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.