Making a connection. Or not.

For some reason still unknown to me, my Internet connection has been very temperamental as of late. Because of this, the blogging isn’t really happening. Fortunately, I spend my workday at a computer, so I can check my email (and bloglines.com -- don’t tell anyone) while I’m there. But if I so happen to be inspired to share something thought-provoking/trivial with you when I get home, I risk subjecting myself to the stress of no connection.

So today I am thankful that it is working. For now.

P.S. I broke down. I’m on facebook. The shame.

Bridges of Madison Crappy

I’ve always been curious about the film The Bridges of Madison County. So I went to the library this week and borrowed the book. It turns out that the book took less time to read than the movie would have taken to watch. Yeah.

The story is horrible. Almost vomit-inducing. Mostly because it’s a manipulative exercise in giving female readers permission to have week-long affairs with rugged “hard” men (I hate that adjective, but that’s how the guy was continuously described. I guess “toned” or “athletic” would be too many letters to type. Plus, it gives an uncomfortable sexual insinuation for those of us who aren’t really into middle-aged men) while their husbands are away. It turns the tables on how women and men are supposed to see each other, with a man falling for a woman’s intelligence (although she never really says anything all that particularly enlightening) while the woman is obsessed with his body.

For a brief moment, I fell for such an idea. Personally, I’m quite tired of the stupid-lug-with-a-hot-wife concept. Enough with Raymond, According to Jim and King of Queens. So the idea of an ordinary housewife and the worldly, handsome Clint Eastwood (okay, so I cast the book’s characters with the movie’s actors) is appealing. But it’s still so twisted and wrong. She’s married. And somehow, after she dies (okay, major spoilers here. But since you probably don’t care, you can keep reading), her children’s reaction to the discovery of the affair is the most ridiculous thing ever. They feel no betrayal. They feel no hurt on behalf of their father. They think it’s a beautiful love story.

I’m supposed to believe it’s romantic that their forbidden affair lingers on for a lifetime despite never seeing each other again: an emotional investment that remains forever. He dies with her name around her neck; his photos are in her underwear drawer.

Crap.

If I wrote it, things would be a little different. And shorter:

A handsome man knocks on the door. The housewife answers. He asks about a bridge. She tells him where it is. He smiles. She smiles. Then she closes the door and goes back to her book and her tea. The end.

Lost

NOTE: This may contain Lost spoilers, so if you taped last night’s episode and haven’t seen it yet, run away. Do not read. Do not pass go. Give me $200.

This afternoon, a coworker emailed me a photo of Matthew Fox soaking wet. I’m not sure why I’m supposed to think that drenched men are sexier than dry men, but I just laughed and sent her a photo of Geoffrey Rush. Yeah, it was that kind of day.

For those of you who are Lost-unaware, the finale aired last night and totally rearranged my brain. I’m not sure if the future is the present and the present is the past, or if the future is still the future and is therefore alterable. Or maybe we’re talking parallel universes. Craziness. Too bad about Jack’s incredibly fake beard. And is his dad alive? Who’s in the coffin? Why am I asking questions that I don’t really want answered?

Here are my favorite sound bites of the night (in chronological order):

1. I am a dentist; I am not Rambo.
2. What did you do for a living before you became Moses?
3. Because I love you.
4. Alex, this is your mother.
5. That’s for taking the kid off the raft.
6. We were not supposed to leave.

So much better than two hours of Ryan Seacrest waxing poetic about the meaning of “idolness.”

Now, in the words of the uber-stylish Tim Gunn, “Carry on.”

Let There Be Blog

I tend to think about blogging far more often than I actually blog. It seems that the minute the weather gets better, my social life picks up marvelously. No boyfriend, Beth (I wish), just life.

Here’s the super-quick rundown of the past couple of weeks (highlights only):

May 10

I meet a friend (who’s been Montreal-based for the past couple of years) for dinner. First, we head to the Bata Shoe Museum (it’s free after 5 on Thursdays) and talk costume history (we’re theatre friends). We then head to Republik and talk more theatre dreams and celebrity crushes and Stratford’s social scene and decide that we’re pretty much the same person.

May 11

I head home for Mother’s Day. (Okay, I leave work a little earlier than I really need to, but I couldn’t help it. The sunshine was calling me). The whole family goes mini-golfing. I start off well. I prematurely make the claim that I’ve found “my sport.” Everything is downhill from there. We celebrate/drown our sorrows at Dairy Queen.

May 12

Early-morning garage-sale shopping. Attempted shoe shopping. Risk. World domination probably isn't a career path I should be considering.

May 13

It’s Mother’s Day. After church, we make omelets (yes, I made my mom’s), and then Mom and I head out for a walk. We take the long route, and end up walking for over 2 hours. I learn that picking trilliums isn’t necessarily illegal. We stop by a friend’s to wish her a happy 16^th, and then my parents drive me back to Toronto. I take them out to Pickle Barrel for dinner. It’s fun treating people. I’m trying to groom myself for being a generous rich person.

May 14

I don’t remember anything about this day. I’m sure it was nice.

May 15

I go shoe shopping and buy adorable, comfortable Skechers. Finally.

May 16

I wear the Skechers and realize they are significantly too small for my feet. And they were final sale. I now own pretty shoes I can’t wear.

May 17

I pack and clean.

May 18

My mom picks me up after work and we head to Joanne’s for dinner (girlfriend of Michael, the birthday boy mentioned in a previous blog). Fantabulous chicken curry followed by a walk to get ice cream. I’m highly entertained by her 5-year-old. We then head to my grandma’s.

May 19

Drive into Uxbridge. I walk into a tiny shoe store and the salesman rocks my world. He measures my feet and talks about arches and support and all the sorts of things that 14-year-old saleskids never do at the mall. I buy two pairs of expensive shoes that feel like heaven. Mom and I baffle Grandma with the size of our salads at lunch, and then Mom and I take a walk along a country road. I think I want to live in the country. So picturesque and peaceful. After dinner, we meet Caleb, my cousin’s baby boy. So perfectly precious. I could almost hear a coworker of mine whispering in my ear, “Is your womb itching?” Close. I don’t know if I’m ready for a toddler and a baby, but I guess the whole husband-and-house thing would make it easier. When we leave, my cousin asks when I’m coming to visit her in Calgary. Hmm…

May 20

I love my grandma’s church. It’s quite possibly my favorite church in existence right now. After church, we play Scrabble (Mom wins) and later, euchre (I win the first game. A fluke). It’s a low-key evening, but delightful.

May 21

My mom makes the shocking suggestion that I cut fresh lilacs for my apartment. I’ve never really thought about fresh flowers in my place. And so I do. I think I’ll do the flower thing more often. We leave early to beat the post-long-weekend rush, and I’m home in time to watch Oprah and Dr. Oz talk about parasites.

May 22

I wear new shoes to work. By the end of the day, I’m crippled with blisters. Super. Have I ever mentioned that I have foot issues? Yeah, I don’t like them. Feet in general. I’m in a bit of a funk, but then I work out (a new thing for me, but I’ve been trying to get in some sort of exercise every day) and read my Bible. It’s funny how a shift in perspective can totally change everything. Matthew 5 & 6 is where it’s at, people. I’ve been reading through the Bible, and that’s where I happened to be at. And that’s exactly what I needed to read.

May 23

It’s the most gorgeous day ever. I wear a skirt to work. I feel light and pretty and don’t even mind the blisters from yesterday. I eat blackberries for a snack and take a short walk at lunch. I run errands after work and rent the sequels to Bourne and Pirates so I can watch the third installments of each this summer (if I so choose). I make a massive salad when I get home, blog a little, and get ready to watch the finale of Lost.

There. You are caught up. I shall try to blog again soon. And I’ll let you know if a boyfriend falls from the sky, Beth. If he does, I’ll ask him if he has a brother for you :)

Nathan

Today my baby brother (I’m sure he’s gonna love that I called him that) turns 20. The weirdest part about having no teenage siblings is that the age gap has pretty much closed and we’re now just a trio of adult siblings, me being the short one. When I was little, I was amazed that my mom was friends with her brothers, and was quite convinced that such a thing would never happen to me. I was wrong. Brothers can be quite cool. Especially when you don’t have to live with them. Kidding. Mostly.

Nathan, even though we don’t live in the same city, there are plenty of little things around me that make me think of you:

• Wal-Mart. And the Gap. When I don’t go in.
• Mohawks. Especially the floppy ones that slightly resemble roadkill.
• Skaters. They’re everywhere. I bet none of them built their own halfpipe.
• Chuck Norris. Subtitling Walker is like spending the day with you.
• Zellers. The mutual-but-separate midnight madness.
• Brooms. Enough said.
• Urine-colored hair. Sorry about that.
• Early nineties Christian music. Because I stole your CDs when you tried to throw them out.
• Pencil crayons. Because you stole mine.
• Mondays. My old fasting day.

Hope you had a great day. I love you.

See you this weekend!

Bad Day

You know you’re having a bad day when:

• A coworker sends you the above picture because it reminds him of how he thinks you’re feeling.
• You pack grapes in a sour cream container. Then you bring sour cream to work with you instead of your grapes. And then you have to leave your sour cream at work over the weekend as you're not going straight home and it needs immediate refrigeration.
• You are given 12 hours’ worth of work. To be done by the end of the day.
• You send an email to your boss that ends with "I'm only one person."
• You're staring at the clock and it's not even 9 a.m. yet.
• You regret not calling in exasperated. Or sick (and tired). Or dead.
• You plot Popeye's murder.
• The most exciting thing you hear all day is that Paris Hilton is going to jail.
• A coworker sends you a scathing email (CCing the boss), criticizing your feedback technique on her disastrous file. The file you spent two days fixing. She thinks you’re harsh and inappropriate. You have no desire to even defend yourself (for fear that the real inappropriateness will lash out). Luckily, someone higher up is on your side.
• You are asked to work on the weekend four times. You don’t dignify such questions with a response.
• You escape early, while management is in a meeting. No one can stop you.
  
• You see Spiderman 3 and are disappointed. And teen girls behind you talk incessantly through the whole thing. Someone shushes them and they swear at her and say they paid for their tickets. So did you. But you paid to hear Tobey say awkward things, not them.
• The movie theatre no longer carries Smarties. You eat Skittles instead, which only reminds you of how disappointed your brother will also be when he sees the movie.
• You go to a video store and don’t care what you rent.
• The highlight of your day is buying roasted red peppers, artichoke hearts, leeks and fresh basil. At least it's not a Doritos binge.