oh, canada

I went to Canada Day in the park today.

















That baby was there:




















As were other members of the family:















When we got there there was a giant blow up Culligan Lady next to a giant blow up Molson Canadian Beer:
















Shortly the Culligan Lady was shit faced and face down:



















My pictures of what was going on on the stage would have been better iffn I'd got off my arse and gotten closer to the stage.

Oh, well. Happy Canada Day.

Our fair Dominion now extends
From Cape Race to Nootka Sound
May peace forever be our lot
And plenty a store abound
And may those ties of love be ours
Which discord cannot sever
And flourish green for freedom's home
The Maple Leaf Forever

--The Maple Leaf Forever

either you're wrong, or you're right.

So today I had a visit from this baby that I know... looking ridiculously old fashioned, somehow, in her blue sun hat and big bulky sweater. In some ways, this one reminds me more of her mother at that age than either of the older two did (and I've always considered Ozy as the spitting image of his mother, so that should tell you something). In other ways, though, she's so very much her own person already -- which is another way in which she reminds me of her mother, of course. Fairly reserved, solemn. Looks you thoughtfully in the eye when you tell her something, as if she was weighing your words.

Yah, so, we sat in the back yard and chatted, she demanded things and I dutifully supplied her with them, a camel, rocks, a flower, a teddy bear... We tried on hats for a while, and she insisted on filling my pockets with little stones, since she didn't have any pockets of her own to fill. I turned the TV on, thinking that she wouldn't be that familiar with the phenomenon, then turned it off again because all I could find that was vaguely child appropriate viewing was RetroToons, and that was showing the Flintstones, then Scooby Doo, which I couldn't bring myself to inflict on my innocent granddaughter. "TeeBee!" she demanded when I turned it off.

"Do you want to watch TV?"

"Nyeah." So we watched SCN, which has all day, non-stop, advertisement-free children's programming.

She also kept referring to the cat food as cheerios. "Cheerios," she would announce, pointing. "Not cheerios," I would reply firmly. "Kitty food."

*****

So Michael Jackson is dead, huh?

Novel and I were watching some commentary by Uri Geller. "The spoon bender guy," I said. "For him to be calling MJ weird is kind of like--"

"The pot calling the kettle black?" finished Novel for me.

"Well, yes, but I don't know if you could call that particular kettle black," I remarked.

"Very funny," said Novel.

"If a little lacking in good taste," I agreed.

I can't claim to ever having been much of an MJ fan, but I do admit to having a bit of a guilty weakness for Billie Jean.

People always told me be careful of what you do
And don't go around breaking young girls' hearts
She came and stood right by me
Then the smell of sweet perfume
This happened much too soon
She called me to her room.

--Michael Jackson, Billie Jean

sometimes on the phone I say things I shouldn't

The other night at work I got one of the classic phone call ranters -- "How did you get this number? I'm on the do not call list. Why are you invading my privacy?" I didn't say anything to that, preparing to hang up, until she reached her peroration; "I'm going to report you to the Do Not Call list." To which I replied, "Good luck with that," and hung up.

(For the benefit of any hapless people who stumble on the blog and want to know why companies like mine can still annoy them, yes, Canada recently changed its rules to have a global Do Not Call list to which, if you add your phone number, presumably telemarketers will have to respect your wishes and take your number out of their systems. However, it is for telemarketers. Certain organizations are exempt from these rules, including political organizations, charities and market research companies. These companies can still legally call you. You can, however, ask them to put your number on their internal do not call list.)

Then there was the guy who ranted that I was trying to steal his information and sell it -- I just laughed at him before I hung up.

However, when I say things on the phone I shouldn't, it isn't always because I'm a jerk. The other night the person who answered the phone was clearly a little kid and when I asked to speak to her mum or dad she told me she was home alone. "You should never ever tell people that on the phone," I told her, before I hung up.

And there was the woman who, while willing to do a survey, made it clear that she was very busy and expected me to stick to the five minutes I asked for. When I got to asking her for her occupation, she replied that she was a novelist. "You reached me at my writer's retreat," she commented. "That's why I didn't really want to be interrupted." "A writer's retreat," I replied, with ill suppressed longing in my voice. "I wish I had one of those."

I had a friend once he took some ecstasy
Tried to marry me and every one in the room
He was sort of loving kinda caring,
Kinda tried to fuck my lazy boy
It got a bit messy all over the curtains,
Arm chair covers, throw pillows, and carpeting
Satan, satan, satan...
I'm getting bored again...

--Tool, Gaping Lotus Experience

those who think Canadians are inherently polite have never worked in a call centre

I've been working on a survey at work that involves phoning Albertans and asking them their opinions on vacationing in Saskatchewan. I'm not sure what the client that commissioned the survey hopes to discover from all this, but from doing the survey, my findings are that there are two kinds of Albertans; 1) those who know nothing about Saskatchewan, have never been to Saskatchewan in all their lives and never intend to visit it if they can at all help it, and 2) those who moved to Alberta from Saskatchewan in the first place. For the record, the first type are usually unbearable snots. The second type are polite, friendly and helpful.

Oh, yes, and to you Albertans who like to go off on our terrible roads in Saskatchewan? Remove the beam from your own eye. I just rode the roads between here and Drumheller and roads on the Alberta side of the border were about the same level of crapitude. Same goes for scenery. Alberta scenery is for the most part flat and dry. Sure, sure you have mountains. Just remember, you got the shitty end of the mountains; you're the poor cousin of mountains compared to British Columbia.

I went to a pow wow Friday. Because this is an inner city neighbourhood there is a high percentage of First Nations people; we're facing a by-election in September (same riding that Novel was running in during the recent election, but I told him he couldn't run again until he had money, being the overbearing woman that I am) and it looks like three of the candidates will have some kind of aboriginal ancestry. Which, because I am a bleeding heart liberal, seems likely to be a good thing to me.

Then today I went and looked after the Kitten while her parents took the older two children to see Up. Which was nice except for when she threw up all over her crib and her blankie and herself, but apart from that she was her usual solemnly charming self.

Oh, Alberta, don't you cry

Listen to maybe all right*

(huh huh huh huh yeah)

Oh Saskatchewan,

Never meant no harm to anyone

North Dakota,

Don't you know that you don't belong in this song?

Where did we go wrong?

--Elliott Brood, Oh, Alberta

*the words may not be accurate, because the singer mumbles

Updated and corrected (Thanks to the Empress):

Oh, Alberta, don't you cry

listen to me, it'll be all right

(huh huh huh huh yeah)

Don't hate Saskatchewan,
Never meant no harm to anyone
North Dakota,
Don't you know that you don't belong in this song?
Where did we go wrong?

we are family

"As I was saying, before I interrupted myself -- which isn't easy to do--"

"Yes, it is. I interrupt myself all the time. I'm rude like that."

"As I was saying, before I was interrupted, I am actually paid quite well -- by your family -- to keep you out of their hair. But I need to have a talk with them -- "

"--because you haven't seen any actual money, right?"

"Right--"

"You don't know my family very well, do you? You should have made sure they signed the contract. In blood. Besides, they probably think that as you get the enjoyment of annoying me all the time, you don't need actual payment..."

Later:

"You're an odd bird."

"I'm unusual, yes."

"Different."

"Unique, even."

"Yes, I would have to say there are not too many people in the world like you."

"And the ones who are like me are all relations."

Everyone can see we're together
As we walk on by
And we fly just like birds of a feather
I'm not telling no lie

--Pointer Sisters, We Are Family

hungry

Novel gave me a gluten-free cookbook for Christmas. Why? asked Maredeath at the time, which confused me, since she's gluten averse. Anyway, I misplaced it for a long time, then found it again while doing some cleaning yesterday. So I was reading it before getting out of bed this morning. Of course, a lot of the recipes aren't so revolutionary; if you don't flour your chicken in the first place -- and I can't remember the last time I floured chicken -- then you don't have to go to extraordinary lengths to avoid gluten. But plum dipping sauce! Honey mustard dipping sauce! Italian sausage patties! You shouldn't read cookbooks before breakfast.

Those look good, said Novel of the Italian sausage patties, reading over my shoulder. Is there anything in there that we could have for breakfast?

Well, we don't have any of the alternate flours the book calls for. I could make plain old baking powder biscuits, if you're willing to wait half an hour. He allowed as how, although he loves my biscuits, he didn't think he could wait half an hour. Still, since we settled on scrambled eggs with green onions, salsa, and sausage for breakfast, it's going to be at least half an hour before it's ready. But he's doing the cooking, so what do I care?

They're gathered in circles
the lamps light their faces
The crescent moon rocks in the sky
The poets of drumming
keep heartbeats suspended
The smoke swirls up and then it dies.

--Loreena McKennitt, Marakesh Night Market

is summer coming, ever?

Hm. Another week, another no updatery. Maybe I should just give in and take a hiatus? But I want to blog. I like blogging. I miss the days when I was updating all the time. It's just that when push comes to shove... well... there're other things to do:

Like putting up shelves on walls to hold knick-knacks. Novel and I managed one shelf install today, plus changing a curtain rod to a more practical and aesthetic one than the one that was above the window. Funny, doing things like that always takes at least twice the amount of time that I plan for them.

Like planting a vegetable garden. We borrow land from the neighbour-across-the-street, who is getting on in years, has a big garden in his yard that he no longer works, so we plant it and weed and water it, and (in theory) give him some of the produce. We were wildly successful with the potatoes last year, so we branched out into more veggies this year.

Like editing that d'n'd novel that I've been working on for the past few years. I finished it last year, and sent it to Orbital Bliss and said there, I'm done. And he sent it back saying that parts of it needed rewriting. Badly. And he was right, although I've already put way more work into it than I think it deserves; it's a d'n'd novel, fer gossakes, have you ever read one of those things? Oh well, I'm almost done with the 2nd pass through; this time I'm done with the rewrites for sures. I have real writing to do.

Like looking for a real job, which hasn't been happening much yet.

Like working at that surreal job that I already have, which although it doesn't take much effort, does take up my time.

Like going to Drumheller, with lots of my family, to meet an English cousin and his wife who were much impressed that we drove all that way (6 hours) just to see them. Well, it was fun, and nice to meet them, and after all, they came a lot further than we did. They're both in their early 70s (?), contemporaries of my oldest sister who would have been 68(?) now if she had lived. The cousin (John) is a double cousin, our mothers were sisters and our fathers were brothers. Which I believe makes him genetically more like a sibling than a cousin. Painter and Jedi and I, the Empress and family, all went out there, plus my brother and his daughter drove from Lloyd.

The Empress, family, Jedi and I camped for the two nights we were there. This wasn't an unqualified success; it was very cold the first night we were there, plus the ground was very hard. Also, the campground was in the Red Deer River valley east of town, surrounded by the badlands and the first night the coyotes were practicing their bloodcurdling howls all around us. The Empress said she heard something four footed go through the underbrush near their tent just after the coyote chorus.

there's a white tent that blows
in the middle of a raft
that floats down down the middle
of a long and lonely dream
or is it lovely? can't always tell...
and the clearings pass
like blowing scarves
the slightly familiar
the slightly apart
and the river never runs dry
oh, tears of open

the white tent the raft
the white tent the raft
and one red leaf
for my love...
for your love...

--Jane Siberry, The White Tent The Raft

cats

"Don't even think of trying to take these shoes."

I was going to make a blog post, but it turns out that I'm too tired to make sense of what I was thinking. So here's a picture of a cat for you instead.

I'm not to end in shame
to fight an endless lie
I'm not to play a game
I won't be on your side

--Guano Apes, Living In A Lie