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.