Time The Avenger

Life can be so fast paced that slowing down seems like a concession. I don't generally confront this fact until forced to, as when I find myself walking behind a group of older people.

Look at them, so dear and so wise. They may not smell like you and me but they know more than just how to crowd a sidewalk. They're in the most important footrace but still manage to savour each moment as they make their way.

Someday, that'll be me - stealth no longer mine, my body a network of betrayal. Then my instincts take over. A couple of well placed kicks and canes and limbs go flying. I laugh along my way to new adventures and know they barely have time to even wonder what hit them. Ah, to be youngish.

The New Guy (A Honeypot Mystery) - Audio Blog

It's been quite some time since I've done an audio blog post and so, please direct yourself to the little GCast player on my sidebar to the right (under Let's Go Audio) and press play. It clocks in at a very lengthy 86 seconds so hopefully, it won't hurt too much.

It's going to be a long summer. How do I know? Honeypot's got a new man (or an old one) and it could get pretty sleazy. If I'm lucky.

Walk This Way

Today I found myself wrapped up in an accidental enterprise. I was minding my own (and everyone else's) business walking the block or so back from the bank to my office. Crossing the street, I spied a decent sized group of middle aged tourist types. My recourse seemed simple - I'd swath right through the centre of them and continue on my way.

As I started through, they somehow closed in around me and boom - I'm on a guided walking tour led by someone clucking in umlauts and hurdy gurdy wordiness. Dutch I figured.

It took a bit of jostling but I freed myself as quickly as possible and carried on my way. For a moment, and my trouble, I considered letting them in on this great place I know for coffee but my chewy Canadian centre wouldn't allow it - we need the tourist dollars.

You're welcome Canada! My country 'tis of thee. Wait, wrong country. Never mind.

Honey For The Bees

My Guitar Hero fascination has waned sufficiently that I no longer feel withdrawal pains when I'm away from my plastic toy (that didn't sound right). Interest may be renewed when the Aerosmith edition lands in a store near me but only if a Steven Tyler scarf is included to hang on the end of my guitar (and by guitar, I mean guitar).

You'd think this would free me up to get outdoors and spy on Honeypot more. No, I busy myself now with praying for rain so as not to feel guilty about strapping myself in for hours and playing Super Mario Galaxy. Although the cartoon violence is mild, I make sure to swear as much as possible while failing at ridiculous tasks to make it seem more like an adult pursuit.

At points in the game, Mario gets a little help by transforming and acquiring new abilities. When he turned into a bee, I thought, I really should be blogging. I waited several hours until that passed but now I'm in between galaxies so here I am.In other news, I'll be calling the first lady of tact in a short while to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. I sent her a book I think she'll enjoy and hope she'll remember not to try reading it while driving. The most comforting part of the call is in our ritual at the end. Her "I wish you were closer" will be answered by my "yes, I know". I'm fairly sure the quiet delight that I'm not, goes unnoticed.

It's looking like a decent day shaping up so I really should fly and see what the buzz is in the outside world.

This Is Not A Love Song (KBL Edition)

After being Korean Bagel Lady'd (thanks for the terminology Barbara), I realized there was a bit of information I'd forgotten to impart. While I'm still compiling documentary evidence of her henchwoman for Kim Jong Il status, I now at least know her name. She has a name ladies and gentlemen!

Back in the carefree days before she tried to poison me, I overheard someone at the counter say "Hi Joanne!" in the Bagel Lady's general direction. I asked if that was indeed her name and she verified it. I told her I'd expected something a little more exotic. She said "Well, my real name is Gin". Seeing her neckerchiefed helper working in the back, I said "So I guess you two are like Gin & Tonic then?". Her humourless "No" dashed my hopes of writing a buddy cop screenplay based on their adventures.

It wasn't until Coaster Punchman commented that if the Korean Bagel Lady and his nemesis Mama Gin met, they might cancel each other out. Reading that was like being struck with the force of, I'd say, four to six stale bagels. There are two Gins! Evil twin Gins perhaps separated at birth and by nation.

All this Gin flowing seems to support my view that evil grows in the dark, where the sun it never shines. If I was a man of prayer, I might say Saints preserve us! Instead, I'll just cling to to my belief that I'm tastier than her coffee will ever be.

The Make Up Sex Should Be Awesome!

The unthinkable has happened - I've broken up with the Korean Bagel Lady! Before you leave me for dead, please hear my tale and then judge.

Last week on a work day filled with unsanctioned breaks and work avoidance, Jessica and I stopped to kibbitz with everyone's favourite bagel lady and get a cup of coffee. From there, we headed for the parkette outside the building to take our places on a bench warmed by spring sunlight.

We chatted a bit and I took a sip of my coffee. That's not right I thought, it must be the gum in my mouth. I went ahead and took a bigger sip and thought that weird taste can't just be from my gum. I asked Jessica to try hers and she did a brilliant spit take followed by a rapid fire: That's awful, there's something wrong with this coffee! Tastes like there's something in it that shouldn't be.

Seconds later, my tongue was tingling and my lips felt numb. This was more than just the heady thrill of being outside for the first time in months without a jacket, this was from coffee most foul. We headed back inside and approached the scene of the crime with caution.

After treading through our explanation, the Bagel Lady asked So, maybe coffee is too weak? No, it's not weak, there's a chemical taste to it, I said. No use any chemical, only clean machine Fridays with safe "cleaning" that company give me (she owns a franchise).

Maybe coffee too strong? she continued. Quickly becoming exasperated, I said No, it's not too strong, it's not too weak, but it's definitely not just right, there's something wrong with it! She scowled and said Here, let me see - which one Jessica and not yours? She took a swig from her cup and looking more sour than usual found her breakthrough moment. Yes, it bad, she declared.

You'd better throw out the rest of that pot before someone else drinks it, Jessica said. Skipping over this point she went straight to You want free coffee? Here, I give. She was about to pour a new cup out of the same pot. You can't serve the rest of that coffee!, we chastised, there's something wrong with it!. She acquiesced and disposed of the rancid brew. She then told us to wait while she made a fresh pot.

We compared symptoms and wondered what our livers were about to start trying to process until the new brew was ready. We hesitantly poured and went for the milk. It was empty. You're out of milk I said. Here, new one. As soon as it hit the hot coffee, the milk curdled. I can't take any more of this, let's just go, Jessica said. We told her we'd decided to pass on the idea of coffee today and she countered with Come back tomorrow, I give you free one!

Within a half hour, my head was pounding. I'm getting a headache now I called over the partition separating my deluxe cubicle from Jessica's. So am I. We shared some Advil and started drinking lots of water.

When I got home that evening, I brushed my teeth and tongue several times but the funny taste/feeling lasted right through to the next day. Jessica had enjoyed her evening even more after spending part of it throwing up.

We went back to our would be executioner and told her about it. She at first tried to say that we were just thinking about it too much and that's why we felt funny, you imagine it. When she saw that we were about to reach over the counter and brain her, she said she'd isolated the rest of the bags of coffee from that batch and opened a new case. She also called the company to test the coffee. Free one? she asked. We declined.

She refused to agree that there was any sort of chemical involved although my thoughts went to her long ago claims to having put bleach and CLR in my coffee. My guess is that maybe she did clean the pot out with something and forgot to rinse it.

I haven't been back since. I've walked by a few times and tried to avoid her icy stare. My response has been to just smile back while shielding her competitor's coffee cup from view. I know that sooner more likely than later, my body will betray me and demand bacon on one of her damned cheese bagels and I'll be back, but for now, I'm just biding my tongue time. I know which side my bagel's buttered on!

PS: While I have broken up with her, I haven't forgotten you my lovely readers and commenters. I've just been very busy. As soon as I have time, I'll break up with you properly.

Honeypot's Spring Line

Ah, spring. The plastic bags are in the trees, the sun is shining like it means to stay and my neighbor Honeypot has emerged from hibernation.

In less than a week, the old gal has played hostess to four spectacular backyard fires and is a definite shoe in to re-light that pesky torch should the I.O.C. run into any more trouble.

She's also been busy spring cleaning. How can I tell? Several garbage bags await rescue and as it's a week early for pick up, milady has made sure they have some company. The couch formerly gracing the backyard may have witnessed one startling romp too many and has been dragged curbside. The sight just brightens the whole neighborhood.

Click photo to behold the glory.

Not having a clothesline hasn't stopped my Honeypot from hanging her clothes out either. Eaves troughs until now have been too singularly purposed don't you think? It may not be evident from my surveillance photo but be assured, there are several sweatshirts in her signature red hanging just above that old pot, not unlike the way they hang on her.


I think I've asked this before but now I'm pleading, won't you be my neighbor?

Naked City (I Wish!)

One thing I enjoy about living in the big city is judging categorizing people based on their looks as I walk by them. Although I've no proof that any of my guesses are correct, I'm convinced they are.

Look! There goes a harried single mom, someone else who's one bad decision away from being homeless, a heart attack waiting to happen, a chronic masturbator, a model slash actress, a diddler, and a bouncer who needs to get off the 'roids. There are eight million stories in the naked city but I've only got time for one, this is rush hour.

Each morning walking through Union Station, I see a man standing in the same spot, cellphone to his ear. Something about the way he's dressed and the life's beaten me down look he wears tells me he's busy placing bets with a bookie. I've passed him nearly every day for a couple of years so I should know.

A few days ago I slowed down and went to put my newspaper in the recycling bin near where he stands and finally overheard him conducting this piece of nasty business: "I just wanted to make sure you were up honey, hope you have a wonderful day, I love you very much". My guess is that he calls the bookie right after that. In fact, I'd bet on it.

Can't You Read The Sign?

All week long, I've been stealing the signs in our building announcing the Theft and Fraud Awareness seminar scheduled for next week. Nobody's come for me yet, I'm a little disappointed.

In other news, our local information channel with the sexy ticker type display let me down today. As a Canadian, it is important that I have up to the minute weather information without having to look through the window next to the television.

The damned thing was stuck going back and forth announcing the times for sunrise and sunset over and over, useful perhaps if I still had my dream of someday starring in Fiddler on the Roof but no help to me should I end up in a small talk situation today. The horror.

Why I Love British Telly

This first bit I saw on Allison's blog and it kept me laughing through the day yesterday. It's from a show called The F Word with Gordon Ramsay. Ricky Gervais is the guest diner.



Why can't North American chat shows be more like The Graham Norton Show? I first heard of him on Melinda June's blog and I believe Gifted Typist has mentioned him as well. I think he was featured on the Kathy Griffin D-List episode when she went to London too. I've seen two episodes on BBC Canada but it only took one to hook me.

Happy Endings

While it's true that here in Canadaland gumdrops and health care are free, it follows that you must generally do something stupid to get that free health care (the gumdrops you can just pick off the trees).

A few weeks ago, I was lamenting not being able to hold dance classes on the back deck as it was still covered with white stuff snow. My brain, being the underused entity that it is, told me I should get a bit of exercise and shovel the damned stuff onto the lawn before my dreams collapsed along with the deck.

I cleared most of it away and was ready to sign up new students when a couple of days later, the phrase pain in the neck took on a meaning I'd not previously understood. The act of turning my head even slightly sent shock waves through me as the spasms took over. I called on my brain for solutions and all it could come up with was I bet you could score some good drugs out of this.

As I'm in the process of breaking up with my own doctor because I can never reach him (he never seems to be free), I went to one of those tiny magical kingdoms known as a walk-in clinic. The doctor there took one look at me and suggested some medication, an x-ray and some physiotherapy. (Treatment and muscle relaxants are not quite as free as everything else but my plan at work covers me with a thousand sweet kisses).

When the lovely therapist saw how incredibly stiff I was, she tried some manipulation and then asked if I'd ever tried acupuncture. Well, stick a needle in me - I'd never thought of it but was willing to try nearly anything for a bit of relief.

After one session, the difference was quite remarkable. A few more visits and I'm a very happy and pain free fellow. At my last session, the therapist said "I think I'm going to give you a soft discharge", a phrase more fraught with meaning than this entire recounting. My eyebrow raised as I thought "that's gotta cost extra!" but she continued on - "That means you don't need to come back unless you have a flare up but if you do, your file is open and you can just book an appointment and I'll fix you right up".

No longer sitting on pins and needles about the potential for big pain from channeling Amy Winehouse while shaking my head and saying No No No to the Korean Bagel Lady's advances, once again I am ready to rumble rhumba!

Who Can Take A Nothing Day...

Now that Mary Tyler Moore's had all that freaky plastic surgery, the answer to the musical question 'Who can turn the world on with her smile?' is up for grabs again and I may know just the candidate.

I'm not generally known to be a shiny happy person anytime say, before 5 p.m. and lately when I go to get coffee from the Korean Bagel Lady, she's taken to saying things like "Why you not smile?" or "What's wrong? You look too serious today!". This of course forces me to smile and say "I'm fine!" while my brain screams "I'm fucking tired of winter and this coffee had better be good!"

If I happen to go for a hot beverage with the lovely Jessica, equal parts blonde and adorable, the Bagel Lady lights up like a Fourth of July Canada Day fireworks display and I fade into the background which suits me just fine.

When we stopped for coffee today, she looked at Jessica and said "Hi Sunshine!" and then turned to me and said "Hi Sundown". We all laughed and I died a little inside.

Better Than Watching Paint Dry

After Grant Miller left me a cryptic message in the snow yesterday, I puzzled over just how powerful this character might be.

He quickly realized I was on to him and conspired with the elements once more to remove any evidence he'd been there. As my camera was nearby, I have at least some evidence left to study. Grant works in mysterious ways.

Walking Tall

Pride comes before a fall - how many times have I heard that? While I'm not trying to debunk the words of the Hebrews or the rock band Sweet, sometimes there are other forces, like gravity, that come into play.

While it would be easy to say I was a deep thinker as a child and unaware of my surroundings, the truth is, I was plain old clumsy. Slipping, tripping and falling helped me decorate my early life in shades of black and blue.

When the gang would be riding bikes down a hill or over a ramp, I'd be the one that ended up going over the handlebars; when we were pushing each other into the deep end of the pool, I was the one who instead of hitting the water, hit my front teeth on the cement border surrounding it. I could go on but let's just say steady as he goes is not how anyone would have described me.

It was fun for a while using the old "I fell off the swing" defense when someone asked what had happened to me but when the social workers started showing up, I knew I needed a new tack.

I decided to make an effort to think before I walked, ran, leapt or dove. It worked to an extent except when I forgot myself and did something boneheaded like running out from between parked cars.

I'm forever indebted to Pong for helping me achieve a little better hand eye coordination but I still have to think about the simplest motor movements to keep myself from ending up splayed across the universe.

On my way down the stairs from the train to the concourse on my way to work, I always step carefully knowing well that one false move could start a chain reaction injuring dozens. A few days ago, I'd just I started my in-head mantra (left, right, left, right) when the man ahead of me lost his footing and slipped down three stairs. He nearly took out the girl in front of him eliciting gasps and are you alrights from the people around him.

Me? I had to quell the urge to burst out laughing. I mean really, is there anything funnier than hands and arms flailing like that? Loser.

This Is Pop? (Redux)

I've been a delinquent writer and reader lately but I make no excuses, just a mention.

As it's Easter time, find forgiveness in your hearts as I repost something from the archives that sums up nearly everything you need to know about me.

In honour of the torture that I put my mother through each Easter, I have spent many seconds composing something worthy of her ire:

All around the burning bush
The heathens chased the Jesus
They tacked him up but three days in
Pop! goes the Jesus

Poor Mothra. Every year she falls victim to my retelling of the same old jokes, never remembers the punchline and is suitably horrified when I relate the following:

What did Jesus say while he was up on the cross? Get my flats, these spikes are killing me.

I am a bad son. I'm good with that though.

I hope everyone gets and enjoys a nice long weekend. And chocolate for all!

Use It Or Lose It - Vol 1 & 2

Volume 1

It amuses me that people find the phrase 'to make a long story short' such a time waster that they go with the more economy minded 'long story short' instead.

Volume 2

My mother recently called my sister to say:

I was driving down a narrow street and cars were parked on both sides. The next thing I knew, my side view mirror was gone! And do you know how much it cost to replace? It was two hundred and some dollars! Can you imagine?!

She made no other mention of the hit and run parked car violation.

Do I Look Old In This?

Today I had to wear a suit to work for a job interview that I'm pretty sure I sucked at. The best part walking among the sloppy dressers was the comments: Oh! Look at you! You must have a job interview! and Going to a funeral?

My favourite remark came from Mr. Korean Bagel Lady who was co-minding the bagel joint today. You look one year younger dressed up. You're 45 right? When I replied I'm 44, he cackled his Oh, sorry! and sent me on my way.

I Made It Through The Wilderness

Not being the type to play with matches (I prefer lighters) it's difficult to figure why fire always wants to make friends with me. Yes, I dabbled in candle making for a while and sure, I was in Las Vegas when the Monte Carlo hotel caught fire but that probably had nothing to do with me.

I haven't even written about an incident several years ago where I walked into my brother's high rise apartment to find it engulfed in flames. I had to wake him from a stupor to get him to safety but for now, I'm concentrating on adding my Dad's 80th birthday celebration dinner to the fire story archives.

Six of the nine offspring made it home to pay homage to Dad and we were joined by assorted in-laws, friends and relatives. The plan was for a nice dinner at a Chinese restaurant which had a private room to contain our rambunctiousness until we could make it to the after party at my sister's house.

On our way to the restaurant, a snowstorm just getting underway helped make the drive a true labour of love. We arrived to greetings from a world weary waitress with a complexion the colour of waxy buildup. She showed us to our seats and we got to figuring which delights on offer we'd order. I settled on a Szechuan combination plate that included Lemon Chicken. I asked if I could have the lemon sauce on the side and her reply of "If I remember" set the tone for service.

We haphazardly received our meals but spirits remained high through all our funning and everything was excellent. Dinner wound down while the storm raged on, the flickering lights generating more conversation about the storm. I figured if the power went out, so would the electric abacus and there might be trouble figuring out how to pay.

Nearing the end of our meal, the waitress re-entered the room with a piece of cake lit with a single candle for the guest of honour as the lights blinked some more. "Oh, the lights are flickering in here too?" she asked. "Must be the storm" someone answered. "Oh no, there's an electrical fire in the wall at the back of the restaurant but it's nothing to worry about. If you hear sirens or see firetrucks pulling up, don't worry, just enjoy the rest of your meal!". Her exit was far less dramatic than her last statement.

The roomful of confused patrons left in her wake puzzled over what she'd said: "A fire? In the wall? Did she say just say there was a fire in the wall?" "Should we still be here if there's a fire?" "Was she serious?"

A minute or so later, a troop of firefighters stormed into the restaurant with axes and a chainsaw. They looked at us as and quickly sent the manager in. "I'm sorry but the firemen think we should ask people to leave the restaurant, sorry!" he said beating his retreat.

We donned our coats and made a Seinfeldian run for it as my parents lingered at the back of the line. I'm glad I didn't have to push either of them out of my way, that may have looked bad. The smell of smoke was just becoming evident as we slipped and slid our way into the parking lot toward our cars with the other confused patrons.

There seemed to be nothing else to do but leave so we did. Everyone had trouble navigating through the blizzard but we all made it back safely to my sister's place. We had a good laugh at the strange turn of events and much cake and liquor was consumed, my father enjoying the festivities very much.

The storm led to cancellation of my flight home the following day and so I got an unplanned but nice extra day to recover and debrief the celebrations.

The restaurant ended up with a section of wall chainsawed out but the problem was fixed, patched up and they reopened two days later. We checked in on the bill and they knocked 75 dollars from the total for the inconvenience of having our lives endangered.

I made it home the following night and now we're in the middle of a snowstorm here. I really wish I didn't have to work. Anyone got a light?

*Edit: It struck me after reading this again that I didn't clarify that the waitress was Caucasian. It wouldn't really matter although my description of her 'waxy buildup' may have sounded mildly racist as in 'waxy yellow buildup' from an old commercial I remember. I'm never mildly racist, I always go full out.

Whine & Dine

The short version - my Dad turned 80, relatives arrived, the Chinese restaurant we went to caught fire during our meal and we had to be evacuated.

I was to leave town this morning but we've been hit with just the type of flight canceling snowstorm I adore. I won't be able to get a flight out until tomorrow evening.

More to follow.

I'm Off To See The Wizened

My father turned 80 on the 27th of February - Go Dad!

I'll be jetting off to see him from Friday to Sunday (sorry Pop, longer term love comes at a premium).

I will try to exercise a modicum of restraint when dealing with relatives who will be joining in the fun.

Deriving Miss Daisy

There's a billboard near my office building that shouts CANADIAN DERIVATIVES EXCHANGE and provides a web address.

Rather than take the time to investigate what I'm looking at, I am preferring to believe that we as a country are ready to trade some of the paler television fare currently aping American programs with other countries.

If anyone needs Canadian Idol or anything from HGTV Canada, let me know what you've got and we'll talk.

Joseph and the Amazing Technorati Dreamcoat

Now that the abject horror of Valentine's Day has passed, I've become less afraid to declare my love.

Many of you blogger types have posted their link lists and this will make us all Technorati superstars or some such so here goes mine.

I once said that the worst thing about blogging is that it's made of people but that's one of the best things too. Say it with me: awwwwwwww.

If you're not there and you think you should be, let me know and I'll put it to the panel.

• 668 aka Neighbour of the Beast
  
• A Cup of Coffey
• A Twist Of Lemon
• AC@44
• All The Way From Oy To Vey
• American Idolatry: We Judge The Idols
• Anandamide
• Bad Tempered Zombie
• Bella Rossa
• Better Living Through Bacon
• Bliss & Bile
• Blowing Shit Up With Gas
• Casual Slack
• Cello, Et Cetera
• Chancelucky
• Charles Lambert
• Coaster Punchman's World
• Constant Winter
• Costume Jewelry
• Dead Spot On The Web
• Dear Bastards...
• Death Wore A Feathered Mullet
• distributorcap NY
• Eclectic Tales
• Estella's Revenge
• Evil Dictator
• Finely Tuned In Babylon
• Flying Buttresses
• FranIam
• Frankily Yours
• Freelance Cynic
• Gifted Typist
• Grant Miller Media
• Hahn At Home
• Heavy: Lift With Caution
• Here Comes Johnny Yen Again...
• Hometown Pride
• I, Splotchy
• In Her Shell
• Is That So Wrong?
• Jacob's Mom
• Jane Austen Jr.
• Jess Wundrun
• Jintrinsique Unplugged
• Lame Stuff
• Land-o-Lulu
• Melinda June
• Mellow Like Jello
• Monkey In A Suit
• Monkey Muck
• Musings of a Hapabukbuk
• My Head Is A Box Filled With Nothing
• Non Vocabulum
• Pezda's Ghost
• Prone To Whimsy
• Reject The Kool Aid
• Rocket Radio
• Sans Pantaloons
• Save Your Generation
• Self Portrait As
• Skyler's Dad
• Social Zymurgy: The Culture of Beer
• Some Guy's Blog
• Someone Else's Horoscope
• Sprawling Ramshackle Compound
• Suzel's Sass
• Tanya Espanya
• Tenacious S
• The Book Mine Set
• The Church of Lost Souls
• The Pop Eye
• The Rising Blogger
• The Urban Recluse
• The Wildwoods
• The World According To Zed
• The X Spot
• Two Can Anne
• Valerie's Life 2.0
• Wapentake
• Wendy Brandes Jewelry
• What I Like About The Universe
• Where The Walls Are Soft...
• While You're On Your Knees
• Write Procrastinator

Backyard Antics and Oscar Predictions

There appears to be a rabbit with an identity crisis using my backyard to work out his problems. His tracks look pretty Mickey Mouse to me. Click to enlarge.
In other backyard news, Honeypot was out in hers for a while heating things up with some geezer. At least this time, they were building a fire and not engaged in a grotesque hump-fest like that other time.

My prediction for the Oscar telecast tonight is that I'll watch an hour and a bit before giving up.

From The House Of The Dale

Would you think it wrong of me to call the set design for an opera that takes place in a prison arresting?

Would you think it strange that a disclaimer in the program insists No animals were harmed in the making of this production?

Would you believe that a 90 minute one act production can seem longer than a 5 hour opera?

While we're on the topic of would wood, can you imagine how having two naked men, one with substantial equipment, front and centre during a prolonged communal bath scene, might ahem pull focus from the rest of the scene?

From The House of the Dead is an opera by Leoš Janáček based on Dostoevsky's novel Memoirs from the House of the Dead. It tells the stories of several prisoners being held in a Siberian jail. It was difficult to follow. The director's explanation:

There is no plot which can be easily described in a program synopsis...rather, the events resemble video clips - collections of impressions based on the memoirs of prisoners.

My impression was that Janáček would have enjoyed the 10 minute scene of everyone humping someone or something about as much as I'd like to sit with my mother and watch HBO's OZ.

The set, lighting, and projection design was truly incredible but the music (excepting the overture) and singing did not keep me engaged. I've heard opera in Czech before and was happy to find that my expectation of the notes being comprised solely of snorts and phlegm was misguided.

I stopped reading along with the surtitles about 1/3 of the way through and focused on the intricate and perfectly executed projection work. The release of a live falcon representing freedom got the wranglers more prolonged applause at the curtain call than the cast did.

My attempt to not make your sentence any harsher and end on a positive note finds me saying:

This opera was at least as enjoyable as any movie that might rely on a Larry King endorsement in its ad campaign.


+

Mind If I Cut In?

During lunch today, the topic drifted to a discussion of the song You Raise Me Up made famous by Josh Groban and now that über geek from American Idol.

Someone said that at the last few weddings they attended, the groom danced with his mother to that song. I immediately felt ill at the treacly image and said that the lyrics were probably more suited to lovers rather than blood relations.

Everyone disagreed and said it was a lovely and appropriate song. What's wrong with you? they asked. Knowing there simply wasn't time enough for a comprehensive answer to their question, I looked up the lyrics to prove my point.

After highlighting the following verse from the song, everyone ewwwwwwed right along with me and I was happy my disgust hadn't been misplaced.

There is no life - no life without its hunger;
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;
But when you come and I am filled with wonder,
Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity.

My theory was that people are so lazy, they're probably mistaking the title of the song to mean You Raised Me. My horror grew when I did a search on mother / son wedding dance songs and this popped up.

Now I'm really horrified but mostly because Superfreak didn't make the cut.

She Loves Me She Loves Me Not

Today marks the Chinese New Year. Can you guess how I know this?

A) I'm culturally sensitive and aware

B) I'm always looking for a new holiday

C) I drank flavoured coffee and had a run in with the Korean Bagel Lady.



I went to get coffee yesterday and as I was pouring a cup, the Korean Bagel Lady said something that sounded like this: .


I said I have no idea what you just said to which she replied I showing you that I am bilingual. You're very talented I smiled back but I still can't understand you. She said it again and I asked if it meant Dumbass in Korean. She laughed and tried to ring in my coffee but jammed the cash register. As she was pressing buttons to clear it I said I guess I'm not the only one who doesn't understand you. She glared at me and I left.


Moments later, I realized that I was drinking some sort of disgusting flavoured coffee and returned to the scene of the crime. I told the First Lady of Bilingualism that the pots may have gotten switched as this was flavoured coffee. You probably took the wrong one she accused. It wasn't my fault I countered and I hate flavoured coffee. I hate you so we even! She said it with a smile so I waited until later to cry.


I asked about the phrase she'd used earlier that I didn't understand and she said she was wishing me a Happy New Year in Chinese. I thought you were Korean? Yes, I Korean but I'm not stupid and I bilingual. We laughed and then she tried to teach me to say the phrase. In between me trying to say it, she also told me she thinks I slouch when I walk and I must stand straighter. So nice to know others are kind enough to tell me my posturing is getting on their nerves.


After a few efforts, it almost sounded like I was saying Happy New Year and I guess to congratulate me she said what sounded like Now you can bo me. My mind raced - did she just ask me to blow her? Reacting to the puzzled look on my face, she repeated Now you can bo me but this time it sounded more like Now you can bone me. I was really nervous but her husband wasn't around so hmm... Before I could give her my final answer, she bowed to me. Oh, you want me to bow to you! I did and walked away as tall, proud and relieved as I could be.

A Story With Legs And Hats

This is a terrible story but I wouldn't have minded seeing a photo of the woman with the metal table legs just the same.

In other news, the weather today is milder than it's been in weeks which means one thing - it's perfect toque selling weather!

Representatives from a large beer company are on just about every downtown streetcorner selling hats to help the homeless.

Also mere feet from the sellers on the streetcorners? Homeless people. Give them a toque. Or at least a beer.