Ho hum. Another leisurely day at home. Picked up my fantasia programme and have been sitting in the sun reading it. Had to come inside because the sun is strong and was making me wonky.
My big decisions today involve how to fit the Johnnie To movies into my fantasia viewing.
I could get used to this not-working routine. ah.
Note to self: Buy lottery ticket. Do lucky dance.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The Spaniards who blighted my life*
* see YouTube: Bing Crosby and Al Jolson.
Oh well. Seems like I didn't get a single prediction right in the whole tournament. So my fearless prediction for a German victory was doomed to failure.
I usually like Ballack, but I thought he was quite ungentlemanly today. He disappointed me.
Well done, Spain. A good team.
Oh well. Seems like I didn't get a single prediction right in the whole tournament. So my fearless prediction for a German victory was doomed to failure.
I usually like Ballack, but I thought he was quite ungentlemanly today. He disappointed me.
Well done, Spain. A good team.
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Cuteness of War
On the few occasions that I have watched CBS Evening News coverage of the Iraq war, I have often wondered how Lara Logan can wear a dorky army helmet that looks like a chamber pot and still manage to be so cute.
I would be thinking, that helmet is regulation ugh-ly and but she's still so cute in it.
Such cuteness will inevitably, in a war zone, make one a victim of....pursuit by a drunken Australian war correspondent.
Oh Lara. You couldn't resist Michael Ware, could you? Well, who could, sez I.
But Mick was just a bit playa in this story, as it appears cutie Lara was also an element in the break-up of some State Department guy's marriage.
It's the helmet. Guys can't resist a gal who's so cute in a helmet.
I would be thinking, that helmet is regulation ugh-ly and but she's still so cute in it.
Such cuteness will inevitably, in a war zone, make one a victim of....pursuit by a drunken Australian war correspondent.
Oh Lara. You couldn't resist Michael Ware, could you? Well, who could, sez I.
But Mick was just a bit playa in this story, as it appears cutie Lara was also an element in the break-up of some State Department guy's marriage.
It's the helmet. Guys can't resist a gal who's so cute in a helmet.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Hallelujah
Leonard Cohen was amazing. I’m so glad I went. Over the past 30 years I’ve thought of him as a songwriter and a poet, but not really as an entertainer. But he is. Very entertaining. Humble and charismatic.
Highlights. So many highlights. What wasn’t a highlight? For me, the big moment was Hallelujah. Not a song I’ve particularly been drawn to, but the way he performed it last night, with a really surprisingly strong voice, was awesome. You don’t have to be religious to be touched by the power of the word Hallelujah, sung in the right context. It was tremendously moving. Wow. Still can’t get over that.
Next for me was Suzanne. I never realized I’d been waiting 30 years to hear him sing that song in person, but I guess I was. It was amazing.
Also fantastic was Closing Time. What a great, great song. And it really rocked! I’m still singing it in my head. He had an absolutely great band backing him. One guy in particular, on sax and a variety of winds, was so good, I’d go see him on his own. And Lenny is very generous with the spotlight; everyone got lots of solos and he seemed enthralled listening to everyone’s else playing.
And he ran, on and off the stage. And he dropped to his knees and bounced back up. I can barely do that now; I can’t imagine doing it when I’m 70+. I kept thinking: Lenny, slow down, you’ll hurt yourself. He really looked like he could be anybody’s grandpa. Grandpa…with a lively past.
I’ve never much cared for Bird on the Wire, but it was really jazzed up and I liked that a lot too. What else? Take this Waltz. Great. Democracy. Great. Sisters of Mercy. Great. There wasn’t a dud in the whole night. A Thousand Kisses he just recited, didn’t sing, and, hey guess what, it’s a real poem. Gorgeous. I could go on and on and on.
Highlights. So many highlights. What wasn’t a highlight? For me, the big moment was Hallelujah. Not a song I’ve particularly been drawn to, but the way he performed it last night, with a really surprisingly strong voice, was awesome. You don’t have to be religious to be touched by the power of the word Hallelujah, sung in the right context. It was tremendously moving. Wow. Still can’t get over that.
Next for me was Suzanne. I never realized I’d been waiting 30 years to hear him sing that song in person, but I guess I was. It was amazing.
Also fantastic was Closing Time. What a great, great song. And it really rocked! I’m still singing it in my head. He had an absolutely great band backing him. One guy in particular, on sax and a variety of winds, was so good, I’d go see him on his own. And Lenny is very generous with the spotlight; everyone got lots of solos and he seemed enthralled listening to everyone’s else playing.
And he ran, on and off the stage. And he dropped to his knees and bounced back up. I can barely do that now; I can’t imagine doing it when I’m 70+. I kept thinking: Lenny, slow down, you’ll hurt yourself. He really looked like he could be anybody’s grandpa. Grandpa…with a lively past.
I’ve never much cared for Bird on the Wire, but it was really jazzed up and I liked that a lot too. What else? Take this Waltz. Great. Democracy. Great. Sisters of Mercy. Great. There wasn’t a dud in the whole night. A Thousand Kisses he just recited, didn’t sing, and, hey guess what, it’s a real poem. Gorgeous. I could go on and on and on.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Japanese Toilet Update
Remember how much I raved about the washroom at Narita airport? I still hold fond memories of that bathroom stall.
MSNBC has an article today about this fave topic of mine.
Japanese toilets. How I love ‘em.
“Japanese toilets can warm and wash one's bottom, whisk away odors with built-in fans and play water noises that drown out potty sounds. They play relaxation music, too. "Ave Maria" is a favorite.
“High-end toilets can also sense when someone enters or leaves the bathroom, raising or lowering their lids accordingly. Many models have a "learning mode," which allows them to memorize the lavatory schedules of household members.”
How I love the Japanese.
Here’s a weird fact: 23 to 30 percent of Japanese men now sit while urinating. They do so, the report said, for comfort and for "prevention of urine splash."
Japanese women urinate eight times a day, with an average on-seat time of 96 seconds.
On-seat time. Yo, what’s your on-seat time? I love this statistic.
MSNBC has an article today about this fave topic of mine.
Japanese toilets. How I love ‘em.
“Japanese toilets can warm and wash one's bottom, whisk away odors with built-in fans and play water noises that drown out potty sounds. They play relaxation music, too. "Ave Maria" is a favorite.
“High-end toilets can also sense when someone enters or leaves the bathroom, raising or lowering their lids accordingly. Many models have a "learning mode," which allows them to memorize the lavatory schedules of household members.”
How I love the Japanese.
Here’s a weird fact: 23 to 30 percent of Japanese men now sit while urinating. They do so, the report said, for comfort and for "prevention of urine splash."
Japanese women urinate eight times a day, with an average on-seat time of 96 seconds.
On-seat time. Yo, what’s your on-seat time? I love this statistic.
Holy Pants, Batman
You know what I hate? Being spied on, and then gossiped about. Especially by someone I met once, over 10 years ago.
Background. A few months ago, I was on my usual morning bus ride. I was wearing a short jacket. Nothing much happened. When I got to my desk that morning, as I was sitting down, I felt that I had a piece of tape stuck to my bottom. (I'm wondering now why I never blogged about it, as it was quite funny at the time.) Anyway, I deduced at the time that I'd probably gotten off the bus with this tape on my ass and walked a block to work, again with this tape stuck to my ass, come up in the elevator etc etc. (The more I think about it, the funnier it gets this morning.)
So this a.m. JAW Fan calls and tells me that a friend of his who he no longer sees and who I met once over 10 years ago, saw me that fateful morning, with my piece of tape stuck to my backside, and thought I had ripppped my pants and my underwear was showing. All this was related by another friend, who I also met many years ago, maybe once. I'm not even asking why I was being talked about.
First of all, I can't remember what somebody looks like unless I've met them at least three times, and I certainly can't recognize someone I met once 10+ years ago. How can anyone recognize me in these circumstances? So, yeah, I feel like I was being spied on, and no, those were not my underpants I was exposing to the good folk on the morning commute.
You know how you come up with nicknames for people you see every day but don't actually know them. I guess I'm Underwear Woman or Holey Pants to several people on the bus. I guess it's better than Ms Stinky or Jungle Breath.
Background. A few months ago, I was on my usual morning bus ride. I was wearing a short jacket. Nothing much happened. When I got to my desk that morning, as I was sitting down, I felt that I had a piece of tape stuck to my bottom. (I'm wondering now why I never blogged about it, as it was quite funny at the time.) Anyway, I deduced at the time that I'd probably gotten off the bus with this tape on my ass and walked a block to work, again with this tape stuck to my ass, come up in the elevator etc etc. (The more I think about it, the funnier it gets this morning.)
So this a.m. JAW Fan calls and tells me that a friend of his who he no longer sees and who I met once over 10 years ago, saw me that fateful morning, with my piece of tape stuck to my backside, and thought I had ripppped my pants and my underwear was showing. All this was related by another friend, who I also met many years ago, maybe once. I'm not even asking why I was being talked about.
First of all, I can't remember what somebody looks like unless I've met them at least three times, and I certainly can't recognize someone I met once 10+ years ago. How can anyone recognize me in these circumstances? So, yeah, I feel like I was being spied on, and no, those were not my underpants I was exposing to the good folk on the morning commute.
You know how you come up with nicknames for people you see every day but don't actually know them. I guess I'm Underwear Woman or Holey Pants to several people on the bus. I guess it's better than Ms Stinky or Jungle Breath.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Happy St. Johnny B.
My Holiday so far....and it's only 9:03 a.m.
Today is our Fete Nationale. If you don't live here you may well ask how a "province" can have a "national" holiday. You may well ask. But that only proves you don't live here (lucky you). And at age 47, having spent the vast majority of those years in this province, I just can't be bothered to explain it. It's exhausting. Life is too short.
So...my day so far. My Holiday day.
At 6:50 a.m. I am sleeping soudly, but then I hear a loud noise, a tock tock tock tock noise. My street is tres peaceful so a loud noise like this is tres noticeable. I get up and look out the window. There's a cable guy across the street! At six effing fifty. Doesn't he know it's Fete? What is he? Some kind of federalist trouble-maker? I blame Harper for this.
He's pushing a long ladder up against a pole and as each step falls into place: tock, tock, tock, tock. argh. I go back to bed. But now, it's feline bed invasion, as dumb cats who cannot read a calendar properly just think it's Tuesday. They don't know it's Fete! They want breakfast. I shoo them away and after 10 minutes or so, they leave, hating me.
At 7:30 I haven't managed to go back to sleep, but I'm refusing to get up despite the return of the cats and some insistent paws in my face. "Get up, you lazy woman", the cats say, "we don't care that it's Fete. We're anglos and we're hungry." I pull the blanket over my head. And then...in the distance...
A lawn-mower. weep. Isn't there a by-law against noise before 8:00 a.m. I thought there was. Especially on Fete! I can tell it isn't on my street, but on the next street over. Then a second mower joins in. No rest, no Fete for Italian lawn contractors. I guess they're still annoyed about the penalty shoot-out and if they have to be miserable, why spare anyone else. Right.
So I get up at 7:50. Feed the cats. Do they thank me? They do not. By 8:03 I am dressed in my running clothes and sneakers and I'm off to the soccer field to run the perimeter a couple of times. Not joking. I did this. Thank you, cable guy, for waking me early. Thank you, Italian lawn mowing guys, for keeping me awake.
Now I am refreshed, drinking my coffee, and blogging off at the mouth. There's a load of laundry done. I have energy. I deserve a nap in the afternoon.
Today is our Fete Nationale. If you don't live here you may well ask how a "province" can have a "national" holiday. You may well ask. But that only proves you don't live here (lucky you). And at age 47, having spent the vast majority of those years in this province, I just can't be bothered to explain it. It's exhausting. Life is too short.
So...my day so far. My Holiday day.
At 6:50 a.m. I am sleeping soudly, but then I hear a loud noise, a tock tock tock tock noise. My street is tres peaceful so a loud noise like this is tres noticeable. I get up and look out the window. There's a cable guy across the street! At six effing fifty. Doesn't he know it's Fete? What is he? Some kind of federalist trouble-maker? I blame Harper for this.
He's pushing a long ladder up against a pole and as each step falls into place: tock, tock, tock, tock. argh. I go back to bed. But now, it's feline bed invasion, as dumb cats who cannot read a calendar properly just think it's Tuesday. They don't know it's Fete! They want breakfast. I shoo them away and after 10 minutes or so, they leave, hating me.
At 7:30 I haven't managed to go back to sleep, but I'm refusing to get up despite the return of the cats and some insistent paws in my face. "Get up, you lazy woman", the cats say, "we don't care that it's Fete. We're anglos and we're hungry." I pull the blanket over my head. And then...in the distance...
A lawn-mower. weep. Isn't there a by-law against noise before 8:00 a.m. I thought there was. Especially on Fete! I can tell it isn't on my street, but on the next street over. Then a second mower joins in. No rest, no Fete for Italian lawn contractors. I guess they're still annoyed about the penalty shoot-out and if they have to be miserable, why spare anyone else. Right.
So I get up at 7:50. Feed the cats. Do they thank me? They do not. By 8:03 I am dressed in my running clothes and sneakers and I'm off to the soccer field to run the perimeter a couple of times. Not joking. I did this. Thank you, cable guy, for waking me early. Thank you, Italian lawn mowing guys, for keeping me awake.
Now I am refreshed, drinking my coffee, and blogging off at the mouth. There's a load of laundry done. I have energy. I deserve a nap in the afternoon.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Enough of this
Another person I know died over the weekend. She was a work colleague who was in Russian class with me over a few years. We "studied" Russian over the lunch hour, but I never learned anything. I have a vocabulary of about 10 words.
Karandash = pencil. whoo hoo.
Anyway, she had cancer and didn't make it to 50.
This is the fourth person I know who has died in the past two months. Which leads me to ask:
What's with all this dyin' shit?
I'm fed up with it.
First my friend Linda, then a translator who worked on our floor, then my neighbour two doors down and now this. Enough. I've had enough.
Used to be, when I heard someone had died, it was somebody's parent. Now it's the people I know themselves. Frig.
Karandash = pencil. whoo hoo.
Anyway, she had cancer and didn't make it to 50.
This is the fourth person I know who has died in the past two months. Which leads me to ask:
What's with all this dyin' shit?
I'm fed up with it.
First my friend Linda, then a translator who worked on our floor, then my neighbour two doors down and now this. Enough. I've had enough.
Used to be, when I heard someone had died, it was somebody's parent. Now it's the people I know themselves. Frig.
Ha Ha
Thanks to a link from the PostPessimist, I found this great site of comics from Kate Beaton. A lot are history related, and some are just weird. But this one is close to my heart for obvious reasons.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Sigh
I said it before, I say it again. I hate penalty shoot-outs. Bleh.
I knew they couldn't go far without Cannavaro. Oh well.
Go Russia.
I knew they couldn't go far without Cannavaro. Oh well.
Go Russia.
Here we go again
The Azzurri face the music again today.
And, for a change, I'll be at home in front of the t.v. watching the thing unfold.
I can't stand it.
And, for a change, I'll be at home in front of the t.v. watching the thing unfold.
I can't stand it.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
More soccer
Wow. This Euro just keeps getting more exciting by the day.
I still can't believe the Dutch went down. Wow. Those plucky Russkies.
I still can't believe the Dutch went down. Wow. Those plucky Russkies.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Folds
I've been searching the internet looking for the right expression to describe Croatia's performance today.
Folded like a cheap suit?
Folded like a concertina? (not bad)
Folded like a crash test dummy?
Folded like a cheap plastic chair?
They all work. I cannot get over the last 5 minutes of that match. And the penalty kicks. I hate the penalty kick shoot-out; I think teams should go to sudden death and just play until someone scores. But today's 3 out of 4 misses by the Crow-hats was unbelievable.
The Turks are an oddball force of nature.
Folded like a cheap suit?
Folded like a concertina? (not bad)
Folded like a crash test dummy?
Folded like a cheap plastic chair?
They all work. I cannot get over the last 5 minutes of that match. And the penalty kicks. I hate the penalty kick shoot-out; I think teams should go to sudden death and just play until someone scores. But today's 3 out of 4 misses by the Crow-hats was unbelievable.
The Turks are an oddball force of nature.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Line of the Day: US Politics Edition
John McCain is so old when he talk about Iraq he calls it Babylon.
har har
har har
Let's talk about feet
More specifically, the severed feet that keep washing up on our western coastline.
Two more just this week.
What is up with this?
I had assumed, when these little feeties started appearing on the news, that they were bare feet. But no. They are severed feet in socks and shoes.
Where are they coming from?
My theory, and I'm sticking to it, is that there is a mad serial killer/foot severer on the loose in Japan, and he throws the severed feet into the ocean and now they are showing up in BC. This theory is based solely on the fact that I have seen entirely too many Takashi Miike movies.
Two more just this week.
What is up with this?
I had assumed, when these little feeties started appearing on the news, that they were bare feet. But no. They are severed feet in socks and shoes.
Where are they coming from?
My theory, and I'm sticking to it, is that there is a mad serial killer/foot severer on the loose in Japan, and he throws the severed feet into the ocean and now they are showing up in BC. This theory is based solely on the fact that I have seen entirely too many Takashi Miike movies.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Hump Day Question
Here is the kind of question that could only come from JAW Fan. This is based on the comments posted earlier about JAW Fan admitting that, in a pinch, he’d lather up del Piero. Even though the latter is under age 50, and by definition, not desirable to the former.
Question is: what would you do for a friend? How far would you go for a friend's fun and pleasure?
It’s one thing to lather up del Piero for one’s own future…um…entanglements with him. But what if one was asked to do the lathering up for someone’s else pleasure? Would you do it?
Example: Is JAW Fan prepared to lather up del Piero so that I, Nanuk, can be the one to later….um…enjoy young Alessandro? i.e. there’s no pay-off for JAW Fan. (Well, that point can be argued.)
Or: Would I be prepared to do the lathering up of del P. so that JAW Fan can get the reward? (Probably not. It’s just too unfair.)
Seriously, using different friends and different scenarios, this is an interesting way to judge the closeness of friendships. Of course, if this goes on for too long, del Piero gets rubbed raw.
Question is: what would you do for a friend? How far would you go for a friend's fun and pleasure?
It’s one thing to lather up del Piero for one’s own future…um…entanglements with him. But what if one was asked to do the lathering up for someone’s else pleasure? Would you do it?
Example: Is JAW Fan prepared to lather up del Piero so that I, Nanuk, can be the one to later….um…enjoy young Alessandro? i.e. there’s no pay-off for JAW Fan. (Well, that point can be argued.)
Or: Would I be prepared to do the lathering up of del P. so that JAW Fan can get the reward? (Probably not. It’s just too unfair.)
Seriously, using different friends and different scenarios, this is an interesting way to judge the closeness of friendships. Of course, if this goes on for too long, del Piero gets rubbed raw.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
There is joy in Nanukville
O, my beloved Azzurri. How wonderful you are.
How delightful that you live on, you will get to face Spain, and have your asses handed to you on a plate.
How delightful that you live on, you will get to face Spain, and have your asses handed to you on a plate.
Afghanistan
This whole prison break story in Kandahar is unbelievable. The Taliban breached the prison walls using suicide bombers and sprang a whole bunch of guys. You almost have to think: cooool.
If this was a movie it would star Charles Bronson and Steve McQueen in beards.
Now everybody is in a panic because they think these sprung guys are planning to take over parts of Kandahar. Okay.
Sprung Talibaners: 350
NATO troops in A'stan: 65,000.
That's 185 NATO troops for every Talibaner. And the troops are panicky?
This is a movie, right? This can't be real.
If this was a movie it would star Charles Bronson and Steve McQueen in beards.
Now everybody is in a panic because they think these sprung guys are planning to take over parts of Kandahar. Okay.
Sprung Talibaners: 350
NATO troops in A'stan: 65,000.
That's 185 NATO troops for every Talibaner. And the troops are panicky?
This is a movie, right? This can't be real.
Another High Tension Day
Mama Mia! What will happen to the Azzurri today?
Will the Dutch help them out by pounding the crap out of the Romanians?
Will they help themselves by actually winning?
I can't stand it.
Will the Dutch help them out by pounding the crap out of the Romanians?
Will they help themselves by actually winning?
I can't stand it.
Monday, June 16, 2008
File this under "Believe It Or Not"
On Saturday afternoon, yours truly, in the costume of an Italian tenor, including cape, gloves and fake beard made of felt, stood up and sang in front of 30 people, about half of whom were strangers. Yes, me, your humble blogger.
I still can’t believe I did that.
I had written a song parody for a friend’s birthday, and one thing led to another, and it turned into a mini-opera, with me as the soloist and the girls from work as my chorus.
Repeat: I still can’t believe I did that.
Given that a) I’m a total introvert and b) I’m tone deaf and have no voice at all, it was surreal and hilarious.
I volunteered to do this, and was totally calm about it, right up until I started singing. Then about two lines in, I had a panic attack. My hands started trembling, but I knew I had to keep going. A big voice inside my head screamed: What the f*** am I doing here?
I still can’t believe I did that.
I had written a song parody for a friend’s birthday, and one thing led to another, and it turned into a mini-opera, with me as the soloist and the girls from work as my chorus.
Repeat: I still can’t believe I did that.
Given that a) I’m a total introvert and b) I’m tone deaf and have no voice at all, it was surreal and hilarious.
I volunteered to do this, and was totally calm about it, right up until I started singing. Then about two lines in, I had a panic attack. My hands started trembling, but I knew I had to keep going. A big voice inside my head screamed: What the f*** am I doing here?
And all I had before was 2 shandys. I wasn't even close to drunk.
But we all got through it, got huge screaming laughs, and a standing ovation from all present. And the birthday girl looked pretty pleased. And stunned.
I dunno what’s gotten into me lately.
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