Scary Mary

It's Halloween. And this is scary. Enjoy.

Thanks, Dad, for introducing me to such cinematic brilliance quite some time ago. I'll never look at the classics the same way again.

Goodbye, Bert.

I didn’t see it coming. For 10 months, I believed we were happy. He was there on the dreariest of mornings, on the blusteriest of afternoons. He was my protector, my shelter.

And this weekend, without warning of any kind, Bert the Umbrella decided he’d had enough. Giving me no chance to repair whatever strain he was under, he abandoned our relationship and gave himself up to the wind and the rain.

Perhaps I’m not meant for long-term relationships. I was so desperately hoping to celebrate our one-year anniversary this coming December. Instead, I shall wallow in my sogginess, alone.

Upon recovering from the dissolution of what was once so beautiful, I will host a screening of Singin’ in the Rain in his honour. Nothing heals a damp soul like a serenade from a dead boyfriend.

Thank you, Bert, for 10 months of meteorological adventures. I will never forget you, my first yellow umbrella.

Life [Continued]

She is still alive.

She knows she’s loved.

God is in control.

Life

We had lunch last month.

We went to the same high school.
We went to the same church.
We went to the same youth group.

We were never really friends.
We just didn’t connect.
We lived in different worlds.

There was a message on my phone this evening.

She lost the baby.
She has full-blown AIDS.
She has three days to live.

I don’t know what to feel.

Grammar Woes

The above video is a snapshot of my daily life. Seriously.

The Games Children Play

I’ve had this song in my head for two days now. I’m not sure why, seeing as I don’t own any Edwin McCain music nor is he getting much radio play these days. But it’s there. I sat down at my piano this evening, only to end up playing the chorus. Yeah, I’m an Edwin-channeler.

I will admit that I happen to find his voice rather perfect. More so even than Bebo’s. Yeah, it’s probably a good thing I don’t know the guy, as I’d probably have to marry him if I did. And all he’d have to do is sing “Make me bacon” and I’d do it. And if he sang it while playing his guitar, I would kill the pig myself.

Anywho, at times like these, when a song is endlessly looping in my brain, I play the game my young cousins taught me.

This is how you play:

When you have a song stuck in your head, sing or hum it aloud. Preferably around numerous people. You get a point every time you hear someone else sing or hum it. Essentially, the whole object is to spread the song. That’s it. Super simple. And no one else needs to know you’re playing. It’s a sneaky game.

To warn you, it’s a slightly boring game when you live alone.

"Punched Before Eating"

I like food. And up until today, I was unaware of a certain hazard to eating.

One Bus Ride

The following is an account of one bus ride from Toronto to Kitchener. Armed with old CDs and a notebook, I spent my Friday afternoon squished in a packed bus, scribbling down the trivial thoughts that rattle around in my head.

Here we go.

• There’s a guy sitting across the aisle and one row in front of me. The brim of his hat is curled upward; his hair is a mop of unruly spirals. He opens his laptop, flashing his Christopher Lee-as-Dracula wallpaper. Then he turns on Goonies. I’m distracted, even though the film is silent.
• The woman next to me is sleeping, so I don’t have to feel guilty for ignoring her.
• I have a soft spot for Corey Feldman. Thanks to A&E.
• I start playing Twenty, a Reunion Records 20^th anniversary compilation CD I haven’t listened to in years. It’s really too bad that the band Daily Planet didn’t have any longevity.
• The Goonies guy is silently laughing.
• Everyone around me is reading, but I can’t make out a single title. I’m always looking for a kindred spirit in literary tastes.
• Rich Mullins. So sad. I miss him. (Always wear your seatbelts, kids).
• Josh Brolin is snarling in his red bandana. I’m distracted again. And Sean Astin: Goonies + Rudy + LOTR = perfect career.
• Why do I always expect Jerry O’Connell to be in Goonies? Sheesh. It’s not Stand By Me.
• “The passion that ignites us all.” I see this on a Maple Leafs banner. I agree with it. A passion for or against. Bring up the Leafs and you’ll get a passionate response on way or another (or a passionate “I hate hockey.”)
• Why isn’t he watching with the subtitles on? This is a time when my work would seem meaningful and important.
• “Consuming Fire.” Isn’t that the music video with Third Day playing their electric guitars in a large body of water? They should have called in “Consuming Electrocution.” I love Max Powell’s voice. Some don’t, but those people aren’t my friends.
• What would happen if I started lip-syncing on the bus? Or rocking out on air guitar?
• A baby is crying. Note to self: When you have a baby, buy a car. Oh, but he’s so cute. And now smiling. The baby is in front of the Goonies guy. Not I’m doubly distracted.
• I skip Kathy Troccoli. Too pageanty. I feel like I should wear a tiara and spin around slowly.
• Wes King’s more like it. I can play “I Believe” on the piano. Three chords. Four for the chorus. I feel old. I loved this song when I was 11.
• We pass Ikea. The toy store for grownups. I still need shelves. And a house to go with them.
• Clay Crosse. I used to think he was cute (again, when I was 11). “Comes down to a man dying on a cross saving the world.” I need to host a mid-‘90s CCM dance party.
• We pass the building for LavaLife.com. Hmm…No freaking way.
• There’s a cute guy beside the Goonies guy. He just put his book away. Now he’s watching something on his laptop. Stupid glare. I can’t see what he’s watching.
• All Star United. I now feel 12, rather than 11.
• The new objective of this ride is to figure out what the guy besides Goonies guy is watching.
• Gary Chapman. I own a cheesy Amy Grant Christmas special on VHS that he costars in. I saw him open for her in 1995. I still strongly identify him with his ex, which weirds me out a little. Maybe I’ll skip this too.
• Jake. I was going to marry Toby. I’m only half joking. “Believer” is the song playing in the bathroom in Left Behind during Kirk Cameron’s conversion. Still a soft spot (for the band, not the bathroom).
• Pipes are bursting (Goonies).
• I switch the CD to Bebo Norman. Love him (not in a Jake way, though). Lyrically gorgeous. So honest and uncontrived. Kind of folksy rock, I guess. I could listen to him forever. So I probably will.
• The guy beside the Goonies guy put his computer away. I’ll never know what he was watching. I guess I’ll never be a private investigator.
• Traffic has slowed. You’d think it was a Friday during rush hour or something.
• I believe the Goonies may have discovered some treasure.
• “Great Light of the World.” I want to curl up on my bed and listen in the dark. But I’m on a bus.
• The Baby Ruth subplot (Goonies). Doesn’t it always come down to chocolate?
• “I would give my soul just to look at you…. If you found my heart, would you run it dry? Break it all apart just to run and hide?” Again, he’s too honest for standard lighting. The CD needs a good candle.
• Now it’s “Long Way Home.” No kidding.
• I see NDP signs. Um, they better collect those pronto. I believe there are laws that dictate how long they can stay up after an election. And I’m pretty sure their time is running out.
• The baby is crying again. I understand.
• Now they’ve found the real treasure.
• We’ve stopped in Cambridge. Which would be awesome if my parents lived in Cambridge. They don’t. I stay on the bus.
• “So Afraid.” A.K.A. Nadine’s theme song. Perfect. I’m too lazy to write out the lyrics. Maybe one day….
• We pass the Canadian Honey Ham Factory. I am learning so much today. I now know where to get honey ham.
• A coworker visited St. Jacobs a while ago. She was weirded out by the open green spaces. I was weirded out by her.
• We pass Wal-Mart. I think of Nathan. Which is like seeing a McDonald’s and thinking of vegans. Which I do.
• Goonies make-out session. No wonder my parents were careful about what I watched. I could be a tramp right now had they not shielded my eyes from such vulgarity.
• I really should adapt Trixie Belden books into movies. Like Goonies for girls. Not really.
• Bebo: “You came sailing back to me.” I’d like to go sailing. And maybe I’ll come sailing back to someone. Although I’d rather go sailing with someone instead.
• A Kitchener water tower.
• CD switch again. Smitty (Michael W. Smith to those who don’t know him as well as I do). I’m having a nostalgic ride, listening to stuff I haven’t played in ages.
• “You’re my best invention.” There ARE subtitles in Goonies. Well, the translated stuff, anyway.
• Another Goonies make-out session. Sure, they survived. Not worth kissing Josh Brolin over. (I jest. She was probably paid a lot for the movie. I’d kiss him if Spielberg told me to).
• Best Smitty lyric: “But I could never live in a yurt on a diet of Mongolian barbecue.”
• I trip from Toronto to Kitchener = one viewing of Goonies. Exactly.
• Is it wrong that I know the three-part harmonies to “Love Me Good”?
• I’m here!

Catching Up.

Since the last blog, I...

• Slept on an air mattress. With a hole in it.
• Ate a generous amount of pumpkin pie. A real lady would never reveal how much exactly.
• Finished a Scrabble game quite spectacularly. And people were around to stroke my ego.
• Explained the High School Musical nude-photo scandal to my younger cousins (They brought it up, I swear).
  
• Learned that Andrew Shue of Melrose Place fame went on to play professional soccer.
• Called my dinner at the Korean BBQ with coworkers "my hot date with raw meat." Someone thought that "raw meat" was what I call my boyfriend. Not to self: Be more selective with word choices.
• Consumed massive quantities of meat (mentioned above).
• Voted. In the rain.
• Did laundry. In the rain.
• Made a rather fantastic roast beef, cheddar and spinach sandwich. On a dark rye bun.
• Learned that Dane Cook made $9 million last year. For being unfunny. I made significantly less. For being hilarious.
• Considered buying Kelsey Grammer's house. Check out that library. How I pine.
  
• Wore a spring outfit on a cold fall day. And froze.
• Was told I should work for Harlequin. I would consider it if they'd let me get rid of the Fabio-esque covers. And the majority of the content within those covers.
  
• Decided that the following spontaneous poem (from Waitress) would probably not woo me successfully. Especially the odor part: "If I had a penny for everything I liked about you, I would have many pennies. A penny for your teeth, a penny for your nose, a penny for your eyes, a penny for your hair, your navel. A penny for your odor. A dollar for your heart."

My dad blogged about Thanksgiving. I'll let him tell you about it instead of rewriting the same stuff.

Thoughts Before Thanksgiving (aka A Slow Workday)

• Ryan Gosling slays me. The guy has been showing up at premieres of Lars and the Real Girl in the tackiest/most awesome grey suits ever. With a scruffy beard and some extra weight to enhance his dapperness. He's playing the father of a teenager in his next film, which probably explains why he doesn't want to be all lanky and teenybopper hot. I would watch his movies if he grew an arm out of his chin, that's how brilliant the man is.

(All pics per teamsugar gallery)

• Anyone catch the pilot of Pushing Daisies? It's kind of like watching Tim Burton's Big Fish in episodic form. But maybe more charming. And so innocent and chaste (For good reason. Touch the cute guy and you're dead. That's reason enough to hold my own hand instead of his). Pure delight. Essentially, Ned, a pie baker, has the gift/curse of being able to bring dead things/people back to life with one touch. If he touches them again, they're dead forever. And if he lets them live for more than a minute, someone else will drop dead to balance things out. And naturally, he just raised his childhood sweetheart from the dead. So he can never touch her. Ever. Brilliant. And Anna Friel is sooo the British Zooey Deschanel. With an American accent, ala House. Her name is Chuck, which officially makes Chuck the name of the year. Watch it. It's the best new show of the season. Even better than Chuck. And ceramic monkeys are involved, so you really can't go wrong.

source

• I had the opportunity to use the phrase "fecoventilatory collision" in an email at work today. Oh, how I amuse myself.

• I am no longer capable of making decisions. I was at the dentist's yesterday, and was given the choice between two different night guards (I'm a clencher, as I've already established). I couldn't choose. I was near tears. So I went with her recommendation, paid about a weeks' salary, and left with major buyer's remorse. And I don't even get the thing until next week. Seriously, people. I was near panic attack. And they say stress is the trigger for clenching in the first place. Maybe I should quit my job and become a shepherd. My parents would approve. My dad likes sheep.

• John Steinberg likes my new haircut. And John Steinberg happens to be one of Toronto’s top hair stylists. This is a very big deal. To me, anyway. I also believe that every workday should end with a scalp massage.

• I am not an impulse shopper. In fact, I’m so good at not shopping, that I can talk myself out of buying things that I need. But today was different. I was browsing in Chapters when I noticed the display wall. “What’s this? A new Douglas Coupland? Why have I not heard of it?” Naturally, I checked it out. The Gum Thief. Very exciting. What makes it even more exciting is that it was 30% off. And it was autographed. That’s right, folks. Try to contain your jealousy.

The Stuff of Life

• This is Vegetarian Awareness Month. Now that I am aware of vegetarians, I think I need to go eat bacon. Wrapped around chicken. (Sam, if you're reading this, I kid. You're my favourite vegetarian. For you, I would make fake bacon).

• Do you dream? In colour? Do you remember your dreams? If so, you're more likely to clench your jaw when you sleep. So never stick your finger in my mouth when I'm sleeping. I will clamp down and never let go. And then I will judge you harshly for being the kind of creep who sticks fingers into peoples' mouth. What is wrong with you? And how did you get into my apartment?

• I'm not sure if it's an inheritance or a hand-me-down, but I am now the proud possessor of my grandma's evening bag collection. Including a fuchsia satin clutch with matching gloves. And a glittery silver clutch not unlike ones featured in InStyle magazine. And a black suede handbag. And a sequined one. Someone invite me to a gala. Please.

• Chuck is still my boyfriend. It’s been two weeks, and we’re still going strong.

• I arrived at work this morning slightly damp and chilled. And then I froze. Some really smart and handsome person (sarcasm on both notes, as no handsome person would do such a thing) on the night shift cranked the air conditioning to 17 Celsius. "That's it, I quit," I thought to myself. But unemployment does not pay the bills. And then I would be cold all the time.

• I went to the mall yesterday to buy a jacket, but came home with sponges and Febreze. The last time I went shopping for jeans, I bought frying pans. A disturbing trend is beginning to emerge. Soon, I will be wearing rags in my clean and domestically fabulous apartment.

• It had been quite some time since having a decent conversation with a stranger at the bus stop. This morning, I met a photographer who used to live in Berlin. His girlfriend speaks five languages. He has a dog. He's lived all over the country, and has great ideas about improving public transit. And he thinks I have a great job.

Roses, Copyright Infringement and June Cleaver.

Who needs the Eiffel Tower when you’ve got the TTC?

There was a man at the top of the escalator in the subway. He was alone, waiting for someone. He held a single red rose.

My imagination went into full-on epic-romance mode, casting Richard Gere and Debra Winger in the story of this man’s life. Was there about to be a passionate reunion? Would he scoop her up and carry her out of the station? Or was he waiting for a mysterious stranger? Was it a Sleepless in Seattle moment, two people in love who are about to meet face-to-face for the first time? Or maybe it’s more You’ve Got Mail. Note to self: Fire Richard Gere and call Tom Hanks.

Later, as I sat on the subway, I saw a woman sitting by herself. She was carrying a white rose.

I’d like to retire. Tomorrow.

I gave myself a five-day weekend (which helps to explain my absence from this blog and all things technological). It was much needed. I needed a break from my life. At one point on Thursday, I was lamenting that I’m full of concepts, but lacking in plot details. I have so many openings for novels and screenplays in my head, but I have no idea how to develop them.

Fortunately, I have a brother with a ridiculous brain full of random stories, culinary innovations (none of which he would actually be able to produce -- or choose to consume), inventions and new words. So he took one of my ideas and ran with it. And kept running. Somehow a small drama about my favorite mystery neighbor (“Boy Behind the Wall” to those who love him) became Die Hard 5. I kid you not.

Later this weekend, I was at my grandma’s, chatting with my 12-year-old cousin who wants to be a writer. And I told her about my idea. And she stole it. She thinks we’re in some sort of race to write the same story. I have a feeling hers will have aliens and dragons in it. All the same, I hope hers falls flat. I wouldn’t want to have to sue a 12-year-old over the rights to my story. It might make Thanksgiving a little awkward.

There’s a cow in my sugar.

I have now contributed to the steaming of one fabulous Christmas pudding. For those of you who don’t enjoy ingredient spoilers, stop reading now. For the rest of you, prepare yourselves. There are potatoes and beef suet in Christmas pudding. Yes, the very pudding that’s full of figs and raisins and candied fruit peel has major animal fat in it. I felt like I was in a Friends episode, channeling Rachel, accidentally layering beef and peas into my trifle. But I shall eat it anyway. And enjoy it immensely. And tell all my little cousins how gross it is so I can have more. And eventually, I’ll take over this part of my family’s Christmas tradition, slightly obsessing over the Leave it to Beaver Christmas I shall impose on the ones I love.

Speaking of food, I should go make tomorrow’s lunch. Shoot. Now I’m signing off as if this is an email, not a blog. I suppose I could go further and treat this as a phone conversation with family.

I love you. Good night.