Thursday, February 27, 2003
How good are you with your left?
Nerdy Girl has issued the challenge: write a haiku using just your left hand on the keyboard.
axe wars are tax grab
a tease exerts wear a tear
rats fear tasers ass
They tend not to make sense.
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
Baretta's openly weeping!
Oh, television, why did I ever abandon you?
I finally got around to seeing Chicago.
And as much as I love Sound of Music, I'm not fond of the musical. I went with no expectations and it turns out I loved it.
My boyfriend happens to be very cool because he said Renee Zellweger is unhealthy-looking. He scores points once again.
Sure, she's pretty sinewy in the shoulders and back, but I happen to think Zeta Jones looked like a porker next to her. I guess if I had to choose I'd rather Zellweger's body and Catherine's face. (the blonde's too squinty, but I don't need to point that out to you)
My lasting impression, aside from the compulsion to go out and get some fishnets, is the TITS ON QUEEN LATIFAH.
There is my professional review. Let's recap: fishnets, sinewy, TITS, porker. It's all about knowing your audience.
If you want well-crafted, please go elsewhere
If you need technique, please go away
If you crave full-on glamour, I'm not even near there
If you need tales of scandal, you'll just have to pray
If you want pics of "it" girls, I don't play tag
If you want ribald yarns, I don't spin
Neither cookin' nor hookin' is really my bag
And I can no longer keep up on what's really in
Right now I'm bored and boring
and don't feel like being peppy
go take a look at roaming
she's got pics of Giuseppe
Man, we need a change of season on the web.
Everyone is either:
Fed up with snow and natural disaster
In the throes of mysterious love problems they won't let us in on. Please let us in on them. Don't we kind of own a piece of it?
Sick and freakin tired of Haloscan.
Monday, February 24, 2003
I have no time to do this because I'm off to work in about 20 minutes and I'm still wearing the jeans with the holes but I'm in super-productive mode so I'll try.
This weekend I: watched Hope & Glory and The Rules of Attraction and fell in and out of sleep during Jean-Luc Goddard's Contempt, and I thought it was cool looking mostly because Brigitte Bardot is drop-dead gorgeous, and where does she get that skin-colored matte lipstick? and why do my eyes looking freaking crazy in liquid eyeliner? but otherwise I'm finding I have less and less tolerance for French pretention.
I also vacuumed, washed piles of dishes, had curry chicken cooked for me, was treated to a lovely Shiraz, ate two bowls of Breyer's chocolate ice cream and enjoyed rolling the whites of my eyes back into my sockets. I slept in very late, I actually read some news on the web, I went to the gym and fatigued my biceps, I ran for 30 straight minutes on the treadmill, I washed my hair with sweet orangey flavoured shampoo. Today, all before work mind you, I: got my second round of vaccinations, grocery-shopped, DID MY TAXES AND SENT THEM OFF, made a doctor's appointment, had my watch battery replaced.
And I still have room for more coffee.
Saturday, February 22, 2003
Yet another sign my industry has become completely irrelevant.
I gave him sustenance for the day. I was too lazy to wash up any pots in order to cook him up some gruel to stick to his ribs, so I made him toast with blueberry jelly. And some grapefruit, which he balked at because I hadn't cut out the sections. He ate it, with sugar! But he was pleased, and I sent him off to battle.
I hope his minions kick ass.
Speaking of battle, I find it strange that the Americans have the time to combat some rogue Phillipines. Maybe it's a practice run for the big show?
Thursday, February 20, 2003
I watched One Hour Photo last night. After dealing with the Blockbuster clerk and her thinly-veiled contempt for customers, I was looking forward to a movie about a clerk on the edge who presumably gets his just desserts.
It was not scary, and more infuriating, there was no climax to speak of.
And I was more emotionally-invested in Connie Nielsen's haircut than in any of the characters. Borrrrrr-iinnnnggg.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
I think it's completely not fair that I passed up the Doritos tonight, Doritos that I was really craving, and the powers can't see it in their mercy to allow me to lose a pound. Surely I would have gained one if I had eaten them. My logic says one should come off.
Free me from my head. Well, and my ass.
thanks to catherine's pita for the link
Monday, February 17, 2003
It took two full days for me to find out about this.
Something tells me I need to gossip less in the hallways and pay more attention in class.
Did you know that you likely have the ingredients in your home right now to make one of the most delectable dishes on earth?
I needed to quickly pop out to get a little canister of baking soda (because I don't bake or usually make anything requiring more than one really big pan), but otherwise it was all systems go.
Friend, you probably have the stuff to make cornbread this very instant. And I strongly urge you to do so.
Sunday, February 16, 2003
My nephew Josh is a consummate performer.
I was visiting my two nephews just a few hours ago (the baby is doing better, thanks), and baby Ben's older brother, 16 month-old Josh, was totally rocking out to the Dixie Chicks. He was in the middle of a circle of family, with every eye trained on him, as he'd seamlessly switch from the bob and weave dance move to the run back and forth classic to the twirl in endless circles mainstay. He even threw in a little Irish jig, and I expect he'll soon add a little street to his repertoire. But as he's doing all of this, he'll pause to yell "Dog!" then go pet Winston, then he'll intersperse the dancing with the hitting-the-hammer-quite-proficiently at pegs in his little wooden board. But his real tour de force is what he does when someone yells "Chucky! The Chucky is incredibly intense, as you can imagine, and is executed with the clenching of fists and bearing of teeth, the adorable gap between the two front ones exposed.
Now I'd like to see my four year old niece in the next province over. I'm wondering if she made some of her patented Valentine's Day cards this year. Apparently, ever since her mom explained how red hearts are symbols and not really anatomically correct, little Sophie insists on drawing her sweet pictures with aortas and ventricles and whatnot.
It would appear it's about time for me to get some cats and post their pictures online, now wouldn't it?
Thursday, February 13, 2003
It's perhaps our first journey into Reality Blogging.
Quality programming or shark-jumping?
Who deserves a luxury weekend?
I'd say someone who:
1. Had her car stuck out back all week.
2. Is ferocious about driving.
3. Was visited by Mr. JS Exception Exploit, rendering her computer useless for 2 days.
4. Loves her computer.
5. Has a sick nephew still in the hospital.
6. Had her watch battery conk out.
7. Looks bad in her Photo Booth visa pics.
8. Lost her intern.
9. Likes reading comments, only to find Haloscan being a bitch, again.
10. Has to work at 5am on Valentine's Day.
But not to worry; I am taking that weekend. We'll be spending Friday and Saturday nights at the Varscona, where we'll wrap ourselves in complimentary fluffy robes, enjoy the free newspaper at the door in the morning, partake of wine and cheese tasting at night and continental breakfast by day, and swoon over the toiletries.
We've chosen this room. While it is themed "country character," rest assured there will be no rooster ornaments or bales of hay anywhere or someone would honestly have to pay in teeth.
I'll be spending the weekend with my wonderful boyfriend, Cam, and I hope, Monsieur Bernard Callebaut.
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
UPDATE: THE FUCKING GARBAGE TRUCK IS STUCK IN MY PARKING LOT!
I Need Some Muscle
We've had about 2011 centimetres of snow fall in the last three days. For my imperialistic-minded friends state-side, don't try to figure out the conversion, just trust me.
I need help; my car is stuck in a huge mound of snow in my parking stall, and I can't get it out. It's been sitting there since yesterday, front tires jammed into a snowbank, the white stuff seeping into its every orifice. Yesterday, I got my car stuck twice: once in the middle of a residential street, next where it lays now.
And I'm losing strength.
My cupboards are nearly bare, and I don't have my wheels to zip out to the grocery store. Now, I would go out and pick up that kale on my list and make a proper and nutritious stirfry, but I am helpless. I have resorted to eating a can of peaches and the butts of frozen bread loaves, slathered in peanut butter. It's starting to feel like I'm trying to outsmart nuclear fallout by hiding out in a bunker.
I also want to go to the gym, but I'd be forced to walk there. Fuck that, the exercise only goes down in a climate-controlled gym, on a treadmill at 6.0, with Missy Elliott in the headphones. I'm going to have to order pizza to keep going on.
Monday, February 10, 2003
There have been two times in the last 48 hours that I've been assaulted by the image of a woman's nipple dipped in liquid.
The nipple-dips in question were spotted: 1) In a sporadically-viewed Rising Sun on TV. 2) On the Internet (yes, the Internet) in the form of a video for Bob Log. Mr. Log unquestionably wins out in the breast-soaking contest, as the areola used in his art is dipped in scotch. The former just gets a bath in Japanese tea, presumably to boost the transfer of healthful anti-oxidants.
The tumbleweed gal firmly endorses chesticular ablutions only when a single malt is involved.
We'll be seeing Mr. Log in Edmonton on Feb 15th.
My nipples are thirsty.
Thursday, February 06, 2003
Video Killed the Radio Star
The phone rang around 8 PM. It was the radio station: "Tracy there's cops everywhere by the McKenzie overpass. I'm getting calls."
It was a bad episode of Friends anyway, and they'd already wrapped the Betrayal of Michael Jackson By That Brit Who Lived With the King of Pop and Uncannily Thinks He's a Wack Job, and well, there's that damn sense of duty, so I took off to chase down the scoop.
Ten minutes later, pulled off by the side of the highway, fleece-clad and cellphone in hand, I walked through the ground flares forming the police barricade, ready to get the info. Turns out it was just a bomb scare that was looking like a hoax. Damn.
In a way, it's good to see some of the classics are still at work. At least it wasn't anthrax. That is sooooo November 2001.
Not all was lost, I was able to write up a story with evacuation in it. It's good and strong. That makes everything worthwhile.POLICE EVACUATED EMPLOYEES AND PATRONS OF AN AREA BUSINESS AFTER A BOMB THREAT.
Unfortunately I have to bury the fact that it was at a business that tends to take the sting out of what could be a not-bad story:POLICE EVACUATED EMPLOYEES AND PATRONS OF THE DONUT MILL. COLD COFFEES AND CRUELLER CRUMBS LEFT BEHIND.
Once, just once, I'd like to catch something a little more on the sensational side. Like this:
(courtesy the always sensationalistic Colby Cosh.)
VOICEOVER: A TASER GUN TAKES DOWN A MENTAL PATIENT UTTERING DEATH THREATS. THAT IS TONIGHT'S TOP STORY.
COIFFED ANCHOR: THAT MAN IN THE CAR IS A MENTAL PATIENT. YOU'LL NOTICE THE MAN HAS A CELLPHONE. HE CALLED K-GUN-9 NEWS AND WE RECORDED WHAT HE SAID AS HE SURRENDERED:
MENTAL MAN ON CELL: ......BLIND!....TAY-GAH......GARRRRRURRRLLLLLRGGGGHHH! GRALLLLLRRGGH!
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
I've posted a 100 Things on my bio page.
little ben isn't breathing or swallowing well and my sister-in-law is wringing her hands at the hospital taking care of him. and my little brother who, i guess, isn't so little anymore is working his job, then heading over to see his young family, then working his second job and dragging himself back to the hospital.
and i think my newest little nephew is so sweet and i've barely seen him, even though he lives just less than two hours up the highway and now they tell me trouble breathing and swallowing, that's all a new born baby does, sleep and suckle, and what can i do?
why do little babies have trouble, no one deserves it, but tiny little-footed, teeny-fingered, smooth, dark-headed baby nephews least of all.
Sunday, February 02, 2003
Dear Diet Gods;
For the love of You and Pete, I am eating brown rice. No matter that it tastes like crap, and I have a perfectly good bag of white, sticky, coconut-flavoured stuff in my cupboard, I am preparing the brown. I know all about its whole-grain goodness and fibre and essential nutrients. Believe me, there is no other reason lending itself to my consuming it.
So I'd just like to know if you could provide me with a reason, if you could unlock the mystery as to why it is you make it so IMPOSSIBLE TO COOK? Is it supposed to simmer for more than half an hour? Why are you making the crap LABOUR-INTENSIVE?
Is this my penance for months of Dairy Queen?
Thinking of going back to confession one of these days,
International Woman of Contradiction
I slay me when checking out grocery items at the supermarket: milk, meat, strange asian shortcut stirfry sauce,
Shape Magazine, Cadbury's chocolate creme egg.
I'll have you know I positioned the egg just so: over her perfectly-rounded small ass.