Different times

Is it okay to describe someone as negro?

A co-worker did that today and it jarred against my ear.

What about putting on a terrible Chinese "accent", complete with l's for r's?

That one was rhetorical. I know the answer to that one.

I guess men of a certain age haven't gotten the memo - times have changed but they have not.

Wrestling

Wrestling with my conscience sucks.

Especially when there's $1250.00 riding on making a morally ambiguous - okay, wrong - choice.

Our neighbourhood wasn't evacuated. We were close to the flooding but our building never even lost power. Our basement didn't get damp. If it hadn't been for the news I might not have even known there was a flood going on.

There is flood relief money -$1250.00 per adult - available for people who were evacuated and left their home for seven days. This obviously doesn't apply to us. Or to our next door neighbours, who didn't leave either (though it would have been nice if they had, and taken their disgusting chain smoking habits with them...but that's another story). But guess who went and claimed disaster relief money?

That's right. Our neighbours. They filled out a form claiming they'd left their home and had been gone for a week. They lied through their nicotine stained teeth and then told us about it while unloading their ill-gotten goods (groceries, clothes, and alcohol) from their taxi cab.

Frick.

We were tempted. I can't lie about that. S. and I aren't rich and we're paying for a wedding in the fall as well as paying off a car and two student loans. We could totally have used two and a half thousand dollars. And god, it was tempting. So fucking tempting!

But I couldn't. I just couldn't. How would I look Sam Vimes in the face knowing I'd basically stolen money because the people giving it out weren't checking eligibility requirements strictly enough?

(And yes, the fictional character Sam Vimes was my moral compass for this decision.)

My soul feels better for making the choice I did.

But damn, I'm glad I don't have to make choices like that every day. My wrestling muscles just aren't in good enough shape.

Hell and High Water

That is this city's phrase right now, referring to the Stampede.

It fits the flood that happened a mere 9 days ago.

It also fits the ridiculously hot weather we had yesterday and today.

The little lady doesn't like the heat, and she doesn't like not being able to go into the river.

But the balcony is cool in the evenings so we sit out there and listen to the nearby toddler sing us the song of his people (it has a lot of unintelligible screaming so far).

Rain, Rain, Go Away Already!

It's raining.

Like, raining raining.  Like, the city is being evacuated because of flooding.  So far we're allowed to stay home.

I hope it stays that way.

But the weather can change any time.

That Feeling

You know when someone else has the ability to make your heart smile?

Yeah.

That's love.

Old Fogey

I started writing a blog post last night as I was going to bed, laying it out in my head.  Dammit!  I should have gotten up and written it down, because it's gone now.  Completely, undeniably gone beyond all recollection.

Is it terrible, or merely a sign of the times I live in, that I wanted to put a 'sad face emoticon' here?

It's strange to me that people growing up after me will live in a world where there have always been cell phones, texting, Facebook, wireless connections, the chance to immediately record your life and instantly share it with the world.

The other day I overheard two kids arguing while I was walking Z.  One was accusing the other of stealing something, and she came back with, "Show me the video and then I'll believe it."  Pics or it didn't happen.  They are so used to having every moment of their lives recorded that the absence of a recording equals innocence.

Which I guess kinda fits into the whole "innocent until proven guilty" thing, but still.  The sentiment behind it is what bothered me.

It makes me sound like an old fogey though.  "Back in the day, when I had to walk uphill both ways to school..."  It is a little disconcerting to see the world change, although it makes me more sympathetic to the actual old fogeys out there.

Has every generation, since the beginning of mankind, watched the world change in their lifetime?  Has there been even one torch passed where nothing changed, where the world remained stagnant?

I kinda doubt it.  And maybe that's the way it should be.

On Time

This event was supposed to start five minutes ago and they're still doing acceptance speeches.  At this rate I'll be here until tomorrow.

Patience is a virtue I have yet to learn, apparently.

Changes

"She's weird, but we're working on changing that."  It surprised me to hear those words come out of her mouth.  She's old enough to be my mother, and my mother knows you can't change people.  If they're weird, they're weird, and you'd be better off accepting that.

And she's not that weird, either, this girl.  Quirky, yes.  Eclectic tastes, very probably.  But weird?

Not remotely.

But I didn't say anything.  After all, what are the odds of changing the old lady?

Slim to none, I'd say.

And I'd be pretty weird if I couldn't see that.

Cool Rain

It's a cool, rainy day at work today.  That means there aren't many guests - I've seen fewer than 20 people and it is 2:30.

But it also means time for pleasant chats with co-workers and tea by the wood stove and "ginger snaps" that turned out more like molasses cookies.

So all in all, I don't mind the weather.

Love

Someone asked me today, "What does love feel like?"

I didn't know how to answer.  How do you answer that?  What does love feel like?

I'm getting married in four months.  In four months from this exact moment, I will be married.  This morning I said love felt different at different times: giddy and light and floating some days, grounded and connected and safe others.

I wanted to say it was also wonderful knowing that you might fight but you were still rock solid as a couple, that you'd still have each other's backs.  I didn't say that but I thought it.

I just had my first wedding planning meltdown.  I probably should have included the fighting thing in my description of what love feels like.

Because based on that meltdown, we're fricken head over heels.

Connection

Sometimes I feel like I can't connect to people.  How does everyone do it?  How do other people forge relationships out of common interests and well matched personalities?

I seem to do fine in the moment but when the moment is over I'm left wondering what to do next.  My friendships are with people that I've either spent a significant amount of vulnerable time with, or with people who pursue a relationship with me.  It never occurs to me to pursue relationships with other people.

And that is the crux of the issue.  Am I defective for not seeking out relationships?  Does that signify a lack of social skills or awareness?  Am I less of a woman for not making friends quickly and easily?

It's not that I don't like people, or that they don't like me.

****

That is what I started writing yesterday.

But yesterday evening I connected with someone in what felt like a genuine, meaningful, and sincere way.  So maybe I was just having a melancholy moment.

I guess we'll see if I maintain the connection after the show is over.

Earache

I have avoided going to the doctor two weekends in a row, for a damn earache.  I feel like I'm five - what adult gets ear infections every two months?

I do, apparently.

Sigh.  I'm sure if I just adjusted my diet they'd stop.  Perhaps once my evenings are my own again I'll put in the time to focus on what I'm eating that's causing this pain.

After I go to the doctor and get cured, that is.

Scratches

I meant to get a screen protector for my iPhone. Honest, I did. But I never got around to it and now there are two scratches (and many little marks of wear) on this poor piece of tech.

Sorry, iPhone. It's okay though. I still like you.

Clothes Horse

I kinda want this costume in my closet.

At least the skirt.

Also, I wish my ankles took to heels with less trouble. It's been half an hour - and only ten minutes of that standing, at most - and they twinge most piteously.

Sigh.

Waiting

Waiting for office machinery to decide it is ready to work is SO BORING.

In other news, I'm picking up my wedding dress tomorrow. I guess that means I have to stop procrastinating on printing those wedding invitations.

Tension

I hate walking into a room that is full to the brim of tension; feelings running high, tangible, you could cut through this negative energy with a knife.

A dull knife.

All I can do is avoid taking it in and try to bring a positive light into the space.

So that's what I'll do.

Blanking

I just lost lines I know cold, in our first off-book run.

Boo.

Oh well. That's life for you sometimes.

Our Little Secret

We've stopped giving Z. any human food. She was getting so gassy it became a necessity.

Except I just gave her a piece of cheese, and said, "Shh. It'll be our secret."

Until she fart-alarms herself and stinks us out, anyway.

Age

My little brother is 27 today. By his next birthday he'll have a little baby.

Some people my age (29) hide their years as if getting old was something to be ashamed of. Sometimes I fall into that trap too, but mostly I try to follow my mom's lead and remember that not everyone gets a 29th birthday, so I will count it as a blessing and enjoy every year as if it were my last.

Because one year it will be.

Faucet Face

I am getting over a cold, or I have had a cold for near-on a week but in varying degrees. My nose is in the awkward dripping phase where I kinda want to just stick a wadded up Kleen-X in my nose and leave it there.

But that would be gross, so I won't.

Mirrors

Is it too cheesy if I walk down the aisle to Justin Timberlake's "Mirrors"?

Because I really like that song.

Even though I know it's probably going to be a very popular wedding song and I'd have to let go of being unique in my wedding song choice.

Hair

I've never sat under one of these hair dryers before. I feel like I should be an old lady getting my hair blued and permed.

And now I'm sleepy. It's so warm in here, with the air swirling gently around my head.

Content

I finished and mailed our taxes today.

We had a productive day.

And now we're vegging in our evening, happy in each others company, my biggest question whether "others" needs an apostrophe.

Nerves

I hate pre-audition nerves.

The end.

Confusion

"You know that bar over the stairs? Yesterday I grabbed it with my hands and put one leg over it!" He chortles at me with a goofy grin and I smile in a way that I hope doesn't look too puzzled.

Sometimes when people tell me things I get confused as to why I'm supposed to care. Had we been talking about climbing random objects in the museum? I don't think so.

Why was that anecdote so funny?

Is he the socially awkward one or am I?

Emerging

For the last month I've spent what seems like every waking moment either at work or at rehearsal/shows.  It's been fun but what a busy, hectic time!

I don't think S. and I can do another run like that - with both of us gone all the time the house kinda fell apart.  No clean dishes, no clean clothes, no-one to hang out with Z...she started moping and shaking every time we brushed our teeth, thinking we were going to leave her again.  She's pretty good at noticing our 'leaving the house' routine, although her 'cause and effect' logic is a little faulty.

But I'm glad we had the chance to do the show anyway, and I'm glad we had a chance to see what happens to us when we're both that crazy busy.

For the record, what happens is we fight a lot.  Now we know.  I think next time we get in that situation we'll be able to manage it better.

I hope.

I'm going into rehearsals for another show starting tonight.  A little part of me thinks I'm insane because I'm also trying to plan a wedding and get all of that stuff done.  Another part of me thinks it's just another month and then I'll be into a regular schedule again.

I think it'll be fine.

I've also had three different stories floating through my mine, all ones I've worked on and need to finish.  It's been impossible to find time to write - here or anywhere else - and I've noticed it.  It's pulling my brain into little pieces.  I wonder if it's been beneficial because I've put time into thinking; maybe it's been detrimental because I haven't caught all of my thoughts on the page.

So I'm going to go capture some of those thoughts.

Über Busy

I'm super tired.

I'm also super busy.

The other day my mother said, "At least you aren't stressed about all your wedding details being perfect." I said, "No, my stress is that the details happen at all."

That's how busy I've been.

But at least it's been fun stuff to be busy with.

Go see live theatre. It's a rush, and makes my extra-curricular work worth it!

A Type

This lady brings children here a few times a week. She must run a day home, as they aren't her children.

She micro manages their play. "You can't play checkers, you're too small." So don't play checkers; play with the pieces and make your own game. "Don't stand on there again." Never mind that they can't reach the games if they sit. "Tires are black, and you should colour all of the car blue." The kid is four. Let him colour a rainbow car with purple tires if he wants to!

It is thought provoking to listen to. What parts of my own life do I needlessly try to manage into perfection instead of relaxing and enjoying the beauty of "chaos"?

I don't know, but perhaps now I'll find out.

Oscar

I didn't watch the Oscars last night.  I played Far Cry 3 instead.

Does that make me a terrible actor?

In other news, my wrists hurt so much I can barely type.

Probably because of the Far Cry playing.

Now if only I played the guitar...

I kind of wish I was a rock star.

No particular reason, I just think it would be cool.

What We Leave Behind

I've been reading my great-grandfather's autobiography.  I didn't even know he'd written one until this Christmas.  I was visiting my grandpa when his sister came by - a sister I didn't even know lived in Alberta, much less the same home as my grandparents - with seven copies of their dad's life story that she didn't know what to do with.

Needless to say I took one off her hands.

It's been interesting.  The pieces of my family history have been passed down to me in a tangled ball, some sections clear and linear and others so knotted up that I have no idea if they actually belong to the same string of history or are just a little scrap that got caught up in the mess somehow.  I've been able to sort out some of the stories now; like, Grandpa didn't work in a CO labour camp during WWII, but Great-Grandpa was a supervisor at one.  And we might not be German after all, but Prussian or Polish; thanks to the names, dates and birthplaces Great-Grandpa drops in the beginning of the book, a co-worker of mine was able to find baptism records for probable (Prussian) ancestors dating back to the 1600s.

Very cool.

It's making me wonder what I'm leaving for future generations.  What story will they be able to piece together out of the bits of yarn that make up my life?  Will it make sense?  Will it be interesting, or will it be a list of dates and names, purchases and addresses?  Will any of my thoughts be left behind or am I just leaving data?

I think, given that I've kept a fairly steady journal since I was 6, that there will be plenty of my thoughts to go around for years to come.

But it's still making me ponder my daily choices, when I realize that somebody, someday, may look back and feel pride - or regret - that they are related to me.

Smarter Than a Fourth Grader

I wonder what children learn in school these days.  Today a grade four student asked me what the word racist meant.  (I had described Adolf Hitler as a racist.)  Is it a good thing or a bad thing that she didn't know the word?

I don't know.

Is it normal for grade four students to not know what rationing is, or what the word solidarity means, or what WWII is, or what the Great Depression was?  Or that you do not actually need literal sugar to live, because blood sugar isn't created by actual sugar?  They don't know that we grow grapes in Canada or what molasses is, or what soap was made out of, or what nitroglycerin is used for.

Is it terrible that they don't know that we have sheep in Canada, or that silk comes from silk worms, but they know what allies are and what bullets are made out of?

I have no idea.

I don't know when I learned these things but it feels like I've always known them.

Sometimes I wish I remembered that moment of dawning realization that must have occurred for me when I first gained these pieces of information.

And sometimes I just wish grade four students knew more than they do so I could communicate with them more effectively.

My Day

My neck has been twinge-ing all day, as in, I move my head at all and my neck says, haha, nope.  Bad idea.

I must have slept on it funny, although I don't remember kinking my head completely over to one side at any point during the night like an exorcist's nightmare.

It didn't stop me from being productive, it just slowed me down.  As in, I only cleaned one bathroom instead of both of them.  I walked slower on the way to the dog park.  I had to take more ergonomic breaks from the computer while researching immigrant cultures (and really, who's bright idea was it to make a display about immigrant cultures?  Oh right.  Mine).

And now, when Z. wants to destroy my Stephen King novels until I get her another facecloth to ruin (she's already killed three of them), I'm going to have to compromise and get her to play with something else.  I just don't think I can play tug-of-war right now.

****

I also made delicious, delicious Vietnamese noodle bowls for supper.  I am super impressed with myself over this.  Mine had shrimp and S. had chicken - he doesn't like shrimp.  I've never bought or prepared shrimp before so I went with pre-cooked, frozen ones.  They were pretty good, speaking as an amateur shrimp eater.  The whole meal was fricken amazing, speaking as someone with a lot of experience eating food.

****

I am getting way too interested in television series on Netflix.  I've got several on the go - The 4400, Sherlock, House of Cards.  I've made a deal with myself.  If I haven't written at least one scene (or, if I'm working on my novel, if I haven't made steady progress for an hour) then I can't watch Netflix.  So far it's working.  I'll get that damn play finished yet.  The novel too.  Watching television is a strong motivator.  Who knew?

And on that note, I'm going to go write another scene.  House of Cards won't watch itself, you know.

Little Whiner

Today I learned to not go on a crying jag when I have a head cold.  My head hurts so much, and when I'm sick I'm more emotional anyway and things get blown out of proportion very, very quickly.

Sorry, S.  And sorry, Z., for making you feel like you had to hide out under the couch until I got my shit under control and went and had a nap.

Of course, I'm not the one sitting in front of the bookshelf whining gently because I can't figure out how to eat the little wooden sign that says, "If you want the best seat in the house, move the dog".

Cant Spel, Need Mor Zzzzzs

I feel like crap.

I've been sick all day - not super sick, but light-headed, heart-racing-with-activity, headache, achy joints, hours of extra napping sick.

So I guess that's kinda super sick, just no puking or anything.

I wish Z. could understand why I'm not a ball of playful energy right now.  Instead, she's doing what she usually does when she feels ignored.  She's trying to remove the cushion from the couch (it's more of a love seat, really, and has one large cushion) and failing that she'll try to rip a hole in it.  Which I just spelled 'whole'.

I can't spell worth a damn when I'm under the weather.

Which yes, I almost spelled 'whether'.

I think I need another nap.

Shave It For Later

I just cut S.'s hair.  There is a reason I am not a hairdresser.

I had to shave a mohawk into his head for a show he's in.  It's a slightly crooked mohawk.  S. abhors everything not straight, not symmetrical, not organized and orderly; and now his head belongs to the dark side of chaos.  I'd insert an evil laugh but, you know, it's for a show and it probably should be straight.  I did my best!  Le sigh.

I once shaved my own head by accident.  How does one shave their head by accident, you ask?  For all I know I mentioned this incident on here already but I'll regale you once more with the horror of the experience.

I had really short hair at the time.  Or rather, I'd had really short hair, and it was starting to grow out.  I wanted it back at that inch, inch-and-a-half-tops length, but I was unemployed and didn't have the money for a visit to the salon.  I looked towards the clippers under the sink for my answer.

That was such a bad idea.

I was so naive, so unaware of how clippers work.  I thought that if you used the 1.5 inch guard, your hair would be a tidy 1.5 inches in length, and presto, I'd have my cute little hair cut back.

Yeah.  No.  That's not how clipper guards work.

I learned that almost immediately, as I cut a two-inch swath into the front of my hair and gasped in shock at the near-naked scalp that appeared.

Oh.  My.  God.  What have I done?

I had to shave the rest then, you see.  Z. was still a wee pup, watching me from in her kennel outside the bathroom.  I turned to her and said, "Well, let's hope my head doesn't have any funny lumps on it."

It doesn't.

I had to text S. and tell him I hadn't had a nervous breakdown, I just didn't know how clippers worked.

And if he talked to you about his hair tonight, he'd say I still didn't.

No Spoilers Here, Please

I have had no deep thoughts today.

I started The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers.  I got to Gandalf kicking Wormtongue out of Theoden's hall.  Sorry if that spoiled anything for anyone.  The books were published in the 50's, the movies came out ten years ago; I hope people are familiar with them by now.

When I was in my first year of theatre school, one of my classmates would freak the hell out whenever we started talking about the LoTR movies, because he hadn't seen them and was determined to read the books first.  He went the whole 8 months of school freaking out because he never 'got around' to reading the books, although I had them and offered to let him read them (which is kind of a big deal, I don't lend my books out easily).  Years later, after we'd lost touch, I ran into him again.  He said he no longer freaked out over 'spoilers' for stories that were 50 years old.  He figured he'd had his chance to discover the story, and if he hadn't yet that was just too bad for him.  (For the record, he hadn't yet, and no, I don't know what was wrong with him either.)

But I totally agree with him.  I mean, I'll try to respect stories for people who haven't experienced them yet because I like it when stories are saved for me to experience blindly the first time.  But, as science has shown, spoilers don't actually spoil your experience of something*, and quite frankly, some things I've had my chance to discover and just haven't done it.  So if it gets ruined, well, I should have been more proactive.

Or just put my hands over my ears and yelled, "Lalalalalalalalala I can't hear you" really, really loudly.

* I read about this on Cracked, and do you think I can find the article now to link to?  No.  No, I can not.  So you'll just have to go and read every single Cracked article yourself until you find it.

Or just Google something about science and spoilers and not ruining things, I guess.  Let me know if that works.  I'd like to know.

And Now Z. is at the Door

It's been a week.

I've been pondering instead of writing.  Thinking instead of sitting down and letting my fingers zoom over the keys and click out nonsense, wit, deep thoughts, anything at all.  Sometimes I forget that thinking is an important part of writing.

And sometimes I forget that writing is an important part of writing.

I want to submit scripts to 10 different places this year.  To do that I'll have to do more than just think.

I want to polish my novel and get my 5 free copies.  I'll have to stop musing and start typing to get that done.

I get frustrated with myself.  I love writing.  I hate writing.  I can't go more than a day without picking up a pen and scribbling something down, some form of my thoughts expressed with symbols on a page.  But sometimes it is so, so hard to get myself seated in a chair, without distractions, document open and words flowing in a story that I have an actual deadline to finish.  Even if - especially if - it's a self-imposed deadline.

And now, when I get a bit of a flow going, Z. is at the door waiting to go out to get a flow of her own going, if you know what I mean.

Sigh.

Sometimes it is hard to remember that thinking is an important part of writing.

Sometimes it is hard to remember that not giving up is an important part of writing too.

Success

I'd like to be the sort of person who watches a TED talk a day.  Even one a week.  I am not that sort of person.  I'm more the sort of person who reads meme websites and checks Facebook obsessively while thinking about checking out the TED talks website, forgetting what it's called, and being too lazy to google that shit.

But I have friends - on Facebook, where else - who watch TED talks on a regular basis and they are kind enough to filter through them and share what they like where I can see it.  So here's a TED talk that I recently watched and thought was really, really good.

Go watch it.  Yes, right now.  It's relatively short, and I can wait until you get back.

There.  Now that you've seen it, wouldn't you agree that it makes a lot of sense?

I think we do need to redefine what success looks like to us as a society.  We need to redefine education and what our children need.  Because although I was one of those children who did quite well in the system we have now (and I say that even though I was homeschooled because I can sit at a desk all day, memorize information and regurgitate it on command - that's what you need to do to succeed in school, right?), I know people who didn't do well in that system.  People who wouldn't ever do well in that system.  Kids who needed to be using their hands, pulling things apart and putting them back together in order to figure out math.  Kids who needed to be up and running around in order for ideas to sink into their brains.  Kids who had to draw a picture, or build something with Lego, or Plasticine, before the story they were listening to would make any concrete sense.  Kids who didn't figure out how to read by the time they were 6, but are now, as adults, reading Thomas Aquinas and devouring The Wheel of Time.

The ones I knew best were lucky and got an education that was custom made to fit them.  But not every kid gets that.  Most of them get Ritalin.

For those kids, we need to change how we educate and what we think of as a productive use of time.  What we are validated in.  What our success looks like.

For me, if I can watch a TED talk like this once a month, maybe I'll consider myself a little bit more successful.

Joss Whedon Fan Club

I'm obviously a new convert. I can't even spell his name right (I had to double check and I'd added an extra e). And I haven't seen much of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

But I'm loving Dollhouse.

The Dress

What have I been musing about these last few days?  You know, the days when I didn't write anything?

It hasn't been anything deep or profound.  How to kill five animals from my horse in Assassin's Creed III.  Whether I should play Diablo III or watch The Vampire Diaries on Netflix (The Vampire Diaries won out - incidentally, on FB they abbreviate that show as "VD" - worst abbreviation ever but it makes me smirk).  Whether Z. should be eating cotton batting from her crack-pup or not.  What I should make for supper, and whether I have a migraine or an earache (it's an earache).

But today I ordered my wedding dress.  That's not deep or profound either, but I'm super excited!  I can't stop smiling.  I feel myself light up when I think of how I look in that particular gown, and it surprises me.  I had no idea I'd care so much about what I look like on my wedding day.  I always thought spending wedding-dress-money on a wedding dress was stupid.  So much money for something you wear once!  But goodness, it's so beautiful.  And I look so great in it.  And I really want to look good for my groom.  Elegant, womanly, beautiful.  I look like a bride (which makes sense seeing it's a wedding dress) and I can't wait to see his face when he sees me walking towards him, to make our two lives one.

He's sitting across from me, checking his email or something, and he has no idea of all the thoughts bubbling around in my head and in my heart.  And I have no idea how to communicate them to him, or if I even need to, or if I should.

Some feelings are too big for words to express.

So his face, on our wedding day, will be the expression of a thousand words I cannot say.  And mine will mirror those words back to him.

And hopefully that will be enough.

Z's New Year's Diet

I'm not sure what to write today.

Z. is trying to eat bubble wrap from the box my new camera came in.  What a strange dog.  Must be her New Year's Resolution - "eat many strange and wonderful things."  She's got cotton batting, crack-pup fabric, tree bark, and a bean checked off that list already.

Like she needed another flatulence source.  I'm going to regret giving her that bean, I just know it.

But at least she isn't trying to eat my books.

Oh - spoke too soon.  (She literally went for the books as soon as I finished that sentence.)

On another subject, isn't this dress cute?  I kind of want to go to that shop with my bridesmaids and tell them to find something in my colour scheme.  Actually, I kind of want to go to that shop and just buy myself that dress.

Maybe another time.

For now I'll content myself with looking and then going and stopping Z. from eating a cardboard box.

I'm Dreaming of a Whitewashed Museum

It has snowed without ceasing for the last 24 hours.  It makes for dangerous roads and lovely scenery and a slow day at work.  Not many people want to brave the winter wonderland to come to a museum.

Sometimes it seems not many people want to come to a museum regardless.

I wonder why people are so uninterested in their history.  Their past.  Their story.

I put up displays every month about different topics.  Comic books.  Where food comes from.  The history of toys.  Every time I wonder if I'll offend someone, especially with the one on toys.  I found a stripper pole you could buy for your little aspiring stripper, complete with a garter and fake dollar bills.  I put it in a panel about terrible toys, alongside a version of Monopoly called Blacks & Whites where you played as different races (the white players started with unlimited potential and a million dollars, the black ones with ownership bans on certain property blocks and a mere $10,000) and a road-kill stuffed animal.

A grandmother saw the picture of the stripper pole and got all up in arms.  A colleague had to talk her down and tell her to read the caption under the picture - which basically said, what a super offensive toy this is, what on earth were the developers thinking - before she calmed down.  Why didn't she read it on her own?  If I see an offensive picture with words directly underneath it, I'll read the words before I get bent out of shape.

(On a side note, not one person got offended about the Blacks & Whites game, which I thought was the worst thing on the display.)

I guess people would rather jump to conclusions first.  My family used to call it 'eating a hamster' because when I was a kid my hamster vanished.  Just disappeared.  No visible holes in the cage, and the other two hamsters were enormously fat.  Of course we decided (all of us, I'd like to note, not just us kids; Mom and Dad jumped on board with us) that these two plump matrons had eaten my lovely pet.  We directed a lot of hate at them for the next three days.  Then I found my hamster behind the stove, alive and thin and thirsty as all get out.  She'd squeezed out between a couple of loose bars and escaped.

Anyway.  Sometimes people get offended at the past too.  They get righteously indignant when we show them what life was like - people having large families, segregation and racism, prominent Christian-Judeo religion, an oil can for a company called Sambo with a super-racist picture of a black kid on it.

But that's how it was.  Making things "politically correct" and un-offensive won't help.  It isn't the truth, and it won't help us learn and grow and not repeat mistakes.  Whitewashing history is harmful.  It hides the horrific realities from us and refuses to make us accountable for our actions as a nation, as humans, as a people, both in the past and today.

Maybe that's why people would rather get offended than read and learn.  Because it's easier and it doesn't involve any introspection.  It's like watching the snow fall outside and then driving like it's July and you're immortal.

Stupid.  Dangerous.

Easier.

At least until you crash.

We're Awesome - Until You Interrupt Our Schedules

Z. is sitting by the closet door, whining for her 6 o'clock scoop of food.  She likes things to go according to schedule.  Her schedule.

So does S.  He likes things done according to his schedule.

I guess I like things done according to my schedule.

How we all manage to get along is anybody's guess.

Must be how awesome we all are.

Never Trust Your Photocopier

Did you know photocopiers have hard drives?  And that they store copies of everything they print/copy/scan on that hard drive?

o.O

I didn't know that.

Now I'm wondering if I've ever copied my drivers license or birth certificate or pay stubs or SIN.

But I also feel a bit vindicated.

I always knew that damn photocopier had it out for me.

Crack-Pup

We took down the Christmas tree today.

Our living room looks so much larger, and Z. had no special place to hide and chew on her crack-pup anymore.  Yes, she has a crack-pup.  It's a stuffed toy golden lab, a children's toy, and the way she looks at it you'd think it was full of drugs and she was a lifelong addict.

It's full of stuffing and her favouritist thing in the world is to disembowel stuffed animals.  This toy must have been high quality because she's barely got the nose ripped open.  She growled at me when I tried to take it away, like really growled at me.  So then I had to take it and play with it myself until she got the message.  All your toys belong to us.

She got it.  She's pretty smart.

For an addict.

Girly-Girl

Yesterday I didn't write. That's because yesterday I went dress shopping. Not just for any dress - I went shopping for my wedding dress!!!

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Sorry.

It was so much fun but I won't write about it here as S. could read this and he's trying to guess what it looks like already.

I will say this: there are some days when being a completely girly girl, surrounded by other women who are being just as girly as you are, is the perfect way to spend a day.

Shrivelled Roots

I work at a museum.

It's been very slow - numbers have been dropping - but it's not just us.  Lower attendance is something most museums are fighting with right now, all across North America.

I read recently a quote, from who I can't remember, and the exact wording has escaped me as well; but the gist of it was that when a people lose their history, they become vulnerable to manipulation.

I wonder what will happen when people stop learning about their past and museums shrivel up and die, or turn into amusement parks for light entertainment instead of historical truth.

Ecclesiastes

There are two things I don't like about myself, two things that I fear I will never change:

my forgetful nature,

and my instinct to lie about little things.

Happy New Year

Well.

The world didn't end last year so now I am faced with the prospect of making New Year's Resolutions.

I usually don't - or rather, I usually make one, because I figure I can manage to improve one thing in my life at a time.  The problem is that a year isn't always enough time to incorporate a new habit into my life, so sometimes when the year is up and my focus is...um, refocused, I forget to continue with whatever it was I tried last year.

One year I decided to stop slouching.  I still slouch, but now I'm aware of it so I think I slouch less often.  I hope.

One year I decided to stop mumbling.  Yeah.  That one didn't stick.  I'm going to have to continue to work on that one.

This year I think I'm going to write every day.  I'm pretty sure I've made this resolution before but this year I'm going to keep it.

Why, you ask?  What magical thing has changed from the last time I made this resolution?

Well, I'm putting out here on this blog, which is where I will write every day.

I know, I know.  At the beginning of the summer I said I was going to write on here every week and that fell completely flat.  I think I managed four or five entries.

But something else has changed.  It might not seem magical but it is, at least to me.

My attitude towards writing has changed.  Evolved.  Grown.

I've really realized - finally - that if I want to be a writer, then I have to write.  All the time.  Every day.  No excuses.  No procrastination (or at least, not eternal procrastination).  Otherwise I can't call myself a writer, and I'll be damned if I'm going to be an 'aspiring' writer, which is just a fancy way of saying "I'd like to do this but it's too much work and I'm a lazy bastard".  If I want to improve, I have to be okay with churning out crap sometimes.  If I want to be taken seriously, I have to put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, every. single. day.

And I probably have to stop using periods for emphasis like I just did.

Baby steps.