I'm sorry, I know I've already endorsed this program once this week...but it keeps suprising me in unexpected ways. I just don't understand how I never knew of it before.
This American Life - Episode 210: Perfect Evidence is about false confessions. I was drawn to it this week because that is the subject of my Advanced Evidence class tonight. People confess to crimes that they did not commit...and whose innocence is supported by irrefutable evidence. People who wind up incarceated for years and years who are, in fact, innocent. This episode is interesting for a number of reasons but around the 39 minute mark one of the subjects - a man who was incarcerated for 15 years for a crime he did not commit - speaks about his belief...no faith... in the justice system. It's so poignant...so honest...with such a lack of anger, bitterness or hostility (three emotions that I anticipated and felt were justified).

I may have more to say on the topic later, after class...but this is it for now.

Something old, something new

I love it when old music makes it's way back into my rotation and I discover new things about it.

I live alone now, but I had roommates through my undergraduate degree. One thing I miss about roommates is the quirky little things you learn about them: who they are, how they cope with life. And another thing I really miss about having roommates is coming home to the unexpected (occasionally this could be embarrassing...but usually just great). So to combine the two things -a really great roommate tell is music: what they listen to, when they listen to it, what sort of moods correspond with what sort of music. So many days I would come home, and slide the key into the lock, open the door...and what sort of music playing?? And that was my first indication of what to expect. And for the rest of my life I will associate PJ Harvey with a bad day for Eve. If I heard PJ Harvey when I walked in the door, Eve had a bad day...or was angry or irritated about something. You'd think it would be a negative association: PJ Harvey = bad. But no...it just reminds me of Eve. Just like a really great bagel (especially when all-dressed and topped with creamcheese, poor man's lox (aka tomatoes), kosher salt and pepper), the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper, H2O face moisturizer, red nail polish (or the inability to ever find the "perfect" red nail polish), a certain style of streamlined/quasi-European/impossible to define but easy to spot shoe and stripes (all kinds of stripes) - the list could go on.

I was listening to a PJ Harvey song today, "This Mess We're In" from her album Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. I must have heard this song 100 times, maybe more. I've known the album since it came out in 2000. And for the first time today I noticed that Thom Yorke sings lead vocals on that song, for the first time. It just became so much more multi-dimensional for me.

From the pages of the bizarre but true, a friend of mine told me a story about what happened to him at the end of the night on Saturday. He put me into a cab at about 1:30. Catching a cab is virtually impossible at bar close, so unless I feel like crashing at a friend's house, I generally try and sneak home before things get crazy. Apparently he went back into the bar and had another drink or so, and then around 2 went to get his jacket to go and...it was gone...stolen...along with his keys and his phone. So he and two of our drunk friends search the (now-empty) bar and come up empty handed so he gives the bar his phone number (at this point I interject that it was silly of him to give his phone number given the fact that he didn't have his phone, but I digress) and heads out into the freezing cold night in his short sleeves. At one point one of the friends suggests that maybe they call the phone and so they do. And a homeless guy answers...apparently he found the phone in a dumpster. And so they arrange a (by now) 4AM corner rendez-vous to pick up the phone. And my friend asks him if he saw the keys, which the homeless guy had not but he agrees to lead them to the dumpster in which he found the phone. The dumpster is empty but they attempt to search it by the light of my friend's watch (aka not very much light). And low and behold, if they don't find his keys...what are the odds, huh...the dumpster is completely empty except for his damn keys. Jacket still gone but keys and phone are found. So all's well that (sort of) ends well...albeit in a totally random and pretty much unbelievable way. Again...people suprise me.

Apparently Dr "Bob"'s dad was some kind of spy. He had to take something like 5 buses to work so that people wouldn't follow him and his office was through a secret door in the back of a closet. Why am I not suprised...every story with this guy is crazier than the last!

Things I Learned/Discovered Today

Went to the Tegan & Sara concert last night. They are highschool friends of one of my best friends so we had backstage passes (very exciting, I've never done that before and it made me feel very A-list). They are absolutely lovely people and I am indebted to them for making a siginificant contribution to my last break-up recovery with their song, You Wouldn't Like Me (which, much to my delight, they played in the encore). But I digress. I got into a conversation with Sara about the radio program, This American Life, and I left promising to look up an episode called Act V. Cleaning my apartment was on my to-do list today and so I looked up the program and set to cleaning while listening. This particular episode features a reporter who spends 6 months at a maximum security prison in the States where a theatre director has created a program by which the inmates learn, rehearse and perform Shakespeare's Hamlet in 5 installments for an audience of fellow prisoners, family, and the Arts community which funds the program. To be clear, these are murderers, pedophiles, rapists, you name it, performing a play about murder and revenge. Nutshelling the play: Hamlet's dead father comes to him in a dream and says, "Avenge my death. Your uncle murdered me, married your mother and stole my kingdom and my crown." I cried, I cheered, I was awed, I was horrified, I was shocked. It was an incredible hour of programming that made me consider the penal system, social hierarchy, my own preconceived notions about education and convicts and all sorts of things. I am in love with this program. And then I discovered that iTunes offers This American Life as a free podcast subscription. Yeah!



Had my night class tonight. The class is taught by two boisterous, feisty lawyers. At the end of our weekly 3 hour class they always do a bit that they call Coaches Corner. The premise of this bit is that they will tell us things that they wished they knew as articling students and junior lawyers. Today the topic was: Tasks You Might Be Asked To Do As An Articling Student. And what followed was the laundry list of taking minutes at meetings and picking up drycleaning and ordering booze for the Friday afternoon impromtu parties. And then Dr. "Bob" of previous posts raised his hand and asked the profs what the best way to handle a certain delicate situation. What follows is an approximate recitation of the exchange between them, and an interesting example of what I learn in school.

Dr. Bob - What do you do when you are tasked with taking care of clients?

Prof - Well, that's definitely something that might happen.

Dr. Bob - I mean what do you do when your client is the big Texan who's just finished his big oil deal and now wants to have a good time? Like a really good time?? Like he wants drink, drugs and a hooker?

Prof (with a totally straight face) - Well there are certain ethical obligations that we have, and I would not recommend going out and procuring the drugs or the prostitute yourself. Hmm...but I imagine the big Texan is staying in a hotel? And probably a nice hotel, right? Well, what I would do is take Mr. Oilman back to his hotel, and, with some discretion, take him to the concierge and say, "Mr. Concierge, this is Mr. Oilman. Mr. Oilman is looking for some companionship tonight, do you think that might be something you might be able to help him out with?" Delegation is an important skill to learn...And now it's not your problem any more!

Ah so...lesson learned.

A Lesson Learned, a Mistake Repeated?

After my post on Saturday I went out to "the farm" (the one of past posts; the source of, at times, both great delight and my utter undoing; a location in which I always manage to try something new). This weekend was not to disappoint. New things I tried: 1) laying laminate click flooring, 2) using a table saw, 3) eating pig that had been roasted on a spit (they roasted the whole thing: ears, nose, eyes, feet and all), 4) drinking 50 proof Slovakian plum brandy, 5) kissing a Slovak (the one who provided the aforementioned plum brandy). I blame the last item on my farm-owning friend who has decided that the best way to get me to abandon my plan to move back to Vancouver and stay in Alberta is to marry me off to said Slovak and have me making babies with him before the year is out. She says this out loud, too...to just about anyone who will listen. It's not going to happen, I tell her. But he's pretty cute: tall, blond, sexy accent, handy...he taught me how to use a nail gun this weekend...it's not like I'm torturing myself to play with him a bit.

In what could prove to be a very bad decision, I have accepted an invitation to the fights on Friday night from my ex. He of the farm from last year; he of the still occasional inappropriate text message. I have decided that seeing as his presence in my life is unavoidable, I am determined to make it work...and in order to see that happen, I have begun to deal with his inappropriate comments and innuendo with violence or the threat of violence. He makes a suggestive comment and I slug him one in the gut. It worked this weekend, and by worked I mean it was a mutually agreeable resolution to the problem and by mutually agreeable I mean that I suspect it turns him on, but it makes me feel like my point is being made. We each win in our own ways. Anyways, I've totally digressed. There's a professional boxing event in town on friday and he bought a table and I've never watched professional boxing and so I accepted. The fact that the Slovak is going to be there (because they are friends, how cozy is that?) may or may not have influenced my acceptance of the invitation. For the record, my ex knows of the current situation with the Slovak...he was there this weekend. Also, for the record, I took the gold, slinky, must-be-taped-on, neck-line-down-to-the-navel shirt to the dry cleaner today. I've decided I don't feel like playing fair.

In true when-it-rains-it-pours fashion, the Slovak is not the only man in my life right now. There's also the - wait for it - 20 year old Newfie with the scar on his cheek, the kissable lips, and the amazingly sexy back, artfully covered in tattoos. He's the kind that's not really much for the words, but has this totally smouldering look in his eyes. But, that's right...he's 20. T-w-e-n-t-y. To add a little complication to the matter, I'm going to see Coach from last year on Saturday night. This was my rugby coach from last year that I had a fling with and, well, it's rugby season again...

And what of the lesson learned? One of my closest friends is going through a rough time with her boyfriend right now. Between me and those who read this, I think he is no where near good enough for her. I think he is a user and a cheater and a loser in general. She has helped him turn his life around in innumerable ways - not the least of which includes sinking thousands of dollars into fixing his house (not improving it, mind you, but things like paying off outstanding bills to the gas, phone and water company so they will resume service) and fixing his life (things like paying off his criminal AND family lawyers who a) helped him avoid conviction on criminal offences, and b) helped him deal with the totally crazy mother of his child who intentionally got pregnant while telling him she was on the pill. This woman is the most despicable, vile creature I have ever come across in my life. My opinion of her is formed almost entirely (I've only met her once for about 5 minutes) on the negligent and unfit way in which she parents her son which begins with the fact that her son has symptoms of Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder and degenerates from there.) This situation does not get better...I could go on for hours about the "virtues" which are this guy. But here's the problem: she sees potential in him and up until recently, I saw what she saw. I truly did. And then I came into a series of pieces of information that indicated he was cheating on her. And I believe the information to be true. After all that she has done for him... I firmly believe that if it wasn't for my friend he would be or would soon be incarcerated - this was the way his life was headed. After all she has done for him, he cheats on her. I am beside myself with anger and spite and vengefulness, on behalf of my friend. But the thing is that I remembered prior incidents with two of my friends and I remembered that this is her life and not mine. And my role is to be the friend and not the judge.

With deference to the lesson learned back in undergrad, I told her what I knew. Circumstantial, whatever, I told her what I knew. To do otherwise would have been a betrayal. But with deference to the lesson learned a few years ago, I gave her the information without judgment. I held my tongue about what I thought of him. To do otherwise would have alienated her. To do either of those things at a time when she needs a trustworthy confidant would have made me a bad friend. Because she is going to do what she is going to do. And she is going to believe what she is going to believe. And she is going to forgive what she is going to forgive. And one of two things is going to happen: they are going to stay together forever or she is going to get up the courage to leave him. And in either of those situations, the knowledge that I loathe him is not going to help her. Had I expressed my opinion, and then had she chosen to stay with him (which is a decision she would have made regardless of what I thought) my disapproval would have cut off the lines of communication between us. And she did decide to stay with him in this circumstance. But she needs me to stand by her, not in judgment of her...that is my role right now.

Atonement

One of the hardest things about getting back into blogging is introspection. I know I have these inward thoughts about the world but I've gotten out of the habit of noting them for future writing topics. So I sit down to write and all that comes to mind is, "Dear diary, this morning I had bran flakes for breakfast." Bleh.

Was out last night with some friends and committed a cardinal sin against one of my best friends. Blame it on the alchohol or my current pattern of recklessness or whatever but I remember doing it...even if no one else does. I spilled the beans; I spread the gossip; I told the secrets. I did it; I knew I was doing it; I was unable to refrain. Fortunately, after discretely poking around for information from the individual privy to my outburst, he has no recollection of this at all and so I am fairly certain there will be no reprocussions and the secret remains safe.

But this is troubling to me for several reasons. I admit that I like the gossip. I like to be the one in the know. I like to have more information that I can use however I like and I admit that this makes me a pretty good manipulator. However, I also am fiercely loyal to my friends. I love them like family and (at the risk of sounding dramatic) I would rather cut off my arm than betray a confidence. So what happened last night? Part of me thinks that even though my indiscretion was caught by the safety net of a vague statement, a loud bar, and a glaze of alcohol, I should confess my sin nevertheless. Does the consequence or lack of consequence change the fact that I betrayed my friend?? Wasn't my intention the most troublesome part?

I have been increasingly upset with this friend over the last few weeks. We haven't fought, this person hasn't done anything to me per se. But it's little things that I've overheard...things I have observed things that are making me wonder if this is the person I know and love. I think I'm frustrated because I don't feel entitled to bring this up. It really doesn't have anything to do with me. But I'm disappointed nevertheless. As irrational as this sounds, it sort of feels like betrayal. I suspect that my sin last night was an irrational strike at my friend. Totally ineffective and unfair because this person doesn't even know that I'm upset. And I think that regardless of the outcome of last night, the fact that I even went there necessitates a conversation.

Forbidden From Saying "No"

First of all...I have to say that I'd just about given up on the blogging thing. Summer was too long and too short all at the same time...too long stressing about jobs and life and the direction both were taking...and once everything had resolved itself and I could relax there was hardly any time left. I felt uninspired. And then back to school and utter chaos and I thought maybe I just wouldn't come back to this.

But then today, while cleaning my apartment, I discovered a Christmas gift from my sister. She had taken her favorites of my posts from the previous year and bound them with a foreward that she had written herself. So I curled up with a cup of tea and read them and they made me laugh and cry and remember and wish I could forget all at the same time. And I realized the original reasons that I started to write here - catharsis and memoir. And so I'm back.

School has started...and it will be my last EVER year of school. This is a bizarre feeling for me. I have completed programs, obtained a diploma and a degree. But in each of those experiences of finality, I never really felt like it was the end. I didn't go to my McGill graduation. Part of the reason was that I had just started a new job and an important program was rolling out that weekend...but had it really been important to me, I could have manipulated things. The real reasons for my ambivalence were 1) I truly felt like I did not deserve that degree due to my mediocre effort and performance, and 2) I knew, in my heart of hearts, that it would not be the end of my formal education.

But this time it is different. I joke with my family that I'm going to go to medical school next but the truth of the matter is that I have my career now. I have obtained an article with a fantastic firm, far beyond my wildest dreams, in Vancouver and I will (with a little bit of luck and barring anything catastrophic) be a lawyer. I suppose that I could go for a Masters in Law...but really, unless I want to be a professor...this is not a necessary nor important degree to get. And so this is it. This is my last year in school. The last of almost 20 full years. Wow...

In an effort to maximize my experience and have no regrets my new rule this year is to not say "no." If I am asked to participate, help out, volunteer, try something out...then I'm gonna do it. Already this has found me with an injury from a baseball tournament (a very large and colourful bruise from a line drive that hit me while pitching), on an executive board (of a wine tasting club no less), on an ice hockey team (first time skating without a toe pick...I'm very anxious about this) and with a commitment to man a BBQ on Friday (fingers crossed that no one gets food poisoning). I think it's shaping up to be a fantastic, albeit incredibly busy, year. Hopefully one not to forget!

I'm bailing out and going back to Vancouver for the summer. Lots of reasons why...some reasonable...some fearful...some irrational...some intelligent. But the fact remains...I am going back to Vancouver for the summer.

On another note...I've been undertaking an overhaul of my music catalogue lately...inspired by Rolling Stone's list of the top 500 songs of all time. I agree with a lot of their choices...but am baffled by others. They've chosen things I completely disagree with and have omitted things that I would have included.

The Beatles are, by far, the most often included group in the list...close to 20 entries. And it inspired me to check out which Beatles wrote which songs. I've come to realize that Harrison wrote the songs of which I have the strongest opinions. I just don't understand and sort of cringe when I hear some of his music...stuff like Blue Jay Way. But on the other hand...the songs that I love...just love are also mostly written by him: Here Comes The Sun, Something, and While My Guitar Gently Weeps.

Speaking of Charlie

Attack of the Blood Sucking Viral Vectors

AKA mosquitoes. Yesterday was a beautiful beautiful day: 26 degrees. And then we had a thunderstorm...which is great, one of my favorite things about the summer...but literally the bugs just swarmed afterwards. Supposedly we are supposed to have a bad bug summer...lots of scientific data on why and how and where and when. I'm not so concerned...what I am concerned about is how I can keep them out of my house (no screens on the windows)

Travelling in Asia, you absolutely must have a mosquito net. When I was living in China, I slept under one the entire time I was there. (Kind gave me a sense of security about the cochroaches and 8 foot wide spiders) There is nothing worse to the attempting-to-sleep-er, than the droning, high pitched whine of mosquitoes as they buzz about your head. One night, in India, I attempted to sleep without a net, and I seriously wanted to put a stick in my eye. I think it would make a very effective form of torture. I don't know if it is the lack of sleep, or something inherent in the sound...but I don't think I have ever been so utterly unhinged. And they're clever too...should you decided to put up with the insufferable heat, and pull the covers over your head in an attempt to avoid them, they WILL find a way in...through the smallest crack, the tiniest hole, they will force their way in and then it will be you and them under the covers and now not only are you suffering from a lack of sleep, sweating like a stuck pig, but now you are claustrophobic as well. Seriously, this is hysteria inducing stuff. But then I've been told that I can be a little dramatic at times.

Occasionally I would wake up and about three feet above my face, wrestling the net with futility, would be sometimes in excess of 50 mosquitoes. But three feet away is far enough to escape the sound of the droning. It just always amazed me that they would be concentrated over my face like that. I wonder if they are attracted to the heat - perhaps my breath.

So we're all supposed to be worried about West Nile now, right? I don't know...I mean I'm not going to go out and look for mosquitoes to suck my blood...but in all honesty, it has more to do with the fact that I can't stand to be itchy, rather than fear of West Nile. Go to Asia...they've got malaria (which never really scared me...other then the fact that you carry it around with you for life. I had drugs which gave me an admittedly false sense of security, but one nevertheless), and Dengue Fever.

Now Dengue Fever...that scared me to bits. You know what the popular term for Dengue is? Break Bone Fever, or the Bonecrusher Disease. Ok, now, before I knew anything about this disease, I knew I did not ever want to get it. You want to scare someone into prophylactic measures...tell them that if they don't, they're gonna get something called The Bonecrusher. All I can think of when I hear that is pain, and a lot of it. The kind of pain that accompanies a trip to a medieval torture chamber. The disease was nicknamed due to the severe muscle and joint pain and cramping that accompanies. The word "Dengue" is a Spanish adulteration of the Swahili phrase, "ki denga pepo," which means - get this - "cramp like seizure caused by an evil spirit." So having Dengue is like being possessed...man, this just gets better and better.

Or if you get the rare and agressive version - Dengue Hemhorrhagic Fever...ai ya. Wikipedia describes the symptoms as: higher fever, haemorrhagic phenomena, thrombocytopenia and haemoconcentration. Now I don't know what a lot of that is (but it sure as hell sounds scary), and what I do know is that that the phenomena of which they speak includes bleeding from the gums...and maybe the eyes, and the ears. And then you can go into shock and die. And you know how they treat it - fluids. Drink lots of fluids. That's all they've got. And avoid taking aspirin. That's great...gives me lots of confidence. If you start bleeding out through your gums, they can give you a platelet transfer, but let's be real...you're pretty much done for by that point.

Oi...and if this isn't mood lifting at all...apparently there is a global outbreak about once every five years. In 2002, there was an outbreak where 1 million people were affected in Rio de Janeiro alone. So every five years, would bring us to....this year. Great.

Anyways, my only point is that West Nile virus is a pussy cat compared to some of the crazy stuff out there. And speaking of pussy cats...the one good thing about the recent swarms of bugs, is that Charlie is completely entertained in her futile effort to catch them. Although she is starting to climb things and leap from things in her efforts and I'm starting to worry that she might knock over a bookcase in her earnestness.

The Spirite Lounge

My mind is in the world of vegetarianism lately and I've been reminded, with extreme fondness, of The Spirite Lounge, on Rue Ontario in Montreal's Gay Village.
If you are ever in Montreal, be sure to make reservations because this place is so quintessentially Secret Montreal...it's phenomenal. They sort of follow the same schtick as The Elbow Room on Davie in Vancouver...a dining experience with a side of arrogance and no room for patronizing the guests. But the food is much more gourmet - vegetarian, organic, table d'hote and so creative, you'll scratch your head in wonder. Sorbets, salads, soups, crepes and I've never had something there I didn't like. But check your sensibilities at the door and be prepared for a boisterous evening sparring with the owner (who often has his hair slicked into devil's horns) admist an atmosphere of tinfoil-cum-wall paper, mirrors and leopard print.
The place is run by two men: Patrice and Roz-Man - one cooks, one serves the food, and the attitude. Rumor has it that one guest had his cell phone unceremoniously dunked in his water glass when it rang and was answered in the dining area. Hey...fair warning, there are large signs at the door declaring the cell phone ban.
The rules are that you must clean your plate (they offer different sized portions), and if you don't they charge you an extra $2 (which they match and contribute to a local charity), and you can't have dessert. If you do order dessert (usually a flourless, delicious chocolate something with sorbet), and don't finish it...you're banned for life.
I've never seen anyone not finish their dessert.
Oh! I urge you to go...it's just fabulous.

Good tasting fake meat?

I eat a lot of vegetarian food. I would not classify myself as a vegetarian, per se. I like a big slab of cow too much...and cutting into the Thanksgiving zucchini just doesn't have the same appeal. But for health reasons, environmental reasons and economic reasons I eat a lot of vegetarian food. That, and I just plain enjoy it. With the exception (until today ) of fake meat. It just had a wierd almost gag inducing texture and flavour.
Veggie burgers...for sure...but the grain kind (or my all time favourite - the Money's mushroom burger (a BC company...I haven't seen the burgers in years (in truth, I haven't really looked)...but made almost entirely of mushrooms and soooo damn good). Tofu...excellent...I truly came to love it after living in China. Now I'll even eat, and enjoy, a slice of it, raw. Tahini, nuts, veggies of all kinds, whole grains, you name it. But I avoided fake meat like the plague.
There's this vegetarian restaurant at a monastary in Hong Kong (I forget the name but it's at the site of the world's largest bronze buddha or something like that), in the islands. And they do a fake chicken that is totally delicious...so I know it can be done.
Then a friend of mine (not vegetarian FJ) suggested I try veggie ground round. She adds them to chili or spaghetti sauce. And so I did. I just pulled a bag of tomato sauce out of the freezer, sauteed some mushrooms and a half a pack of this stuff. And it's good...it's really really good. The texture, the taste, the consistency. I am a total convert.
I have two different varieties right now...one, Yves Veggie Cuisine, I have yet to try. But the other is from Superstore's new Blue Menu. I'm totally impressed with this line - a range of products that are lower in fat and calories. And cheap...this product was less than $2.50. And it will last for at least 2 recipes (a good 4 meals). Perfect!

Happy Trails To You

Friend J (who from here on in will be referred to FJ) and I went horseback riding today. It's been years since I've been on a horse. When I was a kid I used to ride all the time (albeit English, not Western). My first job, actually, was mucking out horse stalls. I had (well, leased) a bunch of horses in my riding years, but my favorite was Aspen. She was a beautiful bay colored thoroughbred mare who loved to jump. She also had asthma. This didn't stop her, though the first time I pressed her into a canter, she just about pulled me right over her head with her hacking coughs. As I got to know her better, I learned to anticipate her coughs, and loosed the reins in time, and it became one of my favorite quirks about her. Man, I loved that horse.
But anyways, I digress. FJ picked me up this morning and we drove out of the city into the country towards this stable. It was in the outskirts of this little town called Gibbons about 45 minutes north of the city. The town has a population of about 2500 people with twice as many hair salons as there are restaurants. Apparently the town was started by a pioneer family, named Gibbons, who settled the area in 1889. I had a look at the town web site. One thing of note...there's a lot of people in the town whose last name is still Gibbons. I guess people don't tend to move far away from home. The town was one of the first stops on the Athabasca Landing Trail - one of the well trodden fur trade routes utilized by the Hudson's Bay Company around the turn of the century.
We rode for about 2 hours in the valley of the Sturgeon River. It was a nice ride - not enough running to thoroughly satisfy me, but it was soothing. I love the smell of horses, as only someone who grew up around them can. I said this to FJ and she said, "yeah, like oats and shit." OK, point taken, but also like grass, and dust and like horses. I have to say though, that area is so ugly...so flat...so brown...so barren. I'm just on an I-am-dissatisfied-with-Alberta kick right now, and pining for the beauty of Vancouver.
After our ride, we decided to drive into town to grab a bite to eat before heading back to the city. We pulled into Sal's - home of the famous gourmet burgers. And as we're walking up to the door, I nudged FJ, "What do you think the chances are they have a vegetarian-friendly menu?" Sure enough, the menu is predominantly meat - burgers, and pizza and pasta. I order a mushroom burger, thinking about the promised fame of these burgers that I had read on the window. And for FJ we try several options. FJ: "I'd like the fish and chips," waitress: "We're out of fish," FJ: "OK, what about your pasta sauces, do they have meat in them," waitress: "Of course", Me: "What about the Chicken Club Pita, Can you do the pita without the meat", waitress: blank stare, me: "I assume there are veggies on the pita as well - lettuce, tomato - could you just do a veggie pita", waitress: "I don't know", me: "Ok, is there anything on the menu that does not have meat in it?," waitress: "well, no - it's all burgers 'n stuff," FJ: "Ok, I'll have a cheese pizza," waitress: looks at us as if we have a screw loose or something, "D'ya want drinks with that?", FJ: "a 7-up", Me: look in the cooler, not a single sugar free soda...it's all full sugar, "I'll have a coffee"
Oh, and then the food arrived, and let me tell you - famous...not quite...more like infamous. I swear that they took a single mushroom, cut it up and cooked it, and then dumped an entire can of mushroom soup on the burger, and slapped it on a cold un-toasted bun. Oh it was gross. I tried scraping the soup off...I tried eating the patty alone (totally tasteless). In the end, I wound up abandoning the burger and having a slice of cheese pizza...which...truth be told, had a great crust.
We decided that it was time to head back to the city. It's not all small towns that I dislike...some are just lovely. But this one...hmmmm. I'm not sure I ever have a reason to go back and I'm not sure I ever want to have a reason to go back.

Very Nervous

I have a job interview this afternoon...I am very nervous about it. It's been quite a while since I've had one - over a year at least.

Deep breaths.

As an aside, I've just noticed that my last post was number 100. Hmm...yeah me. That's kind of exciting.

Something I've never seen before.

I was driving home from the Italian store yesterday - bought a big can of tomatoes to make my freezer stash of basic tomato sauce. And I was stopped at a light, there was no one else around and I was sort of gazing off into space. The light turned and I missed it. And this big van came up behind me and laid on the horn. I was shocked back into reality, and mighty miffed about the horn blast - a simple friendly beep would have sufficed - it's not like I was being irritating on purpose. And so I give my best take-it-easy wave and drive off.

At the next light the van pulled up next to me and then I realized why the urgency in the honk. It was a prisoner transport van. I've actually never seen one before, but the rear of it is comprised of individual cells, each with their own padlock. Not at all like the ones seen in hollywood movies. This design seems to make much more sense. And I suppose random junky cars (sorry Pedro, but a Porsche 911 you are not), stopped inconceivably at green lights, pose somewhat of a security threat. Hmmm..

Montreal - in her true and unique form.

Last Labour day weekend, I headed out East and spent a wonderful week in Montreal and New York. But one day in Montreal...in particular...was so perfectly quintessential...and reminded me exactly why I completely fell in love with the city.
Breakfast was at Fruit Folie - on St. Denis Street. Site of many post drinking binge 2 PM breakfasts because it was literally around the corner from good old 284 Pins. Home of the incredible fruit sculptures, the best eggs benny east of Vancouver, and a guaranteed-to-run-into-someone-you-know patio. Sure enough we are joined by the Seattle Marrieds who are conspicuously toting Everest expedition packs but that is another matter (just amusing trying to fit the packs onto the patio - crammed in between umbrellas and chairs).
After breakfast we decided to head out for a walk - we had some random, vague destinition in mind (I think we wanted to see my friend's lab)...but it was a hot summer day...no one was rushing to be anywhere. We head out across Carre St. Louis. I adore this inner city park...everything about it. It is sandwiched between St Denis street, and the pedestrian/BYOB section of Prince Arthur. It is small, perhaps only a block square and surrounded by the quintessential, colourful, picturesque Montreal walk-ups. There is a beautiful fountain at its center and a small gazebo-esque building that sells icecream in summer. I lived a block away from this park for 2 years. I have danced barefoot in the fountain during a torrential downpour, sprawled on the lawn countless times, have walked a dog around it even more. Every now and then, the Just for Laughs Gags are filmed in that park, which is always good for a laugh. But more frequently, the people in the park provide for even better entertainment. There's a guy who bathes in the fountain in neon pink bathing trunks, and another one with a crazy long beard who rides around on an adult-sized tricycle.
The best thing about this park is the random stuff that happens (truth be told, it's the best thing about Montreal, in general). And on this day, the random thing was an exibition of some sort of performing art group. At various places around the park there were groups of musicians, dancers, singers, performing for the entertainment of passers-by. And at the center of the park, in front of the fountain, was a sort of dance, performed to the music of a single flute. Perhaps it had a name, or perhaps not...I think it is probably most aptly referred to as, "the kiss." Because that is what it was.

I took dozens of photos...these are but five of my favorites. I'm considering blowing one up and hanging it in my house because I think that they are just so incredibly beautiful. Bear in mind that this was one long, uninterrupted kiss. The colours...the passion...and then the memory of the single flute playing. It was a very odd experience...and a very odd performance (I mean who thinks this stuff up anyways)...but the photos are just beautiful.
Afterwards we headed over to McGill through the Ghetto...to check out the lab of my friend in one of the ancient hospital buildings (I think it's the Duff building)...stopping on the way at garage sales and sorting through hundreds of old LPs for a dime a piece or some silly thing like that. and then we strolled down into the heart of the McGill campus. Ahh...this was home of OAP, the rumored home of the bones of James McGill (under the big statue in front of the arts building), the set of Battlefield Earth or whatever that Scientology movie was. Of the three university campuses I have spend oodles of time at, this is by far my favorite. There were frosh groups everywhere...drunk, chanting, shouting, half-naked...ahh...I remember it like it was yesterday. Harkened memories of my first visit to Peel pub.
And then we strolled down St. Catherine's street, stopping for Pho in a steaming soup kitchen. There was an International Film festival and banners everywhere, and then, we walked past something very interesting. A Graffiti Event (perhaps contest, or something similar). In an alleyway, just off St. Catherine's Street they had erected scaffolding and there were dozens of people with masks and aerosol cans, painting elaborate murals on the wall - graffiti style.

The art was really good, some of it exceptional even. This is the sort of thing you would never see in another city. Graffiti is generally considered to be pollution in other cities...but here, not only is it condoned, but celebrated. Just an interesting difference.

The day ended with drinks at a variety of bars on St. Denis, including the best summer time bar of ALL time - Saint Sulpice. This bar has the most enormous patio and is built in this lovely old house. Then we hiked back up the hill and got a mess of poutine at Lafleur's which we ate perched atop one of the statues in none other than Carre St. Louis.

And so, our loop through Montreal was complete - and I had spent another perfect, interesting, beezarre day in one of my favorite cities in the world.

The Life of the Unemployed.

School is over for the year...and I have yet to find a summer job. It's not as if I've been searching frantically...I've been sort of lackadaisical about it...enjoying my time off. Give me until next week and then I'll become frantic about the job search. But in the meantime...

I've been totally into the cooking thing. Last night I made the most sensational clean-out-the-fridge pasta sauce. I was inspired by this squid ink pasta that I picked up at the Italian store a little while ago. I've had squid ink pasta in restaurants before, and it has been paired with things like vodka or blue cheese. Ok, well fast forward...here's the recipe...no proportions cause, as I think I've mentioned before, my method of cooking is a-little-of-this-a-little-of-that.
- Saute chopped garlic in Olive oil (I would have added onions or shallots, but my friend, J, was over, and they make her sick), add a good handful of mushrooms (chopped)
- Add the end of a bottle of red wine that's been sitting on the top of your fridge for about a month, that you couldn't possibly drink any more.
- Add a good quantity of Vegetable stock (I probably would have used chicken stock, but friend, J, is a vegetarian (excepting fish), and so I keep veggie stock on hand)
- Bring to a boil.
- Crumble a handful of blue cheese that has been sitting in your fridge since the wine & cheese you hosted over a month ago.
- Open a can of tomatoes (one of the good and yet remarkably cheap italian brands from the Italian store - seriously...take the time to go and stock up once in awhile...your tastebuds will thank you for it). Take your chef's knife and run it through the tomatoes while still in the can...this gives the tomatoes a sort of rough chopped/crushed appearance and it's super quick. I added approximately half of the can to the pasta sauce.
- Add a big handful of shrimp (mine have the tail on...and are pretty big suckers, but I imagine this would work with scallops, or clams or even a firm white fish, or snapper or anything like that...maybe even chicken)
- Add skim milk until the sauce looks right (ideally this would be cream but this was a tuesday night dinner, not a special occasion, and therefore I could not justify the milk fat)
- Add salt to taste, and tons of pepper.
- The sauce was a little thin and so I made a roux (sp?) using corn starch. My godfather taught me how to make the world's best gravy and he swears by using corn starch instead of flour as a thickening agent - less lumpy. I suppose we could have let it simmer until it reduced, but it smelled so good, and the pasta was ready...which brings me to my final point
- Let simmer until the pasta is ready or you can wait no longer, which ever comes last. Toss the squid ink pasta in the sauce, serve in bowls. Top with fresh parsley or grated parmesan or crumbled blue cheese. Take a bite, and let your eyes roll heavenward.

The knitting thing is going really well...I'm comfortable enough now with my samplers that I've embarked upon a project - a hat. I'm dropping stitches all over the place, and I highly doubt that it will be suitable to wear...but it's getting there.

I also found some pictures from a fantastic day I spent in Montreal last August...a true only-in-Montreal kind of day. I'm going to go fix them up a bit and post them. To be continued...

It's not as if it was a halo

So I was just stalking on Facebook, and I came across some pictures of a group of guys and one of the guys was wearing a series of really really ugly ball caps. And my stomach lurched...for several reasons I think.
First of all, my ex wears super ugly ball caps. It was one of my biggest beefs with him. Seriously...I couldn't take him out anywhere because of these stupid caps that he used to wear. My dad...my dad is another one who insists on the hideous ball cap (Thankfully this has been tempered by my mother's influence, and he's only allowed to wear the truly ugly ones when he is working by himself on the boat). And this guy...in the facebook pictures...is another one. It's pervasive.
Seriously...why do they do this? I just don't understand. Do they honestly put the ball cap on, and look in the mirror and honestly honestly say to themselves, "damn, I look good." And then my personal favorite is when they are in dire need of a hair cut too, and so it sort of poufs out from below the band of the cap. That's a nice look.
And then the colours: orange, green, mustard yellow, multicolored, paint-stained. My ex has a dirty white cap with cherry red detailing and mesh back. Seriously what's with the mesh back. That part should be wholly discarded.
I just don't get it. I'm not averse to the baseball cap itself. I have several...I just don't understand why the ugly ones are favored and worn like a dirty, smelly, ugly, paintstained badge of pride and honor.

Anyways, I think I've beat this one to death.

Long Time Gone

Exams ended a week ago today...but it always takes me some time to get back into the swing of the blog thing. I tend to feel overwhelmed by all the stuff that has happened in the interim and unable to compose a reasonable sized entry. And so I procrastinate...

Summer has now started, I have a to-do list a mile long and no job. I'm of mixed feelings. I need to make money...I can't just keep living on borrowed money, I need to start paying some of it back. That being said...assuming I get a job next year, I'll never have another opportunity to have such freedom...that kind of spare time. And so I procrastinate...

I've taken up knitting...as much as that makes me sound like a grandmother, but here's what I figure: When my friends start having babies, I want to be able to make cashmere blankets for them. I think that will be lovely...but a) cashmere is pricey stuff so I don't want to even consider it until I'm fairly good, and b) I want them to be lovely, not crappy, beautiful, not ugly. I don't give crappy gifts. All of this adds up to a lot of practice, and so I've taken up knitting.

Oh and I finally got my hands on a copy of Deliverance by James Dickey which I've wanted to read for awhile. I've known the Dueling Banjo music from the movie since I was a kid but never saw the movie, and was curious. I'm only about a quarter of the way in...but the book has impending doom written all over it. I know I'm not going to like the way it ends.

Oh, and Canucks game tonight...I have not great feeling about it...but maybe expect the worst, hope for the best?

Another Year Older...but what about wiser?

Every year, on my birthday, my thoughts inevitably turn to the past year in the hopes that I can say to myself..."you learned a lot this year...you didn't repeat past mistakes...you may be older...but you're also a little bit wiser."

I suppose this is the first birthday that I have had a forum to write these thoughts down but this is what I've come up with so far:

Procrastination - this is a problem that has not been solved. I'm currently sitting on an assignment that is due tomorrow, that I could definitely finish tonight...but I'm not going to. Why? I don't know...self sabatoge is the most likely reason I suppose. I have only ever handed one thing in late in my life and that was my last paper of my undergraduate degree where the professor said she would not take marks off for papers that were one day late. So I was one day late. So really I was on time. But invariably there are mad rushes to the finish line. This is a problem that is SOO fixable...maybe next year.

Break ups - I finally can be proud of my behavior in the end of a relationship. Unfortunately the recipient of such noble and honorable behavior was a less than worthy recipient. Just kidding...about the noble and honorable...not about the recipient. Seriously though...my last break up took a lot of restraint on my part and was extremely difficult for me but: I never dealt a low blow, never laid blame, didn't cry (much), didn't act crazy, was totally rational and calm. Even when he became a crazy person, I did not. This is the first breakup in my life where I can honestly say I have no regrets, nothing I was ashamed of doing. If I see him again, I can honestly say that I conducted myself well.

Confidence - this one is 50/50. I think it will be a work in progress for the rest of my life. I have learned to grapple with my fear of public speaking for good now (started with teaching, then court, then karaoke, and now I can do it with a modicum of confidence). That was a really challenging thing for me. Back in highschool when our school did various musicals and other productions I would always take part...but in a behind the scenes sort of way. Lighting was my speciality. I always sang...but in a choir, never on my own. This year I took part in my schools charity musical revue sort of thing. And not only did I perform, but I performed a duet...just me and another girl. And I didn't suffer stage fright...and I did ok.

The reason for the negative 50 is that I still am self-confidence challenged. I still have some self esteem issues, still second guess myself, still value my worth on the basis of my perception of how others see me, still allow myself to use that as an excuse to not tackle new challenges. This has been one of the most difficult character traits to grapple with in my life and it will continue to be something I fight. But I won't give up.

Fear of failure - it's tough to judge this one. I ran for election this year...albeit school election, but I ran for the top job. And lost. But I campaigned and put up posters of myself, and gave speeches and all that stuff...and lost. And recovered. So that's great. But on the other hand I'm procrastinating in preparing my applications for jobs - both summer and after school - and though part of me passes it off as a product of my procrastinating ways, in my heart of hearts I fear that it is due to my ingrained fear of failure.

This will probably be on my mind for the next little while as I ease into telling people that I am 27, not 26 (like a new calendar year, it takes awhile for me to shift my mind over). But I do have hopes for the next year - I want to find a job...and maybe find love (or at least someone I trust enough to maybe love). And I want to be able to dance - freestyle and sober. That may seem like a wierd thing to say, but it kind of embodies where I want to go with me. I suppose I should blow out a candle now...Happy birthday to me!

Time to click my red heels together?

Just a quick post cause I'm totally bogged down with work. But I couldn't resist...

So I've been driving to school this week (my friend is out of town so I have her parking pass and I'm trying to organize this wine tasting event...blah blah blah)...my regular radio station was dead air. I dunno why. So I hit the seek button and the next station up was a country station.
Ok, so I'm trying to learn to like country music...and I'm kind of sort of liking it...most of it. And this song comes on and it's lovely, and the chorus goes something like this, "...I want to walk you through a field of wild flowers...I want to pick you for ticks."

Seriously...no joke...I turned the volume up and strained to hear every word clearly. And I thought to myself...really? Really? Is that romantic? Really?

And then as I'm recovering from the shock of this song, a commercial for RVs comes on...which by itself is enough to send me reeling...but the tag line of the commercial is, "RVing and Country Music goes together like June and Johnny Cash."

Really? Really?

This was all too much for me before coffee.

Where did I come from?

I had an argument with a friend of mine the other day about whether or not Kevin and Winnie wind up together at the end of The Wonder Years.
Remember that show? Fred Savage...star of one of my all time favorite movies - The Princess Bride. He pops up every now and again, and still looks like he's about 12 years old.
Anyways, I looked up the final episode of The Wonder Years on You Tube and found a clip of the last five minutes. I was wrong...they don't wind up together. But watching it made me cry...it's really lovely narration...and a really simple story.

In contrast, this next story is a bit convoluted so bear with me. I should start by saying that I cannot confirm the absolute truth of the story. Some of it is my embellished memories from childhood, some of it mere neighbourhood gossip...and believe me we had some crazy neighbourhood gossips (housewives with nothing better to do but play tennis and gossip about the neighbours), and some of it I have recently heard fourth or fifth hand as it trickles through the grapevine to find me in another province.

The neighborhood I grew up in sometimes bore a striking resemblance to Orange County, or Wisteria Lane, or any number of fictional soap opera towns. I have an infinite number of ridiculous stories about it...but we'll keep it to just one for now.

Two families lived down the block from eachother...we'll call them the Hansons, and the Greens. Mr. Hanson was a high powered, well paid lawyer...work-a-holic...so dedicated to his work, in fact, that he used to bring his legal assistant - she of the stillettos and those nylons with the line up the back - on family vacations so that they could "get work done." Needless to say, it wasn't much of a suprise to the neighborhood when Mr. Hanson up and abandoned his family for the legal assistant - leaving Mrs. Hanson with custody of the children, the house, the Jaguar, and apparently, the liquor cabinet. Behind closed doors, and unbeknownst to the neighbors, she became a heavy duty alcoholic.

Meanwhile, up the street Mr. Green was carrying on his lovely life across the street from the neighborhood park. Beautiful large grey house with a veranda and a pink door, and flowers filling the gardens. He earned a good living and he and his wife were raising their three beautiful daughters: 2 blonde and one brunette, spaced evenly and perfectly - 2 years apart. He almost didn't even notice that it was happening, but his wife began to go out more frequently with her girlfriend - movie nights and weekends up to the mountains...vacations to Hawaii. He suspected nothing until his wife left him...for her girlfriend.

And so the jilted spouses mourned their loss together and slowly but surely love blossomed. Mr. Green moved his daughters down the street into Mrs. Hanson's lovely spacious home and they lived as a family - the dysfunctional Brady Bunch. And this lasted for years - at least through high school for us...and then some. But from what I gather, Mrs. Hanson's alcoholism became too much to handle - she developed cirrhosis of the liver, and was placed on a transplant list for a new liver. She got her new liver, but lost her relationship because she committed the cardinal sin of transplant patients. She began to drink her way through the second liver. Mr. Green decided he could no longer watch Mrs. Hanson kill herself.

I found out today that Mrs. Hanson died yesterday. And I have a lot of thoughts and emotions about that: sadness, anger, grief, disgust, pity, compassion...for a lot of the actors in this play. But maybe I'll leave it there for now. Mrs. Hanson died yesterday - early 50s, three children barely adult. She will never see her children get married. She will never know her grandchildren and they will never know her. And her death was caused by something she did to herself - knowingly...possibly not willingly...but knowingly. That makes me sad.

An alternative thought

I've been talking a lot lately about the importance of criminal defence, and rights under the Charter etc.
This morning I was reading from my Criminal Procedure case book, and I came across a quote from Justice Cardozo, an American judge. He talks about rights that have been afforded to accuseds, but then follows it up by saying: "But justice, though due to the accused, is due to the accuser also. The concept of fairness must not be strained till it is narrowed to a filament. We are to keep the balance true."

It's something to think about. I find that a lot of my learning goes like this...I become more and more passionate and perhaps extreme about something, and then a counter opinion will literally hit me like a ton of bricks and I'll sort of shake my head and wake up somewhere a little bit more moderate. Like someone yanking on the reins.

Hmmm...that reminds me...I want to go horseback riding.

And Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Honesty Can Be Pretty Ugly

I was working the other night and a man came in who had been charged with sexual assault. Though I have handled a lot of criminal charges, and though I have met a lot of people who have committed or at least been charged with a lot of heinous things, I have never been aware of meeting someone who has been charged with sexual assault.

My reaction to him was very unexpected, and has made me rather thoughtful in the aftermath.

I had to force myself to look him in the eyes. I had to force myself to shake his hand, to sit across the desk from him as opposed to inching towards the door. I had to force myself to push down the feelings of disgust, of revulsion, of fear that welled up in me. I had to force myself to not rub my arms when my skin began to crawl.

I was thoughtful of this reaction for two reasons: (1) why was my reaction so pronounced and so spontaneous - like a reflex, and (2) why was my mind so insistant on resisting this reaction because that was a conscious thought - "I must behave as if everything is normal and I am not having this reaction."

Was it a matter of pride? Of professional ethics? How about a response to some deep-seated feelings of victimization that precipitated when confronted with this person who had been accused of this - a crime of violence and power. I'm not suggesting that I have ever been the victim of a crime like this...or even close to it. But perhaps, even still, it was a sort of I-will-not-let-him-see-my-fear reaction. Sexual assault is a crime that all women - all women - live in fear of...perhaps not consuming fear...but it's there. Especially when you live alone, in a city, and you refuse to tailor your life to the safe places, safe times of day. Hmmm...that's funny, it seems like the more I refuse to live in fear, the more I am reminded of all the things there are to fear...but I digress.

Or perhaps I was afraid that my reaction was symptomatic of some unconscious racism (he was black), or prejudice (he was an immigrant). And I am afraid that despite my conscious effort and belief in openmindedness and equality, I am afraid that my heart hasn't quite caught up with my head yet. I am afraid that if my suspicions are true in that regard then it will reveal me and everything I believe as phony.

Or perhaps there were more noble intentions behind my actions - perhaps I actually do believe that people are innocent until proven guilty. There is no question that people who are charged with that offence are convicted in the public eye long before they are in court...and highly stigmatized. Perhaps I wanted to buck that trend and provide a little humanity, some respect, some sanity. I don't know...that seems a bit unlikely...even if it sounds good in theory.

Ok but then that begs the question...is it enough for us to treat people with respect or do we have to believe it too. Assuming he's guilty, I shook the hand of a rapist yesterday. That doesn't sit well with me...it actually gives me the chills. I don't know that my heart is big enough...that my mind is big enough to ever be ok with that.

Confused

I am terribly judgmental about other people's sense in fashion. Truly I have no right to be this way: 1) I am not the most fashionable person by far, 2) I don't actually wear clothes very well, 3) I'm a very safe dresser...really taking no risks with fashion. And I'm not judgmental in a mean point and laugh kind of way (well not outside of my head), but it's a sort of game for me...spot the one in need of a What Not to Wear makeover.

One of my favorite categories is those suffering from Versace Syndrome. I first diagnosed this syndrome while walking around Hong Kong, and have since noticed it just about everwhere I go. Winners department store is particularly guilty of spreading this disease. People don't seem to understand that ugly clothes are ugly clothes regardless of designer. It doesn't matter if the label Versace is stenciled across your ass - if it's ugly, you don't have a license to wear it. (Versace just seemed to be the most prolific of offenders in Hong Kong, thus the name).

Why am I talking about this? Because the other day I ran into a woman and she completely stumped me. Was her outfit brilliant or hideous? Here it is, a week later and I woke up thinking about it. She was dressed head to toe in shades of gray (which is sort of poetic in itself): gauzy floating skirt, layered v-neck t-shirts, wrist bands and ballet flats. Her hair was blonde and that kind of long crazy curly that just might spontaneously dreadlock if you give it some time. So at this point I'm ready to pass her off as a typical hippy...nothing particularly noticable. Except, there were holes all over her clothes. At first I thought that she'd just let a moth at them and was about due for another trip to Value Village. But the more I think about it now, the more Ithink that the holes might have been their purposefully - they seemed very strategic and well placed and allowed one to see the layers underneath.

I don't know...now I look back on what I've written and I realize that it has occupied far too much of my mind space for far too long. Oh well...

Oh yeah...and I've owned Sam Roberts We Were Born In A Flame for years...at least five. And I knew that people would rave about him and he's Canadian and therefore throw up your arms and love him, and I just never got it. But for some reason it has been in my play list a lot lately, and now I get it. I love him...he's lovely. It kind of reminds me of Smashing Pumpkins Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness which I was kind of ambivalent about when I first heard it, but the more you listen the more wonderful it is and there was a time I considered it one of my favorite albums ever. (Hey, that was back in the nineties...there have been a lot of albums since, and only so much room at the top of my favorites list).

Movie reviews

My oh my I have seen a whole pile of movies lately...most quite good: Shooting Dogs (about a Catholic school in Kigali during the massacre), Who Killed the Electric Car? (documentary about GM's shortlived, allegedly phenomenal electric car), Marie Antoinette (story interesting, once again irritated with Sofia Coppola as director, she just doesn't seem to speak to me...in this case I thought she didn't commit to one style or another and it bothered me), The Queen (just phenomenal, it's absolutely uncanny the portrayals in this movie, and the treatment of the characters is sympathetic, but human), An Inconvenient Truth (I don't know why all the environmental movies lately but I'm starting to build up quite a complex about my environmental fingerprint - I'm considering writing to BMW and telling them that despite the fact that I've wanted one of their cars since I was but a girl, I will be unable to purchase it in a few years when I actually may be able to afford it unless it comes in a hybrid variety...I don't know...this might just be my cause du jour).

But most recently I finally got around to seeing Bon Cop Bad Cop; a movie recommended by my sister at Christmas, that I just haven't gotten around to seeing. It was fantastic. A Quebec film about an Ontario Police officer and one from Quebec who have to work on a file together because the victim found himself in a rather unfortunate position crossing the border between the provinces. The movie is truly bilingual, though you can add which ever subtitles are required.

I was really proud that this movie was Canadian. I feel like so often NFB funded Canadian Content stuff is garbage, poor quality, poor acting, almost embarrassing. But this was exciting, high quality, visually stimulating, entertaining, quality film. And it was really funny. For anyone who has lived in Quebec and no longer does, it is such a wonderful reminder about the culture and language of Quebec. Language makes a prime candidate for jokes as the characters each prefer one over the other.

Anyways, I highly recommend it. Eve, if you can't get it, let me know and I'll send you a copy!

It was a win-win kind of day

Spent the day in court yesterday. They weren't actually my files, but I was supervising them...aka providing the words/argument to use.

The morning was a guilty plea that we had attempted to negotiate with the Crown. The Crown was completely unreasonable, so we went in without a joint submission and pled our case to the judge. Not only did the judge agree with my argument, but when the Crown piped up to try and amend the sentence and add on some terms, the judge pretty much dressed her down for being a bitch, and for being disrespectful. This gave me extreme satisfaction - not only were my arguments validated, but so was my competency. As students we often get disregarded by the Crown...we have to work twice as hard to get even a modicum of respect. It's nice when you get a judge who looks beyond your junior status and listens to your words.

The afternoon was a trial on a possession of marijuana charge. Arguing drug charges is always very interesting. As a senior defence lawyer said to me yesterday, "a drug charge without a Charter argument is called a guilty plea." In this case the drugs were obtained subsequent to a search incident to arrest. However, in our opinion the arrest was illegal because the officer lacked reasonable and probable grounds. If the arrest was illegal, then the search was warrantless and, barring exigent circumstances, illegal. The judge agreed, the evidence was excluded and the charges dismissed.

I got into an argument the other night with a cop at a bar. Now granted he was drunk and kind of beligerent, but he basically said that he would do what ever was necessary to put these "criminals" (referring to my clients) in jail. He basically called me, and all defence lawyers, scum. He didn't like it very much when I told him that by "doing what ever was necessary" and not following protocol and respecting Charter rights, he was making my job much easier. Cause the way I see it is that, yes, I am defending people who often have committed crimes. But if the evidence is there, and obtained properly, then these people will be convicted - most likely they will plead guilty. These cases create law, and that law binds all of us in this country. That law creates limits for authority to act within, and protects the liberty rights of all citizens: criminal or not. So, by enforcing the Charter rights of those within the criminal justice system, we are infact enforcing the Charter rights of everyone. If we allow unlawful arrests, and warrantless search and seizures of those suspected of crimes, where does that stop? What is a "suspicion" anyways? A hunch? Is that good enough? In my view it becomes a slippery slope towards a police state ESPECIALLY in this time where the government sanctions, increasingly, invasions into civil liberties. So if you look at it that way, I'm not scum...I'm a freedom fighter. Kidding, kidding...sort of.

A Light Bulb Moment

I woke up this morning with a single thought burning in my mind. You cannot control others - not how they treat you, nor how they behave in general. All you can control is yourself, your own behavior and your own treatment of others. And I suppose, at the end of the day, if you can defend your own behavior - if you can be proud of it - then that's all that matters.

Hmmm...somehow I feel as if a little weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

Searched for something remotely comparable to the BBQ Pork Wonton Noodle in Soup from Kam Gok Yuen in Vancouver's China town today. This is a soup I have been eating since I was child with curly red pigtails and it is literally heaven sent. The meat is tender and succulent, the wontons firm and flavorful, the vegetables in abundance and the broth rich and filling. And all of this for only about five dollars - still to this day and cash only. Eating it is not only a taste delight, but it also harkens fond memories of family dinners presided over my late grandmother.

I remember walking through China town up East Pender Street on Sunday evenings with my family: cousins, grandmother, aunt and uncle. The kids would run ahead pressing our noses against the glass of the little shops, poking around inside and marvelling at all the curiosities: the Made In China toys and fans, wicker furniture, musical instruments and battery operated robots...the sorts of things found only in a classic China town store. I remember the sound of the shop keepers pulling closed the metal grates of their stores as they ended their business day, and I remember the glistening barbequed meats, sausages and poultry in the windows of the restaurants and I remember the steam pouring out of Kam Gok Yuen as the door opened. Inside defines the notion of no-frills: formica tables and mismatched chairs, cracked and chipped dishes with the ubiquitous pink chinese flowers, plain white tea pots and paper napkins. There is no ambiance at this soup kitchen - the wait staff is yelling at eachother in Cantonese, the chefs yelling out the orders as they come up, and every table bursting with extended Chinese families yelling at eachother. And everywhere there is a bustle: waitresses, busboys, children running around underfoot. The restaurant is packed every hour that it is open - a constant stream of people.

There is lots more on the menu other than soup...but funnily enough we never ordered anything else. Sometimes BBQ Duck instead of Pork, and I suppose when we were small we would just have the wontons with no meat at all - but always soup. Actually I lie...our parents would always order several plates of Gai Lan - a stir fried chinese green vegetable drizzled with hoi sin, a lovely salty-sweet sauce that would fool even the most veggie hating child and have them scarfing down platefuls despite themselves.

I always chuckle to myself when (especially in China) I am asked if I require a fork instead of chopsticks. I remember those dinners, when my chin barely cleared the table top, fumbling with the heavy chopsticks. Half my dinner wound up on the table. But I worked out those kinks pretty quick - that soup is too good to waste. You know, I don't recall our parents ever suggesting forks for the kids but we're all better for it - meh, I suppose if worse came to worse we could always spear the wontons.

And then I remember coming back out into the street in the twilight, and strolling back to our cars. I remember full bellies and laughing and tormenting our cousins and then home to footie PJs and the Wonderful World Of Disney, The Muppet Show and Fraggle Rock. Yup, we were certainly deprived as children, we were. The irony of course is that this place...the site of some of my fondest childhood memories...is also one of the poorest and miserable areas of Vancouver. Walking around Pender there are junkies and homeless people everywhere - discarded needles, and used condoms. They must have been there when I was little...they must have been. But while I remember a lot of things from those Sunday evenings...that I don't remember. I don't know if that would be best described as childhood innocence or ignorance. But I suppose that is a topic best left for another time.

I have digressed so far now to return to my original point doesn't seem very germane but I will for the sake of closure. I searched for a soup comparable but alas, Alberta continues to disappoint in that regard. We found a strip of soup kitchens, though the one we chose wound up not being truly Chinese. They had a nod to the wonton, but as the menu seemed primarily vietnamese, we decided to go with the pho. It was edible - good but not great. We'll keep working our way through the block though...I did see a "wonton house" that might have promise. The memories won't be there...but perhaps I'll find the flavor.

Sunny Day...Sweeping the Clouds Away!

Mmmm...the past two days have been gloriously sunny and lovely. Tomorrow is supposed to be warm as well. Yesterday I undertook the 45 minute walk across the river valley to school - head phones on, toque firmly in place. My new favorite walking-in-the-city music is Reverie; in particular 2 songs: Walking Around, and It's All the Same. My friend J introduced me to this music...he has a sort of eclectic, jazzy taste for music. I can always count on him to point me towards some off beat fabulous tracks and this group has just the right upbeat, funky, interesting flavor that adds so much to my walks through the city.

I had one of my night classes last night; we had a superior court judge come in and guest lecture. He showed up in sock-less loafers, with an enormous cooler full of imported beer, and proceeded to crack one open and hop up on the table to deliver his comments. I mean I've become familiar with the notion of beers with professors...just not generally in the classroom. I think this might beat out McGill's OAP and bringing plastic glasses of cheap beer to class with you. I mean this was condoned by the lecturer and it was nice, good imported stuff.

I totally made an ass of myself at the drug store today. So I use the pharmacy at the university cause they are cheap and convenient and I needed to renew my birth control pills. And the way it works is that you drop the prescription off at one counter, and pick it up at the other. And so I take my prescription up and this nice round middle aged lady takes it and it's all lovely. And then I trot off to run an errand and come back 20 minutes later or so, and go up to the pick up counter, and it's this totally young, cute, funny charming guy who's the pharmacist. And we're chatting about I don't even know what but in my head I'm thinking about how great this guy is and then he picks up my prescription and I realize that it's for birth control pills and all of a sudden it's like there's a short circuit in my brain. And now the hot pharmacist is instructing me on the use of these pills and I can't focus on anything he's saying, and I feel the heat rising in my cheeks and then I realize it's my turn to speak, and gibberish comes out. Like really I have NO idea what I was saying, I was just talking to talk and so now I've turned an embarrassing situation into a terrible one, so I slap my money on the counter, turn on my heel and bolt out of there as fast as I could. Oy....apparently I'm 13 years old again! And he knows my name too....Doh!

So I've decided that I'm at the point in post break-up where I'm going to bust out the slutty bar top...the gold sllinky one that has to be taped in place. This is what I just don't understand about these starlets that flash the cameras all their parts. It's just unacceptable in this, the era of seamless underwear, convertible bras and double sided tape. It just goes to show that even though you may have piles of money, there still might be Chevy's on cinderblocks in the front yard of your estate. Forget the on call manicurist...buy yourself a copy of Emily Post and a huge helping of class...(Ok...perhaps that's a bit conceited...but come on).

Things that made me happy today

I was watching the news today and they did a piece on those hikers that were rescued after they fell off a cliff on Mount Hood. Apparently one of the reasons they survived is that their dog, a black lab named Velvet, lay on top of them and kept them warm. It made my heart positively burn with love for all the labs that I have been fortunate enough to know in my life: Nicki, Coco, Maverick- by far the most loving, sweet natured, marvelous dogs in the world.

My Mom lost her job yesterday at 1pm...the company did totally shit last year, and they had to downsize. But today she got a new job at 10am. Seriously...less than 24 hours...that's not even enough time to really get the pity party into full swing. I love my Mom...I'm so proud of her.

I was watching Oprah today (I swear I am not a regular watcher...I hate when she gets all find-your-bliss and shit...but sometimes...sometimes like today) and they did a show on small homes - like really really small homes. Two of them were under 300 square feet, one of them was only 7 feet wide and one of them was a mere 89 square feet in total. And all of these people were utterly blissful in their tiny homes. It made me think two things: 1) I need to do some serious reorganizing because my just-shy-of-500 square foot apartment is positively palacial in comparison and 2) How much space do we really need?

Ok, I'm off to drink wine and clean my glorious mansion...in truth, I love my apartment...I just wish the parking situation wasn't so completely shitty.

A Fork in the Road

Hmm...Just two weeks out of a relationship that never really ended in a way satisfactory to me (though I am in no doubt that it is in fact over), I have to ask the new ex for a favor.
I'm of two minds on it...actually three: 1) it could be a good thing...perhaps fast tracking the whole friend thing, 2) it could be a bad thing for two reasons, he could say no - which would really piss me off, or he could say yes, but it could confuse the situation.

I'd really rather not...but I'm sort of without option. Fucking thiefs who break into my unlocked car.

Green is supposedly cathartic - thus I now exist in shades of green.

FYI, I was watching CBC world of sports today - speed skating. I learned something interesting. So the dutch are phenomenal at speed skating. The sport has a long an glorious past in the country and apparently back in the day they used to run the races on the canals/sloughs when they froze over in the winters. I think that would have been fun.

Tasty Tomatoes

For Xmas this year I was gifted with a cookbook entitled, The Improvisational Cook, by Sally Schneider. I'll admit I was skeptical...I tend to rarely use cookbooks, and when I do, I tend to stick to the stained, spotted, greasy old faithful ones. But this one is very interesting. Rather than sectioning the book into courses (as recipe books are wont to do), this one is more of an instructional textbook in the physics of food. The vast majority of the book is comprised of lessons in pairing flavors, building dishes, texture, temperature, and function. And these lessons are taught in the process of teaching some basic building blocks to innovative cooking - a chapter on oil, one on fries, one on vegetable soup, one on roasted red peppers, one on risotto etc. The author deconstructs the recipes, discusses the component parts, and then builds them again in different ways explaining how the substitutions affect the end product.

Since Christmas, I have learned how to make a delicious risotto using brown rice and only a bit of butter (varying the flavours), I have adapted cornbread to a variety of uses, and always have a supply of roasted red pepper and carmelized onions sitting around the house. But my latest favorite thing are slow roasted tomatoes. I go to Costco, and pick up big flats of them and do a whole bunch and throw them in the freezer in packages of about 10. Then I'll take them out one bag at a time and leave them in the fridge so that they're ready to use whenever I want them. They're simple - quarter tomatoes, add sea salt, pepper, a touch of sugar, and drizzle with olive oil, and roast in the oven at a low temperature for hours. They are so unexpectedly and unbelievably good - depth of flavor, tantilizing your tastebuds, just delicious. And they can be added to anything your mind can conceive - pastas, soups, salsas, canapes, tarts, pizza, even jams or antipasto plates.

Enter improvisational lunch: a twist on a standard BLT. I used this nutty, squirrelly type, gluten free bread...lots of seeds and stuff (I really stress about the healthfulness of my bread...in particular...I don't know why I'm so focussed on it but ads for things like Wonderbread make me very upset. I'm considering buying a bread maker just so I can be confident in the quality of my bread). I spread plain low fat cream cheese on the toast, then covered the cream cheese with arugula (I buy that fancy lettuce mix, which is great when you want salad, but even better when you want just one particular type cause you can just pick it out rather than buying a ton of it at the store). Then I added some of the slow roasted tomatoes and sprinkled the top with lots of pepper, a touch of salt, and crispy bacon. I ate them open faced and they were mighty delicious. The tomatoes are so flavorful, sharp and deep and a bit sweet and tart all at the same time. They were clearly the highlight...well my experience has been that they are pretty much the highlight of any dish you add them to. The other ingredients balanced out the tomatoes in ways that I hadn't expected. The cream cheese served to mellow out the sharpness of the tomatoes, it sort of lengthened and rounded the flavour. The slight bitterness of the arugula was a nice contrast to the sweetness of the tomatoes, centering the flavor. And then the saltiness of the bacon...well aside from rounding out the whole flavor of the sandwich, doesn't bacon just make everything taste better.

Hmmm...I'm thinking back to university when every Sunday we used to eat Everything bagels, from Fairmount Bagels in Montreal, with creamcheese, fresh tomatoes (poor man's lox) and S&P while doing the crossword puzzles. I bet these roasted tomatoes would be out of this world on those bagels. Or you know what...even better would be to mix some of the tomatoes, chopped, right into the cream cheese - hmmm maybe I'll try it next weekend. Now if only I could find a half decent bagel in this city.

The best thing that could have happened to me

Given my blues these past two weeks, the news I just got is the best possible.
It's Random Acts of Kindness Week.

Just when you think that the world just ain't no good, something like this pops up to remind you that maybe things are looking up.

There's a whole society of people who devote themselves to doing nice things for anonymous people - the Secret Society of Serendipitous Service to Hal. It was started in memorium to Hal Reichle. Read the site to find out more about him, but as far as I'm concerned, it's not so important who the man was, but rather what his memory has created.

I don't hate people any more. Happy good deed doing.

Shameless Friend Promotion

My good friend Ryan Landels is trying to make a go of it in Hollywood as a director. Since we were kids I've watched him hone his craft, and fantasized about him one day thanking me personally in his Best Director Oscar speech (no not really but he does know that I'm keeping my calendar open in case he requires an escort down the red carpet).

He has a new commercial entered into a contest for Southwest Airlines. Vote for him (and the other commercials cause that'd be fair)...but vote for him more.

And check out his website - he's got some fantastic movies/commercials there. I recommend Midnight Express in particular, and the commercials he did for Coors and Coke.

Some people are just so fucking creative/talented/driven/passionate, it's just awesome. In the true sense of the word.

I returned from my weekend away feeling quite refreshed actually, drew a bubble bath and my world came crashing down yet again. I don't want to get into it...I'm actually tired of talking about it...but I have learned a few things over the past few days.

One: It always amazes me how when you are in a state...a mood, sometimes you hear a song and it just is you...just is exactly how you feel and who you are at the moment.
Tegan and Sarah have this song called There's Still Time. It is me right now...every bloody word.

Two: Sometimes winning doesn't make you feel as good as you think it will. I had a dispute at work yesterday...returned home to 3 completely horrendous emails from a colleague that I have a great working relationship with. He essentially accused me of negligence and incompetence and all of these other things. He was wrong. I was irate...livid...so angry I couldn't see straight. So I call him and leave this message for him telling him that we have to talk. And then I spend four hours planning out exactly how this conversation is going to go, and how I'm going to tell him how disrespected I feel, and how I refused to work under such conditions etc etc. And then I saw him and the first thing he did was apologize and take responsibility for the entire dispute. But I'd spent four hours compiling this argument, so I plowed forward. Nothing mean, no blame...I fought fair. But he is going through a lot of stuff at home right now with his very pregnant wife, and lots of other difficulties. And by the time I got through my prepared speech he was so defeated...and as he walked away, clearly the loser in the argument (I got my apology, I was vindicated, I won)...I felt terrible. It's a fine balance - standing up for yourself vs. just being mean spirited.

Time to Hit the Road

Ok, so amidst the uncertainty that is my life, I am being led by the nose away from the sources of all of my problems.
And so tomorrow, I am going with two of my friends to the mountains for a ski vacation. We're meeting two old university friends there. If I have anything to say about it, it will be a weekend filled with speeding down mountains, hot toddys by the fire, lots of games of cards, and maybe some mild flirtation with a tanned Australian liftie.

I sit writing this entry in my Family Law Practicum class, and because things really really seem to be going my way these days the topic of this class is the mandatory Parenting After Separation Course that divorcing couples must take if they have children. The Stages of Separation - this is what we're studying right now. I'm finding it rather difficult to confront the feelings I'm experiencing in reality, with the feelings they say you're supposed to experience in theory. Things are just too fresh and too raw to deal with right now.

Best to leave town. I'm going to go home and make chocolate chip cookies for the drive.

Broken

How can it be that something so blissfully easy, so exciting and perfectly harmonious can just evaporate in the space of a sentence? A sentence that she does not have a clue of the significance, and that he chooses not to illuminate or even ask for clarification. And then two weeks of her probing for the source of his discontent and of him scapegoating every other fault in his life except the one that matters in the context of the relationship. Until she wakes up one morning and knows that he has been lying and the source of his discontent is her. And she forces him to explain and then explains herself and she asks him if he wants to end it, and he says - no...he just needs some time.
But she knows in her heart of hearts that it is too late. She can feel it...or rather, she can't feel it any more. And what breaks her heart...breaks it into tiny pieces...is knowing that it truly didn't have to be this way. Had she even an inkling she never would have said what she did. Had he trusted her a little more, she would have explained that. But she didn't, and he didn't...and time passed. And the more time that passes, the more hope she loses that they are doing anything but delaying the inevitable.
And so she is broken...and she is having trouble trying to see how to pick up the pieces.
And then someone smashed the window of her unlocked car to steal nothing...she leaves nothing inside... and she's having trouble not seeing these events as some sort of karmic punishment but merely as a terrible coincidence. And she's having trouble motivating herself to leave her house. And she's having trouble knowing in her heart that she can be happy again. She's having trouble seeing anything but her own grief, her own self-pity and her own self-blame. She feels like she's lost her fight.

Sundogs

This morning my friend and I had to head out of town for a rural docket appearance. It's COLD here right now...freezing. We were driving down the highway with the sun on the horizon, in front of us and to the left. I caught sight of a short rainbow beside the sun...and shrieked with glee (can't shake the kid sometimes). My friend, who grew up in the North West Territories, exclaimed that it was probably Sundogs, and asked me, as navigator, to check and see if there was a matching one on the other side of the sun. Sure enough a pair of rainbows were visible flanking the rising sun.
It was beautiful, and something I've never seen before. Wikipedia obliged me with an explanation for the phenomenon (relatively common, actually...but totally beautiful.)

I Hope That I am Always Suprised by People

I heard a great story yesterday afternoon, "studying" in the library, from a friend of mine.
I have to describe my friend in order for one to appreciate how suprising the story was...and how marvelous.
My friend has a PhD in environmental sciences - I like to call him doctor...he seems to like that I call him doctor - Dr. "Bob". He's in his late thirties, early forties and is very intellectual - literally one of the smartest people I've EVER known. I've seen him lecture on various water issues, drainage patterns, the long term effect of the oil industry in Alberta - stuff An Inconvenient Truth was made of - except this was Dr. Bob's own research. He boggles my mind on a regular basis because he is so smart.
OK...so he's also...umm...how can I put this?? Not the burliest of men. Thin, tall, glasses, long face, small eyes...he's a cyclist. He's also very disarming...innocuous...the anthesis of "trouble." But he does have a wicked dry sense of humor and, as far as I'm concerned, a mischevious side that is just itching to get out.
Ok...so there's the description...now for the story.
Dr. Bob spent a whole bunch of time in Australia a few years back...sort of wandering and working and then some working and wandering. At some point he found himself in rural southern Australia, outside a small village near Melbourne working on a farm that sported vineyards producing delicious bottles of Shiraz. A quirk of the little hamlet was that a lot of Italian Mafioso apparently also own vineyards in this area...farms that grow lots of grapes, but nobody ever seems to pick the grapes, and yet they report stunning profits from the sale of their wines. Hmmm.
One day Dr. Bob was walking into town to run some errands: get a haircut, take his sleeping bag to a tailor for some repairs, pick up the mail from the post office. As he was walking down the main (and only street) in town, he approached the motel which was surrounded by every police vehicle within a 3 hamlet radius. He walked past the motel, and then thought to himself that he would like to speak to a police officer about an individual that had been working on the farm who had stolen some items from fellow workers and then fled town just days prior. Dr. Bob wished to know how to file a police report, so he turned back towards the motel and just as he was doing so two police officers pulled towards him in their vehicle. He approached the car, and placing his hands on the edge of the open drivers window, he said "good morning officers." However, rather than replying in a similar friendly tone, the two officers eyed him suspiciously. The one in the passenger seat said to his partner, "he matches the description," upon which Dr. Bob (slightly alarmed) said, "Pardon me?" Bad Cop gruffly snapped at him, "We ask the questions here, not you!" Good Cop (aka the Driver) then proceeded to ask him a series of questions about who he was, where he was from, why he wasn't carrying identification with him...all which were answered by Dr. Bob honestly and completely (from canada, living on a local farm, and he wasn't carrying identification with him because he was just out for a walk). Abruptly Good Cop asked Dr. Bob to step back from the car, and sped off.
Dr. Bob, slightly uneasy, carried on with the rest of his day.
Next day, he came back into down to pick up his repaired sleeping bag and stopped in at the post office. Postman knew Dr. Bob...heck as the only foreigner in town everyone knew Dr. Bob. "have you seen the paper today," asked postman. There on the front page of the paper was a story about the incident Dr. Bob had come upon the day prior. Apparently a very wealthy business man had been found murdered in the motel. The only witness to the crime was the prostitute he had hired, and she had identified her jealous boyfriend as the shooter...a man now on the lam. The article went on to describe how the police had "unknowingly" stopped the suspect and went on to describe in detail (right down to the clothes he was wearing and the green sleepingbag he was carrying), my friend, Dr. Bob. Dr. Bob was the prime suspect in a murder investigation and the supposed boyfriend of a local prostitute...Dr. Bob of the tree hugging, and spandex bike pants...Dr. Bob of the Nalgene water bottles and the left wing politics...Dr. Bob...a murder suspect.
So Dr. Bob went back to the farm and hid out (I'd like to think under the hay in the barn...but probably not) until the real killer was caught...just a few farms down the road...one of the Mafia vineyards. And the funniest parts of the story is the description of the real suspect - was he tall, and thin with round glasses and bike pants? Nope - he was a short, stalky, swarthy Italian with more hair than a grizzly bear. So much for matching the description.