Tuesday, April 22, 2003
So, I think this here cowpoke is going to mosey on off into the sunset.
I've been avoiding the net because I'm all wrapped up in earth shattering decisions and lingering questions: will the nylon trek pants be too hot? will Lariam stay in my system for years and cause birth defects when i need to get pregnant(eek!), or alternately, will it merely trip some psychotic episode(who could tell?), should I get the traveller's cheques in Canadian or US funds?(I went Canadian), do I take film with me and risk it being ruined or buy it over there and possibly pay more? can I pet the monkeys?
I can't seem to take the time out to surf and visit y'all or post a decent story or musing, so I think I'll do my send off here and now.
Thanks for coming to visit. I'm off on May 3rd to India for a month and a half of staying in ashrams, eating roti, drinking the lassi, and hiking with the Himalayas off in the distance, oh yeah, and sweating profusely. Then in June, we head to a Malaysian island for a week of relaxation with snorkeling and general loafing. Then it's on to Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos, where there will be bursts of traveling followed by lazing about, eating and picture-taking for another month and a half. Honestly, that part of the trip is entirely unplanned.
I will likely see 2 of some of the Wonders of the world: the Taj Mahal in Agra, India, and Angkor Wat in Cambodia, providing it's not going to cost me an arm and a leg--speaking of which--I ran into an old friend and told him how I was going on this massive trip. I mentioned how we didn't have the last leg planned, and I said "I don't really know anything about Cambodia" and he said, completely seriously, "Well, they have an appetite for mass genocide." Haw! I said well, I know about that, but, you know, where does one eat?
I have just ten days to go before I leave and I still have some shopping and lots of house-packing to do, my internet's cut off Friday, I have a work send-off, and another piss-up and various coffee-with-acquaintances planned, so I should get away from my neglected lover, Monsieur Computer.
Speaking of the hot stuff, I am so looking forward to meeting up with my boyfriend, Cam, already in India. He and I have been emailing quite frequently and the two of us are too cynical to be writing as cornily as we are. God, I love him and can't wait to see him. So, you see, when I'm not running practical errands or agonizing over whether or not I should bring capris, I'm lying prostrate at my man-shrine, pining over the temporary loss of the man in my life and trying helplessly to open the tight seal of that blasted pickle jar.
I may post infrequently, while I stop into cafes and check email. I may do it as much as every week or so, but I'm not making it a priority. So basically, if you're surfing and think to yourself sometime in June, "I wonder if Tracy wound up sunstroked on a beach?" why don't you check in? I'd love to have you.
Hoping I don't come down with rabies, crossing my fingers I'll look good in a Salwar Kameez (sp?), and taking care I'll always have toilet paper on my person,
wish me well!
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
Hey Kim, It's a Trap!
Maybe the US knows its strong-arming will only go so far. Now that it has bombed the shit out of Afghanistan, rolled over Iraq, and threatened Syria, it knows it must change its tack.
And so we see a little meeting set up between Bush and North Korean president, Mr. Kim Jong "Hello! You don't need to uncover weapons of mass destruction, I've got em," Il.
Where is it? Beijing. Sure, safest place in the world. I can see Bush rubbing his hands together with glee, but I can't see his face because it's covered by an N-95 mask.
It's an easier transition from hawk to fox, than hawk to dove.
(*Update: Beijing's problem is worse than first thought. Wonder what that does to their Olympic bid?)
Sunday, April 13, 2003
Canadian Mike Weir just won the Masters! CAN-A-DA! CAN-A-DA!
So I watched the only real sports event I see all year. I don't know what it is that draws me in: I don't play golf; I tried it but like most things, I'm too impatient to stick with it. But the Masters has the great camera shots, the narration, the gentle clapping, the scenery, the storylines, the calibre of play, the name-recognition, which, for a total non-sports fan like me, is quite satisfying.
I usually cheer for poor, sweet Phil Mickelson. He's a sucker's Hugh Grant. See, Phil looks a little like Hugh, just with a pot-belly. And he's such the underdog. His wry grin, inconsistency, and always the bridesmaid, never the bride schtick never fails to make me want him, er, pull for him. I also have a thing for Jesper Parnevik and his crazy pants, but I don't know where he's disappeared to. I remember realizing everyone thought Jesper was a bit of a nerd, and I thought I was fighting for another underdog, and then I saw his wife, and I thought, man he doesn't need me standing up for him. All the freaking blonde wives in golf. It's worse than hockey. I don't want to know what Phil's wife looks like because he'll lose my sympathy.
But Weir! What a rock. Not too long ago I didn't give Weir a second thought. He wasn't in the same league as the others and was always finishing waaaaaaay down the list. It got so if I'd have to read sports on-air, I wouldn't bother with Weir, even if you normally include the Canadian. I didn't because, in my eyes, he wasn't a contendah. But now, he's fabulous. And I'm very proud. I understand he's gone through some rigorous training and re-evaluation of his game and it seems like it's worked this year. Good for him. I thought it was pretty funny the announcers seemingly couldn't let Tiger go: they kept showing his shots and praising most of them, not giving him too much flack for the miscues. His camera time did not match his score. Today he got an embarrassing 75, which was higher than amateur Ricky Barnes. (Holy lock up your daughters! One of the announcer's said he had the face of a nasty angel. Watch and watch out for this guy.) But they still showed Tiger, and you could tell they put the camera on Weir almost begrudgingly. When they did, they didn't have much praise for him. "Oh, I don't know if he's got the strength to get that where he needs it." "He's made some mistakes, but he's managed to save himself." etc.
All I can say is Weir deserved it. And, take that Hootie. Poor Hootie, first the Blacks want in, then the women, and now a freakin' Canadian wins at his precious Augusta. Sheet, they don't even have our backs over there in Eye-rack..
Hey, if anyone is familiar with, and successful at, the sudden death overtime, it's a Canadian. Call it the home ice advantage. Now if it could only work for Edmonton.
Friday, April 11, 2003
I just saw Personal Velocity, drunk. I'd just like to say Fairuza Balk has my old haircut, which boring breeder Catherine Zeta-Jones tried to copy in Chicago, but which we did better than Ms. My Husband's Connected in Hollywood So He Can Damn Well Buy Me an Oscar. I've missed Fairuza Balk since Gas, Food, Lodging. Other than Almost Famous, where has she been? Speaking of Gas, Food...what the hell happened to Ione Skye? And does she still sleep in the park, under the stars and on top of a sleeping bag, with Keanu?
Friday nite, I just wanted to say you rawk!
I know you love the shotgun and our road trip was a short one (work-home), but you are the greatest co-pilot when I'm picking up the expensive chocolates, videos and red wine. You like the car stereo as loud as I do.
You are so awesome for totally not batting an eye when I got home and slipped immediately into the pajama bottoms and comfy tee. We should totally have a pillow fight later!
Thanks for being such a total galpal for persuading me to make that healthy stirfry instead of rocking the drive-thru.
Muchos gracias for letting me bum a smoke and not cocking a brow as if to infer I thought you weren't smoking anymore.
You are so cool for not exclaiming God your face is so red! because of said wine-drinking.
I lurve you and want to best friends forever. Bracelets for us both!
Thursday, April 10, 2003
Dear Sweet Boyfriend;
Hi! Hope you're enjoying India. Don't you go worrying about me back here in ol' Alberta.
Things are going fine here. I've put a dent in my packing, but once all the boxes of books and knick-knacks are squared away, I have to deal with the big stuff. Don't you go feeling guilty or anything. Two wonderful man-friends offered to help me move, but I turned them down, because my brother and Dad will do the heavy lifting. You know if you want to get in the old guy's good books, you just might have to make a honest woman of me one of these days.
The NHL playoff season has kicked off. The talk at work of hockey pools is constant, loud and frenzied. Don't worry yourself about me and my sanity. No, I didn't kick in any cash to play the brackets this year.
I was chatting with the spokesman for the school district. She told me to pass along her compliments on that story you wrote about those crazed parents all up-in-arms over the state of mould in their school: she said you were amazingly fair. I didn't tell her I surmised that you wrote the piece in such a balanced way because you have such disdain for reactionaries.
Video store trips are so much more straight-forward. I'd like you to know I intend to rent that new dreary Mike Leigh film at the first opportunity.
You should know that I finished the first month of my Triphasil 21. You know what that means: no more worries about latex products or natural disasters. Baby, it's ALL SYSTEMS GO.
Don't feel bad about it, but I'm left to eat the pretzels in the Doritos/Cheetos/Sun Chips/Rold Gold mix. Rold Gold my ass. That stuff is for suckahs, I mean Cam.
Love you baby. All is well; I'll see you in three weeks.
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
I'm back on the pill after a few years of naturally-induced crying jags, and, like Meredith, I've noticed something about the tits. She found they were huge, I've found they're fucking heavy.
I swear. It's like a tenner apiece.
Next, on The Practice
Whoever told Andie MacDowell she could act?
Once I find him, I intend to walk up to him and just sort of poke him in the neck.
Monday, April 07, 2003
Call me little more than a gangster's moll, just without the big hair and the double knits.
I remember when I was about 18, my boyfriend at the time and his pal used to steal books. They'd go into the better bookstores and pick off the hard-backed, pricey art titles, slipping them into their baggy pants when the salesgirl wasn't looking. I was inadvertently along on some of these trips, but I wouldn't know that crime had gone down until I got back to the car. I should have known, as it was all par for the course. They were smart and reasonably educated art-lovers and petty philosophers, but we also spent a good deal of time outside Arizona Pizza waiting to score dope.
I remember once being conned into selling some of their books in order to get cash for booze or dope. I was uneasy about it, never having done anything like that before, but I agreed, so I took a stack of hard backs and left their car, glancing over my shoulder with an uneasy grin as they gave me the thumbs-up.
See, my boyfriend and his pal had been to the Wee Book Inn one too many times, and they weren't sure if the guy buying used books that day had seen them before or would likely become suspicious. So I was recruited. I slid up to the counter, plopped the five or six books down, and wiped my sweaty palms on my thrift store skirt.
Now, I don't know if I was actually workin' it, but the feminine wiles came out. The counter-boy sized me up, and took a look at the books and complimented me on my good taste and yadda yadda. He was showing too much of an interest, asking about the different artists and such, and I grew uncomfortable with the scam. My boyfriend came in around that time and sat just down from the counter. I guess he figured the clerk wasn't a regular, so he could risk it, plus he wanted to see me in action.
It was about the fifth question in, when the clerk asked me what I knew about Cezanne or whoever, when I turned to my boyfriend, and asked "Eiki, why did Cezanne keep painting that mountain?" And the spell apparently was broken between wily ol' me and the clerk, and he got all huffy and said, "If these aren't your books, why are you selling them?"
I left the store, and left Eiki to finish his transaction and clean up the mess.
He was miffed at me when I got back to the car. But you know, about a year later he cheated on me, so I figure it was a case of pre-emptive retribution.
A War Without Death
Anderson Cooper: "I'm going to interrupt you for a minute. We've got some breaking pictures from Abu Dhabi of some activity in Basra..."
[two paramedics load a body onto an emergency vehicle. Body, including face, draped in grey blanket]
Anderson Cooper: "We see two Red Crescent workers here loading someone onto their ambulance. Someone injured, or...."
[second image of another pair literally rolling a body from a ditch onto a stretcher]
Anderson Cooper: "Well, that is obviously a casualty. We'll break away from that."
Thanks for giving us the whole picture, CNN.
At Least it's Not Crack
Some, after a weekend, would mention, in a very legitimate, rock-star manner, how much they've imbibed. I will detail, because I am lame, and am saving my rockandrollallnight heavy drinkin' allnighters for the end of the month, what I ate this weekend.
A comprehensive list:
1. pie with ice cream
2. pepperoni pizza
3. macaroni n cheese
4. free sample of Frito-Lay twizel-whatevahs
5. cheddar pretzels
6. bacon n cheese sandwich
7. homemade potato patties
8. peanut butter toast
9. crackers, butter and cheese
10. soda, as the Yanks say
11. just a couple beer
12. a piece of KFC
13. Vector cereal
14. more macaroni n cheese, this time with bacon
15. Sour cream and chili Miss Vickie chips
16. No leafy vegetables or whole-grains whatsoever
17. No vegetables, period
It's surprising disease has not instantly gripped my heart. Pray for me.
Have I mentioned the BF is out of the country?
Saturday, April 05, 2003
I pretty much feel an obligation to link to this because it is so crazy funny.
Caitlin happens to love short man syndrome in uniform.
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
Taiwanese President Chen Shui-bian isn't afraid to point fingers."The Chinese authorities have hidden the epidemic for months without taking care of the problem. Now the virus has spread all over the world. This is unhealthy, immoral and in violation of universal human rights.
The entire world should blame China."
What, does this guy think he's an island or something? Ha.
Calling for a moratorium on:
The further use of a certain catchy war strategy phrase. It has now reached that most sacred of venues: USA Today...
And it's true — the celebrity gossip world was in shock and awe Tuesday at Us' news that the glamorous and very hot Alias and Daredevil actress and her A.U.S.A. actor husband have broken up. Speculation is that her stardom got too big for him to handle.
This is Jennifer Garner and Scott Foley, people. Sombre reflection please, sombre reflection.
Join the Boycott!
Despite those pesky rumours of falsehoods contained in his latest movie, Bowling for Columbine, people still love Michael Moore.
Fans say, "Well, all the facts may not be dead-on, but the movie raised a lot of important issues."
I finally got around to seeing Bowling when it hit the cheap theatres here a few weeks back. I honestly enjoyed it, finding it clever and amusing. But throughout, I also squirmed in my seat, thinking at intervals, "What's the conclusion to this theory?" "What's his point?" "That's a completely specious argument!" "Where the hell did he get that?" He never drew a supportable conclusion, and when he did try to make a point, it was entirely dubious.
Many of us have become aware that some of Moore's facts are not quite on the up-and-up, but too many of us are willing to overlook them. I'm not willing to do that anymore, now that I know the lengths he went to to deliberately mislead his audience. People, we're not just talking about fudging numbers here.
Read this site.
Moore is a total con-man and I reject any "documentary" he may make in the future unless he comes clean about his tactics of manipulation in Bowling.
The sad thing is many of Moore's groupies will utterly discount criticism levelled at the filmmaker because they question the critic's angle. The zombies think if you're against Moore you're for mandatory gun ownership, inhumane working conditions, violence in schools, the slaying of little kittens.
I'm suggesting if you're against Moore's work, you're simply not a fan of deception and deliberate manipulation.
Moore went to great lengths to fabricate what he hoped would come off as "truth." Something the BIG BAD CORPORATE MEDIA doesn't even have time for.
(links via Colby and this site.)
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
SARS and the Media: A Personal Look
So, Cam left for Singapore tonight. He's there for 30+ hours, put up by Singapore Airlines for an overnight layover before heading off to India. I'll be meeting up with him in a month's time in Delhi.
But let me back up:
Yesterday, I walked into the newsroom (my workplace) and I said to Gary, "I am totally going to track down one of those masks today. Cam is so laissez-faire about SARS, but I'm not, so I'm going to get him one. Besides, they're fashionable on the streets of Singapore."
Gary tells me I should call up his wife, Maggie, because she works at a safety supply store, and she can get me the N-95 masks.
So I call her up and plan to head over later in the day. An hour or two later, Maggie calls me back saying the local TV reporter wants to give me a ring.
The TV station and our radio station share a building so the reporter just came across the way, but I did an interview about how I was buying masks as a "going away present." Except for the initial, "Oh my god, I look horrendous," it turned out pretty well. Nothing like writing the news and being the news.
So there you go: I'm a radio and TV whore. Plus, I happen to be sleeping with Cam, who happens to be a newspaper man.
Fingers in a lot of pies.
BTW, Cam had to drive down to Calgary to the airport this morning.
The region had its first snowfall in weeks and driving conditions were treacherous.
We are being severely tested.