see what happens.

So what now? From what my dad said, I'll probably be moving out of here after Christmas. I need to tell Jan what's up. I need to let people at the U of A know, and to deal with school-related stuff (clear out carrel; return carrel keys; return books; get fees refunded etc etc). I need to start looking for work. But mostly I just want to relax. I'm going to go for a long walk tonight, and to read for pleasure.

The pressure's off, and I refuse to just turn around and saddle myself with a different set of expectations. I'm going to be free.

"You're already in hell/ You're already in hell"

2005-12-12T01:09:00.000-07:00

The scariest thing about right now is how blank I feel.

I'm not panicking, even though I have three papers--about 14 000 words--to write by 4 pm on Friday (actually, one needs to be done nowish, and the other two are due Friday).

I'm not hating myself for getting myself into this situation.

I have a vague sense that I should just quit school, and a vague sense of about equal weight that I ought to stick with it.

I even feel less than usual--almost nothing, in fact, which seems like it should be very sad--about James, although I haven't heard from him since last Wednesday.

The thing I feel the most is pain--actual physical pain--from my bad health. This is not, however, as it so often is, accompanied by emotional pain. I'm figuring it's my fault, since I've been living off of Kraft Dinner, Coke and M&Ms for almost a week now, but can't actively blame myself for it. I'm in pain and I don't care.

The thing that I'm really mostly interested in doing is my Pamela papier mache.

I actually didn't get out of bed yesterday or work at all. I just lay there looking at stupid crap on the internet. The most productive thing I did all day was make wrapping paper for presents. I used my Sharpies and chart paper and did my swirling doodles. I didn't even sleep or rest up; it was almost 6 am when I finally turned out the light. I think I freaked Jan out a bit with this: I ran into her earlier this evening (I'd gone to the grocery store to restock the M&Ms supply) and she asked if I was sick. I said I was just having an "off day." She said she's glad I'm feeling better. I didn't say that I'm not.

As I reread this, it sounds like I'm freaking out and yet I wouldn't describe myself as doing just that. Instead, there's nothing. Nothing at all. There is no passion of any kind. It's all just words and it doesn't seem to mean anything or have any connection whatsoever with reality.

When flipping through my notebook earlier tonight, past all the doodles, looking for anything I might have jotted down about Pamela (there's actually a bit, which is surprising for me), I found the following, all by its lonesome on a blank page:

"what's so good about reality anyway?"

Indeed.

"'Cause your kisses lift me higher/ Like the sweet song of a choir/ To light my morning sky/ With burnin' love"

2005-12-11T16:32:00.000-07:00

I'm working (still? finally?) on my Pamela/Anti-Pamela paper. Next weekend, when everything is done, I am going to rip up my copy of Pamela and use it to make a papier mache fruit bowl. I thought at first about setting it on fire, but really I think tearing every single page--the 503 pages of the novel itself, plus roughly 100 pages of extra material--into strips, covering them in glue and sticking them back together is going to be much, much more satisfying. So satisfying. I might rip up some of my research materials as well. It's going to be great.

Or maybe I should make an actual pinata. Then I could smash it afterwards.

(My health is bad again.)

"Could you wanna take my picture/ 'Cause I won't remember"

2005-12-10T16:35:00.000-07:00

Photos from the show on Friday night. Truly mock-worthy, I know.

I just can't get over the bags under my eyes... This late-nights-and-not-sleeping thing has got to stop.

And I'm wearing pants under that skirt. Please remember that when considering the size of my ass.

But do note the fabulous sock knit in Knit Picks geranium.

"Music so loud I spit out my beer"

2005-12-09T23:38:00.000-07:00

Today's performance was fine--again, no major screw-ups. The audience was a bit tougher; there were some absolutely hilarious things that they didn't laugh at. But that's because they suck; not us. I'm impatient for the photographs to get posted; I asked Jill about them and she said her photographer friend has a website and she'll send out the link.

Shortly after the show, I ran into Joel. He was quite bereft that he missed it--he'd though he was going to Ottawa on Wednesday and put the show out of his mind because he knew he couldn't make it, and then didn't put the show back in mind when he changed his travel plans. This is just as well--it was better to not have him in the audience, as I would have been even more nervous (I mean, he's going to Ottawa tomorrow). We went out for sushi--an early dinner or late lunch or mid-afternoon snack depending on how one choses to define it--and I was very glad to have a chance to hang out with him (even though it wasn't good sushi [I knew it wouldn't be--I mean, I'm in Edmonton for Pete's sake]). They were playing Christmas music, and I will now forever associate Christmas music with people getting beaten up in alleys and accident scenes (have I mentioned recently that I quite like Joel?). I'm supervising an exam for him on Thursday, so we talked about that a bit. I'm going to take knitting (the hoodie, I guess, since the deadline for its completion approaches), and hope that no one asks me any stupid questions.

I've been taking it easy tonight--not because I have time, but because I want to. I knit up one of these but I'm not happy with it. It's too long for my neck, and I should have used smaller needles. I don't care, though--I'm happy to frog and try again. It wasn't really about a finished object (which is why I worked on it and not the hoodie--I would have messed it up somehow).

I telephoned my parents tonight, and had a quick chat with Colin, who's on the island for the weekend. He seems to be fine--currently living at his cabin full time, since he was laid off from logging again. No word about Celle from either Colin or Mom, so I'm thinking that must have cooled off... fortunately. Or it could just be that mom had other news for me... she had some stuff to tell me about my grandma that was pretty sad...

"Anyone who played a part/ Wouldn't turn around and hate it"

2005-12-09T00:16:00.000-07:00

The show was okay. Good, even. Maybe. No major screw ups.

Dress rehearsal was a little, um, sketchy for Jill and I. Things had gone pretty much entirely smoothly for the whole run-through, and then in the final scene, Jill stumbled over one of her lines, and I started to giggle and completely forgot my line (which consisted entirely of "Ha"). While Leslie kept it together, Jill and I were in tears from laughing so much by the time we finished. We couldn't even say our final line, "Happy birthday, Constance." It was just so, so funny. And funny in an okay kind of way, since it was only the dress rehearsal.

The performance itself went okay. There was a tense moment when I was doing one of my quick changes from Desdemona to Tybalt and the zip on my skirt caught and Amanda dropped the belt she was supposed to be putting on me. I just hope the audience didn't hear me say "Fuck. Nevermind." And Jill and I did mess up the final scene, but not in a big, obvious way.

Overall, though... People laughed, and seemed to like it. Someone in the audience gasped when I picked Leslie up, and I almost forgot to stick Constance's brownie wings on to my skirt but remembered just in time. I enjoyed yelling (I really like MacDonald's interpretation of Desdemona). Afterwards, Renee, who wasn't in this show but is still a big wig in the Wantons, came up to me and gave me a big hug and welcomed me to the troupe (apparently I'm "in"), which was nice. I enjoyed myself and it was really quite satisfying.

My only complaint... well... I used to think that it was just a metaphor when people referred to knees knocking together; tonight, however, I proved that one's knees really can knock together. I'm normally a bit of a shakey jane at the best of times, and this is exacerbated when I'm nervous. Tonight my legs were shaking so badly that my knees were literally knocking together. It was bizarre to say the least.

I'm pretty tired right now; I'm surprised at just how tiring it was to perform. We went out for drinks afterwards, and it was really fun (at one point I said "I'm really dissatisfied with my life on so many levels" and Judith made me say it about three times so she'd remember and be able to quote me, and Amanda took a video of it using her digital camera), but we didn't stay late. And I'd thought I'd go for a nightwalk tonight, and take advantage of the "warm" weather we're having, but instead I'm ready to pass out and it's barely 1 am.

Someone took pictures--I think they're digital--so if I get a hold of any good ones, I'll be sure to post 'em.

"If you had not been born/ Hell/ What would I/ What would I be then?/ I would not have the strength to grow/ And be counted/ be counted among men"

2005-12-08T11:42:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday

Jeanne thought that it might be nice to have something a little simpler for a change, and I have to agree. Thanks for your suggestions, Jeanne!

Whew! This feels familiar. This is what I've beeing doing around here all week, it seems (with the occasional interjection about Vincent Gallo's sperm tossed in for good measure), but for the benefit of the Booking Through Thursday Crowd, who probably doesn't pop by except for this meme, I'll make things a little recappy for them--but will tack on some additions and make a few comments about my choices where I haven't before, for those of you (if there are any of you) who've read it all.

What books are you giving this year? Arthur and George by Julian Barnes for my oldest brother Andrew; Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson for my mother; Edge of the Jungle by William Beebe for ad; a mystery book by a mystery author for a mystery person who reads me (which isn't really a Christmas present at all but I'm including it here anyway in a blatant attempt to excite curiosity [even though I know I must be failing]). I write about the thinking behind my choices here.

What's on your book/reading wish list? I'm not asking for anything this year except a day of skiing, and I'll probably drop a rather obvious hint that I'd like to find the latest issue of Brick in my stocking--so I am going to interpret this question to mean "books I wish to read" rather than books I wish to be given for Christmas. And boy, it's quite the list. I have exactly twenty three days of Christmas vacation this year, and a whole seventy hours of bus and train rides to survive, and I hope to read almost a book a day. My choices:

Children's books:
Beyond the Pawpaw Trees--Palmer Brown
The Mouse and his Child--Russell Hoban
These are both Lost Classics (which I describe here) recommendations; they sound magical and wonderful and, in the case of the Hoban, as though it may not really be a children's book.

Memoirs/ memoiry things:
How I Became One of the Invisible--David Rattray
The Dead Seagull--George Barker
By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept--Elizabeth Smart
Another three inspired by Lost Classics. Including books like these is a bit unusual for me; I don't usually like biographies. But these aren't strictly biographies, and certainly won't make any claims about inspiring anyone. The Rattray is actually a collection of "reflections, memoirs and essays"--sound varied enough, and quite fascinating. The Barker and the Smart are books that are two sides of the same coin: they're both describing the same disastrous love affair, but from different angles. Cassandra Pybus, who recommended these, writes that "Smart sees only what she wants. Just as Barker sees only what he fears." These sound appropriately fucked-up for my thoughts on romance these days.

Non-fiction (for lack of a better category):
Eros the Bittersweet: An Essay--Anne Carson
** ***** ****--******* **** (a mystery book by my Mystery Obsession Author [all will be revealed in the fulness of time])
Treatise on Style--Louis Aragon
More Lost Classics, in a way. Anne Carson is one of the contributors to the book--she writes about Handbook for William, which I have read--and I liked her suggestion well enough to look into her. Hence buying Autobiography of Red for my mom; hence reading Eros the Bittersweet. It's about the Greek idea of love, and sounds as though it is both scholarly and beautifully written. Treatise on Style is a surrealist rant which I think will be absolutely hilarious. ** ***** **** is the book that got this Lost Classics Christmas rolling; I can't wait to reread it and experience its brilliance all over again.

Novels:
The Old Wives' Tale--Arnold Bennett
The Twilight of Briareus--Richard Cowper
Geraldine Bradshaw--Calder Willingham
The Tenants of Moonbloom--Edward Lewis Wallant
The Ten Thousand Things--Maria Dermout
Invisible Cities--Italo Calvino
Hopscotch--Julio Cortazar
novels and novellas by my MOA
The Story of Harold--Terry Andrews
Again, mostly Lost Classics-inspired reading. Only Invisible Cities and Hopscotch have nothing to do with that wonderful little treasure chest of reading. I first heard about Invisible Cities from Carl Grindley, and that he mentioned it is the only thing I like about that jerk. Hopscotch is Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes-inspired. The novels and novellas by my MOA are loosely related to Lost Classics: having read ** ***** **** and knowing how amazing it is, I can't not read more of this author's work. The rest of the novels listed are purely Lost Classics; I chose them because they simply sounded interesting (and because I could find them). The Ten Thousand Things is a reread; I remember quite liking it the first time around and would like to have a clearer idea of it in my head.

So I've made it up to 23, when you consider all the stacks of MOA books I have as well. Some things are short, so there will definitely be a couple of days of multiple texts.

There are also things in Lost Classics that I'd like to read but couldn't find at the U of A library, and which sounded as though they would be possible to find elsewhere. I'll be trying interlibrary loan in the new year. These are:

Malina--Ingeborg Bachmann--interesting sounding novel
Journey of the Stamp Animals--Phyllis Hay--a children's book (I've asked James to look for this one for me while he's in Australia)
The Headmaster's Papers--Richard A. Hawley--John Irving's recommendation: an epistolary novel
The Saddest Pleasure--Moritz Thomsen--a memoiry thing

Then, the next step is to look into the people who recommended these books. There are a few contributors whose names I recognize--John Irving, for instance--and there are others who are absolute blanks to me. It will be an interesting way to acquaint myself with contemporary writers--although I probably won't get around to this until I'm done school.

NB: The Nice Wanton's "performance" of Goodnight Desdemona (Good Morning Juliet) is tonight. Personally, I'm hoping I really do break a leg so that I can get out of this...

"If I had a million dollars"

2005-12-07T22:27:00.000-07:00

Most of the time, I think it was a good thing that Graham decided to cut off all contact between us.

But every once in a while, I'll come across something and I'll wish that I could tell him about it.

Like now.

Check this out--of particular note is the very last item for sale: Vnicent Gallo's sperm, for a cool million (provided you're racially acceptable).

Vincent Gallo is one sick fuck.

Written on the Body

2005-12-07T12:47:00.000-07:00

Last weekend when I was out running errands, I remembered that I needed a new paper journal before travelling this Christmas because my current one is running out of pages. I stuck my head into one shop but didn't see anything suitable. Then, later in the evening, when I was thinking about where else I could look, my beloved Anne Taintor popped into my head as the perfect solution. Sadly, she doesn't have a "She liked imaginary men best of all" journal, which is what I would have liked best (she has it in a notepad but it's not big enough), but I did find a suitable alternative. I opted for this one instead. I think it's appropriate for the current what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life mood. I ordered it from Amazon, and it arrived today. It's not quite the format I usual like--I usually prefer something spiral bound--but it's still a pleasing little book. The cover is just perfect, and it's peppered throughout with snappish sayings--including "she liked imaginary men best of all" and other such gems as "she refused to let common sense cloud her judgement." It's a great space for recording every breathless second of my upcoming "ski vacation."

ps. The new Knitty is up. I think my favourite thing about it is the second paragraph in the description for this. I hate the sweater but love the ski resort image (that's so Rossland, right? [*snicker*]). Actually, my favourite thing (seriously) is the necklace, which I am going to make as soon as I have ten minutes to knit. These are cute, too.

"But you don't know which page to turn to"

2005-12-06T23:24:00.000-07:00

Bits and Pieces on a Tuesday Evening

Jessica--your dentist telephoned and left a message on my machine. You're due for a check-up. I don't know what it is about my telephone number, but I get more wrong numbers and solicitations than actual calls for me. I think I need to change my answering machine message to something a tad snarkier, and to start screening calls.

Edmonton--City of Dry Skin
Since moving to Edmonton a few months ago, I've had to deal with a bit of dry skin. Nothing too major--it was easily lotioned away. But now that it's colder, my skin is much, much worse. My knuckles are cracked and sore. Last weeks' beard-burn is sticking around (but I liked the beard--it was less burny than scruff [and so, so handsome]). The skin over and around my elbows feels like a folded and refolded paper bag. My lips are chapped. And worst of all: the skin on my earlobes is dry. The rest I can deal with--but my ears? My ultra-sensitive and insanely erogenous ears that cry out every minute of every day to be licked, nibbled and sucked for hours on end? Not fair; not fair at all.

Mink Coat
Since it's colder, I've started wearing my mom's mink coat. I was hesitant at first--while it is a mink coat, it's also just so 80s. The look hovers between fabulousness and ridiculousness, and from a style perspective, I can't decide how I feel about wearing it. But it is really very warm and worth wearing for that reason alone; it is also ridiculously soft and I've caught myself in gloveless moments actually unconsciously caressing it (I'm suddenly reminded of a bit from The Camomile Lawn: Calypso and Oliver are looking for somewhere to fuck [even though they're cousins] while Oliver is on embarkation leave; it turns out his parents' house has been emptied of furniture. Calypso refuses to make love on her fur coat because her husband would kill her. I now think: how silly). I've had a few comments from people--asking if it's real or if it's warm--but haven't had anyone criticize me for wearing real fur. While I'd never buy new fur, I don't think there's a problem with wearing an old fur. Waste not, want not and all that.

Last Day of Class
...was a mixed bag, to say the least. Screams on Screen today was, quite possibly, the absolute worst classroom experience of my life. Rather than do the usual novel/film/criticism trio, we "workshopped" our papers--people read or talked through their proposals and then other people--including Christine--commented. It was just absolutely horrendous to have one's paper commented upon, and to watch other people's commented upon. I knew my proposal was weak; I appreciated the suggestions. But I hated the format--every second of the class was sheer torture: purely uncomfortable and confidence-destroying. The publicness of it all was just inappropriate. So, so stressful. I was quite upset by the end of class, and I am sad that such an interesting course had to end on such a bad note. I like Christine, but she's just so tough and almost cruel about some things.

The afternoon was better, if in an odd way. After doing the class evaluations, we went to the Sugar Bowl for class. Judith and I ended up at the exact opposite end of the table from Cecily, and because Cecily spoke at the exact same volume as the (very good) music that was playing, we could hardly hear anything that was being said. We were a bit bratty about this--commenting on the music, giggling about not knowing what was going on. It was rather good that we were too far away to get put into the hot seat: neither Judith nor I had read the critical works for today, and she'd only read part of Nights at the Circus (I'd read the whole, of course). Still it was oddly fun to strain my ears over the music to pick up hints of Cecily's brilliance and to joke with Judith. She's very cool.

I need to make arrangements about next term. What I'd like to do is take only two courses and begin to work on my thesis. I think this will provide a better work load, with a bit of flexibility--I can work like crazy on the thesis in the early to middle part of the term, then slack off on it to do papers at the end of term. Then, in the summer, having one course will provide some structure so that I'm not totally alienated from school while trying to write the thesis. I want to get this set up and out of the way, so that I don't have to worry about it while I'm on holiday (what wonderful words, and a wonderful concept), but I'm afraid to talk to Heather about it because I don't want to have her tell me that I can't do this.

Relaxation
I'm taking it easy tonight--a little calm before the storm, if you will. I did some pleasure reading tonight, and skimmed through a pamphlet in which a certain author writes about texts that "have changed [him] as a writer in some important way." This is an important thing to keep in mind when considering the selected texts: it is not "a roll call of Great Books." But he's sneaky about this--the particular project that he is undertaking is not introduced in any way, and it is only when talking about Antony and Cleopatra that he attempts to set his project in a different category than "a roll call of Great Books." He has been so influenced, however, by dead white men that his personal appreciation overlaps significantly with your average canon; you could say his selections are Nortonesque. There are only four works by women out of fifty works discussed, and while the author uses the imagery of religion, worship and godlikeness when discussing his relationship to male writers, when discussing Gertrude Stein he says that "I would, in effect, always carry three great faces in my wallet: Virginia Woolf's, Colette's, and Gertrude Stein's. If you ask, like a cinema soldier in a movie foxhole, I will take them out and show them to you." Brilliant women are faces; brilliant men are gods. It was sad to come across this in a work by an author I so admire. He writes so compellingly and often beautifully about his choices ("There have been books which have struck me like lightning and left me riven, permanently scarred, perhaps picturesque; and there have been those which created complete countries with their citizens, their cows, their climate, where I could choose to live for long periods while enduring, defying, enjoying their scenery and seasons; but there have been one or two I came to love with a profounder and more enduring passion...") but I dislike the politics of his choices. It reminds me of the time I started to use Anthony Burgess' 99 Novels: The Best in English Since 1939: A Personal Choice and gave up because I didn't like any of the books. Admittedly, it has something to do with timing: this author was born in the 1920s--but you'd think he'd be smart enough to get over those roots in the days when canon really was dead white men, or at least to understand acknowledge the politics behind his personal canon-making project. He's not up-front about what he's doing in this pamphlet, written at the beginning of the 1990s. I would have appreciated a greater level of self-consciousness; it's necessary in this kind of work.

That being said, at least he reminded me that I've wanted to read Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities for ages now ("There is, instead, the perception, the feel, the design, the leap of the street. And each line is a walkway, and the walk moves along like a song, and that is the way the city should be").

Now onto a(nother) browse through Lost Classics to think about more Christmas reading. Pamela and The Anti-Pamela, and The Elephant Man, and representation and knitting, can wait until tomorrow.

Although I will go over my Nice Wantons lines tonight--I won't be a total hedonist.

[Edit: For books, I'm thinking:

From Lost Classics (after flipping through about two thirds of the book):
How I Became One of the Invisible--David Rattray
Beyond the Pawpaw Trees--Palmer Brown
The Old Wives' Tale--Arnold Bennett
The Dead Seagull--George Barker
By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept--Elizabeth Smart
The Mouse and his Child--Russell Hoban
The Twilight of Briareus--Richard Cowper
Geraldine Bradshaw--Calder Willingham
The Tenants of Moonbloom--Edward Lewis Wallant
The Ten Thousand Things--Maria Dermout

Other:
Eros the Bittersweet: An Essay--Anne Carson
Invisible Cities--Italo Calvino
Hopscotch--Julio Cortazar
lots of things by my Mystery Obsession Author

It looks ambitious, and it is a bit--but I have twenty-three days, which is plenty of time when all I have to do is enjoy myself (and keep myself entertained during seventy--70!--hours of train and bus). At the moment, I have fewer than a book a day planned and I'd say one book per day would be my max (I've done it in the past; it was a joy, although my sleeping pattern was a little off at the time). Besides, a couple of things on the list are short: Beyond the Pawpaw Trees and The Mouse and his Child are children's books ("children's books"); one of the works by my MOA is just over ninety pages. Also, a few are rereads: I know I've read The Ten Thousand Things and may have read The Tenants of Moonbloom as well, and the shortie by my MOA is also a reread. And I did have to request some of these; they may not come in before I go away.

While I was at it, I marked things I'm interested in but can't get at the U of A library; I'll request them in the new year.]

"Lately we've had some friction/ 'Cause my baby's hooked on short works of fiction"

2005-12-06T00:42:00.000-07:00

How interesting to find this over at Morgan's on the same day I'm thinking about canon formation... I'm amused at how much on this list I'm happy to have not read (and just how much I've reread [and that there are a few I'm ashamed to have read]).

And of course I'm going to attach comments because I totally have time.

Bold=Read, Italics=started/read parts

(107 read, plus some in part)

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien--a few times; most recently this summer
2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen--countlesss times; my copy is falling apart because I've read it in the tub so much
3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman--I've read the first in the series, The Golden Compass
4. The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams--many times, too, 'cause it's so good
5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling--so that I could criticize the whole HP thing effectively
6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee--highschool
7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne--as a child, then after Iggy gave me a copy
8. 1984, George Orwell--because it's canonical
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis--as a child and in university
10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte--many times for pleasure
11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller--so, so good; read this one two or three times, I think
12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte--for school: OAC and 1st year
13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier--another one I've read multiple times; me likey
15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger--back in second year, out of curiousity; big disappointment
16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens--4th year, w/ Pamela
18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott--many times as a child; reread this summer and got all teary-eyed!
19. Captain Corellis Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres--Iggy was into de Bernieres
20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
22. Harry Potter And The Sorcerers Stone, JK Rowling--ick
23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling--gah
24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling--shouldn't be read by anyone
25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien--in highschool, plus for fun this summer
26. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch, George Eliot--4th year, w/ Pamela--enjoyed very much
28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving--a few times, I'm sure; was something of a JI fan in highschool
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck
30. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll--how could I not considering the love I once had for Jefferson Airplane?
31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez--read it this summer for the second time
33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett--back in highschool when I was desperate for something to read and it was the only thing on my parents' pathetic bookshelf that appealed
34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl--3rd year, Kealy
36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson--this summer
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion, Jane Austen--my favourite JA, so many many times
39. Dune, Frank Herbert
40. Emma, Jane Austen--a few times
41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery--for pleasure as a child, plus 3rd year w/ Kealy
42. Watership Down, Richard Adams
43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald--for pleasure
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas--at least twice for pleasure
45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh--for pleasure but didn't like it much
46. Animal Farm, George Orwell--highschool
47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy--2nd year w/ Johnson (if I remember correctly--it's definitely a schoolbook)
49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett--a few times for pleasure
52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy--this is something I started but abandoned as a teenager; bad translation? too young?
55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth--for pleasure
56. The BFG, Roald Dahl--as a child
57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome--so many times, as a child and recently; AR is an absolute favourite (as problematic as his works are)
58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens--because I was being calle Madame Defarge and needed to know what that was all about; better than anticipated (I actually liked it)
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
65. Mort, Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding--highschool
71. Perfume, Patrick Susskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
74. Matilda, Roald Dahl
75. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding--out of curiosity
76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
78. Ulysses, James Joyce--I refuse to finish this; it's overrated
79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar--3rd year w/ Kealy
84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake--pleasure, after 1st year
85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley--it's canonical
88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
89. Magician, Raymond E Feist
90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac
91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel--I didn't always have great taste in books (and I was young)
93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
100. Midnights Children, Salman Rushdie
101. Three Men In A Boat, Jerome K. Jerome
102. Small Gods, Terry Pratchett
103. The Beach, Alex Garland
104. Dracula, Bram Stoker--school this term
105. Point Blanc, Anthony Horowitz
106. The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens
107. Stormbreaker, Anthony Horowitz
108. The Wasp Factory, Iain Banks
109. The Day Of The Jackal, Frederick Forsyth
110. The Illustrated Mum, Jacqueline Wilson
111. Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy--2nd year w/ Pamela
112. The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 1/2, Sue Townsend
113. The Cruel Sea, Nicholas Monsarrat
114. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo--in highschool, for pleasure (I have a distinct memory of sitting in a cold school bus early in the morning, my knees braced against the seat in front of me with this book resting on them)
115. The Mayor Of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy
116. The Dare Game, Jacqueline Wilson
117. Bad Girls, Jacqueline Wilson
118. The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde--school, this term
119. Shogun, James Clavell
120. The Day Of The Triffids, John Wyndham
121. Lola Rose, Jacqueline Wilson
122. Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray--this summer
123. The Forsyte Saga, John Galsworthy
124. House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski
125. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver--one of my mom's book club books (read it a few times, I think--it's decent)
126. Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett
127. Angus, Thongs And Full-Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison
128. The Hound Of The Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle--school this term
129. Possession, A. S. Byatt--another of mom's book club books (I pick these up when I'm at home and can't find anything better) plus 4th year w/ Pamela
130. The Master And Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov--I'm amused to see this title here, as I recommended it to James very recently
131. The Handmaids Tale, Margaret Atwood--it's canonical (in a certain sense)
132. Danny The Champion Of The World, Roald Dahl
133. East Of Eden, John Steinbeck
134. George's Marvellous Medicine, Roald Dahl
135. Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett
136. The Color Purple, Alice Walker
137. Hogfather, Terry Pratchett
138. The Thirty-Nine Steps, John Buchan
139. Girls In Tears, Jacqueline Wilson
140. Sleepovers, Jacqueline Wilson
141. All Quiet On The Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
142. Behind The Scenes At The Museum, Kate Atkinson
143. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
144. It, Stephen King
145. James And The Giant Peach, Roald Dahl--as a child
146. The Green Mile, Stephen King
147. Papillon, Henri Charriere
148. Men At Arms, Terry Pratchett
149. Master And Commander, Patrick OBrian
150. Skeleton Key, Anthony Horowitz
151. Soul Music, Terry Pratchett
152. Thief Of Time, Terry Pratchett
153. The Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett
154. Atonement, Ian McEwan
155. Secrets, Jacqueline Wilson
156. The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier
157. One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest, Ken Kesey
158. Heart Of Darkness, Joseph Conrad--I need to reread this; it's too canonical for my slim memory of it
159. Kim, Rudyard Kipling
160. Cross Stitch, Diana Gabaldon
161. Moby Dick, Herman Melville--thanks to that fuck, Carl Grindley
162. River God, Wilbur Smith
163. Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbon
164. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
165. The World According To Garp, John Irving--highschool (JI thing again)
166. Lorna Doone, R. D. Blackmore
167. Girls Out Late, Jacqueline Wilson
168. The Far Pavilions, M. M. Kaye
169. The Witches, Roald Dahl--as a child
170. Charlottes Web, E. B. White--as a child, in school--some kind of reading out loud test
171. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley--a few years ago, curiosity
172. They Used To Play On Grass, Terry Venables and Gordon Williams
173. The Old Man And The Sea, Ernest Hemingway
174. The Name Of The Rose, Umberto Eco--so brilliant; read it a few times
175. Sophies World, Jostein Gaarder
176. Dustbin Baby, Jacqueline Wilson
177. Fantastic Mr. Fox, Roald Dahl--as a child
178. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
179. Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, Richard Bach
180. The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery
181. The Suitcase Kid, Jacqueline Wilson
182. Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens
183. The Power Of One, Bryce Courtenay
184. Silas Marner, George Eliot
185. American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis--started this one after first year; prolly not the best thing to read while sleeping alone in an isolated-feeling tent (across the pond); interested to give it another go after talking to James about it
186. The Diary Of A Nobody, George and Weedon Gross-mith
187. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
188. Goosebumps, R. L. Stine
189. Heidi, Johanna Spyri--off the stacks in Main at UBC (I miss the Juvenile section in Main library--it had a certain creepy charm)
190. Sons And Lovers, D. H. Lawrence--teenager
191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
192. Man And Boy, Tony Parsons
193. The Truth, Terry Pratchett
194. The War Of The Worlds, H. G. Wells
195. The Horse Whisperer, Nicholas Evans
196. A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry
197. Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett
198. The Once And Future King, T. H. White--thesis!
199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle
200. Flowers In The Attic, Virginia Andrews--no taste!
201. The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
202. The Eye of the World, Robert Jordan--I have a soft spot for fantasy, even though so much of it disappoints
203. The Great Hunt, Robert Jordan
204. The Dragon Reborn, Robert Jordan
205. Fires of Heaven, Robert Jordan
206. Lord of Chaos, Robert Jordan
207. Winters Heart, Robert Jordan
208. A Crown of Swords, Robert Jordan
209. Crossroads of Twilight, Robert Jordan
210. A Path of Daggers, Robert Jordan
211. As Nature Made Him, John Colapinto
212. Microserfs, Douglas Coupland--thumbs down--he's so overrated
213. The Married Man, Edmund White
214. Winters Tale, Mark Helprin--I've read Shakespeare's Winter's Tale
215. The History of Sexuality, Michel Foucault
216. Cry to Heaven, Anne Rice
217. Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe, John Boswell
218. Equus, Peter Shaffer
219. The Man Who Ate Everything, Jeffrey Steingarten
220. Letters To A Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
221. Ella Minnow Pea, Mark Dunn
222. The Vampire Lestat, Anne Rice
223. Anthem, Ayn Rand
224. The Bridge To Terabithia, Katherine Paterson
225. Tartuffe, Moliere
226. The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka--it's in Fiction 100
227. The Crucible, Arthur Miller
228. The Trial, Franz Kafka
229. Oedipus Rex, Sophocle
230. Oedipus at Colonus, Sophocles
231. Death Be Not Proud, John Gunther
232. A Dolls House, Henrik Ibsen
233. Hedda Gabler, Henrik Ibsen
234. Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton
235. A Raisin In The Sun, Lorraine Hansberry
236. ALIVE!, Piers Paul Read
237. Grapefruit, Yoko Ono
238. Trickster Makes This World, Lewis Hyde
240. The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley
241. Chronicles of Thomas Convenant, Unbeliever, Stephen Donaldson
242. Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
242. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon
243. Summerland, Michael Chabon
244. A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
245. Candide, Voltaire
246. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More, Roald Dahl
247. Ringworld, Larry Niven--for sci-fi paper for the rhetoric of science and medicine course
248. The King Must Die, Mary Renault
249. Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert Heinlein
250. A Wrinkle in Time, Madeline L’Engle
251. The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde
252. The House Of The Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne
253. The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
254. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan--after 1st year
255. The Great Gilly Hopkins, Katherine Paterson
256. Chocolate Fever, Robert Kimmel Smith
257. Xanth: The Quest for Magic, Piers Anthony--when transitioning from kids books to "adult" novels
258. The Lost Princess of Oz, L. Frank Baum
259. Wonder Boys, Michael Chabon
260. Lost In A Good Book, Jasper Fforde
261. Well Of Lost Plots, Jasper Fforde
261. Life Of Pi, Yann Martel--mom's copy
263. The Bean Trees, Barbara Kingsolver
264. A Yellow Raft In Blue Water, Michael Dorris
265. Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder--as child and of course since then
267. Where The Red Fern Grows, Wilson Rawls--as a child--hated it because it made me cry
268. Griffin & Sabine, Nick Bantock
269. Witch of Blackbird Pond, Joyce Friedland
270. Mrs. Frisby And The Rats Of NIMH, Robert C. O’Brien--as a child
271. Tuck Everlasting, Natalie Babbitt
272. The Cay, Theodore Taylor
273. From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsburg
274. The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster--as a child, and since then--love it and have it on my bookshelf
275. The Westing Game, Ellen Raskin
276. The Kitchen Gods Wife, Amy Tan
277. The Bone Setters Daughter, Amy Tan
278. Relic, Duglas Preston & Lincolon Child
279. Wicked, Gregory Maguire
280. American Gods, Neil Gaiman
281. Misty of Chincoteague, Marguerite Henry
282. The Girl Next Door, Jack Ketchum
283. Haunted, Judith St. George
284. Singularity, William Sleator
285. A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson
286. Different Seasons, Stephen King
287. Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
288. About a Boy, Nick Hornby--was curious after seeing the crappy movie
289. The Bookmans Wake, John Dunning
290. The Church of Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns
291. Illusions, Richard Bach
292. Magics Pawn, Mercedes Lackey
293. Magics Promise, Mercedes Lackey
294. Magics Price, Mercedes Lackey
295. The Dancing Wu Li Masters, Gary Zukav
296. Spirits of Flux and Anchor, Jack L. Chalker
297. Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice--because I felt I needed to read me some AR
298. The Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices, Brenda Love
299. Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace
300. The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison
301. The Cider House Rules, John Irving--JI thing in highschool
302. Enders Game, Orson Scott Card
303. Girlfriend in a Coma, Douglas Coupland--because Microserfs wasn't disappointing enough?
304. The Lions Game, Nelson Demille
305. The Sun, The Moon, and the Stars, Stephen Brust
306. Cyteen, C. J. Cherryh
307. Foucaults Pendulum, Umberto Eco--less readable than Rose but still good
308. Cryptonomicon, Neal Stephenson
309. Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk
310. Camber of Culdi, Kathryn Kurtz
311. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand--*shrug*
312. War and Rememberance, Herman Wouk
313. The Art of War, Sun Tzu
314. The Giver, Lois Lowry--as a child
315. The Telling, Ursula Le Guin
316. Xenogenesis (or Liliths Brood), Octavia Butler
317. A Civil Campaign, Lois McMaster Bujold
318. The Curse of Chalion, Lois McMaster Bujold
319. The Aeneid, Publius Vergilius Maro (Vergil)
320. Hanta Yo, Ruth Beebe Hill
321. The Princess Bride, S. Morganstern (or William Goldman)--I'm so amused that this list refers to S. Morganstern as the author: someone didn't get the joke; I love this book infinitely because it's so easy to not get the joke (I didn't in highschool but did in 4th year)
322. Beowulf, Anonymous--in translation, and did some translating of my own; Heany's translation's good(ish)
323. The Sparrow, Maria Doria Russell
324. Deerskin, Robin McKinley (I think...)
325. Dragonsong, Anne McCaffrey--in grade four
326. Passage, Connie Willis
327. Otherland, Tad Williams
328. Tigana, Guy Gavriel Kay
329. Number the Stars, Lois Lowry
330. Beloved, Toni Morrison
331. Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christs Childhood Pal, Christopher Moore
332. The mysterious disappearance of Leon, I mean Noel, Ellen Raskin
333. Summer Sisters, Judy Blume
334. The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo
335. The Island on Bird Street, URI Orlev
336. Midnight in the Dollhouse, Marjorie Filley Stover
337. The Miracle Worker, William Gibson
338. The Genesis Code, John Case
339. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stevensen--school this term
340. Paradise Lost, John Milton--well, I was supposed to read the whole thing... (Stanwood, 4th year)
341. Phantom, Susan Kay
342. The Mummy or Ramses the Damned, Anne Rice
343. Anno Dracula, Kim Newman
344: The Dresden Files: Grave Peril, Jim Butcher
345: Tokyo Suckerpunch, Issac Adamson
346: The Winter of Magics Return, Pamela Service
347: The Oddkins, Dean R. Koontz
348. My Name is Asher Lev, Chaim Potok
349. The Last Goodbye, Raymond Chandler
350. At Swim, Two Boys, Jaime ONeill
351. Othello, by William Shakespeare--1st year w/ Pamela
352. The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas
353. The Collected Poems of William Butler Yeats
354. Sati, Christopher Pike
355. The Inferno, Dante--selections for a course--3rd year
356. The Apology, Plato
357. The Small Rain, Madeline L’Engle
358. The Man Who Tasted Shapes, Richard E Cytowick
359. 5 Novels, Daniel Pinkwater
360. The Sevenwaters Trilogy, Juliet Marillier
361. Girl with a Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier
362. To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
363. Our Town, Thorton Wilder
364. Green Grass Running Water, Thomas King
335. The Interpreter, Suzanne Glass
336. The Moors Last Sigh, Salman Rushdie
337. The Mother Tongue, Bill Bryson
338. A Passage to India, E.M. Forster
339. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky
340. The Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux--in French, no less
341. Pages for You, Sylvia Brownrigg
342. The Changeover, Margaret Mahy
343. Howls Moving Castle, Diana Wynne Jones
344. Angels and Demons, Dan Brown
345. Johnny Got His Gun, Dalton Trumbo
346. Shosha, Isaac Bashevis Singer
347. Travels With Charley, John Steinbeck
348. The Diving-bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby
349. The Lunatic at Large by J. Storer Clouston
350. Time for Bed by David Baddiel
351. Barrayar by Lois McMaster Bujold
352. Quite Ugly One Morning by Christopher Brookmyre
353. The Bloody Sun by Marion Zimmer Bradley
354. Sewer, Gas, and Eletric by Matt Ruff
355. Jhereg by Steven Brust
356. So You Want To Be A Wizard by Diane Duane
357. Perdido Street Station, China Mieville
358. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Bronte--quite recently in an on-line edition
359. Road-side Dog, Czeslaw Milosz
360. The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje--a few times; liked it better in first year and hesitate about it now (but still love some of the lines)
361. Neuromancer, William Gibson--teenager
362. The Epistemology of the Closet, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick
363. A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr
364. The Mask of Apollo, Mary Renault
365. The Gunslinger, Stephen King
366. Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare--in highschool--sadly, my class chose this one instead of Julius C.
367. Childhoods End, Arthur C. Clarke
368. A Season of Mists, Neil Gaiman
369. Ivanhoe, Walter Scott
370. The God Boy, Ian Cross
371. The Beekeepers Apprentice, Laurie R. King
372. Finn Family Moomintroll, Tove Jansson
373. Misery, Stephen King
374. Tipping the Velvet, Sarah Waters
375. Hood, Emma Donoghue
376. The Land of Spices, Kate O’Brien
377. The Diary of Anne Frank
378. Regeneration, Pat Barker
379. Tender is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald--teenager; don't remember it much
380. Dreaming in Cuban, Cristina Garcia
381. A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway
382. The View from Saturday, E.L. Konigsburg
383. Dealing with Dragons, Patricia Wrede
384. Eats, Shoots & Leaves, Lynne Truss
385. A Severed Wasp - Madeleine LEngle
386. Here Be Dragons - Sharon Kay Penman
387. The Mabinogion (Ancient Welsh Tales)--have come across bits and pieces in medieval studies classes and when thesising
388. The DaVinci Code - Dan Brown
389. Desire of the Everlasting Hills - Thomas Cahill
390. The Cloister Walk - Kathleen Norris
391. The Things We Carried, Tim O’Brien
392. I Know This Much Is True, Wally Lamb
393. Choke, Chuck Palahniuk
394. Enders Shadow, Orson Scott Card
395. The Memory of Earth, Orson Scott Card
396. The Iron Tower, Dennis L. McKiernen
397. Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand
398. A Ring of Endless Light, Madeline L’Engle
399. Lords of Discipline, Pat Conroy
400. Hyperion, Dan Simmons
401. If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, Jon McGregor
402. The Bridge, Iain Banks
403. How to Be Good, Nick Hornby
404. The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields
405. A Map of the World, Jane Hamilton
406. Eragon, Christopher Paolini
407. A Series of Unfortunate Events, Lemony Snicket--this summer
408. I'm a Stranger Here Myself, Bill Bryson
409. The Neverending Story, Michael Ende--once or twice, early in undergrad days (I think)
410. The Shining, Stephen King
411. The Alien Chronicles, Deborah Chester
412. Redwall, Brian Jacques
413. Mossflower, Brian Jacques
414. The Iliad, Homer
415. Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes--Andrew left his copy at the house in Sudbury; never got through it
416. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain
417. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain
418. The Odyessy, Homer--with Grindley, that fuck
419. A Swiftly Tilting Planet, Madeleine L'Engle
420. Sir Apropos of Nothing, Peter David
421. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, JK Rowling--*sigh*
422. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, JK Rowling
423. A Woman of Substance, Barbara Taylor Bradford

"I ain't no doctor with degrees/ But it don't take too much high IQ/ To see what you're doing to me"

2005-12-05T22:11:00.000-07:00

Oh wow wow wow.

Lookee here.

A million thanks to my well-beloved Brianna for clueing me in to this one, via a link to the NY Times article about it.

This is so, so interesting in so many ways.

First, off... I am familiar with the scholarly work of Jack Zipes and Peter Hunt (two of the editors), and while I'm not really a Zipes fan (he's oaky; I just don't love him), I really like Hunt (back in the day, I looked into Cardiff because he's there [actually, I love him]). Hunt's involvement in this anthology bodes well, in my mind, and makes me a little more inclined to accept the NACL.

That being said, the NACL is still a canon-making exercise performed by a huge, influential and well-known publishing company, and as such is going to be problematic. What gets excluded is often says as much as what they did chose to include, and the economics of book publishing must obviously intrude. I don't really want to comment without actually looking at the NACL first--but I will say the obligatory and point out that women's writing may not be adequately represented by this anthology (as with most anthologies). Also: it's priced like a Norton (in other words: ouch!).

One thing that I do like--really, really like--is the decision to exclude Harry Potter. That was a very wise decision.

I find the way the NY Times article represents this exclusion to be absolutely fascinating. After Zipes lists a few (very valid) reasons to not include Harry Potter, the author of the article concludes "Never mind, though. Harry Potter is doing just fine." This, to me, simply underscores the need for a canon of children's literature, and the need for close study of children's books. There has to be something against which to define the crap.

Holy shit--how is it suddenly 11 pm? Where did the day go? I have even had dinner yet... And I have to get to work on stuff. Thank goodness I have all kinds of warm and glowing energy to channel into it...

ps. The Agnostics cd arrived for Colin--impressively fast, to say the least. It arrived on the same day I received an email saying it had been shipped.

"Got to be real"

2005-12-05T14:17:00.000-07:00

Mmm...

I'm beginning to experience some pre-ovulatory niceness, and I'm eating again. I have all this energy! I feel great! I'm stooping to using exclamation points! For the first time in a week, I'm not daunted by the thought of having to leave the house, or Nice Wantons rehearsal or all the school work I have to do. Stuff is so manageable, and if I can keep this glow up for the next week and a half, things are going to go swimmingly.

I can't believe I missed out on feeling like this for the three-plus years I was on the Pill. Stupid, stupid pill. Not doing that again, not for anything.

And food--eating. What a concept. I'm loving it.

And I did the math this morning, and realized that this is how I'm going to feel when I'm in Rossland.

*snicker*

Off to school.

Isn't life grand?

"Stand by your man"

2005-12-05T00:08:00.000-07:00

How fucking awesome is this? It's totally going to get me through the next four hours and thirty-three minutes (yeah, I'm going to be up that late tonight).

[Or maybe not--I keep getting a 'network stalled' notice and no music playing. What a piss off. I also desperately want to see Stop Making Sense again. Back to Cat Power and Coco Rosie, I guess {which really isn't a bad thing; one can never have too much Cat Power or Coco Rosie}.]

"Up and down through what you thought would be your future"

2005-12-04T17:19:00.000-07:00

I miss my old self.

Her focus wasn't such a bad thing. Being thoroughly consumed by a monomaniacal ambition to become an academic had its uses; that clarity of desire is what got her through the end of term. Even when she was tired and miserable from writing too many papers all at once, she knew there was thing great thing ahead of her to work towards--that all the stress and tears and difficulty was going to be worth it because it would be rewarded with a career and a life she loved. She'd have an office filled with books, and wear beautifully-tailored suits. Her students would love her and her colleagues would admire her work. She'd have great anecdotes about famous literary personages. She would be published. She would be satisfied and happy and have all she wanted. Knowing with absolute certainty that this is what awaited her, she could tolerate staying up all night to write. She could deal with the repetitive motion injury in her arms. She could survive on Kraft Dinner, Coke and M&Ms for as long as necessary. She might complain about it, and cry a little, but ultimately she'd get through it all and things would work out fine. She had what it takes.

I need that back.

I miss her.

I don't like who I've become.

"So come with me/ We'll go and see/ The big rock candy mountain"

2005-12-03T23:17:00.000-07:00

My Lost Classic

When I think of books loved and lost, Mary Wesley's Haphazard House always comes to mind. I read this as a young, young teenager wasting away in Sudbury. My mom had read The Camomile Lawn for a book club--a decent book club selection for once; I actually have her copy on my bookshelf (I wonder if she knows that...?) and have reread it a fair number of times--and even though in certain respects one might question the appropriateness of a thirteen-year-old (and I may even have been younger) reading The Camomile Lawn, I read it too, and liked it. I found Haphazard House in the meagre "young adults" section in the South branch of the "Greater" Sudbury Public Library (for a photo of this uninspiring locale, click here and scroll down [and go ahead and snicker at the whole "greater" thing--greater than what, exactly? The Black Hole of Calcutta? {I know what Greater actually refers to; that doesn't make it less funny}]) and picked it up because I recognized Wesley's name. I read it several times over the years. It's a fantasy/ magic realist sort of thing, and I'm such a sucker for that. It's also set in England, and I was quite the anglophile when young. The thing I remember best, and loved the most, about Haphazard House is a glass circular staircase filled with butterflies. They find the risers in some icky place--in a well, maybe? I'm remembering mud... I think what I like so much about Haphazard House now is the way I remember it--just all these vague, half-formed impressions of something really wonderful. Reading it again risks ruining that, of course, and in some ways it's best that--for me, anyways--this remain a lost classic.

Nevertheless, I've sought out Haphazard House in recent years but to no avail. UBC didn't have it; the U of A doesn't. It's not at the VPL or the EPL. And creepiest of all: the GSPL is no longer listing Haphazard House in its catalogue. I wonder where their copy went... I'm rather wishing I'd nicked it. I would almost think that I'd made it up, but searches do prove it exists--even if it's unavailable. I think I'll request it via Interlibrary Loan in the new year (I'd do it now, but wouldn't want it to arrive while I'm away). It would be scary to actually get it, though. Would I read it? Should I read it? I risk such disappointment, but an equal risk is missing out on an awful lot of pleasure. And let's face it, in such a debate I'm always going to come down on the side of pleasure-seeking (proof: James). Besides, every so often someone asks me what I think an antidote to Harry Potter is, or should be, and I half wonder if I won't find one in Haphazard House.

"So whatcha whatcha whatcha want?"

2005-12-03T16:40:00.000-07:00

I'm finished my Christmas shopping (plus my I-thought-you'd-like-this-I-loved-it-please-keep-it-and-don't-forget-about-me shopping) today, with the exception of some kind of thanks-for-letting-me-crash gift for Fred and Charlie.

Christmas, gift-giving-wise, is not a big deal in my family this year. My parents are giving me money for skiing (and hopefully helping out with travel expenses), and we'll do stockings on Christmas Eve with Andrew and that's it. I told my mom that I'd get everyone a "nice stocking stuffer" and opted to go for:

Arthur and George by Julian Barnes for Andrew. I think he'll like it--back at RMC, he wanted to take a course on (I think) detective fiction and mysteries and was quite disappointed when it was cancelled, so this is kind of in his line. Besides, it's Julian Barnes (although I don't think it counts for much that it was short-listed for the Booker [literary prizes are so... well, you know...]).

Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson for Mom. This selection is loosely inspired by Lost Classics. Carson wrote about Handbook for WIlliam by Dhuoda, an early 9th century book of advice from a mother to her son. This is one of the ones I read a couple of years ago (I was in a medieval studies class, so it seemed appropriate); it's very religious but quite interesting. I remember at the time thinking that my mom would like it, which made me wonder last night about Anne Carson. Basically, she sounds very, very cool and I look forward to discovering her work myself. Autobiography of Red is "a stunning work that is both a novel and a poem, both an unconventional re-creation of an ancient Greek myth and a wholly original coming-of-age story set in the present " (according to the book jacket). I like that this will be a bit of a challenging and different read for my mom. Her book club reads such awful stuff, it seems, and I hope this will raise the bar.

Edge of the Jungle by William Beebe for Dad. This is also Lost Classics-inspired; Wayne Grady wrote about Beebe's Jungle Peace, and since I couldn't find Jungle Peace specifically, Edge of the Jungle seemed like a good second choice. It's natural history essays, written in (I think) the first half of the 20th century. My dad's definitely more of a non-fiction guy, and I think he'll appreciate Beebe's subject matter, historical moment and style.

"Fighting and Onions", an Agnostic Mountain Gospel Choir cd, for Colin. I have to admit, I ordered this online before remembering that Colin is currently living in his cabin in Quatsino that doesn't have electricity. So I'm not sure how much he'll get to listen to this; I'm going to include a note with it (I'll have to mail it; last I heard he won't be in Winnipeg [which is fine by me]) saying that it's worth coming back to civilization to hear. The Agnostics are one of the bands I saw at the DCMF, and they're just Colin's kind of thing.

With the exception of the Anne Carson, I ordered things online (the Juilian Barnes was way cheaper that way, and I coudn't otherwise get the other books I wanted) and now just have to keep my fingers crossed that everything will get here on time. Chapters claims that my order should arrive by the 15th; I'm curious to see if it does. No delivery estimate on the cd, but I'm not overly concerned. Books and cds aren't really the kind of things that usual get put in stockings in my family, but I decided that nevertheless they're appropriate. I think the best gifts are the ones that come from the place where the giver and the receiver connect--when you give something that's related to what you share with the receiver. Besides, if I'm not getting to read for pleasure myself, I'd like other people to be able to.

Which reminds me: I have a hot date with The Anti-Pamela tonight. Whoo.

At least the whole stomach flu thing seems to finally be done with (knock on wood).

"Dreaming my dreams with you"

2005-12-03T01:56:00.000-07:00

Recently--for a specific reason and by a specific person which/who shall remain unnamed for reasons to be revealed in the fulness of time (a few weeks, probably)--I was reminded of a book my mother gave to me for Christmas one year. I must have been in OAC at the time, because it was published in 2000 and we were still living in Sludgebury. It's called Lost Classics. The publisher's description (excerpted from here [but my edition is much nicer looking]) is this:

The editors of Brick had the idea of celebrating the new century by asking contributors to the much-loved journal for short essays about their favourite "lost classics": books they treasured and would love to pass on to friends, but that are, for all intents and purposes, forgotten. The next issue contained 32 such essays - pithy, witty, passionate, surprising - which led to the idea of soliciting more, and celebrating again with a book.

So besides being the source from which I first heard about my beloved but rather neglected Brick (I notice they're offering again [or still] their "Immodest Proposal"; if I can afford it when I get paid at the end of January I'm definitely doing this--Brick does not deserve my treatment of it, and this would solve the problem), I was fascinated by the contents of the book itself. Of course, being in Sudbury and with access only to the public library there, I couldn't find any of the books--with the exception, I think, of Jane Smiley's The Greenlanders (and I'd read a couple--"The Highwayman" and Lost Horizon--before [I actually reread Lost Horizon again this summer; still love the book and still hate it when people mis-use the idea of Shangri-La]). So after reading about all these fabulous and fabulously rare books I'd like to read, I was forced to forget about them.

At some point at UBC, it occured to me to try finding some of these lost classics--the book has always been on my shelf, if rather forgotten about--and I had some success. Out of the seventy-eight titles listed, there are nine little pencil check marks in the index (and there ought to be one more next to "The Highwayman" [I read this in a class once and still remember the lines "The moon was a ghostly galleon/ Tossed upon cloudy seas" even though I'm not a fan of the poem]), which means I must have read these. Some aren't really ringing a bell, and it's tricky to know whether I'm recollecting the books themselves or the descriptions of them from Lost Classics. I have a head like a sieve and can't remember half of what I read; once I started a project of recording on index cards all the books I was reading, with a few notes attached, so that I could refer back, but this good little endeavour was abandoned through laziness. I'd like to pick it up again. But this is besides the point...

Having only read--it seems--roughly an eighth (very roughly--I'm in English, remember?) of the texts mentioned in Lost Classics, I'd like to start the project over. At this time next year, it is extremely unlikely that I'll have access to a university library, and university libraries are obviously the best source for these books, so I'd best get cracking and make hay while the sun shines (I'm a big fan of making hay while the sun shines [it rains too often to do otherwise]). Of course, I'm not interested in every single text discussed (the Newfoundland histories Wayne Johnston recommends aren't something I'd pick up), and some are absolutely impossible to find (C.K. Williams talks about a carbon copy of a titleless and authorless type-written pornographic novel he read in the late 1940s, for instance [this I would be interested in reading but alas, it's truly a lost classic]) but I'm going to do my best, in a few different ways.

First off, I'm gearing up for a full-blown love affair with the works of one author mentioned in Lost Classics. I read the particular text discussed therein, and thought it was absolutely brilliant. It is this text that came to mind when that unnameable specific person triggered all this in my head. Some of this author's works are in the special collections at the U of A, and depending on when the spec. colls. close down for the holidays, I shall start with these. I am also all set with call numbers to ransack the stacks for his stuff (semester loans rock [being a grad student does have its perks]).

I'm also going to skim through Lost Classics again and pick out some titles that I can't resist and am able to find, which may include rereading one or two of the titles I've already experienced (rereading never hurts a good book). These, with some of the works of the unnamed afore-mentioned author, will comprise my holiday reading (along with Hopscotch). I'll be spending an obscene amount of time on the train and on the bus this Christmas--sixteen hours to Winnipeg; thirty-six hours to Trail (near Rossland); eighteen hours back to Edmonton, assuming I'm still busing at that point (fuck that really is an obscene amount of travel time--what on earth am I thinking going to BC? [I'm thinking it'll be worth it; I can't not go {even though I suspect all of the wonderful and amazing moments will have corresponding awful and unbearable moments}])--and will definitely need a lot of reading. And I'll get to read while not travelling. I want my Christmas holidays to be like Whitehorse (when I'm in Edmonton and Winnipeg, not just Rossland; I'd like to channel those good Whitehorse vibes and live by them)--a very easy existence, with books and knitting and good conversation and long walks and nice naps and maybe the odd sleazy bar tossed in for good measure--plus some skiing and maybe a little necking once I get to Rossland.

I need a lot of reading in general right now--and not of the required school variety. I feel as though I haven't read for pleasure--truly read for pleasure and not just happened to enjoy a school book, as I did with Angela Carter's Nights at the Circus (which I'd really recommend)--in ages and ages. It's very sad that I'm actually at the point that I am fantasizing about getting to read for fun. As much as I love reading, it really isn't good fantasy material--it's one of those things that you actually have to do to get off on.

"All around the world/ Everywhere I go/ No one understands me/ No one knows what I'm trying to say"

2005-12-01T16:02:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday

Have you ever read a book in a language other than your native language? Sort of...

If so, how would you describe your experience? This would have been back in the days of elementary school, highschool and first year, when I was doing French. It's arguable that I wasn't really reading but merely struggling to understand. Second languages aren't my strong point--I'm really, really wrapped up in English--and despite years and years and years of French classes, my comprehension and vocabulary are very limited (but I'm still hoping good enough to meet the language requirement for my MA--I am not interested in more classes). I suspect this might have something to do the way I was taught French; it always seemed very disconnected from the reality of language (if language can be said to have a reality). If I have to learn French again sometime, I'm going to approach it like I did (unconsciously) when learning English: I'll start out with kid's books and just read a lot, and move on when I'm ready, instead of trying to focus on memorizing lists of verbs and conjugations. On the subject of actual books, one thing I do remember reading is Maria Chapdelaine. It was depressing; I rather wish I hadn't understood--but I'm suddenly oddly tempted to pick up a translation of it. I would also, at this juncture, like to point out that my Old English skills were at one time fairly passable, although I did tend more towards translation than direct comprehension.

Have you ever read a book translated from another language into your native language? Oh yes--lots, often.

Why or why not? To a certain extent, it's school related (as usual). Most theory isn't originally in English--Baudrillard, for instance, writes in French. But in terms of novels, it's been mostly pleasure reading (ah yes, that foreign concept).

If so, how would you describe your experience? Variable. Reading translated theory can be well-nigh impossible, in my opinion. I tend to dislike theory in general--why talk about talking about books when you can just talk about books?--and so much of it really suffers from a lack of clarity. Theory can be excessively obtuse, and in such cases, translations don't help at all. At least, translations make for a convenient scape-goat: don't blame the theorist who can't write, blame the translator. I dislike that just because someone's ideas are brilliant that they get away with poor writing; to me, if you're really that smart, you ought to be able to write well, too. Things besides theory that I've read in translation include Old English poetry, which, when not too religious, is pretty cool stuff--all that flyting and mead drinking. Seamus Heany's Beowulf (as problematic as it is [the women are so much stronger and more interesting in the OE]) is a good read. I read One Hundred Years of Solitude over the summer, and quite liked it. There was a sense that it would be better in the original--as with most translations--but I don't think that's a reason to reject translations. If I waited to read it until I'd learned sufficient Spanish, I wouldn't ever read it and would miss out entirely. Translations are a good trade off for those of us who aren't cunning linguists (sorry [really, I'm very sorry]). I do remember some translations I haven't been able to get through; I tried reading some Russian stuff--Dr. Zhivago and suchlike--back in highschool but never got through it. Although this could be because Dr. Z. was a big bite for a thirteen year old to chew, and not because it was a poor translation. I'm not inclined, however, to pick it up again and give it another shot. The next work in translation I want to read is Hopscotch by Julio Cortazar; I read about four pages of this the other night (James' copy, that lucky bastard) and it's irresistable.

"And all I want with my life/ Is to be a housewife.../ 'Cause it's nearly midnight/ And all I want with my life/ Is to die a housewife..."

2005-12-01T01:36:00.000-07:00

A procrastination post...

TEN random things you might not know about me:
1. When I was in grade one, I wanted to be a housewife when I grew up
2. My nickname in grade nine was Little Swedish Boy
3. I have a scar from chicken pox on my right side which seems to me to be absurdly large
4. I used to have a big crush on Brad Renfro
5. I love singing along to my mp3s even though I have no voice
6. I participated in Forum for Young Canadians when I was in grade 12
7. When I was young, I used to bite my nails a lot
8. I still bite them when I'm stressed out
9. I about to embark upon a desperate obsession with Coco Rosie
10. If I could bring one dead person back to life, I'd choose Jeff Buckley

NINE places I’ve visited:
1. Disney Land
2. The Carcross Desert, YT
3. Port Renfrew, BC
4. Ottawa, ON
5. Broadview, SK
6. Cold Lake, AB
7. The Frank Slide, AB
8. Saulte Ste Maria, ON
9. Oxford, UK

EIGHT ways to win my heart:
1. Speak intelligently and interestingly about books
2. Appreciate my mind
3. Appreciate my body
4. Cook for me
5. Introduce me to new things
6. Call me classy
7. Be magical
8. Be open and sharing without crossing the "too much information" line

SEVEN things I want to do before I die:
1. Travel everywhere--Antarctica comes to mind first right now
2. Learn to ballroom dance
3. Go to Montauk in February
4. Experiment with living a truly mundane life
5. See a real desert
6. Define how I want to engage intellectually with the world
7. Watch The X-Files and Buffy the Vampire Slayer in their entirety while knitting

SIX things I’m afraid of:
1. Not finishing my MA
2. Talking to Heather about what I need to do to finish my MA without being thoroughly miserable
3. Not going to school next fall
4. Heights
5. That I'm always thinking the grass is greener on the other side of the fence
6. "Most of all I'm afraid of walking out of here and never feeling my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you"

FIVE things I don't like:
1. Raisins
2. Being cold
3. Stomach flu
4. Narratology
5. Writing research papers

FOUR ways to turn me off:
1. Be stupid
2. Ask me if I came, even when it's really, really obvious that I did
3. Look like you're in pain as you approach orgasm
4. Be whipped

THREE Things I do everyday:
1. Walk somewhere
2. Take at least one long shower
3. Read

TWO things that make me happy:
1. Reading for pleasure
2. Knitting

ONE thing on my mind right now:
1. I dread the thought of going to sleep tonight next to my laptop, some knitting and a stack of books; it seems rather abject after the past five nights. So I'm just going to work all night and only go to bed when I am too absolutely exhausted to even think at all.

"The body stays/ And then the body moves on"

2005-11-30T15:49:00.000-07:00

Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes is gone--again.

I'm just left feeling weak; I expect that this is mostly the last of the stomach flu, but there seems to be an emotional side to it as well.

I barely worked while he was here and therefore have a mountain of work ahead of me: three papers to research and write in seventeen days, plus an abstract for one of them tomorrow and lots of Nice Wantons stuff in the next week. I absolutely do not care, however, just how much I let him cut into my work time. I chose it. There was nothing else to do. There's only Rossland left, now.

"When they kick on your front door/ How you gonna come?/ With your hands on your head/ or on the trigger of your gun?"

2005-11-26T18:21:00.000-07:00

Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes arrived back earlier than expected--because heaven forbid that he ever do anything expected--in the middle of the night.

Needless to say, my big list of things I'd have done by now largely remains a big list of things I still have to do. I'm finished reading the Prince article and Equiano, I've read a bit more of Nights at the Circus and a bit of Gender Trouble. I have notes for my presentation typed up and I'm just in the process of turning the notes into a paper. This is going fast. The only real concern is the 750 words on my Getting Woman Right paper... not so much the actual writing of it but having the strength of will to do it. Things are really rosy with James right now and it's hard to not want to take advantage of that.

"I'll always be by your side/ Even when you're down and out"

2005-11-25T17:44:00.000-07:00

Just when you think it can't get any more fucked up:

"the mountain isnt open. not enough snow. opening date is undetermined and weather dependant[...] would you want me to come back to edmonton if there is time?"

"the mountain is opening next weekend. i think i will arrive back in edmonton tomorrow."

In the next twenty-four hours, I am going to:

--finish reading a Gerald Prince article about naratees;
--reread Equiano with naratees in mind;
--write a 1000 word (4 or 5 page) response paper on naratees and Equiano;
--write a 750 word close reading of some aspect of my term paper for Getting Woman Right;
--read as much of Gender Trouble as possible;
--finish reading Nights at the Circus.

This is insanely ambitious, but I'll feel better if I at least try. I'm thinking that I just won't sleep for the next week, and that way I'll still be able to handle school, Nice Wantons stuff and Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes. I might forget about eating, too; it takes too long.

*grin*

Right now, I'm in a really interesting place between abject terror and sublime happiness. Let's hope it's a good place from which to read and write.

"Thought of you as everything/ I've had but couldn't keep"

2005-11-25T01:05:00.000-07:00

I actually ended up telephoning B before I went out; I didn't want to call too late, and I needed to eat something before I went out, as at that point I'd only had some dried mangoes and a slice of bread (food didn't matter today; there were other hungers to contend with). It was good to talk to her; she contributes to my sanity. I also called my mom afterwards. For a long time--years--I've wanted to ask her how she knew she wanted to marry my dad. I finally did tonight but she couldn't answer (besides pointing out that they were quite a bit older than I am now when they decided--they were in their 30s). There was something in the way she said "Oh"... Whatever it is that's necessary for something to last for a lifetime with someone, I know my parents have it. It was in her voice.

When I did go walking, I listened to this:

Rolling Stones--Wild Horses
Velvet Underground--Pale Blue Eyes
Feist--Lover's Spit
Coco Rosie--By Your Side
Will Oldham--Take However Long You Want
Tom Waits--Old 55
Bright Eyes--Land Locked Blues
TVOTR--Modern Romance
Arcade Fire--Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels)
Yeah Yeah Yeahs--??
Sufjan Stevens--Casimir Pulaski Day
Devendra Banhart--Body Breaks
Radiohead--Fake Plastic Trees
Maria McKee--If Love Is A Red Dress (Hang Me In Rags)
Jeff Buckley--We All Fall In Love Sometimes
Righteous Brothers--Unchained Melody
Bullfrog--Shine

Of particular note on this Walking Mix is the Coco Rosie. Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes received a letter from his sister Jill, via Joel (they're sorta broken up now but not really; it's a bit odd), containing a couple of cds. One of these was two Coco Rosie albums; we listened to it and I absolutely fell in love with it. It's strange stuff, but beautiful somehow. It resonates. I'd recommend it.

While out on my walk, I rented A Very Long Engagement (and picked up ice cream at the grocery store; stupid choice for this wretchedly cold apartment but it seemed appropriately stereotypical). I've seen this before; Andrew and I saw it in the theatre with Graham last January when Andrew was visiting after Christmas on Salt Spring. It was the most appealing thing at the video store; I guess I wanted to torture myself and knew this would do the trick. I think I liked it better this time; the violence was still shocking but it was horribly moving. I cried so much my eyes hurt (while I worked on the hoodie, now that I know how long to make the arms [at least now I know I can cry and knit at the same time; it's always good to multitask, isn't it?]). I don't think I've ever cried so much during a film.

Maybe it didn't have much to do with the film.

But let's pretend it did.

"But our empty sky was filled with laughter/ Just before the flood/ Painting worried faces with a smile"

2005-11-24T17:56:00.000-07:00

Well, Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes just left--after a whole 48 hours in Edmonton. I'm taking it as a good sign that I'm not in a foetal position bawling my eyes out (having done that already once today [this freak out led to me realizing that one day he is going to break my heart but I'm powerless to resist bringing myself to that moment]) but I am thinking that now would be a good time to make up a suitable walking mix, and head out to procure some chocolate. I need to mull some stuff over before I call Brianna for some much needed girl talk.

I will give you one moment and the rest is for the paper journal:

It's dark outside; we have been loading his stuff in his car ("car"). We walk back towards the house, and as we're walking we sort of reach towards each other. James' hand slides underneath my sweater and t-shirt and tank top in one smooth motion and his fingers brush the skin of my lower back. I stumble--I am completely unable to negotiate the stairs I walk up every single day simply because he touched the skin on my lower back--and I'm only glad I merely stumbled and didn't fall flat on my face. James laughs at me. I push him away, in front of me, and he enters the house first so that he can check his email one last time and make sure he hasn't forgotten anything before he goes.

"She don't think straight/ No, no, no she don't think straight"

2005-11-24T00:31:00.000-07:00

(Otherwise titled "If love is a red dress, hang me in rags")

This may be a little incoherent--I can't even bear the thought of trying to proof read it--but considering that I end by pointing out that life doesn't make sense (really, it doesn't; not in the fucking least), I'll just claim that my style is reflecting that...

Yeah, that's crap (the bit about the writing style, I mean, not the part about life not making any sense; that I will stand by). Really I just can't think straight at all. Nevertheless, it's another:

Booking Through Thursday

This week's questions are brought to you by Nicki.

Biographies and autobiographies—do you read them? Hardly ever--not, in fact, since the days of highschool (and earlier) when one had to do book reports. Oh wait: I just remembered: I read The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano during the summer; it's one of the first slave autobiographies, written in 1789. (It's a good thing I remembered this one: we're talking about it in class this week, and I'll probably have to talk about it in a presentation about a Gerald Prince article on naratees [I'll be getting right on that once James goes tomorrow].)

If so, whose life story has inspired you most and why? No one's, obviously, since I don't read them (and I'm not really in a position to need to be inspired by the life of an 18th century slave [plus it was a little dry {I feel horrible for saying this but it's true}]). The two biographies that I can remember reading back in the day are Katharine Hepburn's Me (grade five [which was a little, um, ambitious {but unfortunately oh so appropriate}]) and one that I can't remember the title of or the name of the person. This was back during my spy novel phase (around grade ten or eleven), and it was the autobiography of someone who used to be in the British secret service.

If not, why not? I don't read biographies because I just don't care that much about real people or history. The kind of people who get biographied (is this a word? I don't care if it isn't: I'm using it anyway) simply aren't interesting to me. What I'm reminded of when thinking about this issue is The History of Sir George Ellison by Sarah Scott. Setting aside the fact that this is actually a fake biography (a novel posing as a biographical work), at the beginning of the work, the narrator justifies his/her (although it is arguably a masculine "voice") choice of Ellison as a subject by saying that the lives of statesmen and generals are too far removed, and that "ordinary" people make better examples (and nevermind that Ellison, as a paragon of "virtue" [ie. he's racist, sexist and classist but still apparently a great guy that men in the 18th century needed to emulate] is hardly ordinary [ie. he wasn't a rake or a drunk]). I'd tend to agree with this: just because I share her name (stupid parents!) doesn't mean Katharine Hepburn's life is actually going to mean something to me. Which isn't to say that I do want to read the biography of Jane Doe who lives down the street, although this has the potential to be more meaningful. I tend to take my inspiration from people I know; it's more real and more honest, somehow. I also rather dislike the concept of biography. People's lives may contain events, but they certainly don't have a plot, and biographies seem to try to give people's lives plots, which just doesn't do it for me. I also have a firm... something for novels (a liking for it? a desire for it? a belief in it?) and the work that they can do. Because they're entirely constructed, everything can (although often it doesn't. no matter how hard the writer tries) come together and make sense, without the sense being forced onto something that doesn't make sense. Lives just don't make sense, and biographies miss the point of life by trying to give it sense and structure.

"Well it's tough to have a crush/ Whoever knew such hullaballo"

2005-11-21T23:32:00.000-07:00

With the exception of a few final things, the apartment is ready for the arrival of my guest tomorrow. Lest anyone accuse me of attempting to acheive perfection, I give the following as proof that things are merely very nice and not perfect:

--I did not polish the brass bed;
--I did not dust the control panels on the washer and dryer;
--I did not mop the kitchen floor;
--I did not vaccuum the stairs.

Although really I did pretty much any other cleaning/ tidying you can think of. It was a little mad, and I'm actually starting to think that it wasn't so much about getting ready for a visit from Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes, but more about shirking my academic work. Why shirking my school work couldn't involve activities that don't smell bad (I absolutely loathe the stench of bathroom cleansers) or break my nails (somehow I managed to break four within as many days), I don't quite know, but there it is. (Besides, my mother is more "Martha Stewart" than Martha Stewart is, and sadly I carry That Gene. Thank heavens it's recessive most of the time.)

But about shirked school work: it's almost midnight, and I haven't started writing the essay proposal for my feminist theory course which is due tomorrow. Meh. I've decided to write about knitting--framing it as an aspect of The Domestic, which is what I really wanted to talk about but find too diverse for the amount of time I have to write the paper and for the length of the paper (although considering my activities over the past few days, exploring "womanliness as masquerade" from a personal perspective would be easy peasy)--which should be easy enough. It means I get to read good knitting blogs as "research." So why am I not more enthusiastic about this?

[Update: what the fuck was I wondering about? In fifteen minutes, I've reached half the word count I need and haven't said even a third of what I want to say. I'll have time to go dry the dishes before I go to bed.]

[And less than an hour later, I done. I hope the rest of my work this term goes this easy. I'm happy with the proposal, so I'm going to post it:

The general, overarching concern of my paper is the representation of women performing traditionally feminine (domestic) activities: how do women these days represent themselves in relation to activities such as cooking and crafts, and how are they represented by others? In order to narrow the focus of this paper--the domestic realm is simply too diverse for the space allotted--I shall discuss knitting. This is appropriate because of the interesting cultural space knitting occupies: it is currently a trendy activity while at the same time it signals a certain old-fashionedness; it is an area in which women actively represent themselves, both through the objects they create and through outlets such as blogs and on-line forums; and it is both a traditional domestic craft and a form of high art.
The paper shall include a brief history of knitting; particularly interesting is the fact that knitting was at first a men’s occupation before it became a home-based feminine activity during the industrial revolution. The major thrust of the paper will, however, be on the contemporary knitting scene. I will discuss such popular publications as Debbie Stoller’s "Stitch ‘n Bitch" books, "At Knit’s End: Meditations for Women Who Knit Too Much" by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee and the Knitlit series. There will also be a section on knitting blogs and the various ways in which these work (simply as spaces for knitters to show their work and maintain pattern notes, but on more complex levels as places of community formation and self-representation). The position of male knitters in the current knitting scene will also be considered (specifically, I shall discuss the “The Man Issue” [Summer 2005] of the on-line knitting magazine, Knitty.com). Other topics will include the political side of knitting (eg. the Knitters Against Bush group; Wombs on Washington), knitting as high art (Stephanie Speight; Susan Planalp and Jessica Schleif), the economic and consumerist aspect of knitting, and knitting as represented in mass media (for instance, newspaper articles for wide audiences that include knitters and non-knitters). I will also use my own personal experience as a knitter where appropriate.
Ultimately, what I hope to get out of this paper is some sense of what happens in the space between a traditional feminine activity and a desire to distance oneself from that while still engaging in that activity. Is knitting “anti-feminist”? Does its current popularity signal a return to “traditional values”? What does knitting mean for the women who do it, and what does it mean for those who watch women knit?]

"Hey good lookin'/Whatcha got cookin'?"

2005-11-19T16:50:00.000-07:00

I felt like cooking this afternoon, so I decided to make the stew for Tuesday night. It apparently freezes well and is one of those things that tastes even better the second day, so I think it's okay to have done things this far ahead. What I made is a version of the Chicken, Shrimp and Sausage Stew from Epicurious.com. I find the way the measurements are done is a little unrealistic--why not say "1 large red bell pepper, chopped" instead of "1 1/4 cups chopped red bell pepper"? It's silly. So here's my take (just cook everything according to Epicurious recipe):

6 medium sausages (I used double smoked farmer's sausage [it was on special] but I think anything would do)
6 small boneless and skinless chicken thighs
2 large white onions, chopped
2 green bell peppers, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
13 mushrooms, sliced
7 cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon dried basil
1 tablespoon paprika
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes with liquid
2 cups chicken broth
1 jar pimento-stuffed manzilla olives, drained
30-40 large raw shrimp, peeled and deveined (about 450 g)

A few thoughts:

This makes a wacking ton of stew. I haven't even put the shrimp in yet, and already my largest pot is filled to the brim. Instead of cooking the shrimp in the stew, I'm going to sautee them separately and then add them once I've eaten a bit and there's space in the pot. I find this kind of funny: I'd chosen this recipe because it sounded like a tasty way to use up the bag of shrimp languishing in the freezer, and I haven't even used the shrimp yet.

That being said, the stew is tasty enough without the shrimp. I'm having it over rice tonight, and while I think I'd like it better simply as a stew with a good chunk of bread on the side instead of with rice (this is how I shall serve it Tuesday), I'm pleased at how it turned out. And according to my landlady, who just came downstairs to switch laundry loads, it smells fantastic (note to self: have private entrance and laundry in next apartment). I am also pleased to report that can actually cook decent rice now; seems like having a stove with temperature settings makes a bit of a difference.

This is a pretty time consuming recipe. Including prep time and cleaning up, I was about two hours at it, and probably have about another half hour to go when I do the shrimp. Which means that time-wise, making a half recipe doesn't make sense. Next time, I'd omit browning the chicken. I think this step only really matters if you're using chicken with skin.

I'm rather surprised at myself for actually making this. It involved dealing with raw chicken, which is my least favourite kitchen task. I'd even rather wash dishes than do anything involving raw chicken, and that's saying a lot considering how much I hate washing dishes. This is why I shelled out for boneless, skinless chicken. It makes things marginally more pleasant and easier. I also quite dislike dealing with onions, as I always cry like a baby when I chop them. I love onions but they don't love me; even mild onions--green and purple--can make me tear up. I made it through this batch by running away to the dressing room to wash my hands and rinse my eyes every thirty seconds (while swearing profusely [and this is not hyperbole]); I also made a point of washing the knife and cutting board as soon as I was finished cutting the onions, and I stashed the offending vegetable in the fridge until I was ready for it. Still it was tortuous. While I was cutting, I was cursing James and muttering that he'd better fucking appreciate my efforts (and simultaneously reminding myself that he's not the type to give direct and overt compliments and that really it doesn't matter anyways--anything is better than Kraft Dinner). I think I chose this recipe because of the description: "it's a perfect dish to enjoy after a day of skiing or other winter play." Tuesday won't involve play of any kind (until after the stew is eaten...?) but it's an appealing description. So I was suckered into raw chicken and onions.

Next time, I'd like to make this with wine as the original recipe suggests. I think the stew needs it. I would have used wine this time, but I'm too poor. I also want to be stone-cold sober on Tuesday, and if I'd had a bottle of wine open for cooking, we would have had it with dinner.

In many ways, this recipe (in its current shrimpless state) reminds me of Pizza Soup. I think you could do a cheater version of the stew using canned tomato soup as a base (just sautee everything and toss it in); it wouldn't be quite as nice but it might be a bit faster.

Don't you wish you were dining with me Tuesday night?

"All I want is you"

2005-11-19T03:10:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with a terrible headache, and spent most of the day in bed waiting for the pain to go away. I even skipped out on the Wantons rehearsal today, and of course didn't get any work done (except for a very little reading). The pain went away--mostly--around suppertime, but I still felt crappy for most the evening. Sort of like my head was filled with a dirty dishrag. And I'm feeling better now--except for being unable to sleep even though it's after 2 am (after 3 now, as I'm giving this another proof read), since I rested all day. The big accomplishment of the day was teaching myself how to do Japanese short rows for the heel of the sock I'm working on. I also did some weaving in of ends on the stack of socks I had lying around waiting to be finished. And I decided what to cook for dinner Tuesday night--I found an amazing-sounding stew recipe, which I'll link to if I'm happy with it.

Yesterday was a much better day. I cleaned house, which was thoroughly satisfying. I still have some things to do before James arrives (vacuum, clean the bathroom, do laundry and tidy the dressing room) but the living room is nicely organized and very lovely and cozy feeling. I even reorganized the stash basket. Out of curiosity, while I was at it, I counted my WIPs. I currently have on the needles:

--hoodie for Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes in "Mist" Knit Picks Wool of the Andes;
--skinny fern scarf in Handpaintedyarn.com lace weight;
--sock in Knit Picks Sock Garden in "Geranium";
--the Whitehorse Hickey Hider in qiviut from Folknits in Whitehorse;
--Hush Hush in Halcyon Yarn's 3/2 Pearl Cotton (which hardly counts since I've abandoned it; it's at the very bottom of the basket);
--a skinny version of My So-Called Scarf in Fleece Artist Slubby.

I don't think this is too many; in lots of ways it's a nice combination of projects, as it ranges from easy and mindless stockinette through simple patterning to tricky. I'm eager to keep moving on the hoodie; all that grey is overwhelming all the other lovely stuff in the basket. But I really shouldn't have done all that linking above; I'm some serious throes of yarn lust right now (and sighing a sigh for my days in Whitehorse). Look at this and this and this and this and these...

I'd really like a break from reading things that are racist and/or sexist. I realize that representation--of gender, race and pretty much everything--is complicated and problematic, but it seems this week between dealing with King Solomon's Mines (novel and made for tv movie), Sin City and The History of Sir George Ellison, plus the fact that most novels I've read this term have been equally politcally incorrect, I'm just overloaded with various chauvinisms. The History of Sir George Ellison is particularly distressing, because the novel's stated intention is to describe a perfectly virtuous man and yet he's just so awful (yeah, yeah--it's an 18th century novel; this is to be expected--but still). I'm looking forward to reading over Christmas break--I'm thinking it'll involve the latest issue of Brick, something by Julian Barnes (maybe his latest?), maybe something else from James' library (if I really do go to Rossland, since his library is leaving next week)... Reading for pleasure: what a concept.

And on the subject of books: this is so appalling. I can't believe professors would/ could advocate this--as though all books were merely plot and so easily boiled down to something that barely even qualifies as English. Absolutely dreadful. Just another sign that the world's going to hell in a handbasket.

"There is no/ This is no/ Modern romance"

2005-11-16T23:25:00.000-07:00

I'd forgotten how much I like drinking. I'm glad I rediscovered that pleasure tonight. Part of last week's good news from the excellent Dr. Smith is that diet isn't connected to my specific health problem as much as I'd thought. It seems that I could pretty much go back to eating like I used to, although I don't really want to because some of the changes I made are good from a general health perspective (while some changes just made me miserable and not want to eat), but the occasional drink? Oh please yes. Like tonight: after the screening, we went to Scholar's and I had two rum and cokes. Despite the fact that it was cheap rum and flat Coke, it was great to be drinking again. I realize this sounds a little unhealthy and alcoholic, but really it isn't. If I'd celebrated last week's health news with a three-day-long bender--that would have been unhealthy.

Besides, I needed a drink after tonight's screening of the Patrick Swayze King Solomon's Mines. It was quite possibly the funniest and best thing we've watched all term, but only because it was so fucked up and purely awful.

First off, the relationship between the film and the novel is pretty darn weak. In fact, the film is completely different from the novel. Which disappointed me greatly, because I was really hoping to see Good's "beautiful white legs" shown on screen. The whiteness of his legs is probably my favourite thing in the novel (it's kind of a hard novel to like, what with all the violence and the racism).

The movie (miniseries, I should say, but "movie" is shorter to type), however, has its own comic relief. Not that it really ever intened to be funny, but it frequently ended up that way. Really, it was just one big laugh fest for me. My absolutely favourite part was at the end. Quatermain and his love interest, Elizabeth Maitland (who looked like a character from "Baywatch"--complete with brown roots showing above her blond dye job), have just escaped the mine and are lying on the grass, catching their breath. She's proped up on one elbow, and when Quatermain goes to kiss her, he knocks her elbow out from under her so that she falls onto her back in a position of total sexual availability. Then he goes in for the kiss. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard at anything. Really, it made the whole three hours 100% worth it. I realize it doesn't sound so funny typed up, but honestly it was. It was a sort of Harlequin Romance novel bodice-ripping moment. It was just great. It really suited my current fucked-up relationship with romance.

Next week is our last screening (the movie is The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, which I fear will just be a big let-down after the made-for-TV glory of this week's movie), which is a very scary indication of just how close we are to the end of term. I hope lots of people come out for drinks after; it's always so much fun (and should be extra-fun next week because Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes will be there, too [we chatted on messenger today--he arrives Tuesday and can only stay until Thursday and while this makes me sad, really I'm so eager to see him I'll gladly take whatever time I can get], even though I think I'll feel desperately guilty for making him sit through The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen). Christine came tonight, and she's just so hilarious. And she gave Leigh and I some good advice for getting our papers done. I feel a bit better--but only a bit.

Now to read a bit of Debord: the sublime to the ridiculous...?

"Why am I always stuck at the shitty end of the assembly line?"

2005-11-16T01:13:00.000-07:00

Ick. Gah.

I just watched Sin City and I feel dirty. I'd like to take a shower. I'm sickened. And I probably didn't even see half the movie because I kept my eyes on my knitting.

I'd thought that watching Sin City would be a good compromise between school and relaxation--a chance to get some work done even though it's a Tuesday night and I'm burned out. It's for my feminist theory course. I figured it wouldn't take too much thinking about; I'd get it out of the way, so that the rest of the week can be spent in reading and research (and tidying up this wretchedly messy apartment, so that everything's all aint-she-a-suzie-homemaker when you arrive).

But man oh man, I don't even want to go to sleep now. I haven't been this distressed by a movie since I watched Ma Mere last fall--but this is distressing in a totally different way. After Ma Mere I was disturbed but not deeply offended and saddened, which is the response Sin City has inspired. I mean, discussing problems of representation in this film is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. I want my two hours back. I want my $5.50 back. I hate that I contributed to the perpetuation of these images and representations by watching this.

I feel dirty.

I really dislike that course sometimes. This is worse than my prof's annoying habit of assigning readings--tough readings, long ones that are theoretical and daunting and unfun--and then not discussing them in class. Or--even worse--not discussing them on the scheduled day and then randomly bringing them up weeks later when you haven't brought the stupid freaking articles to class and you read them so long ago and barely even understood them then that it's completely fucking pointless to bring them up at all.

And tomorrow night, I get to watch the miniseries of King Solomon's Mines with Patrick Swayze and Allan Quatermain. It's almost three hours long. Bring it on! Whoo!

Stupid fucking school. How many months left?

"Baby, it's cold [in]side"

2005-11-14T23:31:00.000-07:00

I finished the top lace section of my Hush Hush, and have only the straps left to do. Thing is: I'm not actually going to knit them. I'm not happy at all with the way my Hush Hush has turned out: the fit just isn't what I want. It's fine around the hips but way too loose around the bust, and because of the long lace pattern repeat, getting a closer custom fit just isn't possible. So what I'm going to do is frog the top lace section, and turn what's left over into a draw-string skirt. Then, using the yarn I have left over--which is a ton, let me assure you (deliberate on my part--I thought I'd make a matching wrap but know now that I don't want one out of cotton)--I'll make my own custom slip that will fit like a dream and be hot hot hot instead of droopy and lame. I'm not certain that I'd actually wear the draw-string skirt, but I also don't want to frog the entire freaking thing and don't really need to, so I might as well get something out of it. I am not, however, going to do any of this now. The Hush Hush and all left over yarn is just going into the stash basket where it will be ignored (nevermind who said he likes it and who wondered when it would be finished). Something like Hush Hush just isn't really practical or usable in my life right now: this apartment is just too freaking cold to traipse around with bare anything, let alone all the bits this slip leaves bare. It might be a nice thing to have in the spring and summer for covering up for trips to the living room, since I don't wander naked in there (my land lady's dog looks in the windows at me and that's weird enough with clothes on [and yes there are blinds but I'm too lazy to bother with them; they stay shut all the time and I'd live in the dark and my plants would die]), but it's just too damn cold now (this winter's erotics are going to have to be of the slow reveal down through layers of clothes and of the weight of blankets [if this winter needs erotics]). So instead I'm going to focus on knitting warm and woolly things: the hoodie for Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes, socks, scarves, my qiviut neck-warmer (aka The Whitehorse Hickey Hider [because the yarn's from Whitehorse and that's all {*snicker*}]), thrummed mitts, maybe another toque, perhaps a version of the Mini Sweater (no picot edging, less puffy sleeves etc)... Plus I expect I'll knit up a couple of Christmas presents--on the list at the moment is two scarves and I'm not hoping to add to that. Gift knitting sucks in some ways but Fred and Charlie (my uncle and aunt, with whom I am probably crashing this Christmas) would flip.

Had a Nice Wantons rehearsal for Goodnight Desdemona tonight. I have to say, I'm really identifying with Desdemona these days--Desdemona as re-written by Ann-Marie MacDonald, that is. Think about it: she falls for a man who tells her great stories in order to live vicariously through him but she's also got this sort of anti-men streak and is completely blood-thirsty. Okay, well maybe only the first bit really applies (even though I might wish the last bits did as well). At any rate, I'm having fun with this stuff. I get to yell, and make vows, and declaim with knitting needles in hand, and smother someone with a pillow, and sword fight. One of the stage directions Judith gave me is: "Think Karate Kid."

I spoke to my parents tonight. I'd telephoned them last week to let them know about the health situation (I wanted to share the new and improved situation with the whole fucking world but decided that that would be a little inappropriate, and even when talking to my parents I left out the bit I'm happiest about [there are some things parents don't need to know]) but they were away in Quatsino at Colin's place (my uncle Patrick is visiting and they went up to show him around) and didn't call back until tonight. Things seem to be as usual with them. Colin's laid off from logging again, but thinks he can find other work easily enough. Or go on EI again. We talked a bit about Christmas, and--horrible sister that I am--I'm rather relieved that it doesn't sound like Colin will be coming to Winnipeg (actually I think this has something to do with Colin being a horrible brother as opposed to me being a horrible sister). This means that I won't spend my Christmas holidays being brutally mocked. But I'm happy enough to see everyone else; I'm still thinking I'll take Amelia to the zoo (because 23 year old women can't simply go to the zoo--they need an excuse). Also, Mom and Dad asked what I'd like for Christmas and I had the brilliance to ask for a day of skiing; they agreed (and my dad said it's "nice" that James and I are still in touch--WTF?). This means that I can now refer to my post-Christmas time in Rossland--it sounds like it's still on ("more time in the new year" was the consolation James offered for not being able to stay next week)--as a "ski vacation" (nevermind that I'll probably only be able to afford to ski once) instead of "visiting a friend" ("'friend'"?). The questions will be so much less awkward.

And...

Semicolon
You scored 15% Sociability and 82% Sophistication!

Congratulations! You are the semicolon! You are the highest expression of punctuation; no one has more of a right to be proud. In the hands of a master, you will purr, sneering at commas, dismissing periods as beneath your contempt. You separate and connect at the same time, and no one does it better. The novice will find you difficult to come to terms with, but you need no one. You are secure in your elegance, knowing that you, and only you, have the power to mark the skill or incompetence of the craftsman.

You have no natural enemies; all fear you.

And never, NEVER let anyone tell you that you cannot appear in dialogue!

Link: The Which Punctuation Mark Are You Test written by Gazda on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

"Please don't tell me/ Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps"

2005-11-13T18:33:00.000-07:00

I'm taking it easy today. My brain just shut off last night from an overdose of reading and I haven't even tried to turn it back on yet. I'm in more of a feeling rather than thinking mood. I have also, for about the fifth time, just written a post about what I'm feeling and deleted it. I'm thinking I'm just going to give up, or perhaps turn to my paper journal (for the third time this week--private things are happening, I suppose [it's matter of reconciling what I know and understand with what I feel and I want]). Instead I'll leave you with a quiz. I'm posting it anyway, even though I think question #6 is stupid and offensive. (It is apparently more normal to want to be 50 lbs overweight than to have herpes; I find this rather ridiculous to say the least. Herpes=cold sores. If you've ever had a cold sore--no matter where--you've got herpes, and even if you'd never had a cold sore anywhere, it's still incredibly likely that you've got herpes, as it is entirely possible to have it and not know. In the long run, having herpes is actually less unhealthy than being overweight. It isn't going to kill you--it is merely inconvenient and stigmatized--whereas obesity can [think diabetes, heart disease...].) Nevertheless, the quiz (because I was amused at my results)...

You Are 80% Weird

You're more than quirky, you're downright strange.
But you're also strangely compelling, like a cult leader.

How Weird Are You?

"You think she's an open book/ But you don't know which page to turn to/ Do you/ Do you"

2005-11-12T12:19:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday

What book (or books) would you like to see made into a movie? Why?
What book (or books) would you definitely not want made into a movie?

I can't properly answer this week's Booking Through Thursday questions (and not just because I'm answering on Saturday). I really generally dislike books being made into movies, and I don't think it should be done--ever.* Written forms--short story, novel, novella, whathaveyou--are too different from screen forms (television and movies); each form does its own work in a unique way that is fundamentally untranslatable from one medium to another. No matter how faithful an adaptation tries to be, there is always going to be some slip, something lost, in the move from book to film and vice versa (yes, I have read the novelization of a film: Space Camp). "The medium is the message," remember?

Let's take Pamela by Samuel Richardson, for instance (I have to gear myself up to writing a paper about this). In the novel, Pamela has no existence beyond her letters: her virtue is her letters, her body is her letters, her character is her letters. She is all letter, and the reader experiences this by reading her letters. The written word is important for the plot, and for the themes of the text. How on earth would you film this? Apparently someone has tried, as there is a 1974 film called Mistress Pamela, but I haven't seen it (and there is absolutely no way I could ever be induced to do so, and not because I'm such a big Richardson fan--actually I rather detest the man, as the ideologies he helped usher in are still with us and still ruining people's lives--but because I know it must fail). A movie of Pamela couldn't possibly accurately and adequately express the thematic importance of the letters.

Admittedly, Pamela is an extreme case, as not all books are so blatant in their use of the written word as thematically important, but I think the same case could be made for any short story, novel or novella ever written. Pamela's just at the top of my head, since I'll be writing about innate virtue in Pamela versus innate sexuality in Eliza Haywood's Anti-Pamela, and how this relates to the form of the books.

And besides, it seems to me to demonstrate a fundamental lack of creativity to simply adapt a novel to the screen. There's so much that film can do that a novel can't--Tim Burton's visual magic, for instance--and adapting a novel doesn't allow room for that to play out.

All that being said, there are a few books that I would both love and hate to see made into movies; I would love to see what a filmmaker would/could do but at the same time would hate to watch them fail. This is why I went to see the recent Hitchhiker's Guide.

--Vox by Nicholson Baker. The entire novel (it's fairly short) is two people having a telephone conversation between two people who called a sex chat line--all we get is their conversation. It's very, very good (BUT I will say, as I always say, if you're going to read Vox you MUST read The Mezzanine first in order to understand Baker's perspective), and I think there's a lot of potential for creating a film that's erotic for not showing what they're talking about. This would be interesting in terms of "the gaze."
--Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon. An epic movie for an epic novel? A postmodern movie for a postmodern novel? It would suck so bad but I'd have to see it anyway.
--Simulacra and Simulation by Jean Baudrillard. Actually I'm just tossing this out there because this is what I'm supposed to be reading right now. A movie of this would be... bizarre to say the least, considering how Baudrillard feels about cinema and television (and bizarre because it's a work of critical theory and is therefore without plot, character and all that jazz that people try to fim when they make a movie from a book).
--A Confederate General from Big Sur by Richard Brautigan. I'd hate this movie because my favourite thing about the novel is the quotation I used here to represent my time in Whitehorse, and the only way this fantastically wonderful statement (am I thinking a lot about what it feels like to be with James? Yes, yes I am. He's here in ten days... [note to self: buy ice cube trays]) could be represented in the film is in dialogue, which would be pretentious, or in a voice over, which would be just as bad. Voice-overs suck. The only time they have ever worked is in Adaptation.
--Invitation to the Game by Monica Hughes. This is probably my all-time favourite children's book--I just love the concept. When I was a kid, I kept wishing someone would send me to colonize a new planet. This is also a book that does some really interesting things textually; its form is rather sophisticated for a child's science fiction novel. Which would, of course, be lost in the film. But a movie could do some really wild stuff with representing the physicality of both the roboticized futuristic Earth and with Prize. Sadly, these days this would be done with CGI, which I'm not a big fan of. I think I would have liked this movie to have been made in the early 1980s.

I could keep going, but I won't. Back to reading about "the implosion of meaning in the media."

*I realize that yes, last week, I did express great admiration for Sleepy Hollow, but considering how substantially different the film is from the story--the film takes the title, setting and characters' names and not a heck of a lot else--it hardly counts as an adaptation of a book.

Makes Me Wanna Die

2005-11-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

New walking mix:

Mr Scruff--Fish
Tricky--Makes Me Wanna Die
Sufjan Stevens--John Wayne Gacy, Jr.
The Arcade Fire--Rebellion (Lies)
DJ Vadim--Your Revolution
Tricky--6 Minutes
Morphine--You Look Like Rain
Jeff Buckley--New Year's Prayer
Talking Heads--Swamp
??--I Love You Always Forever
Tricky--Singing the Blues
The Pixies--Mr Grieves
Up, Bustle & Out--Hip Hop Barrio
David Bowie--Fame 90
Jem and the Holograms--Truly Outrageous [in more ways that one!]
Polyphonic Spree--Light and Day
Massive Attack--??
Us 3 (Us3? US3?)--Cantaloop
Amon Tobin--Bridge
Radiohead--Lucky

This walking mix, and the walk I'm going to take, will constitute my fun for the day--for the week, it seems. I have been doing nothing but reading since Wednesday morning, it feels. The one big, notable exception is the visit I paid to the University Health Centre, where the good Dr. Smith (who looked a bit like Jeff Goldblum, which didn't hurt matters one bit) gave me some good good news. I celebrated with Coke and chocolate. But yeah. Tons and tons of reading, and I don't feel like I'm making any headway.

"Every time you close your eyes"

2005-11-09T01:51:00.000-07:00

Tuesdays, in many ways, thoroughly suck. I came home utterly exhausted (yet again)--after spending most of the day longing for the moment when I could curl up in bed in a foetal position--and resisted taking a nap right away in hopes of getting a good night's sleep. Instead I fell asleep around 10 and woke up at midnight and haven't been able to get back to sleep. Instead I've been lying awake thinking about my health and all the work I want to get done before Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes arrives and how messy my house is. I'm going to be a wreck by the time he gets here if I keep this up. I desperately want a Mental Health Day but can't afford to take one; the thought, I suppose, of at least one (and hopefully more--I have no idea how long James plans on staying) Mental Health Day while James is here should keep me going, but really that's not enough. I want one now. I would like to throw a tantrum and kick and scream until I get one--but instead I'm going to try for an almost-MHD tomorrow: I'll do laundry and householdy things but keep reading to a minimum and not do any research.

I hope it's just end-of-Tuesday mental sludginess, but I feel like the grip I have on this semester is very tenuous. Things are already threatening to come apart at the seams, or feel like they are at any rate. Right now--this particular moment--feels like last April. I really really really hope that this is going to pass, and that I'm only feeling like this because I'm tired--but it doesn't seem that way. It feels as though some sort of truth is being revealed. I am sick and tired of the pressure of school, and of having to write papers. I like the reading, and I like going to class, but actually producing work is just... too much. I actually rather wish that James won't be visiting when he does, and I'm torn between wanting it to be a nice long visit and wanting him to take off rather quickly. He's coming at the worst time in the semester and knowing what it's like when he's arround... It's going to be wonderful to have that back but at the same time I just don't think I can afford to give myself up to it. He threatens to be inconvenient, which goes against the (fairly) easy space in which I try to keep stuff between us. Fuck that sounds so selfish. I'm a terrible person. A terribly tired person.

I'm going to try sleeping again. Hopefully I can just sleep all this off. Can I just sleep for the next two weeks straight? For the next year? Do they give MAs in sleeping? That would work for me.

"All flowers in time/ bend towards the sun"

2005-11-05T00:31:00.000-07:00

I just had a taste of what it's going to be like at Christmas in Winnipeg.

My uncle Patrick is visiting my parents, so I telephoned tonight to say hi. My dad was at a meeting, so I talked to my mom and to Patrick. Here's a bit of the conversation:

Patrick: So you're coming to Winnipeg at Christmas.
Me: Yes, I'm looking forward to it.
Patrick: So how are you getting there? Taking the bus, train, flying?
Me: I have a train ticket booked to get there.
Patrick: When do you arrive?
Me: Um, let me check... The 22nd.
Mom: Probably at some god-awful hour of the night.
Me: No, 11 in the morning.
Mom: Oh good.
Patrick: What about going?
Me: Oh, I'll just take a bus... home.
Mom: Oh please. She's taking a bus to wherever the boyfriend is.
Me: (laughing uncomfortably) He's not my boyfriend.

Patrick then proceeded to change the subject, and then rang off to let me chat to my mom. The first thing I said was "Don't call him my boyfriend." I was required to outline the situation--which was fine (even though I hated the tone in my mother's voice that totally indicated she was wondering why James isn't choosing a ski town nice and close to Edmonton)--but I can tell she doesn't get it, and no one else in Winnipeg is going to either. I'd hoped to make it through the visit without mentioning James at all, but this isn't going to be possible now. The Family knows.

Ick.

Besides that, today was a pretty good day. Productive school-wise, and the Wanton's practice was fun. I rented and watched The Life Aquatic; it was generally good but didn't totally work at some spots, particularly Ned's death. I like the music, and the way the underwater scenes were shot was brilliant. I also love love love the cross-section of the boat.

I bought myself a dozen roses today. I stopped by the grocery store on my way home from school and was tempted. At first I thought I'd get alstros, but couldn't because those are what Graham always bought me, and the roses seemed like the best next option. They're lovely--sort of pale yellow colour with pinky-red edges--and smell good too. I've decided that it isn't that I don't like roses, I just didn't like it when Iggy brought me red roses. These ones are roaming around the house with me: I set them next to the sink when I was doing dishes, on the desk when I was working and now they're on the bedside table. I think it's much better to buy oneself flowers than to have someone else do it.

"Moon river, wider than a mile/ I'm crossing you in style/ Someday/ Oh dream-maker, you heart-breaker"

2005-11-04T10:23:00.000-07:00

Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes is off today on his cruise. The email situation will probably be even sketchier than when he was in Europe. I'm gearing up to not hearing from him until he shows up on my doorstep in less than three weeks. Fortunately I feel as though his trip to Europe was a sort of training; now I know what kind of emails he sends while he's away amd how sporadic they can be, and I'm prepared for the next couple of weeks (and for when he's in his ski town and for when he's in Australia). He asked me not to go crazy if I don't hear from him, and I was able to easily and honestly assure him that I won't (although I did ask him to at least send a postcard to let me know he hasn't fallen overboard or into the arms of a cruise-going cougar).

The plan until the 22nd is to get as much school work done as possible--I'm thinking research on all my term papers, plus at least some writing done on all of them, but the Pamela, Anti-Pamela paper in particular. Sleeping late and then hanging around in bed blogging isn't exactly condusive to this resolution, I know, but I'm also resolved to get my health under control and getting enough sleep is an important aspect of this. It's a tricky combination of diet, rest and no stress which I obviously haven't been able to master yet, and I risk making things worse by stressing out about the situation. I'm contemplating hooking myself up with some kind of specialist, but I'm not sure what this person could tell me that I don't already know. A big part of the next while is to avoid pressuring myself. I've figured out how not to pressure James--he can come as he is, he can stay for as long or as short a time as he likes, we can become lovers or not... I still have no expectations. The only thing I'm going to hold him to is his promise to tell me stories while snuggled under a blanket. I, on the other hand, want myself to be looking as good as possible and to be as healthy as possible and for the house to be perfectly neat and tidy and all my papers done ahead of time and all sorts of good food in the refrigerator. I am definitely asking of myself a level of perfection that I'm not asking of him and that I doubt he'd ask of me, either. Fortunately I do also realize that I'm not actually going to make things perfect before he arrives, and setting myself up for disappointment is just the first step to achieving something approaching a laissez-faire attitude towards his arrival.

At first three weeks sounded like a long time. But then I remembered how quickly time is flying, and really three weeks isn't long at all. So I guess I should get cracking--if lying in bed reading can properly be considered cracking.

"Now I've got you in my sights/ With these hungry eyes"

2005-11-03T11:42:00.000-07:00

Booking Through Thursday

Jeanne suggested that we talk about books that have been made into movies.

When you think of books that have been made into movies, what one comes to mind first? Oh goodness. Considering that I'm currently taking a graduate course called Victorian Screams on Screen (in which we look at Victorian Gothic novels and contemporary horror films inspired by said texts), along with Pamela's Postmodern Victorians class last year (weren't those the days?) plus all the books and movies floating unstudied in my head, there's an awful lot that comes to mind and I could write for hours on this topic. There is so much that could be said. I'm almost paralysed with indecision--but only almost. Out of all the possible texts I could consider here, I'm going to pick one because I like it (and because I haven't studied it): Sleepy Hollow, based on Washington Irving's (Irving Washington's) "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow."

Did the movie really capture the feeling of the book? Not in the least. Irving's short story is a farce about a gawky social climbing schoolteacher. I didn't like it much when I read it; really there's something about Irving's work that is, for me, like being brought to the edge of orgasm but not actually coming. He promises but doesn't deliver--great titles, lame stories. Sleepy Hollow, on the other hand, does deliver--and I'm not just saying this because Johnny Depp is in it. I think that Tim Burton is an incredible director; I love the way his movies look. There's definitely a sense of magic in his work, and we all know what I think of guys who try to make magic in people's heads. Sleepy Hollow is no exception to this; the colour palette--its consistency, and the ways in which it is broken up--is particularly incredible. It's also actually scary. I'm really not the type to actually be frightened by horror movies, but I do remember being a bit freaked by moments in this film the first time I watched it (which was, I believe, with my highschool girls, Sam and Tamara). It has enough stuff jumping out at you, and suspense, to really work. And it has Johnny Depp in it, which is always, always a bonus.

What about other movies from books? Which movies do you feel really captured (or if you prefer, didn't capture) the feeling of the books they were based on? The two other book/movie combinations that come to mind are Oscar and Lucinda and The Princess Bride. Oscar and Lucinda is a great novel; it has the best unsatisfying ending in the entire history of endings, and it does a number of other brilliant and fascinating things. The paper I wrote on it last spring is one of my favourite pieces of academic work (and my A+ in Pamela's class doesn't hurt, either). The movie, on the other hand, is absolutely dreadful. The movie tries to capture "the feeling of the book" but fails horribly in particular points. Especially the ending, which was completely reworked in the movie. I don't want to give anything away-suffice to say, one woman must die because she had sex and another gets turned into a virgin mother. Dreadful, dreadful, dreadful. For the interested, there's a paragraph from my paper here and my initial reaction to the film (complete with cursing) is here. The Princess Bride, on the other hand, is not a film I can condemn: I like it a lot, and like it for many reasons. I own it, even--although every time I watch it I get distracted by that stupid mustache that Cary Elwes has. It totally ruins him (but I think he must have a thing for bad facial hair: he's got another silly mustache in Bram Stoker's Dracula). The novel is, however, a much more sophisticated text. It is hands-down the best postmodern joke ever written, made all the better because it's so easy to miss that it is in fact a joke. Elements of this enter into the film, but ultimately the film is all about the "as you wish" while the novel's relationship to story-telling and narrative desire is more problematic and rather bleaker. I'd highly recommend it; it might seem like a children's book but there a lot there for adults.

"Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying"

2005-11-02T23:34:00.000-07:00

Things about today:

--I received an email from Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes that included the word "snuggle." I received another email from him which indicated he will be arriving in Edmonton on the 22nd of November.
--I bought a new (new as in I haven't read it before) Judith Krantz for my Romance Novel assignment in my feminist theory course. It's called Princess Daisy.
--Joel has dropped Screams on Screen (he was too busy for it and it was showing in his marks) but came to the screening of Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde tonight anyway. I'm glad he did--I would have missed him if he hadn't. We always sit together and make whispered comments on the films.
--Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde is a pretty fucked-up movie.
--We adjourned, post-screening, to Scholar's. As usual.
--Despite having changed my diet drastically--I haven't managed to cut the bad stuff out entirely as much as I want to but I've significantly cut down--my health isn't that much different. So I did a little more research and discovered that most things actually contain the amino acid I'm supposed to avoid and that the real trick is apparently to eat things with a high ratio of the good amino acid to the bad amino acid. What a fucking pain in the ass. It makes me just want to give up on food (and come to think of it, besides the bagel, cream cheese and lox I had for lunch today, I haven't eaten anything else).
--I had a conversation on Messenger with James in which he tried to downplay the strength of meaning in language. All thoughts of snuggling have been upset: when he wrote snuggle did he really mean snuggle as I understand snuggle to mean? Probably not. The mode of this conversation was suitable to its contents: Messenger hasn't been working for us--James can read my messages but I don't get his replies--so I wrote messages to him and he replied by changing his screen name.

"There ain't a cloud in sight"

2005-11-01T21:21:00.000-07:00

I feel really good right now. I think I've discovered the trick to dispensing with my usual Tuesday exhaustion (although I might be a little exhausted otherwise...). I have lots of energy at the moment. I'm even a little glowy. I'm off for a walk in a few minutes, and I'll be listening to (just remember that I never claimed to have good taste in music, right?):

Arcade Fire--Wake Up
The Doors--??
Verve--Bitter Sweet Symphony
Bright Eyes--Another Travelling Song
Dwight Yokam--Crazy Little Thing Called Love
Eric Clapton--Lay Down Sally
The Rapture--House of Jealous Lovers
Talking Heads--Once in a Lifetime
The Knack--My Sharona
Marvin Gaye--Stubborn Kind of Fellow
Velvet Underground--Sweet Jane
Cake--Love You Madly
Eagle Eye Cherry--Save Tonight
Electric Light Orchestra--Mr Blue Sky
Folk Implosion--River Devotion
Sufjan Stevens--Decatur, or, Round of Applause for your Stepmother!
B-52s--Love Shack
Etta James--Dance with Me Henry
Michael Jackson--The Way You Make Me Feel

I want to walk fast.

"Baby, you just make me mad"

2005-11-01T01:18:00.000-07:00

I am so disappointed.

For my feminist theory course, we have a Harlequin romance assignment due next week--just a short paper to be read in class--and tonight at the grocery store I thought I'd found the perfect thing: The Bluest Eyes in Texas by Marilyn Pappano. Thinking--of course--of James' straight-from-a-romance-novel blue eyes, it seemed like a great choice. But oh, it wasn't!

I had thought of writing about one of my Judith Krantzes--of perhaps using this assignment as an excuse to buy a new one--but decided that I was curious about something published recently (the Krantzes I've read range in date from the 70s until the early 90s) and something actually published by Harlequin (Krantzes are not). So The Bluest Eyes in Texas fit the bill--nevermind associations with an unbelievable set of eyes I'd quite like to have the chance to look into (and at) again (funny moment from Whitehorse: James wears contacts, and at one point commented on my potential disappointment if those contacts were in fact tinted [I'll admit it--I would have been crushed; fortunately eyes like his can't be faked])--in those respects. It also amused me to actually buy a book from the grocery store.

Too bad I hated it so much I can't bear the thought of writing 750 words on it, even though there is so much that could be said about it. First off, the choice of title was completely gratuitous. Judith Krantz has better descriptions of blue eyes (my fave: "And he had the eyes, the Viking eyes, as blue as if they reflected nothing but the sea. They squinched almost closed when he smiled... and the sunburst of lines at the corner of each eye deepened, making him look merry and wise, as if he'd been somewhere very far away and had many a good tale to tell." [not exactly like James but reminiscient in its key points]). But most of all I hate it because it lacks fantasy. The thing with Judith Krantz novels is that they involve an incredible level of fantasy: the women are all incredibly beautiful and in possession of an impeccable but unique sense of style; they're rich; they live jet-setting lives, even when they are career oriented; they are empowered and powerful without pseudo-feminist rhetoric to accompany it. The sex scenes that she pays a lot of attention to aren't all heteronormative, vanilla sex scenes. Reading a Judith Krantz is like reading the biography of a woman from the pages of Vogue--which makes a lot of sense, considering that Krantz used to write for fashion magazines. As far as non-literary writing goes, Krantz is quite good. Everything in her novels is out of the ordinary, which has the effect of bringing the reader out of the ordinary, and she somehow manages to do this in a believeable way. Her novels are pure fun--you want to be her heroines but don't feel crappy because you aren't.

The Bluest Eyes in Texas, on the other hand, is just plain awful... Awful writing, awful representation of women, awful representation of the Iraq war (yup, it's that up-to-date: the hero is actually "an army hero", as the blurb on the back says), awful number of cliches, awful awful awful awful awful everything.

Okay, I could just write 'awful' 750 times and be done with it--but somehow I don't think that would pass for decent literary criticism.

Thing is, I think I'm the only person in the class to read romance novels for fun. Last week Cecily asked if anyone had ever read one, and only two out of twelve students said they had. So I think I'm going to write about Krantz and talk about the good, fun things she does. I think I'm going to track down that paper I read that sparked my interest in romance novels; it positioned them as potentially transgressive and wrote about their potential for pleasure, and this is the angle I'd like to take. Rather than complaining about how completely, completely awful The Bluest Eyes in Texas is. I want to get some pleasure out of this assignment.

Rebellion (Lies)

2005-10-31T09:08:00.000-07:00

You are Giles Deleuze and Felix Guattari! That's
right! You're two people! Actually, you're
probably a lot more than that, because you
argued that all of us are, fundamentally,
schizophrenics. Your notion of the rhizome is
far too popular amoung people who fantasize
about digital technology. You are, however,
both dead.

What 20th Century Theorist are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Love this quiz...

"You change all the lead/ sleepin' in my head to gold"

2005-10-30T00:58:00.000-06:00

Today started off the best way: there was an email from Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes waiting for me (well, it started off the best possible way, since really the best way would have been if he was here). And not only was there an email, but it was marvelously clear and understandable and the message was very, very sweet. My eyes actually filled with tears while I laughed. He took what I'd asked as a rhetorical question seriously, and answered it fully. Not only have I worked very hard to not form any expectations, but I've tried (with the emphasis on 'tried' here) not to even hope or to contemplate what might happen. Now it feels as though I'm a little freer to hope--I think what I want to happen might actually happen (while at the same time there is still, of course, no pressure and in some ways in hardly matters at all if we ever become lovers; I just want my friend back--to be able to talk to him again, and to touch the crinkles beside his eyes). I like the reality he created in my head--as he thought I would. It was magic, even if it wasn't the kind he first thought of conjuring for me. I still miss him, but not in a way that hurts.

The rest of the day wasn't exactly all downhill from there--the rush that his email gave me cast a rosy glow over the day, even though it was hardly an exciting day. I went grocery shopping (yes, wearing The Boots), read the Globe and Mail, spent hours slaving in the kitchen over a batch of shrimp and mushroom lasagna (my own recipe) that I divided up and put in the freezer for easy eatin' later on, and then gave Dracula another read-through, this time thinking about science and technology. I'd hoped to start writing my response tonight but it's a dreadfully long novel and even skimming it took ages. Thinking that James is in Romania right now lightened some of the tedious bits. Hopefully this won't distract me (too much) when I'm actually trying to write. I'm a bit uninspired by my topic. I chose it simply because it didn't get discussed in class last week and because it doesn't tread on Greg's toes; he's talking about Mina (he called her a "compassion-whore" last week). This approach feels a little sausage-grindery, but a grad student's gotta do what a grad student's gotta do. On the upside, I've never written about science and technology in a text, so at least it's a new grinder for me.

"These boots are made for walkin'/ And that's just what they'll do"

2005-10-28T23:05:00.000-06:00

I am now the very proud owner of the best pair of boots in the history of footwear.

On Wednesday, I went to the West Ed to shop. I know I'd said that I was going to avoid The Mall like the plague, but really, if I have to go to a mall, why not go to a large one with lots of choice? And I like the bus ride across the river. So there.

My first two attempts at trying on appealing boots were unsuccessful: I was attracted to taller boots but couldn't get the zips done up all the way. It was really discouraging. I started to try to tell myself that I don't have fat calves--that they're just muscular from so much walking--but really I just felt like I had the fattest calves in the world. I started to wonder if I should really wear so many skirts or if I should start wearing pants to hide my hideous legs. But I'm a tropper so I decided to try one more store.

I found The Perfect boots there, and risked trying them on. The salesgirl hands me the left boot. I put it on. I try to zip it up but can't get the zipper all the way to the top. My fat calves stopped the zipper two inches below the top. I'm horribly embarassed. I slip the boot off and hand it back to the salesgirl. I tell her I can't get the zipper done up and she says:

"That doesn't matter. Almost no one can. We just stretch them."

It was a wonderful moment. Of course I really should have remembered that leather can stretch. And if I'd had attentive service at the other stores I'd already been to, instead of a salesgirl chatting on the telephone with her boyfriend or a salesgirl juggling too many customers, I could have avoided my ten-minute-long Fat Calves crisis (it was a crisis). So I arranged with my kindly, attentive (and very pretty) salesgirl to stretch my boots for me and to pick them up Friday.

It turns out, even, that my boots didn't need to be stretched that much. In fact, my lovely salesgirl was concerned about overstretching them. Fortunately she didn't--she stretched them just enough. I could just get the zippers done up and the last little bit of stretching they needed happened on my legs later in the afternoon when I wore the boots to rehearsal and out to the pub.

So what, after all that preamble, do these fantastic boots look like? Well, they're sort of a cross between motorcycle boots and cowboy boots, with a reference to--almost a threat of, really--fuck-me boots. They're a lovely shade of brown--a brown that will look good with black, as not all browns can--with a slightly marbled look to the leather. The heel is about an inch and a half high (so not flat but quite wearable [but potentially high enough to make me taller than James {not that he's ever around for anyone to compare our heights}]), and looks rather like the heel of a cowboy boot. The toe is long and square, as though the boot is meant to have pointy toes but they were cut off. Around the ankle, there are flat leather straps and a brass ring--what I think must be called a "harness", judging from this website. They're gorgeous, gorgeous boots. And comfortable, as well. I love them madly.

I feel like an Amazon wearing these boots, as though I'm so tall and fabulous and sexy, with some sort of mysterious power. I like the contrast they create with my equally-fabulous felt flats. Those make my feet look very dainty and girly and as though I could start dancing. The boots make my feet look quite long--they're 38s when I usually take 37s and the style of toe adds some length--and make me seem so tough and ready to scrap. The heels make a great noise striking the ground; they're not all feminine-clicky but have a deeper, more wooden sound.

At Scholar's early in the evening (there was end of the month beer--fun but not like Honours Beer), Paul asked me how I was doing and I said I was happy because I'd bought a great pair of boots. I then took the liberty of waving my booted right foot above the table for people to see. I think Paul and everyone else involved in this conversation now thinks I have a shoe fetish, as I'd confessed to owning 22 pairs. Actually it might be 23--I'm scared to count. Although really it's a collection that's been at least eight years in the making, and several pairs were bought for very specific outfits (eg. prom dress, Paris dress, etc.) that I rarely get to wear. And considering how many pairs are beginning to disintegrate, these new boots can quite justifiably considered replacements. So it's not that I buy a lot of shoes--I just never throw any away. Twenty two (or three) pairs of shoes is not unreasonable.

Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

Well, yeah. Twenty-two pairs of shoes is ridiculous. I'm a total shoe-whore. But I don't care.

Now for two more ridiculous things to round out this ridiculous post:

You Should Get a PhD in Liberal Arts (like political science, literature, or philosophy)

You're a great thinker and a true philosopher.

You'd make a talented professor or writer.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to obedience and warmth.

In love, you feel the most alive when your lover is creative and never lets you feel bored.

You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring.

You would be forced to break up with someone who was insecure and in constant need of reassurance.

Your ideal relationship is comforting. You crave a relationship where you always feel warmth and love.

Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment.

You think of marriage as something that will confine you. You are afraid of marriage.

In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

"Cause it's not going to stop/ 'Til you wise up"

2005-10-27T22:52:00.000-06:00

New Walking Mix

Jeff Buckley--Morning Theft
Velvet Underground--Oh! Sweet Nothing
Live--All Over You
Sheila Nichols--Fallen For You
Marvin Gaye--Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)
Will Oldham--The Mountain Low
Van Morrison--The Way Young Lovers Do
Robert Wilkens--That's No Way To Get Along
Sheryl Crow--I Shall Believe
Sufjan Stevens--In This Temple, As In The Hearts of Man For Whom He Saved The Earth
REM--Strange Currencies
The Arcade Fire--Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
Aimee Mann--Wise Up
Moby--The Sky Is Broken
TVOTR--Young Liars
Broken Social Scene--I'm Still Your Fag
Massive Attack--??
Aretha Franklin--I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)
Devendra Banhart--This is the Way
Sufjan Stevens--Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois

"He tore images out of his pictures/ He scratched our names out of all his letters"

2005-10-27T19:27:00.000-06:00

Booking Through Thursday

What books have you read that you hate to admit reading?There's nothing I hate to admit reading; I'm too honest and think reading is simply Too Good to ever be ashamed of. That being said, my bedside table library (stored in the basket o' sin [which at the moment is a vaguely boring basket o' sin as it contains only books]) is vaguely embarassing. It consists of five Judith Krantz novels (I had no idea I had so many until I counted), two Nicholson Baker novels and one Nan Ryan novel. Actually the Nicholson Baker novels (Vox and The Fermata) aren't embarassing; they're actually Good Works of Literature that just happen to have some (some? ha) salacious bits (and you HAVE TO read The Mezzanine first to understand Baker's perspective). But Judith Krantz and Nan Ryan? Yup--embarassing.

Why?Because I'm supposed to have better taste and better sense than to read sexed-up romance novels. I mean, cripes, I'm an a graduate student in English Literature. I study this stuff. I'm supposed to know and read what's good. I'm supposed to understand the negative stereotypes and unrealistic representations of women that these books propagate. But--they're fun. They're entertaining. They're good-bad (as opposed to tolerably-bad or bad-bad). I like them. They're escapist (and there's nothing wrong with escapism). But still, you know, I "ought to know better."

Boot shopping yesterday was a success--full details when I get paid and can actually buy them.

Yesterday, there was a margarine container sitting at the top of the stairs. It contained oatmeal cookies. Jan the Landlady baked them and gave them to me to "munch on my way to school." It was nice but also a little weird.

The screening yesterday was of Van Helsing. It really wasn't as bad as I expected it to be. It was actually more watchable than Bram Stoker's Dracula. It made me laugh, which Dracula didn't. I found it to be tolerably-bad, as opposed to simply bad-bad.

After the screening, Joel and Greg were going for drinks with a former professor of theirs from UNB, Mark Jarman, and I tagged along. I read one of Jarman's novels, Salvage King, Ya!, back in second year and I was curious to meet him. We took James' car, since the bar was across the river. This was distressing--not only because the car brought back so many memories and because it just felt wrong to be in the car without James, but also because of the condition of the vehicle. It's in a sad state--even worse than what it was in Whitehorse. Nevertheless, we made it across the river (and back, eventually) without mishap.

Jarman wasn't at all what I expected him to be. I figured he'd be in his early forties, and to look very masculine and beat up and rather aged before his time. Instead he was in his fifties and was kindly and normal and asexual. It was a little disappointing. I didn't talk to him much--he was more interested in rehashing old UNB times with Naomi, Barb, Ben and Jasmina, and I was sitting at the far end of the table from him. But I had fun chatting with Greg and Joel. Afterwards Joel drove me home and even waited until I unlocked the door and got inside. It was a bit of old-fashionedness that surprised me.

I'm having a lot of trouble with the temperature of my suite. Jan keeps complaining about natural gas prices and keeps the heat turned down as low as possible. Which is extra rough on me, because the thermostat is upstairs and no matter what the temperature is upstairs, it's always noticeably colder downstairs. She unearthed a space heater for me, but it's more trouble than it's worth. It doesn't throw that much heat and it makes a dreadful zzzzzzzzzzzz-noise. And on top of that, yesterday I blew a fuse while using it. I've taken to wearing my toque around the house, plus multiple layers of socks and always a sweater. I'm thinking of buying jogging pants to keep my legs warmer, even though I shudder at the thought of actually owning and wearing sweat pants. They're so icky. Things were so cold last night that I actually slept underneath my duvet, a thick wool blanket plus my down-filled sleeping bag. It was very heavy.

Today wasn't as productive as it should have been. Of course. This is how it goes with me and everything--especially theses. I read one particularly fasinating book, A Crack in the Line, which is interesting six ways from Sunday and is definitely definitely something I want to use. I've started a second, the title of which I forget, which isn't nearly as interesting and is thoroughly saturated with cliches. I didn't do the kind of research I'd thought I would--coming up with a list of possible texts--but it'll happen.

A box from my parents arrived today. There's a masked ball scene in Goodnight Desdemona, and I asked Mom to send me her Mardi Gras masks so that we can use them. She bought these years ago on a trip to New Orleans, and they're just gorgeous--lots of bright feathers and sequins. So the box with the masks, plus some treats, arrived. My dad added some of the dried pears from the farm, and my mom included a ring that I'd forgotten on the island at the end of the summer. The really big, great surprise of the box was a duvet cover. It's made by the same woman who did my sheets (her company is called Coco Loco but she doesn't seem to have a website) and it matches them perfectly. The top of the cover is a really thick, three-dimensional waffle-weave material and the bottom is the same soft cotton as the sheets and pillow cases. My mom was worried about me being warm enough and thought that the duvet cover would help. Even if it doesn't, it looks fantastic. I telephoned my mom to thank her and we had a nice chat.

I did a few rows on my Hush Hush, and the hood for the hoodie progresses. I heard from Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes today after what felt like a long silence, and of course it was short and confusing and I don't know what to make of it at all. If I could be optimistic about him at all, I'd say that it's an indication that he's thinking about me but is too busy to do anything about it (but if that's the case, why can't he just write that he's thinking about me rather than sending me obscure emails about "'almost did's"?). But I can't be optimistic about him. Instead I wonder why it is that I can't manage to be single, or at the very least interested in a normal, steady guy... Okay, I know why not. Let's not go there. At any rate, I'm still working on his stupid sweater and the hood will be done tonight.

"I had my fill and I know how bad it feels/ Stay awake and watch for the data"

2005-10-25T23:57:00.000-06:00

I taught myself how to cable tonight. I was exhausted--as usual--after class today, and didn't feel like doing anything at all. So I spent a couple of hours just knitting (which is a little unusual--typically I knit while doing other things). I worked a couple of rows on the hood of James' hoodie but didn't really feel like working on it (thinking about James inspires a quiet hurt in me these days; as stupid and wrong as it is, I've grown to miss him). I did a few rows on my Hush Hush as well. My hands were cold as I worked--most of me was cold actually, even though I was wearing thick socks, pants, a heavy sweater and my toque (my landlady unearthed a space heater for me but it doesn't work well and makes the most obnoxious zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-noise)--but wearing arm warmers was just too heavy and too much stuff around my hands. So I decided to knit myself wrist warmers. I opted to use some left over Fleece Artist sock yarn in pinks and purples, and decided to make things a little more interesting by adding a cable. After a couple of false starts, I ended up with two simple six-stitch-wide cables on the top and bottom of the wrist warmer, separated by 1x1 ribbing. It was fairly easy to do but new and different and therefore fun. Most of what I've been working on these days has been miles and miles of stockingette, so this is refreshing. I've decided to make the other wrist warmer deliberately unmatching, with different cables. The cables don't show up all that well in the variegated yarn but I don't really care. These are for wearing in my frigid, frigid home.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I've been on a mad reading kick since Saturday, plus six hours of class today, so I'm feeling a little brain-fried (and I expect I sound rather brain-fried as well). I know I'd said I was going to start looking into thesis stuff tomorrow, but I'm going to put it off until Thursday. 'Thursday is Thesis Day' has a certain ring to it. Besides, I've already taken out two potentially interesting books and can start reading tomorrow if I choose. But I expect I'll take a break and use my day to tidy up around here and to start looking for boots again. I get paid late Thursday, and I'd like to have browsed before I get paid. That way I'll be forced to think things over, even if I fall desperately in love with something. I won't bother going to Gravity Pope again, but will instead (*shudder*) go to The Mall. There's also Van Helsing and post-screening drinks to look forward to. It sort of feels like the weekend is here already.

"Doing My Duty"

2005-10-23T23:46:00.000-06:00

Last night, Joel and I were supposed to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Garneau, but we didn't bother with getting tickets in advance and it was sold out by the time we got there. Neither of us was really disappointed, as we've both seen it three times in the theatre and we hadn't bothered getting together props or anything. The only concession I made to the occasion was to wear my feather boa--which, when I pulled it out, still had confetti caught in it from the last time I went to Rocky Horro (at the Vogue in Vancouver with Iggy back in third year). Instead, Joel and I went to a cafe across the street from the Garneau and had drinks and snacks. Then we went back to his place--after a search for an open liquor store, because Joel really wanted a cider--and watched The Invisible Man. It seemed appropriate because of the line from "Science Fiction Double Feature" (the song sung by The Lips during the opening credits of Rocky Horror): "Claude Rains was the Invisible Man." It was an okay movie; my favourite part was the pair of pants skipping down the road singing--it reminded me of the Dr. Seuss story, "What Was I Scared Of?".

Besides good times with Joel (and they were good times--we get on famously), yesterday and today have been taken up with reading and knitting (at the same time). This week for school I have to read Pamela (503 pages), Dracula (419 pages) and The Bell Jar (234 pages)--plus critical readings (whose page counts I haven't the heart to discover). It's mad, crazy reading. Of course I've read it all before, but in an effort to be sincere I'm going through it all again. I know I won't have the heart to finish Pamela; I've reached the part where Pamela and Mr. B. have agreed to marry, and this is the point at which the novel loses all its humour and becomes merely obnoxious. She spends the last half of the novel falling down on her knees in all sorts of odd places in order to thank god that this guy who kidnapped her, frequently sexually assaulted her and attempted to rape her is going to marry her. It's quite the reward for virtue... Dracula I am enjoying more; I still think it's much better than the legend(s) of Dracula that exist in contemporary culture (even the Buffy episode with Dracula was cheese-eating crap, as I remember it). And--most bizarre of all--I am actually liking The Bell Jar this time around. I didn't get it when I read it for Zeitlin's class (gosh that seems like a million years ago) but now I do; I guess I'm enjoying a late taste of teenaged angst or something like that. But still, it's a lot of reading all at once.

Using bulldog clips to hold open the books has meant that I can knit while reading, and I've made good progress on James' hoodie. I did make one flub on the back and had to rip out about twenty rows--please don't ask how I managed to mess up stockingette stitch--and lost time that way, but otherwise things progress smoothly (finished: two fronts, the back, most of one sleeve, ribbing for second sleeve). That is, the sweater itself is fine but I'm already starting to worry about it--to think that it isn't good enough for James. I'm starting to wish that I'd told him to wait, so that I could make myself a practice sweater before making his. I don't know what exactly about it isn't good enough, which makes me think that this really is just all in my unconfident head, but it just doesn't seem to be. At any rate, I'm pressing on and hoping that once it's blocked that it will magically transform itself into the best sweater in the history of sweaters. In other knitting news, I'm finished the required number of decreases required by the Hush-Hush pattern, and tried it on yesterday. I find it a bit big and think it would look like crap on me, so I'm going to do a few more decrease rounds and then increase right below the bust, to accomodate my lack of flat-chestedness and make up the right number of stitches for the feather and fan pattern. I hope it works.

"And as things fell apart/ Nobody paid much attention"

2005-10-22T00:11:00.000-06:00

It has been yet another emotionally funny week. I started off fairly happy and satisfied with my lot but that all rather crashed on Thursday. I finally remembered to get my response to Time After Time out of my mailbox and the mark and the comments attached were absolutely and utterly demoralizing. Particularly cutting was Christine's comment that she doubted the sincerity of my argument; I have spent the last day and a half being miserable about this comment. It was very apt, but still hurtful to have it said. I feel very exposed. It's incredible that my doubts about academia and my role therein managed to surface in a three-page paper on a ridiculous film.

It also doesn't help that this week's been funny physically. I know that it can sometimes take months or even years to ovulate again after coming off the Pill, but I really thought that I was going to ovulate this week. But here I am, day 20 of my cycle, and no egg in sight (that is, no temperature spike indicating that the action's already gone down). My cervical fluid pattern has been irregular and it's obvious that (despite experiencing the secondary fertility sign of "increased sexual feelings") having a perfectly normal cycle isn't in the cards for me right now. Which is bothersome--not serious, just bothersome. I would like this aspect of my health to be perfectly normal.

Tonight may have been a turning point, however--emotionally, that is. I had been planning on whiling away the evening with some combination of knitting, reading and movie watching, but Joel telephoned and asked if I was going to Scholar's tonight. I hadn't been planning on it--I had received the email that it was Al's birthday and that he wanted people to go to Scholar's to celebrate, but I didn't think that I knew Al, so didn't really see the point. But Joel told me to come anyway, and I agreed (and it turned out that I've met Al, so that part was okay).

This evening was the first time in absolute ages that I've walked into a crowded bar alone on a Friday night. I noticed several guys checking me out, and a couple even said "hi" as I walked past. I hadn't expected this at all; I'd completely forgotten about this aspect of bar-going. I suppose if I had been in a better mood, it might have amused me, but I was cranky and really it only took me aback. I don't/didn't quite understand it. I suppose I didn't exactly walk in there with "Cranky Academic Fraud--Stay Away" tatooed on my forehead.

I had a good bitch session with Greg and Joel about not wanting to be in school (and we will ignore here that they both teased me about wanting to be in Europe when I said that I'd rather be anywhere but here). As Greg said, at least I could talk about it to people who know what it's like. I contemplated getting ragingly drunk on rum and cokes--actually I suggested to Joel that we get drunk together, as he's not having the best time of it either (he may be dropping Screams on Screen)--but fortunately the moment somehow passed and I contented myself with the non-alcoholic (which I refuse to call 'virgin') caesar in front of me (I would have been really mad at myself if I had given in to my desire to drink--not only should I not be consuming alcohol or soft drinks, but drinking because you're not happy is bad, bad news). Joel and I also spent some time making faces at each other across the table; he did his imitation of a goat (complete with sound effets) for me.

At one point I got drawn into an interesting conversation with a guy sitting next to me. He's named Kerr, I think (it was kind of loud in there), and is quite handsome. He teaches sessionally at the U of A. But that isn't the interesting bit. The interesting bit is that he studied with Derrida and he may have inadvertantly reminded me why I'm here. He asked me about my interests, and we got to talking about children's literature--specifically Harry Potter (he didn't sound like he'd read it but asked some good questions). I didn't think much of our chat at the time; mostly I just felt that my once-precise arguments about Harry Potter are getting a little rusty, since it's been ages since I've read any of the books or thought about them much, and it was vaguely embarassing to not be 100% up to snuff while talking to this obviously brilliant man. But then later, after I'd given into my desire to run away (I hadn't been in the place five minutes before I wanted to go home) and was walking home, I was thinking over my conversation with Kerr, as well as some comments Greg made, and I realized that doing a children's literature-related thesis and starting to work on it now might be a good way to rekindle the passion I once felt for English. I chose the U of A because of its stength in children's lit, so why not really take advantage of that? Start early, play with it and have fun and then write it and then cut it down to article length and get it published. One reason I was so eager to get back to school was children's lit, and here I am having not read a kid's book in about two months. It's positively ridiculous. Maybe if I get enthusiastic about this, and really devoted to it, then some of that enthusiasm and devotion will spill over into my courses. It's worth a shot, anyway.

I can't start this weekend because I have to read Pamela, The Bell Jar and Dracula for early next week, plus all the critical works as well, so I'm a little booked (ha ha [*groan*]) at the moment. I'll start Wednesday. I hope this works. I am also--half-accidentally--starting to look forward to the mental vacation that James will provide if he visits (it is increasingly difficult to keep tricking myself into thinking that he's not coming back and I've caught myself sometimes thinkging "when" and not "if"; this is bad, I know) as he will manage to distract me from myself. Which I think I need.

"We've been livin' in hovels/ Spending all our money on [not exactly] brand-new novels"

2005-10-19T15:18:00.000-06:00

I'm taking a mental health day, not so much because I am stressed out but to prevent myself from becoming stressed out. It's a preventative day--nevermind that preventing stress by starting my term papers and getting things done in advance would probably be an even better idea.

I slept in this morning, and answered an email from James (apparently wherever he is, it's cold) before getting up and taking a looong shower. Then I went out in quest of food and a new book for my bedside table. The food quest was mildly successful. I went to the Route 99 Licenced Diner, over on 99 St and 86th Ave (or thereabouts). I had seen this place when out on a nighwalk the other evening, and as they were advertising eggs benedict, I knew I had to go. The eggs benedict themselves were good, although not nearly as creative as those to be found at Klondike Kate's, but the shoe-stringy homefries that accompanied them were uninspiring. So it wasn't disappointing but I'm not exactly panting to go back. I shall have to try the Highlevel Diner at some point and compare.

On my way over to 99 St, I stopped in a few used book stores. I had great luck in the first, and found something that I've been thinking of getting for someone else, so I am pleased that this little plan hatched weeks ago can be put into action. I didn't end up finding anything that seemed like a good book to add to the basket o' sin, but instead came away with three light books from Athabasca Books (which is having a closing down sale): Anything Considered by Peter Mayle (author of A Year in Provence, which I read earlier this week and quite liked), In Search of an Impotent Man by Gaby Hauptmann (because of the funny, funny title) and Dance With Me by Victoria Clayton (it seemed romance-novel-ish without being too much of a romance novel [and I really like the cover art]). I don't really have very high expectations for these; I am looking to be entertained.

And now for an hour or so of entertaining reading in bed before heading off to the screening--it's the Coppola Dracula tonight. And then hopefully drinks (that is, a drink of water in my case, while everyone else drinks beer) afterwards.

"But now you find out that it's a habit that sticks/ And you're an orgasm addict/ You're an orgasm addict"

2005-10-19T00:05:00.000-06:00

"Secondary signs as ovulation approaches may include: [...] increased sexual feelings" --Taking Charge of Your Fertility.

Um, yeah. Definitely noticing this.

"Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts."--Homer Simpson.

"Take time for your pleasure"

2005-10-17T23:14:00.000-06:00

Today began very well: after I took my temperature (36.1) I checked my email and had a letter from James waiting for me. This is the third he has sent to me since he took off for Europe but only the first of any length or substance; the first two were quite short and didn't say much--indeed, the first was downright obscure and rather upset me at first (he goes to Paris without me, doesn't write for days and then sends me one line about corkscrews? It simply wasn't fair--but he made up for it with this latest, written from [I think] Sofia). It sounds like he is busy being himself on this trip; there is something sublimely Jamesish about this email. My favourite part was when he wrote about telling me a crazy story when he comes to Edmonton; it made me almost dare to think that I will actually see him again.

The day continued well: my morning was lazy and quiet, and my Rise of the Novel class was cut short--by class consensus--so that we could go to a lecture by Cary Nelson on "Globalization, Piecework, and the Future of the Humanities." It was interesting, if a little long by the time he was done with questions, and rather idealistic. He was an entertaining speaker with some good anecdotes. I think if I were still all gung-ho about the being an academic thing, I might care more, but really: meh.

There was another Nice Wantons rehearsal in the early evening. For me, it was mostly waiting around while other people rehearsed. We didn't get around to my scene until about twenty minutes before the end of rehearsal. It was fun, anyways. It's just such a hilarious play and we're not taking it seriously at all but somehow it's still good.

I have spen the rest of the evening knitting (James' hoodie, of course--I have finished the two fronts, have done about five inches of the back, have done the ribbing for one sleeve and have started the ribbing for the second sleeve), ransacking the second of James' three cd cases (the surprise in this case was that he has the Kinks' Greatest Hits) and doing readings for class tomorrow (Cixous, among others).

It's a very easy and simple life these days; I am happy.

"We'll share the shelter of my [queen-sized] bed"

2005-10-16T15:48:00.000-06:00

It turns out I miscounted last night: I was, in fact, sleeping with six books and three dvds. I also unearthed my post-it tabs when stripping the bed to wash the sheets.

"Ooh baby, do you know what love's worth/ Ooh heaven is a place on earth"

2005-10-16T01:02:00.000-06:00

Currently in bed with me: two pillows and two blankets; five books; two dvds; the (completed) right front of James' hoodie; pair of knitting needles; print-out of pattern for James' hoodie; pin-holder; crossword puzzle from Saturday Globe & Mail; comic book loaned to me by Joel; one pair of shoes; photocopies of class readings; iBook.

At first I was just falling asleep with a book or two next to me; I think I've started to take this one-person-in-a-queen-sized-bed-leaves-room-for-books-beside-you thing a little to far. Tomorrow I must clean house and empty out my bed of the unnecessaries. Although really, of the above list, the only unusual thing in bed with me is the pair of shoes. They're new, and I love them so much that I wanted them next to me while I knit in bed and watched Dirty Dancing after the WIR gala tonight. I will take them off the bed before I go to sleept. Honest.

I had meant, earlier today, to begin looking for winter boots. I started my search at "the" place for shoes in Edmonton, a shop called Gravity Pope. I found it quite easy to avoid the pointy-toed high-heeled black leather fuck-me boots that I had thought would tempt me; I realized as I was looking that I don't really want to go for that kind of look. There were many nice pairs of boots with square or only slightly pointed toes, and many flats, and many pairs with low, sensible heels. So in terms of attractive but practical boots, I had many options. But I didn't really fall in love with any of them; they were nice but I didn't see anything I desperately had to own, and I certainly didn't see anything that I was willing to pay up to $400 for.

But I did fall in love with a pair of shoes, and was very rapidly distracted from the boot search. They're grey felt flats, with round toes. There is a single pink felt flower sewn on the right shoe and two felt flowers (one pink, one purple) on the left shoe. They're very, very cute, and the kind of thing that can be worn with jeans just as easily as a skirt or dress. So I succumbed to my desire to try them on, and knew the instant I put my feet into them that my life would be bleak and pathetic without these shoes. They are fantastically, ridiculously, gloriously comfortable. They are absolutely heavenly to wear and just so incredibly cute. I put them on and thought "Forget men: this is what true love is!" So I bought them (of course [another bonus is that they were quite affordable]). Winter boots will just have to wait a little while longer.

I wore them out to the Writer-in-Residence Gala tonight. Really, wearing them was the best part of the evening. "Gala" in Edmonton apparently means something that people wear jeans to. When Christine first asked me to go, I asked her what I should wear, thinking that if it really was a gala that maybe I should brave the strapless bra thing and wear the black off-the-shoulder dress I wore to Warren's grad way back in the day (I was in grade 12), or that I should at least wear the Paris dress (my mom fixed the strap for me). But Chris told me to wear whatever I'm comfortable with and made it sound as though people wouldn't be dressed up, so I opted for my black linen dress with a little top over it with the French burlesque house chic stockings and the felt flats. This was more than dressy enough for the event. I went early with Chris and Marcie to the gala and helped set up, and then stayed until about 10:30. I spent most of the evening making small talk with uninteresting strangers and enjoying the free food; there was very little actual work to be done. I took off after the first round of the silent auction was done; a guy named Matt gave me a lift home.

I had a much better evening last night when I went out for dinner with Joel. I needed to get some dishes from him that I'd left there when I rushed home from Thanksgiving dinner, and when I suggested that I stop by and pick them up, he suggested that we have dinner, too. So we went out to an Ethiopian place. It was really good and quite affordable; I'll definitely go again. And of course Joel was great company. Rocky Horror is playing at a theatre on Whyte, and we're going to go together.

The first Goodnight Desdemona rehearsal was yesterday. There was a read-through at lunch, and this was the first time I read the play. It's very funny and quite clever--Desdemona is a blood-thirsty nut and Tybalt is very bawdy. The only thing that worries me are the very fast changes that will be required of me to play both parts: at one point, Tybalt walks on as Desdemona is walking off and I'll have to switch up lightning-fast. Then later in the afternoon we rehearsed a couple of scenes--two versions of the flight scene in which Tybalt kills Mercutio and Romeo kills Tybalt (the "real" Shakespeare version, and the altered version in which nobody dies). The rehearsal was tiring, somehow, but also very fun. We laughed a lot. Next time I shall have to remember to wear pants, however, as a skirt really isn't appropriate for the kind of physical acting the Tybalt part requires. At least I'd remembered to wear underwear for once.

"Working for the clampdown"

2005-10-13T16:12:00.000-06:00

Booking Through Thursday

Here's another set of questions from Nicki.

What's the worst book you've ever read? I'd definitely say that Hello America by J.G. Ballard is among the worst; it comes to mind because I read it recently. It's another one of James' books (for the record, he does have good stuff like Gravity's Rainbow and One Hundred Years of Solitude). Here's the description from the back: By the year 2030 the American continent had been abandoned. Its great cities were empty. On board the S.S. Apollo are the descendants of Americans who left their homeland when the economy collapsed. Now, a century later, an expedition from Europe reaches the Atlantic coast off what had once been Brooklyn... It's an okay sounding premise--if you're into speculative fiction--but the exectution was terrible. I particularly disliked the whole-hearted and uncritical acceptance of The American Dream. It was rather painful at times. But what really makes this the worst book I've ever read is the failure of its internal logic; if you stop to think about it at all, it is practically incomprehensible. Things, quite simply, don't make sense. I was actually so dumbfounded by this book that I sent an email to James asking why he had it in his collection; I was surprised that his taste could actually be that bad (turns out he hasn't read this particular one, but had liked another Ballard [which maybe isn't a good sign... although it does keep things interesting).

What's the book you hated the most? Really, this question should read "What's the book you hate most?" (ie. be in the present tense) because even three years after first reading this loathesome book, I still hate it with a passion: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. I will continue to hate it until the day I die; I will continue to hate it in the afterlife (if there is one, which I very much doubt). I feel like I've ranted about this book so many times that I just can't do it again, so I'll be brief. I hate it because: it is poorly written; its representation of women--particularly intelligent women--is atrocious; it is derrivative; it is formulaic; it is uncritically accepted by far too many people who should know better than to think that children's books aren't ideologically driven and influential. So there.

Is the answer the same to both questions? If not, why not? Why was this book (or these books) so bad?It is possible to enjoy a bad book; reading Hello America was kind of fun, because it was simply so entertaining to find the faults in its logic and to wonder why, oh why my apparently intelligent and interesting friend owns this book. Hello America was the equivalent of, say, watching Time After Time; it's so bad it's good, in a way. Harry Potter, on the other hand, was a horrific reading experience. Thinking about how widely it has been read without any real attention to what it means was deeply saddening; there are HUGE numbers of children reading these books and absorbing their themes without realizing that they are being indoctrinated into an oppressive sexist, classist and heteronormative system. It is even worse to think that adults who read these books simply turn off their critical faculties, and ignore the impact these books are going to have on the way their children think. I'm getting so worked up over this right now; I think I'm just going to stop.

"Safe from all the horrors/ In your stinging velvet arms/ And I surrender/ Surrender"

2005-10-13T00:33:00.000-06:00

So I guess I could explain this knitting-a-sweater-for-James thing.

A couple of weeks ago, this was at the end of an email: "do you do knitting requests? i might want something thats knit (im not sure exactly what yet). please."

I liked the way he tacked on "please" at the end; it felt like a good sign--seemed to indicate that he would understand the amount of work and time and effort required. So I wrote back and said that yes, I'd take a request from him, and I explained about the amount of work and time and effort just in case he didn't get it already (but of course he understood) and asked that he request something small.

So James wrote back and said he'd like a toque, and described a bit what he'd like out of a toque. And I sighed inside (actually, I think I sighed aloud), because I didn't really want to knit another toque because of the toques I knit for Graham (he lost the first one, and I finished its replacement a couple of days before breaking up with him, and now I can't send it to him because he doesn't want to hear from me, so it's burried in my dressing room). But there was a second email from him, which read "or how about a button up hoodie? that should be easy enough."

It was obvious he didn't know what he was asking--a button up hoodie would actually involve a number of techniques I have never performed and therefore not be easy at all--but I couldn't resist. It felt like he was daring me--it remined me of the way he got me to cut his hair (yes, I cut his hair--just trimmed the back--but I'm not saying anymore than that), and as with the hair, there was no way I could say no once it felt like he was daring me.

It doesn't help at all, of course, that I find guys in sweaters really attractive. A guy in a nice sweater is a very appealing thing--it ranks high up on the erotic continuum, in my opinion. And so the thought of Fascinating James of the Blue Eyes--who is, in case I haven't mentioned already, very easy to look at (ie. he's totally, totally hot)--wearing a sweater was quite a nice thought to have, and thinking about him in a sweater knit by me was simply irrestistable. I couldn't say no.

So we started to talk pattern a little bit; this was a little tricky because he didn't really articulate what it was exactly that he wanted. I did some searching on-line, and found the pattern for the Lo-Tech Sweat at Chicknits--but I didn't tell him about it right away because I liked the pattern so much I wanted to make it for myself. But eventually I caved, and asked him to set aside his gender assumptions, and showed him the sweater because I knew it was the perfect thing for him (and he agreed [if I ever make myself one, I'll alter the pattern a bit--add some waist-shaping and make it a closer fit]). Even though it is ostensibly a woman's pattern, it really isn't--there's no waist shaping or anything. I may have to lengthen the sleeves but that's about it.

At first we were thinking I'd make it in Cascade 220 Superwash, and he chose a colour (okay, we chose a colour--I told him which one I liked best and 'he picked' that colour). But then after his mother measured him (I was a bit disappointed to miss out on this part of the process but we couldn't really wait until December [this was going on when James thought he'd be passing through Edmonton in December and not November as the plan is now] to start things if he wanted the sweater before he goes to Australia) and I decided which size to make, it turned out that the 220 Superwash was simply too expensive, so we decided to instead go with Knitpicks' Wool of the Andes in Mist (the Knitpicks' Mist was close to the colour of 220 Superwash we'd chosen). I was really happy to get to order something from Knitpicks; I've been wanting to try them out but was put off by the high international shipping rate. I ordered some sock yarn--a skein of the dye-your-own and two balls of the geranium colourway--as well as the yarn for his sweater.

The yarn arrived today, and I'm really happy with it. The colour is great; it will look so good with his eyes. It's fairly soft, too, and gets softer after washing, so it won't be itchy (which was his only real concern). I've already done a gauge swatch and started knitting the left front (I'm four inches along). I need to get better needles, though--I'm using some of my granny's old ones, which I have for decorative and sentimental reasons and not because they're good needles (really they're not). I'll pick up some bamboos at some point. My only complaint is that the yarn blooms--it expands after you wash it--which means that it looks very small as I'm knitting it. I know it will grow when I block it, but it's strange to look at. The sock yarn is also nice; I'm already thinking about what I'd like to do with the dye-your-own and I've cast-on a toe in the geranium. The geranium socks will be my carrel knitting project, I think.

It feels like there's a lot of pressure with this sweater. Not because of the curse (James isn't, after all, my boyfriend [things are nebulous and undefined and we have no expectations])--that's just silly. Okay, it's silly in general to feel pressured, but I do. And I'm suddenly not in a mood to explain why.

"I can't go on/ The way you make me feel"

2005-10-12T00:13:00.000-06:00

Another intense Tuesday is done with; this one was particularly intense. I had two presentations to give. The first was in Vic. Screams on Time After Time. I ended up deviating quite a bit from my written response; what I'd written about was mentioned just enough in earlier discussion that to have simply presented my written response would have been repetitive. So just randomly on the spot I came up with new thoughts to push things in a different direction. I'm not sure if it worked; at least it wasn't boring. The second presentation was the Show and Tell in Getting Woman Right. I brought in and talked about the apron that Graham included in the package that arrived Friday; it was just perfect for the discussion. I talked about needing to justify crafting with sex appeal, and my show and tell was well received.

My dvds were waiting for me when I came home--Getting Married in Buffalo Jump and Dirty Dancing. I've wanted to own both of these for ages now. I watched them both, of course. I think earlier this evening was the first time that I saw Getting Married in its entirety. It was even funnier than I remembered. And Dirty Dancing was great--as usual. I'm very pleased with these additions to my dvd library.

I managed to get through the day without being too mopey about not being in Paris right now. It's just funny not hearing from James. Despite the fact that 'no expectations' has been our rallying cry, I did come to expect communicating with him on a daily basis, whether via email or messenger, and now I'm having to get over that. I think it's good, though. He only had such good internet access because he was at his parents, and (I suspect) only spent so much time on-line because he was trip planning; it won't be like that again, even once he's back from Europe/Virginia/the Caribbean. Which means that at some point I would have had to get used to less-than-daily communication, and now is as good a time as any. I miss hearing from him but I know I'll survive. I'm tempted to write to him, but I'll resist until I can tell him that the yarn has arrived.

"Swim or fly/ Only please..."

2005-10-10T01:14:00.000-06:00

Today was much better than yesterday and Friday. I spent most of the day relaxing, and then had a very pleasant Thanksgiving dinner with Joel. He cooked the tofurkey and I brought vegetables. We talked, and he read his favourite limerick to me (yes, it was rude). He tried to allay my fear of James' family, but was (of course) unsuccessful (and he does actually refer to me as his 'sister-in-law' when he talks to Jill; I hadn't really believed him when he mentioned yesterday that he does this [I find it both horrible and funny]). We watched (most of) Time After Time and discussed what we'll be writing our response papers on. I skipped out on the end of the movie because it was after 11 and I needed to get home to talk to James before it was too ridiculously late in Ottawa (I hated keeping him up so late; I don't worry about his health but I don't want to risk it unnecessarily, either--especially right before he begins an intense period of travel) and before he takes off on his trip tomorrow.

James and I almost never speak on the telephone--before tonight, he had once called to let me know when he'd be arriving in Edmonton a few weeks ago, and then once I telephoned him to read him two poems ("Love Under the Republicans (or Democrats)" by Ogden Nash [which I recited and messed up the second-last stanza as always] and "China" by Bob Perelman) and then we chatted for a bit--so it was actually rather special and nice to talk to him, even though the conversation was rather mundane. He's reading Arcadia right now; hadn't started to pack for his trip yet; went shopping for clothes with an ex-girlfriend from way back in the days when he actually dated (my fashion advice seems to have had just the right amount of influence); and suchlike. But it isn't about what we said; it was about hearing his voice and his laugh and being able to keep him talking with just a laugh or an interested murmur, rather than with stilted and toneless Messenger sentences. My favourite part of the conversation came towards the end. He said he would keep in touch (without me even so much as hinting that I'd like it if he would [but of course I don't expect to hear from him often {I don't expect anything}]) and then he asked if I wanted anything from Europe (when he was planning his South American trip, I'd asked him to notice yarn for me). I came up with three things that I want: for him to come back; for him to not sleep with Emily (the girl he's travelling with [this one was rather a joke, as we'd established last weekend that he is in fact interested in me and not her, and I quite trust him]); and for him to remember me. He was ammenable to my requests. I only wish I was going with him.

"I'm back at my cliff/ Still throwing things off"

2005-10-08T21:28:00.000-06:00

What a cranky weekend this is turning into.

It started yesterday when the mail arrived. I was hoping for the dvds I ordered or the yarn for James' sweater (what sweater for James? neveryoumind) but instead received a package from Graham. It was meant, I think, to make me feel guilty as hell. While it didn't make me feel guilty, it did fill me with sadness and discomfort--but also relief. Still it was messy to receive.

And then I had to spend the rest of the afternoon making telephone calls for the WIR reunion silent auction. It was horrible. My hands shook, I had butterflies in my stomach... It was just awful. I hated doing it and I can't wait for this bullshit to be over with.

And then my health turned bad late Friday night. I woke up this morning trying to trick myself that it wasn't happening--I felt better, there was no pain--and delayed getting more medication. So by the time I did call the pharmacy and get my prescription transferred from Salt Spring to Edmonton, it was later than it should have been and I'm paying for it now. I hurt, and I am sad. Not, fortunately, filled with the usual self-loathing and despair. Just sad. It is difficult to feel such optimism, only to have it crushed yet again. I am growing to fear the future.

This afternoon was nice, though. Greg, a classmate of mine, and his partner Naomi had a Thanksgiving thing at their place. Joel was there, and five others whom I did not know. It was low-key and pleasant. I wore my grey arm warmers and Joel fell in love with them. He asked to try them on and then just kept stroking his arms. It was very funny. I think I'll make him a pair as a surprise--but it might take a while considering all the other things I have on the needles (and will have on the needles once the yarn arrives from Knitpicks [for the record, I hadn't actually read that little description before ordering the yarn]).

I am spending tonight--post-medication procurement--watching movies and Buffy. Jan is out of town this weekend and before she left, she told me that if I wanted to watch one of her movies upstairs that I was welcome to. Her collection is, by and large, unappealing. But she did have a copy of Garden State, so I finally got around to watching that. I was disappointed. I felt, somehow, that I ought to like it but just couldn't. It was, I suppose, the wrong moment. I didn't like that Largeman and Sam fucked--that it turned from a story about a wonderful, unique friendship into a romance. Something seemed ruined after that. I am now having a delightful Buffy marathon. Jan has "The Buffy and Angel Chronicles"--six episodes from the one where Buffy and Angel fuck and he gets his soul back and everything is ruined (do you notice a trend in my watching tonight? People fucking and ruining everything [although whether this is tonight's theme because it feels familiar or because I fear it will happen again has yet to be determined]) until the episode when he gets his soul back (I think--haven't gotten that far yet). I'm getting lots of knitting done.