September 10th, 2007

The Inuit invented sunglasses!!

I didn’t know that. Now I know!

Smarter every day!

RR

Lit-Life Weekend

I wonder if people wonder about me as a writer: I’m so talky, such “Go Team!” type, that it might not seem immediately apparent how I manage to make a go of any project I have to do in silence alone in a room. And it is difficult for me–the phone and Facebook (and this blog) become great temptations when I go too long without chatter. But the writing life does have its social outlets, I’m beginning to discover, and I’m not the only one who likes to see and hear words in a party-type atmosphere.

So Friday night was an actual party at which pretty much everyone was a writer, and a friendly one at that (why else go to the party?) I feel as though there were 20 books in the brains of that room, just pulsing, ripening. Someday I will read those books and I really can’t wait, but in the meantime it was such a joy to be chattering about what they shall or might be, as well as what my own might become someday. “Somedayness” can be a terrifying feeling or a delightful one, but I am feeling strong today, and so am delighted.

Saturday I actually *did* manage to spend on my own, finishing one story and writing a chunk of a new one. Also sleeping late (8:30!) and going to a Pilates class and doing laundry and all those other things that a solitary day is good for. I felt very productive, and Rose-coloured central is very clean now. Sadly, it is also catless, as Marlene-the-cat got recalled to her home. It was fun while it lasted.

Sunday, as you may already know, was Eden Mills Writers’ Festival, which is basically an afternoon of wonderful readings and book sales in the hills outside Guelph. It’s a gorgeous spot and the volunteers do an amazing job not just rounding up great readers but organizing and presenting and smiling at every attendee as if they are personally thrilled you made it. I was thrilled I made it, despite the cold (I was determined to wear my red sundress, but I had to put tights and a turtleneck underneath. I looked a little odd, especially when I broke down and put a cardigan and a windbreaker on over top) and the rain (I watched a few readings from under my umbrella). Ok, so the weather was decidely poor, but the turnout was still impressive and the readers rose admirably to the occasion. And, well, if I’m a little ill now, it was totally worth it.

I have a lot to learn from such readers, as I myself will be reading from my story “All the Ghostlies” at the Hart House Open House Wednesday evening (7ish, if you are interested). I’m pretty excited, to be honest. More talking!!

Hope your weekend was good, too!

It was the myth of fingerprints / that’s why we must learn to live alone
RR

September 7th, 2007

Long Friday

Today at work, I dropped my employee id in the toilet. Almost worse: being discovered washing said id in the sink.

Hey, remember that time I was going to the Biodome for some Intro Geography field trip and the girl sitting at right angles to me on the Metro projectile vomited on my new jacket? And continued on vomiting (into her gloves) until the next stop (Pie-IX??) so she couldn’t apologize before I ran away in grossoutedness. Once off the subway, I had no idea where I was, so I went into the only nearby business, a car rental agency and begged to use the restroom. I didn’t explain why, but perhaps the lady behind the counter could guess from the smell, because she let me. I was scrubbing both my jacket and my sweater (yes, it soaked through) in the sink when an enormously pregnant rental-car-agency employee came in, *did* bat an eye but only once, then went about her business.

When I left the restroom (finally) I asked the counter clerk for a plastic bag to put my dripping wad of wet laundry in, and all she had a was a garbage bag. So I show up late at the Biodome with a garbage bag thrown over my shoulder like a hobo sack, and freezing cold because I’m minus two layers. Some nice boy from my class found me and reaffiliated me with the tour, and eventually took me home on the *bus* (I went the wrong way, should never have even been on the Metro) and I was so cold and mizzy that I never even bothered to flirt with him. I think his name was Anthony. Nice boy from first-year geography class, if you are reading this, is your name Anthony?

Remember when I thought I was going to major in geography? Ha!

Enjoy a little kiss and tell
RR

September 3rd, 2007

Weekend Summation

–What blue blue skies!
–Tequila Bookroom has a rooftop patio that is gorgeous. Did you know that? I didn’t know that.
–I bought patent leather shoes. They are very shiny.
–Kim(berly) came to visit and she has been in the sun so much this summer that she is blonder than ever. Lemon blond, Barbie blond, it’s insane. And she is also well and charming as ever, and the visiting cat adores her.
–Oh my goodness, the weather was so gorgeous–sunny and warm, but with a coolish breeze and at any hour the sun seems to be on a tilt. I guess this is what they mean by Indian Summer. Is that expression still acceptable, political-correctness-wise?
–I also bought a $98 sweater for $24. That makes it easier to accept that sweater-weather is coming.
—High School Musical: the Concert lacks exposition.
–Long weekends are nice.
–What are we celebrating on Labour Day again?

Get your head in the game!
RR

August 31st, 2007

If they were going to abbreviate something, why TGIF?

Isn’t it nice enough to spell out in full? Especially on a day when one has the leisure time to do so.

Mmm, a three-day weekend, haven’t had one of *those* in a while. No, that’s a lie, I had three days off in July, when I went to Ottawa. But travelling, while awesome, is not *relaxing.* This afternoon when I got home, I took a *nap.* I might take another one before bed tonight. We’ll see (there’s good comedy sketch floating around somewhere, about Ronald Regan, featuring a bedtime nap–think it’s on YouTube?)

Actually, tonight after I have digested dinner I’ll probably go the gym. I meant to go for a run in the glorious cool sunshine, but the nap and the dinner made it later, and the long shadows in the ravine at dusk freak me out. Plus the new gym is still new enough to feel fun. For one thing, it’s right around the corner, so I can go late in the evening, go spontaneously, not shower or change after, just lunge home. Gosh, this is boring.

Ok, the really cool thing about the gym is that they have televisions there, and if you bring your own headset you can plug yourself in and choose from 5 or 6 scintillating cable shows.

Now we know that Casa Rose-coloured is tv-free since the unfortunate incident that I actually didn’t witness but that broke my tv somewhere in 2004. And as for cable, it has never been a presence in my life. I grew up in a so-called dead zone (note: not a metaphor) where none of the cable companies are willing to run service. That’s right, “willing”. We used to think that they weren’t *able* for some reason, but it turns out that the population densitiy is just too low to make the initial investment in infrastructure worthwhile. It’s very annoying, but it probably made for a purer childhood.

I’ve almost never, for example, seen music videos. Not even at friends’ houses, as most friends who were close enough to share appliances also lived in the dead zone. We really thought that half an hour of *Video Hits* Sunday afternoons on CBC was as good as it got.

As I got older, I realized how wrong we were–at parties, in hotel rooms, other people’s houses, university residence. And of course, my folks did some sort of satellite fandango the year I moved out and got *everything*. The year I moved out, figures. But it’s hard to make it a priority, you know? So the gym is really my first chance to watch whatever I want (well, Much and some other version of Much) for as long as I want. Which as it turns out, is most of my cardio, which is bad news indeed for the *New Yorker* (hmm, note to self: *New Yorker* not person, cannot be offended nor miss you.)

Oh, and did I mention I go to a “women’s gym” where everyone’s fiftyish and monied and “concentrating” (so why did I choose it? It was the cheapest, strangely.) The only people young and even vaguely hip are the staff, who I guess set the channels. So when the permanent wave ladies stroll past me as I’m chuckling away at My Chemical Romance and those cheerleaders in gasmasks (brilliant–what’s that song called?) it makes me feel vaguely young and hip, too.

Also I’m getting lots of cardio in, which is good.

Also it took me nearly two hours to get from work to the doctor’s office today (it was a half day). BIRT this is not a TTC rant way-station. Hence, perhaps, the need for the nap.

I took a shuttle on the shock wave
RR

August 29th, 2007

Two days in

My new job is fine, I think. I haven’t really done much yet, except read the manual and decorate my cube and get lost a bunch of times and have to be extracted from the building by friendly HR folk. Ok, actually I haven’t done anything: my new boss is ill, no one else knows how she wanted me trained and are too busy to do so anyway, and I don’t know anything so I can’t be in anyway helpful. Everyone I’ve met is super nice and friendly, but they can’t chat for too long because they have work to do. It’s no one’s fault, but I’m sorta going nuts.

On the upside, the homepage of my internet there is MSN/Sympatico, which I have never scene before. These were the headlines when I logged in this morning:

Facebook everywhere
Owen Wilson is going to be okay
South Park pushes boundaries again
Dress cute for less
Tips for snagging lower airfares

Aka: the news *every day*.

Ruby asked him with a grin

August 26th, 2007

Goodbye, Whippersnappers

Yesterday was my last day of teaching. In many ways, it was much the saddest job parting ever, because unlike adults you can’t really expect nine-year-olds to keep in touch, and often they just scamper away without even allowing you to rhapsodize about how much you like them. Of course, adults are often lying when they say they’ll stay in touch, and even when they say how much they like you, but at least it is a nice social/sentimental ritual. For my adult colleagues, a couple of whom I genuinely expect to stay friends with because they are so awesome, I got a card. I’ve recently discovered this insane line of nonsensical cards made out of cut-n-paste natural paper. They are blank inside and the pictures on the fronts are to me inexplicable. The one I got for the teaching staff had a chicken (fully grown) busting out of a brown egg while wearing a red church hat and a bow-tie, under a pink and white bow. Hilarious and random, I thought. As I was writing out the card, though, I showed it to the kids and said, “This is for the other teachers, isn’t it bizarre? What do you suppose it means?” To which the whole class responded, “Rebecca, that’s an Easter card!” You could practically hear the implied you idiot. This is pretty much how my whole teaching career has gone. When I handed the card to Ellen, I pointed out that I now knew it was aseasonal and said I was still a little mystified. She opened the card and pointed out that the loops of the topmost bow were actually disembodied bunny ears, which is not only weird but creepy, when you think about it.

I’m really gonna miss that place.

I’m a punk rock prom queen
RR

August 24th, 2007

Closing announcement script

Your attention, please. The building will close in five minutes. I repeat, the building will close in five minutes.

Please leave immediately.

Thank you.

Goodbye, library

In one hour and twelve minutes, I won’t work here anymore. Sniff. It was just a temporary student job, a few hours per week and not that involved, but I have really really liked it here. I like my boss, my colleagues, the location, not so much the actual building but how near it is to other good things, and people. I liked how I could always run into people I know at work. Ok, ok, I really like how work allowed me to do my own thing a lot of the time. Expect a dip in posting from here on in.

Sigh. I made the muffins, I hugged my supervisor, I’m off to a posh pub with AMT ce soir, everything is sorted. I’m just a little sad. Only.

Sweetheart / bitter heart / now I can’t tell you apart
RR

August 22nd, 2007

September 6, 2005

My stressed state persisted all weekend, through an awesome bye-Becky party on Friday night, having Jaime in town until Saturday, going to see Merchant of Venice in the park, volunteering, picnicking on P.’s roof and then dinner with J. last night. I thought booking up my weekend would distract me and calm me down, but it only brought on this weird, MPD-ish multitasking stress, in which my brain pursued two channels of panic simultaneously. Ie. “I have nothing witty to say! Nothing! And I can’t fit this leaf of lettuce in my mouth. I shall bite part of it off the fork. It won’t come off the fork, but my teeth are already dug into this end. I can’t spit out bitten lettuce. Ok, now lettuce is dangling from mouth. I am covered with greenery and I’ve never even read ‘To the Lighthouse.’ I have no time to finish Mrs. Dalloway, either, and I can’t read it on campus because then people will see the cover and realize that I have reached my advanced age and never read ANY VIRGINIA WOOLF at all, and yet I presume to take a class on her work and they will laugh me out of the program. I cannot go on. This dinner must end. I have to go home and read The Mrs. Dalloway Reader. Possibly while under the bed.”

But I did not do that. I survived and showed up for orientation this morning. It went *fine*! Actually, some parts of it were pretty good. Like, on the subway to campus, I was reading Nancy Franklin’s TV column in the New Yorker, and she mentioned, just a throwaway remark when she was really talking about something else, Showtime’s “asymptotic” relationship with HBO and I actually stopped reading and looked away and had think about it before I laughed. And then I thought some more and laughed some more (this is all quietly, in my head, mind you. No one looked at me funny) and wondered why people don’t talk that way in real life. And then I got to where I was meeting my big sibling, who was to escort me to orientation, which was in no way his job but he is nice and I am incompetent when scared. Anyway, we were walking and he asked if we could cross the street because it was too sunny and he’s super-fair and easily burnt. He remarked, “I don’t get the point of sun, myself. I mean, I get the photosynthetic point of the sun, but…” And I felt a little inkling that I might be in the right place.

Orientation was a bit daunting but nice. The chair of the department said we were all awesome and deserved to be there, even though we might doubt ourselves and wonder if we were smart enough, which was good of her to say, because I certainly wonder that. And she reminded us to be social and not get isolated and constantly worry about grades, and I was like, Oh, yeah, grades! Because, in my extreme anxiety about being too stupid to live and not having read anything worthwhile and generally f*ing up this wonderful opportunity, I’d kinda not thought about what form said f*ing up would take. Like, no one’s going to put me in the stockade or anything, they’ll just give me a C. It all seemed kinda ludicrious, when I thought about it like that.

Wow, I’m babbly. It was quite a day, I guess, though I should also admit that not all that much happened. I should’ve known better than to think that orientation meetings and a reception were worth all that stress.

Every few years, radical life change. No problem, right?

The cabaret was quiet
RR