June 26th, 2009

Cottage conversation

J: I hate cottages.
R: Oh.
J: Well, I like the hanging out with people, food and cards, the indoor stuff. I just hate the bugs, and the rain, and wildlife.
K: What, like bears?
J: Yeah, like bears. Who likes bears?
K: Indoors, bears are ok.
J (very shrill): Bears in your house?
K: No, you’re inside, the bears are outside.
J: I would prefer there be no bears anywhere nearby.

Would you be my wonderdrug?
RR

March 20th, 2009

Courier-osity

It is nearly impossible to send me things via courier. I think courier services are to send things to places where people reliably *are* between 9 and 5, and apparently I’m pretty hard to find. I’m not, actually, but I am to the couriers. If ever you want to send me something bulky, just use normal mail and I’ll pick it up at the post office. Sure, it’s a little slower, but at least then I’ll get it, and I won’t spend half an hour on the phone with Bonnie-the-unhappy-courier-lady, trying to track down my package, which–it turns out–is currently being housed in an un-TTC-able warehouse by the lake, and may be coming to me on Monday but, more than likely, won’t.

I bring this up because Bonnie could not locate a sender in the tracking system, and most people I deal with regularly know my courier situation, so what could it be? This is a longshot, but did anybody out there in blogland try to send me something? And, if so, was it perishable? This is going to bug me all weekend. Even if it wasn’t you, please send theorems!!

Watch it be a summons.

That says more than the first two verses
RR

March 4th, 2009

Incorrection

I don’t talk to myself. Unless startled by a bat or struck by a heavy object, I never feel a need to make any sort of sound when alone. Despite *many* defensive folks who have told me talking to oneself is a normal way to process information, I find it odd. It’s not like I don’t have plenty of commentary on every millisecond that goes by. But I can hear my own commentary just fine from, you know, inside my head. Also, I receive very little new information in this way; surprise surprise. Most of what I think is boring; no need to give it wider broadcast.

Actually, maybe this post is boring interior thoughts too. But slightly less boring than most interior thoughts. Anyway.

What is surprising is a new trend in my interior monologue, one that I really don’t think I thought up for myself. The past few months, screw-ups have been accompanied by the (silent) word “Incorrect” inside my brain. More recently, the word has come to have a visual of red block letters spelling it out: INCORRECT.

Harsh.

Lest you think I am having some sort of self-esteem spiral, the “incorrect” signal mainly flashes for small failures, ones that can be easily identified: opening the wrong software from my desktop, walking into the coat closet instead of the bathroom (not in own home), putting metal in the microwave. Doesn’t appear for major life decisions, wardrobe choices, consumer purchases–nothing with a lot of subjective leeway. A dozen people could have a different opinion on the story’s new ending or my new haircut, but you’re either standing in the coat closet or you aren’t.

Anyway, this post has little point, and probably should have remained interior, but I always find it curious when my brain does something all on it’s own without my bidding, and felt like sharing. Since this is likely *not* internally generated, I’m wondering if I picked it up from a book? A movie? This new mental quirk has no footnote. If you know where I stole it from, please share!

Note: My dislike of talking aloud to oneself should not be confused with the much more congenial concept of the “exterior monologue,” a term coined by the mighty AMT. The exterior monologue occurs when normal censors are turned off inside the brain, usually by nervousness, alcohol, or happy comfort with the audience. Then one just says everything that comes into one’s head. You’ve seen it happen, but it’s fun only in the last two contexts (usually), and even then only if you, like AMT, are thoroughly entertaining, inside and out.

Note 2: I also breathe silently and wear rubber-soled shoes; if it weren’t for clumsiness and cowardice, I would make an excellent stealth agent.

Just believe that I need you
RR

February 12th, 2009

Stephen on children

Everyone says this Stephen Colbert fellow is so funny, and I very much enjoyed his election coverage last November (particularly his screaming his rage into a water bottle when Obama took the lead). But the page-a-day Stephen Colbert calendar I received as a gift has mainly been a good source of notepaper and not funny so much.

But today, today is funny, so I guess this is the point of the calendar. The point of this post is just to reproduce the Feb. 12 verbatim, and probably break a copyright law:

Stephen on…children

They may be cute, but they are here to replace us. Need proof? Ever catch one walking around in your shoes? That’s a chilling moment, like finding an empty body snatcher pod in the basement.

Heh!

Get out of bed / you little sleepyhead
RR

February 8th, 2009

25 Meals (with meaning)

1. IV Lounge 10th Anniversary Cake courtesy of Dani Couture (who tagged me in this meme, and probably created it, such wonders that poets are).
2. May 23, 1979–First birthday cake, which I did not consume but only looked at, owing to parents’ theory that babies can’t eat cake (they ate it).
3. Summer 1982–First self-made meal: Two peanut-butter sandwiches, d carried into the yard on cookie sheet (second sandwich was for brother).
4. Similar time as #3–English-muffin mini-pizzas with *ham* on them, offered at a childhood friend’s home; small Rebecca’s first inkling that the world was indeed vaster and more curious than she could ever have dreamt.
5. Vacation Wednesdays, 1982-1988–Fried clams at Howard Johnson’s restaurant, favourite American food.
6. Lunch hour, 1989-1992–Swamp food–trail mix adaptation that my Kim, Mary, Jen and I worked hard on. I think it contained pretty much anything that came in small discrete units–nuts, dried fruit, candy, corn chips, breakfast cereal, popcorn, pretzels.
7.Spring 1992–Pizza and French fries, Old Port of Montreal,
8. June 1992–Chicken salad, tossed salad, buns, chocolate pudding with banana chips on top–Family Studies final project.
9. Tuesdays, 1992-1997–Grilled cheese sandwiches and oatmeal cookes, the only things my high school caf made decently.
10. 4x a year, 1992-1997–Exam pizza.
11. Summer 1994–Roasted nuts in a paper sack from streetvendor, NYC.
12. March 1996–Chocolate hazelnut crepe, also from streetvendor, Paris.
14. September 1997–Bagel, eaten while walking up University Ave., first food eaten as resident of Montreal.
15. October 1997–Pizza Hut pizza and those little garlic bread strips–grad food.
16. 1997-1998–Bow thai pasta, crunchy cheese, counted juices, melon/kidney bean salad, black jello, an awful lot of egg salad–RVC caf food.
17. 1997-2001, post-dancing–Madonna pizza (cheese only), eaten while walking down the street.
18. 1997-2001, as often as possible–shish taouk, extra turnips, eaten while walking down the street.
19. Summer, 2000–First sushi experience, California rolls, Afshan’s place.
20. March 2001–Crackers and soup, brought to me by Anne-Michelle to prevent death by flu.
21. February-April 2002–Bag lunch in glamourous food court that I could not afford.
22. 2002-2005–Jaime’s peanut squares, popcorn out of bins, morning glory muffins, rice krispie squares, bagels with lactose-free cream cheese, Entemann’s coffee cake, and mini-mentos…oh, the Proofville Buffet.
23. Summer 2005–Toronto’s little India, my discovery of barfi.
24. September 7, 2008–Eden Mills Lit Fest, first sweet potato pie, the day I first saw my book!
25. Today–Winterliscious with the gang from #14-19–very excited!

February 4th, 2009

Fair & Balanced Reporting

Though I try to show a positive viewpoint of life on Toronto transit, I have to admit that today a man did spit in my hair. Then I went and sat at the other end of the bus (etiquette tip: the *only* right thing to do when someone spits in your hair is go somewhere else; that is not an opening for dialogue). In my new seat, I told myself firmly that I hadn’t been done any harm and it didn’t matter, but I was feeling slightly shaken, as if the naysayers about public life might have scored a point somewhere (and, perhaps, they did).

At the next stop, a man got on and sat down one seat over from me.

(beat)
Man: I gotta say, I really like your stockings.
Me: Oh. Thank you.
Man: I got a three-year-old daughter who loves flowers, and, man, if she saw those, she would say, beautiful.

The score is at least even, I’d say.

May you could spare her
RR

January 30th, 2009

25 Random Things about Me

1. I’ve known this meme was going around for a while and was worried it would come to me.
2. I’m pretty boring and I already talk too much about myself, in person and via blog. There may not be much more I’m willing to tell that most interested parties don’t already know.
3. But a poet, Troy Jollimore,, is the one who tagged me, and I always want to do what the poets are doing (The Tragically Hip were tragically misguided with their insolence towards poet-peer-pressure).
4. I still like the Tragically Hip.
5. Due to confusing circumstances, I once saw the Hip play a stadium show for $7.
6. That and The Concert for Toronto are the only stadium shows I’ve ever seen.
7. I don’t get out much (that’s not news; everyone knows that).
8. Also not news: I hate having eyebrows, and it’s only social conformity that keeps me from shaving them off. Instead, I talk about hating eyebrows all the time–hence the not-news-ness.
9. From ages 7 to 10, I skipped rope on a competitive team. I was nowhere near good enough to keep on with that, but to this day, I’m a better skipper than most adults who have never skipped competitively.
10. I can’t shuffle cards, whistle, ski, ice-skate, snap the fingers on my left hand, rollerblade, dive, or do a cartwheel. Whew. That’s a weight off my shoulders, confessing that.
11. I didn’t drink coffee until I was 23.
12. As a child, I was obsessed with ants (oh my god, I was right; this is so boring).
13. If I really like a song or album, I listen to it dozens of times in a row, until I either hate it or have to go to bed. I think it’s a similar instinct to really liking a piece of cake, so you sort of want to eat the whole cake. It’s an aural binge.
14. I can get my bra off without removing my blouse–a leftover from being a self-conscious kid in high-school gym. I’m now a self-conscious adult at the commerical gym, so it still helps.
15. I have never met a famous person who wasn’t famous for writing.
16. I am related to a spy (now dead, but I probably still shouldn’t elaborate on that).
17. I have small titanium screws in the bones in my jaw, right in front of each ear.
18. I have been hit by cars three times in three cities, never with any damage.
19. I was the one who chose the pull quote (“The alarm bell had been ringing for years”) on the Canadian paperback of Jonathan Franzen’s *The Corrections*. I’ve been dying to tell that for ages!!
20. I’m just too boring to come up with five more, I’m so sorry.

You said you didn’t give a f*ck about hockey / and I’d never heard someone say that before
RR

January 27th, 2009

Perils of Stupidity

J: (describes briefly a bit of dishonest business that someone offered her, that she immediately saw through) He obviously thought I was pretty stupid.
Me: Yeah, what a jerk.
J: Yeah.
Me: (thinks for a while, ostensibly doing something else) It’s a good thing you’re *not* stupid.
J: (laughing) Yeah, that usually works out pretty well for me.
Me: No, I mean, I mean, some people are though…
J: Yeah?
Me: Stupid, I mean. And you know, I hope they don’t just get lied to all the time. Because, well, it’s not *their* fault.
J: Well, yeah.
Me: You know what I mean?

RR

November 24th, 2008

Minor pleasures

Because there can never be too many, here are some minor pleasures to try:

1) Telling strangers their dogs are cute.
2) Getting an up-to-date phone book and recycling the old one.
3) Touching paper over glass. Seriously–the nicest sensation. There was an ill-placed window in the changing room of my gym that they just recently papered over (I never noticed it before, but that doesn’t bear thinking about) and I am now in love with touching that window. Cold through dry–I can’t explain it. It’s lovely.
4) 14 second video of a kitten falling asleep.
4 a) The fact that when I mentioned this at a party, everyone wanted to see.
b) The fact that when we searched this on someone’s iPhone at the party, there were *pages* of sleepy kitten videos
c) Other people’s iPhones, one of the only things on the planet that inspire technolust in me.
5) A peck on the cheek.
6) Feeling smug about buying nothing on Buy Nothing Day

They always did the best they could.
RR

October 29th, 2008

January 30, 2008

Because I am having a yucky day, I am reposting my favourite Rose-coloured post of all time. I hope it cheers you up as it does me:

Walking Down the Street, Warm and Misty Out
Me (coughing): I’m a little sick.
B: You are.
Me (coughing)
B: You are a little ho(a)rse.
Me: Heh.
B: You remember that, that joke? Horse-hoarse?
Me: Yeah, heh. Baaaah.
B: …
Me: Neeeigh.
B: You’re a little strange.
Me: Heh.
B: Heh.
Me: Was that part of it?
B: Part of…?
Me: Was that a joke? Part of the joke?
B: Well, yeah. Because I said you were a little horse and you said “baaah” and then you said “neigh,” so I said you were a little strange for doing that.
Me: Oh, ok, that’s funny.
B: Yeah, you just needed some context.
Me: Yeah.
B: Only, you actually had context to start with, since you were there.
Me: Yeah.
B: Huh.
Me: It wasn’t like I was just working my way around the barnyard, though.
B: ???
Me: Like, I made a mistake, making the sheep noise, but then I corrected myself and made the horse noise. I wasn’t just doing all the animals, I wasn’t going to say moo next.
B: Ah.
Me: It wasn’t “baah comma neigh,” it was “baah cut off with dash neigh.”
B: I retract my earlier comment.
Me: The stenographer that we pull along behind us in a little red wagon will strike it from the record.
B: You aren’t strange at all.
Me: Duly noted.