Bakelite: Part V

(*If you haven't read the first parts of this story, start here).

Carol decided to approach the incident by restoring normalcy to her home. She prepared a pot roast for dinner. She and Roy ate silently on the same brown leather couch on which the incident took place, facing the flat screen TV and flipping between the Kentucky Derby and the Weather Channel. The family cat, Ginger, collapsed between them and fell into deep slumber. Neither knew or really cared anything about horses or horse-racing, but the Derby was something they had always watched together as a family when Dan lived there, so it seemed right. After dinner, Roy’s skinny, pasty-faced little computer nerd friend, Sterling, arrived, and they retreated to Roy’s room to play games. Little boys playing games, Carol thought. This thought reassured her. Carol stayed on the couch with her cat and her knitting and began to feel like she could breathe again.

Later that evening, Carol prepared a bath with lavender and eucalyptus oils to soothe her body and clear her lungs before bed. The water was still running and she was standing naked in her bathroom when the phone rang. She quickly wrapped herself in a pink terrycloth robe, turned off the water and opened the door. The ringing had stopped and she could hear Roy voice: “I know. I know….Don’t worry. Everything’s cool here….O.K…..I didn’t do anything…… Well, yeah, I have.…but everyone does…..what does that have to do with?…But it didn’t…..Relax, would you, Dad!” Upon sighting his mother’s worried face peeking out the bathroom door, he spoke louder. “Ok, then. Thanks, Dad. Here’s Mom.” Roy handed the cordless to his mother and headed back to his room.

“Hey Dan. What’s going on?” Carol said, shivering and wishing she were in the bath. Dan sighed loudly into the phone. “Just enquiring a bit about his porn consumption. A lot of kids are, you know, little porn freaks now, looking at all kinds of weird internet shit that you and I never saw…I just wonder if he saw Della as some kind of, you know, porn-scenario-in-the-making.” Carol answered with surprise, “I thought you thought it was more of a move on Della’s part…Isn’t she the one who initiated the thing? Anyway, being all aggressive with him isn’t really helpful, is it? Why don’t you talk to him about it in a normal, man-to-man talk kind of way?” Dan sighed again and was silent, which was not like him. “What is up with you, Dan? Why do I get the feeling you have your knickers in a knot about something?” Carol was always good at getting her ex-husband to open up. “Care. I need to talk to you about something else…It’s Della’s blog… You haven’t seen it, have you?” his voice sounded shaky now. Carol could feel herself getting out of breath again, but answered slowly and carefully, “No. I hardly read the thing at the best of times…even though she’s linked to my blog, of course. Tonight I’ve been just trying not to think about Della at all, ok?” Dan hesitated for a second, then said, “Ok. Ok. Listen, Della says some things on her blog that might upset you. Which is why I’m calling.”

Meeting Bloggers at Milan's Photography Show

What a great evening at Raw Sugar on Friday! I got to meet all of my favourite Ottawa bloggers, including Milan, who made the whole thing happen by having a photography show. If you haven't been to Raw Sugar, go and see Milan's photos. And, buy one! They are gorgeous and affordable.

It was pointed out to me (by XUP) that I have missed ALL blogger events. When I got defensive and said I didn't do brunches, she pointed out that there were other non-brunch events organized that I didn't get my ass to. I found myself stuttering something to her about working on myself.

I have to say, I was a little apprehensive about meeting the "real people" behind the blogs. Having met a bunch of them on Friday evening, I can say they are truly spectacular human beings. And maybe, just being in their presence will activate my blogging mojo.

When I met Robin, the genius behind Watawa Life, I found myself shy, wanting to genuflect a la Mike Myers with a "I'm not worthy/I'm not worthy"...It was such a pleasure to meet Robin. His photos have brought tears to my eyes and have helped me see the beauty of Ottawa even when it sucks.

Zoom and GC are a radiant pair. I have met them before, and feel that I've known them longer than I have. Funny how that is. Zoom's blog is a constant source of inspiration to me. I've thrown away all my self-help books and just read Zoom's blog now.

Real Grouchy. I just met RG very briefly at the end of the evening. I was surprised to discover that RG is a young man. I had assumed RG was an older --and grouchier--man. So, I was shocked to find he was a younger man. I love younger men...

XUP. I did not know what the "real" XUP would be like. I love the sharp wit and edge of her writing. In person, she is adorable -- open, funny, cool, and full of sparkle. I sensed that our XUP is full of mischief, and I liked that.

Stella. I've met Stella before, and loved her instantly. She proclaimed herself a "rabid fan" of Astronaut Love Triangle. Well, I'm a rabid fan of Stella, and would sign her bosom anytime.

The brilliant, Milan. Oh my. I'm getting flustered here. You know I have a thing for younger men, and meeting Milan AND his brother was a bit too much for me. I have always been a huge Milan fan (rabid, really).

Megan. Megan and I have met before, and she is, as always, a stunning presence. A strong honest voice in writing and in person. I am always grateful to Megan for taking us where we need to go and keeping it raw and real.

Thanks bloggers, for a wonderful evening. Until the next time!

Random thoughts at the end of April

The contest seems to be going ok over at the ESI blog with three strong entries. However, I'm a little disappointed in the number of entries. The ESIs are OUT, it seems. Or, perhaps we're so OUT, we're IN. Or, maybe we are just on our way IN after being OUT. I'm going to call an Emergency Meeting in the next days to determine a winner.

The leaves busted out today in fresh fuzzy green. This made me happy.

Blogger news: Zoom is writing great stuff over on Knitnut and winning prizes while she's at it. Jo S. has made a big move and is still managing to cook up a storm. I want Woodsy to come back.

Is anyone out there afraid of Swine flu? Swine flu is "grippe porcine" in French, which sounds a lot sexier.

My obsession with WordTwist, Scramble and House M.D. are on the wane leaving more space in my life for other pursuits such as sewing projects with vintage sheets, writing stories, gardening, and meditation.

Had a great birthday in which I received fabulous gifts including a state-of-the-art seam ripper, a Sex Pistols T-shirt, long black gloves, a tiny clutch purse to wear to the opera, an original painting with skulls on it, and a beach bag.

Three (no Four!) Great Places in Montreal

I have a few guidelines I try to adhere to loosely when exploring a city. They are as follows:
1)don't spend a lot unless it is something you need.
2)wear sensible footwear.
3)try to walk as much as you can -- this way you really get to know the lay of the land.
4)stop often on benches or in cafes to take in the atmosphere. Arm yourself with a notebook or light reading material. Don't carry too much stuff, though.
5)collect cards at places you like, so that you will remember where they are.
6)be bold, and ask locals about good places to go. Don't talk to strangers who look like they might be ax-murderers, or sellers of some sort.

I followed my guidelines yeseterday, and discovered THREE (no FOUR!)great places in Montreal, that could fill up to 5 hours, depending how long you like to linger in places.

Place #1: Start at the Nocochi Cafe Patisserie on Mackay St. It's a beautiful cafe -- minimalist, long white couches with little square colourful cushions, and tiny little pastries lined up like ammunition on the glass counter. The regular coffee here is delicious.

Place #2: Musee des Beaux Arts . This seems like an obvious one, right? It is just around the corner from the Nochochi on Sherbrooke. You don't, I repeat, don't have to visit the place from top to bottom. I recommend using the very clean, spacious washrooms. Then, go to look at the free stuff in the permanent collection. Check out Riopelle's work in the Contemporary Art Section. Don't overdo it. Now, go sit on a bench.

Place #3: After the Musee des Beaux Arts, you need to walk down Sherbrooke, past McGill and all that, then turn left on Avenue Parc. Walk just a little bit, and you will find the paper, notebook store of your dreams: Nota Bene. I cannot even describe how I felt when I walked into this place. The store is jammed wih the entire Moleskin collection, and other stunning notebooks of all shapes and sizes; German-engineered pens and other gorgeous implements; and the folders! Tears welled up when I entered this store, and the store owner assured me, 'It's O.K. You are in your safe space here.' In addition to being a store, it's an art gallery. The owner offers space upstairs for FREE to local artists.

Place #4: : More walking, lots of walking now to St. Laurent. Keep walking. You are hungry now. You smell chicken. You follow the smell. You are in Coco Rico now, a Portugese rotisserie at 3907 Saint-Laurent Boulevard. You buy an entire chicken.

Newsflash: I went to church!

I grew up in a religious home. Like a lot of lapsed Christians, I figure I have had enough religion for a lifetime. On Sunday mornings, I prefer to do other things: sleep, shag, read, go for brunch, crafts, a walk in the woods, you name it.
Yesterday, I went to church for the first time in a long, long time. I went because my parents were visiting, and they wanted to go to church. They asked me to recommend a church - either Catholic or Anglican. I had no idea where to send them -- because I don't go to church. Then, I decided to send them to the gay-friendly Anglican church on Elgin St.: St. John the Evangelist. Since I was sending them there, I decided I would check it out myself -- mainly so that I could blog about it!

I recommend this place if you are looking for a spiritual home in the city. Here is what I liked about it:

1) The minister Dana Fisher is really great. She stands out on the street wearing a cape and greets people. She's funny and a bit edgy.
2) The music Director, Gordon Johnstone, kicks ass. He gets beautiful sounds out of the choir, he plays the organ like the devil himself, and he plays the harp like an angel.
3) There's an interesting mix of folks at this church -- some look like standard WASPS. Others look more rock n' roll.
4) They do good community work at this church.
5) Congregation members were invited to stand up to make announcements at the end of the service. One guy stood up and talked about setting up a worm composter in the basement. There were a lot of wacky announcements and eccentricity happening there. Great stuff!

Reasons I'm not planning to attend regularly:

1) The service is too long. I can't sit on a hard bench that long.
2) The common cup kind of freaks me out.
3) The Children's Sermon annoys the shit out of me.
4) I have other things I like to do at 10:15 a.m. on Sunday mornings.
5) Did I mention that I had enough religion in my childhood for an entire lifetime?

Why are Academics so Damn Wanky?

First of all, apologies to all of you who find the shift from meditation to rant too jarring....
As many of you know, I have gone back to school part-time. Why you ask? To learn. To be a smarter person. I am hoping that my studies don't lead me to become a complete wanker - or more of a wanker than I already am. Today I was particularly struck by how irritating academics are, and what total fucking wankers they are when they write.

For example, in postmod circles now, it is considered good form to situate oneself in the text. Why do I find this so annoying? After all, I blog. Blogging is a very postmodern activity. I situate myself in the centre of a written piece all the time. So, why should this be a problem for me? Here is an example of what I hate. Please help me understand why it annoys me so ... much!

"I identify myself as a White male university professor living and working in the relative ease and comfort of a G8 country. As an anarchist raised in a working-class family I have encountered a certain amount of disrespect and rejection by my intellectual 'superiors', but I know that my own socialization and the racist and patrarchal norms that permeate the academic world make it relatively easy for me to stay in the game. The same goes for my sexuality. Although I find that my desire exceeds the boundaries of mainstream hetersexual practices, I have a long-term female partner and two children -- so again, I mostly pass. All this to say: my struggles with oppression arise mostly from the need to challenge my own racim, heterosexism and classism, and to find more effective ways to be in solidarity with those who experience the debilitating effects of these apparatuses of division every day and night throughout their lives."


Interesting how academics LOVE to exploit the working-class family thing. And, an "anarchist raised in a working-class family" to boot.

This guy is so straight. "My desire exceeds the boundaries of mainstream hetersexual practices." Face it buddy, you're a wanker! Since you are situating yourself here, why not just say the following: "I am a really straight guy who wanks off a lot."

And, the last bit. Holy self-referential wanking! His struggles with oppression arise out of.... his own struggles?

Am I being too hard on this guy? I think I need to get back to the Buddhists.

False Alarm

Clearly, I'm going to have to hang around as the stand-in muse until the 5th muse starts 1)blogging regularly 2)complaining more 3)telling us what's really going on over there 4) moving out of bliss-world and into something real. Yeah yeah yeah, I'm happy you met R and he's so great and he's got such a great family and blah blah blah. Who cares. You know what? I'm more interesting right now. Here's why - 1) I blog regularly even when I have nothing to say 2) I complain a lot and am about to launch into a rant right now 3) I'll tell you what's really going on over here 4) bliss-world can bite me.
Rant of the day: I hate innocent people. You know the type - the uncontaminated-by-the-world types. What's wrong with them? Why are they so naive? I encountered a dough-faced (or should I say, doe-faced) IP today and her response to something so completely benign was shock and horror. I just wanted to say, "What? You didn't know the world was a bad place? What's wrong with you, you fresh-faced innocent one? Piss off!"
What's going on over here: As I mentioned before, I've become a Spider Solitaire medium level difficulty expert. I'm addicted and am spending far too many hours playing this game. I feel like a genius when I win. An old waiter-friend with whom I celebrated Thanksgiving suggested that I may have "a problem" and didn't appreciate the fact that I was more intimate with the King of Spades than I was with him. My response was, "Let me dabble in this addiction without pathologizing me, ok? And, while you're at it, piss off!"
Bliss-world can bite me: What's with the happy blissed-out folks? What's with the everything happens for a reason people? What's with the everything-in-my-life-was-leading-up-to-this people? What if this doesn't work out? Bliss-world and it's finished products, smug-marrieds, and organic vegetables* can all just piss off!
*(Yes, I just trashed organic vegetables. People are paralysed in Toronto because of organic carrot juice. Sometimes organic means just plain old dirty).

Surviving the last gasps of winter

Here are some tips for surviving the winter that just won't quit.

1) Medicate yourself with whatever you need. Don't try to be stoic. Take the edge off, folks.
2) Do some shopping. Buy some cheap rubber boots for the meltdown that is coming. Buy a tank top, crank the heat, and walk around in your place. Buy books and music. Play the music loud. This is no time for moderation.
3) Take advantage of the longer days. Take long walks after work and walk really fast. Feel the spring fever that is starting to hit. Wear all the usual layers so you won't get pissed off in the middle of the walk.
4) Cook really elaborate meals and drink and rant about hockey violence while cooking. Pretend you are Italian.
5) Do something spontaneous that you haven't dared to do: buy a new pet, move in with someone, leave someone, get a Brazilian wax, take up snowboarding.
6) Learn to knit baby booties in gender neutral colours. The Knitnut told me that you can make them in one sitting. There are a lot of babies born in the spring.
7) Buy a beret and pretend you are a Parisienne. Adopt the attitude.
8) Go to a hair salon, ask for something modern and see what you end up with.
9) Go out and buy a chocolate Easter bunny on sale and eat it right out on the street while you are doing #3.
10) There is no tenth thing.

Sending love out into the blogosphere

I am not going to say Happy Valentine's Day. I know the day is a nice opportunity to give, receive, and consume chocolate. But the day makes so many people feel like shit: people who are lonely, people who have loved and lost, people who happen to just be in a crappy relationship. One of my friends just reported going out and buying a pair of $200 boots to ease the pain of V-day. That's ok, I guess, but it depresses me. We have fucked up ideas and expectations about love and romance that I think are perpetuated by this ridiculous day. We need some other 'models' besides the tired, sappy Valentine's Day one. Megan's"romancing the world at the Manx" idea is groundbreaking, and one that I hope will become a tradition. I wish I were there. Instead, I'm in Montreal being the Valentine's Day grinch.
Tonight I've invited over a friend whose girlfriend dumped him on Fish or Cut Bait Day because he splashed a tiny bit of beer foam in her face. He said she was teasing him, that he meant the foam flicking as a joke, that he apologized several times. She found the beer foam incident a bit much, and took the opportunity to make her exit. I'm sure there was a lot more beyond the foam flicking. But I digress.
In the spirit of romancing the world, I would like to take this opportunity to send love out to the blogsphere. Good pure bloggy love that demands nothing in return.

Bakelite IV

At this point Carol was pretty much completely out of words and energy. She walked away from her son to her room for a little cry, which didn’t happen, so she picked up the phone to call Dan. Her ex was no moral compass, but she needed to talk to a semi-sane adult, to just get this thing out. Dan was with a client when she called, but said he could excuse himself for a couple of minutes. He listened to his ex-wife recount what she saw when she walked in the door: Della and Roy on the couch together in some kind of abnormal position. Della’s shirt half off. Roy’s hand in the shirt. Della wearing one of her Bakelites. “There’s really no limit to who Della will pull her tits out for,” said Dan, trying to reassure her. “She’s a freak and a fuck-up. A country bumpkin, really. She probably needed material for her trashy little blog which she imagines to be some kind of get-rich scheme. Forget about it, Care.” Carol whispered loudly into the phone, “But that’s our boy…He’s only 16. And a young 16-year old at that. Just a kid, a little gamer, a computer nerd, really.” Finally, Dan sighed and said, “Whoa whoa whao, Care…So what? Our kid got to see what a set of saggy old 50-year old tits looks like…Just let it go, hon.” Carol corrected him, “Della’s 45”, and then suddenly they were both laughing at they weren’t sure what. He had to go, he told her. She invited him for supper. “I got something going on,” he said, which was code for out with a woman. They said their goodbyes. He asked if she was ok. Yes, she was ok. Really? Yes. Really. He said he would have a talk to Roy next time. Good idea. She hung up, located her handbag, dug out her puffer and sucked on it deeply.

Intimacy and Christmas

Christmas always poses a challenge for us child-free intimacy avoiders. This year - in an attempt to embrace Christmas and intimacy - I proposed to one of my waiter friends that I send out a photo to friends and family of my cat with reindeer antlers and me (in a Christmas sweater), and perhaps even HIM (also in a Christmas sweater). He was stunned that I proposed such a thing and said, "Aggie, I've never known you to be tacky. What's going on with you?" I responded that I was trying to embrace Christmas, my cat, and our relationship. He looked fearful. "But what's with the sweaters? Are you being ironic? Aren't you just making a mockery of the bourgeois pagan holiday that is Christmas?" I became tearful, and then he dismissed it as some kind female hormone problem.
Another obstacle to intimacy: When people come to know you as an intimacy-avoider, they just get confused when you say you want to pose with them in Christmas sweaters with a cat with reindeer antlers.
Yet another obstacle to intimacy: When people come to know you as an intimacy-avoider, they assume you are taking the piss out of things - ie. Christmas rituals - and are not serious about posing with them in Christmas sweaters with a cat with reindeer antlers.

Swine Flu Hysteria

I get scared easily. When the guy cut off the guy's head on the bus, I got scared that my head was going to get cut off the next time I took a bus. When that guy killed himself with a Q-tip, I thought I was going to kill myself with a Q-tip. I'm also scared shitless of Swine Flu. Just the sound of it scares me. Pigs. Flu. Pig flu. Holy fuck! And now it's at a Level 5... how many levels are there, anyway? My institution tells me it is prepared, but are they really? I know the wankers in charge of these things and they don't know their asses from their elbows.

Next week I have an appointment with a young woman who will have just arrived from a vacation in Mexico. She's IN Mexico right now. I am already trying to figure out how I can keep her away from me, and away from everyone in my workplace. She needs to stay the fuck away! I don't want her to see that I am completely nuts over here, but I really, seriously want her away!

I am beginning to see that this hysteria I am experiencing runs in my family. I received this email today from a very close relative:

"As soon as I press Send to forward you this email, I'm off with the aforementioned check lists in hand to buy what's needed to top up and my emergency supplies kit. Even though I've recently read that face masks are little help in protecting us from breathing-in the tiny virus germs, I also will buy -- and use -- a box of face masks. At the very least, wearing a mask in crowded places may help keep me from unconsciously touching my nose and mouth, and rubbing my eyes -- the surest way to get whatever is going around."

Solid Advice from Manny Blue

The magnificent, Manny Blue, one of the Holograms in the paradigm-shifting band, Astronaut Love Triangle, has given me some solid advice about how to be more productive -- without the use of coffee beans. Here are her recommendations:

Getting some exercise before starting to work
Working in natural light. I've learned to get all my ideas down in the daytime while sitting in natural light (luckily I have a window at work)
Writing my outline and ideas down on paper by hand - adding diagrams, notes, etc. Later I use my handwritten notes to guide me and keep me on track as I type out the report, etc.
No coffee (tea's OK) and no junk food - it just makes my attention issues worse
Fresh fruit on hand - a variety is important to me
Water... lots of it
Rewards! I write 10 sentences and I get to... (insert whatever works for you)
Walking around and speaking my ideas out loud... quickly sitting down and writing them down or typing them (I don't do this one at work)
Headphones with music. It blocks out the world and I can tap my foot to the beat. If my foot is busy with the tune, I don't get as distracted. Maybe the part of my brain that gets distracted needs to be doing something (this one really works for me)
Writing whatever comes to me (no second guessing), then setting the work aside for an hour or so... then going back to it to edit
Printing my work and editing from print (an editor told me this trick - he never edits from electronic copies... always the print)

I follow some of these guidelines already, except for the staying healthy part -- paying attention to what I eat, exercise, etc... This is what I am working on now. Manny, thanks for the inspiration!

Margaret Atwood poem

It's not February, but I thought this poem still seems right at the moment.

"February" by Margaret Atwood (Margaret Atwood, “February” from Morning in the Burned House. Copyright © 1995)

Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It’s his
way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am
He’ll think of something. He settles
on my chest, breathing his breath
of burped-up meat and musty sofas,
purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat,
not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door,
declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory,
which are what will finish us off
in the long run. Some cat owners around here
should snip a few testicles. If we wise
hominids were sensible, we’d do that too,
or eat our young, like sharks.
But it’s love that does us in. Over and over
again, He shoots, he scores! and famine
crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing
eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits
thirty below, and pollution pours
out of our chimneys to keep us warm.
February, month of despair,
with a skewered heart in the centre.
I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries
with a splash of vinegar.
Cat, enough of your greedy whining
and your small pink bumhole.
Off my face! You’re the life principle,
more or less, so get going
on a little optimism around here.
Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.

Houseguests and Crap

Something must be going on in the universe this weekend. Mercury must be out of retrograde. Or Venus is trining Uranus. Our place is crawling with houseguests. I'm hauling every camping mattress I can find out the basement, and clearing floor surfaces, trying to figure out where I can lay people out.
In the midst of this houseguest deluge, and while dischevelled man was giving our first round of guests a house tour, there was a shocking discovery: one of our cats CRAPPED right in the middle of a bed. We're not sure which cat did it. But the large amount of crap suggests that it was the adult cat. I'm not sure why he would do this. Some possible theories here:

1) The cat is freaked out about the number of people coming in.
2) The cat is finally trying to tell us that he is not happy about the arrival of Ti-gris.
3) The cat was sick, and just had a once-in-lifetime unfortunate accident.
4) The cat is trying to tell us that he hates us.
5) It wasn't the cat at all, but one of the houseguests.

How to Sell Art in Ottawa and 2 Musicians I Like

1) Today I discovered the key to selling art in Ottawa. You may not like this, but this is a little sad reality I witnessed today at the Old Ottawa South Art in the Park.
So here it is: find a well-heeled white-haired woman with alcohol on her breath. She will spend. Believe me. She will spend. And she'll say things like, "My kids are going to kill me." I watched an artist navigate this situation very very carefully and ended up making a lot of money.

2) DM pointed out today that I like an anglo musician who writes very much like a francophone musician I also like. Both are pretty rough writers, and both have moments of fucking brilliance. The anglo musician is Dan Reeder, who has lines like this: "I don't really want to talk to you/But my business requires that I do." Who can't relate to that? He also has a song entitled "I drink beer", which I appreciate as a song title.

3) The francophone musician is Cayouche. He is ugly. He has a big ugly growth on his face, and apparently smells in person. But he is brilliant. My favourite song of his is -- my translation in English -- "You broke the chain on my tractor". Some other great lines in the song are (my translation):
You don't want to castrate the horses anymore
You don't look after the pig.
You say you want to go to Montreal.
Take your bags and get the fuck out of here.

You can watch Cayouche in action here.

Sunday Update

I haven't completely given up blogging. Clearly, this is because I'm still getting something out of it. I love getting comments from you readers. After some reflection, I thought in this weekly update, I'd be a little more directive with you about my current needs, so that I could optimize on your inspirational and supportive comments. Here goes:

1) The internet is still destroying my brain. I'm now playing Scramble with XUP which is fun because she is not as skilled as Zoom who continues to kick my ass. What I'm trying to say is - XUP, please continue to support me by losing in Scramble. Zoom, I'm not going to play with you anymore, because it is damaging to my self-esteem.
2) My workplace is completely dysfunctional, and I can't blog about this. Let's just say I'm not empowered. I do need your encouragement, though. Generic workplace encouragement required. Refer to the motivational literature if necessary. I'm open to anything right now.
3) I'm not as stressed out this week thanks to the bucketfuls of St. John's Wort I've been ingesting. The stuff works, folks. No need for comments on this one.
5) I attended a Quaker wedding this week. It was beautiful in its non-ceremony, and interesting, but I discovered I couldn't be a Quaker because a) all the silence makes me uncomfortable; b) I like a bit more structure; c) I don't like the idea of opening the floor to just anyone. No need to comment on this one. I like the Quakers and my opinion here really means shit.
6) I'm getting another cat in the new year, and I'm looking for a really bloggable one, but not one that will pee in my bed. Suggestions?
7) I want to win a trip somewhere warm, and I would like people to send me contests I could participate in. Thanks.

Ok. That's the weekly update with directions for comments. Thank you in advance.

When things turn ugly in an art class

As I have mentioned a number of times, I love my art teacher. He is my dream teacher. He walks around saying brilliant things, and seems to say just the right thing at the right moment. Tonight, one of his comments to me was "The key here is to keep this thing kicky, while staying coherent." He also compared painting to writing and target practice.
While he is my dream teacher, it seems he is someone else's nightmare. One of the students in our class is a woman who hasn't seemed happy from the get-go. She was hoping for a technique class.

They got into it in our last class, and things turned ugly. She said, "You are trying to make me into an abstract painter." His response to this was, "Everything is abstract. Language is abstract. I'm not trying to make you into anything. I'm just trying to help you look at things." I thought that was a fine response. But, then things escalated quickly, and resulted in her saying something nasty about his ability as a teacher. The conversation continued to take a bad turn, and he ended up saying to her - "Maybe you should not paint." She said, "Maybe you should get a life." Then, she walked out. My dream teacher looked a bit sick and was clearly rattled. The rest of us were working quietly and intensely on our own paintings during all of this.

After class, I walked out with a fellow student who was concerned about the woman who stormed out. She said, "Painting is all she has. She's one of those traditional women who has just followed her husband around." I thought to myself, maybe this woman does need to expand her horizons a bit. You see, my teacher may have intuitively sensed that this woman needed to have a break from the painting. That is how fucking brilliant he is.

This Morning

A few issues this morning.

1) trouble getting out of bed because I was hearing the sounds of people scraping snow and ice off their cars, and that didn't motivate me to get up for some reason. I am also avoiding the stuff I have to do today....
2) no coffee in the house. I am drinking green tea, and it is just making me angry. I need to venture out into the snowstorm and caffeinate myself properly.
3) I am writing something, and the ending is not coming together. Why are endings so hard? That is not a real question. Here are some possible ways I could end it. 1) happy ending (they all lived happily ever after); 2) sad ending (someone dies or is seriously maimed); 3) Film noir ending (someone disappears and no one know what really happened); 4) surprise ending (totally fuck with the reader, and turn everything upside down). I know there are other kinds of endings, but these are the ones I am currently stuck on -- "stuck" being the operative word here.
4) I had a bizarre dream this morning that a close friend of mine had a blog called "Oatmeal Matters", in which she created very intricate and complex comic strips on rice paper, about a couple who bickered all the time, but in a very sophisticated kind of way. When I got up I decided to google "Oatmeal Matters", and no on has a blog by this name. In the dream, she had no readers, so I was going to generously link her to my blog, so that she would have about 15 readers a day.

Merry, Merry....

Long story, but my Christmas started in a Moncton Emergency Room. I wasn't the one with the emergency, but was resentfully accompanying the victim. In the end, I felt a bit guilty about my questions and comments as we drove to the ER: "Are you sure you can't just suck it up for Christmas dinner?" and "You know that using the Emergency room is a massive tax on the system, blah blah blah". Not very Christmas spirity at all. Anway, turns out my sick companion has pneumonia, which sucks.

Upon arrival, the Moncton ER scene consisted of one little crying kid with a bloody hand, and another guy with a bloody hand who seemed to think that showing his hand gash to the little kid would make him feel better. It didn't. Among the other waiting room victims was a woman with a bashed-in face accompanied by her son. She said she tripped and fell into a table. In lovely Moncton French, she told me, "J'ai cassE un bone dans ma face." That really sucks.

Then, we went to the pharmacy to get the drugs. My victim met an aquaintance in front of him at the prescription counter who was also a sickly grey colour, and who parted with his own drugs, saying "I hope you don't die. That would suck!" which my victim thought was completely inappropriate, and I agreed. A simple, "Merry Christmas" would have been adequate.

The day has improved significantly. Hope you are all having a healthy holiday, and doing your best to stay out of emergency rooms.