stuff

More of other people's stuff. There is a song I love, love, love, called "Brimg 'Em All In." Originally done by the Waterboys, it is covered by the Wailin Jennys, where I first heard it. I've been thinking of Jesus lately (well, you know always somewhere in my obsessing, whirling brain he is, various distortions of him, some reality, you know) and then my friend Janis' blog (janishindman.blogspot.com - a good read) has a wee paragraph or two about Christ as a political guy, as the last will be first kind of a thing. Equality for all, etc. This brings to mind this song. Now the Wailin Jennys are a great trio of women and are a folk band, not Christian at all. The Waterboys, British I believe, I don't know much about them. But I love this song. It is who Christ is really. I believe that that was the intention when it was written. It is much better of course to hear it, so, if you have time download it.

Here it be:


Bring 'em all in, bring'em all in, bring 'em all in,
bring 'em all in, bring 'em all into my heart
Bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in
bring 'em all in, bring 'em all into my heart

Bring the little fishes
bring the sharks
bring 'em from the brightness
bring 'em from the dark

Bring 'em from the caverns
bring 'em from the heights
bring 'em from the shadows
stand 'em in the light

Bring 'em out of purdah
bring 'em out of store
bring 'em out of hiding
lay them at my door

Bring the unforgiven
bring the unredeemed
bring the lost, the nameless
let 'em all be seen
bring 'em out of exile
bring 'em out of sleep
bring 'em to the portal
lay them at my feet

Bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in,
bring 'em all in, bring 'em all into my heart
Bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in
bring 'em all in,bring 'em all in to my heart

yes, of course

Yes, of course the story is more complicated than this. I know that. No need to send me comments on that. Yes, people in Israel have died too. Yes, I have complete awareness of that. (I am half-Jewish. . . ) And finally, testimonials do not tell the whole story. Of course not. It is complicated. My Lebanese co-worker, with many relatives remaining in Beirut, tells me that. My Jewish co-worker who was just in Israel and also has many relatives/friends there tells me that too. I get it. Sorry to sound more defensive than usual. Here's one of millions of such stories.


Pity the living and the days to come
Hanady Salman writing from Beirut, Live from Lebanon, 25 July 2006


"Black" by Mazen Kerbaj: Today we are tomorrow's dead. See more of his work.


This "boom boom ha ha" technique doesn't seem to work all the time, not with me, at least.

After 24 hours of "nothing" in Beirut, I was almost getting ready to bid you farewell, and thank you for your support during 14 long days.

Everything in Beirut was so calm I even went home for lunch. There were ongoing airstrikes on the south but no reports of causalities yet.

Kinda wanted to come with me to the office when she saw that I was going back there.

The minute we reached the street, we heard the sounds of four huge consecutive explosions. I don't remember what I did - maybe I jumped - but when I looked at Kinda she was pale. It took her two seconds to get back down to earth and say the magic words "boom boom ha ha". And she kept repeating that for five minutes, automatically. She was not smiling. She was asking, "Boom boom ha ha ?".

Four people were killed and others were seriously wounded in that air strike on the southern suburbs. Yes, the suburbs again. I sent the pictures of the rubble, of people searching for their homes in streets that were completely wiped out, already, didn't I?

Well, it seems that was not enough. I wonder what they're looking for ... it must be something really important.

Seven strikes hit the suburbs today, ten shells were dropped on an area that's already almost completely destroyed.

They spared it for a while, so people went to check on their belongings and then ... BOOM.

It killed four people; I know one of them. He's my best friend's young cousin. He went there with his brother, without telling their family, to check on their home that they'd left five days ago under the shelling. Mohamad is Palestinian. He was staying at his cousin's house, Salim, my friend. At the moment he died, the moment Kinda and I had reached the street and heard the explosions, his mom and Salim were on Salim's balcony, trying to locate were the shelling was falling. They did not know it hit a building that fell on four people and killed them. They did not know it was falling on Mohamad.

Now they do.

Counting the dead

Twenty people were killed today. It brings the toll up to 411 since July 12.

Nine-year-old Zeinab Mounes, her 11-year-old brother Mohamad and their uncle were found under the rubble of their house in Halloussiyeh where six air raids had destroyed three apartment buildings. Nine other people were injured. No one knows how many people are still under the rubble. One other civilian from the same village was killed in a morning raid.

Two civilians were killed in Ma'lyeh, west of Tyre.

One Palestinian was killed, five others wounded - one of them a child - in Rashidiyeh refugee camp.

Eight people were found under the rubble of their house in Qana.

Seven people, all of the same family, were killed when their house was destryed by a shell in Nabatiyeh.

Six Red Cross paramedics were injured on their way to Qana, IN AN AMBULANCE.

You want more? There's plenty, but I just can't keep doing this.

You were right, Linda, writing was therapeutic, but I'm just totally fed up.

Who cares? They're dead. Killed. Chidren, women, men - oh yeah, some are men; unfortunately, their pictures aren't as sensational as those of toddlers.

The UN "peace" keeping forces today evacuated a number of civilians from some villages in the south. Only those with a western nationality were evacuated. The filthy holders of Lebanese passports were begging them to take them along.

They did not. They just left them there to die.

Do they tell you about this in your newspapers? Do they tell you that the UN "humanitarian" envoy who came and toured my country was lecturing the refugees with that patronizing, arrogant, know-it-all and seen-it-all look in his eyes, while trying to look sweet and compassionate?

Do they tell you that this same guy, whose monthly wage is most probably higher then the yearly revenues of all those who died today, had concluded that my country needs 150 million dollars in humanitarian aid, and that once he reached Cyprus, he concluded all this was Hezbollah's fault?

Do they tell you we're not beggars? Do they tell you we don't need charity? Do they tell you we work for a living? That we earn whatever we have? That we sweat, we sing, we read, we learn, we breathe, we love and we hate?

That woman, Hweiyda's aunt, is not a beggar. She's all alone with her burnt niece in a Beirut hospital. Four days ago, she had a house and a family. Four days ago she had a life.

Yesterday, when I gave her the hundred dollars Rola had given me for the people in need, she cried so hard it made me want to die.

Dignity. That's what it's all about.

Dignity.

No more pictures, that's it. Showing their pictures will not "open the West's eyes". Showing their pictures will not bring them back. It will merely deprive them whatever is left from their dignity.

Those pictures are never published anywhere; there are rules that ban it. But apparently no rules ban killing people like this.

These people are not dying so we get to see their pictures.

Let them die, tens of them each everyday. Don't pity them. I bet you they pity us. They pity us. They're somewhere where nothing worse could happen to them.

We're left here, dealing with our consciences, debating whose fault it is, what's wrong and what's right.

Pity us, pity those who did not get killed. Pity us who will be living in the "New Middle East" the US is tailoring for us. Pity the days to come.

Does Hweiyda know that there's a bunch of people who will decide her fate in a conference in Rome?

intestines, vacuum bags, pools, wagons, Sara Gilbert

For some reason the actress Sara Gilbert, you know, from Roseanne, has been going through my mind. I honestly have no idea why other than that I like the show Roseanne. Sara is Melissa's sister, Melissa of the great Little House on the Prairie.
Still a bit intestinally off to be honest. Not sure what that is about. Janis suggests a pool-borne bacteria and so I think I'll go with that. However, this will not stop me from swimming in the pool. Lovely. I went at 5 p.m. today and swam for about an hour. I saw a woman talking to her man, "I need to lose 30 pounds," was all I caught. But the gist seemed to be she was ashamed to be seen in her bathing suit. He seemed either empathic or frustrated or both. Poor woman. Well, sure, she could stand to lose a few but so could I and I'm out there in all my one-piece glory. It was crowded at the pool because some swim team was taking up three of the four lanes. That left one lane for other swimmers and some of them were too fast for me. Then I feel pressure to go faster or to tell them to relax, it's a beautiful evening.
Well, I've fallen off the eating and cooking well wagon a bit. I've been lazy I have to say. Fewer vegetables, more spaghetti, fewer home-cooked lunches. I hope I get back on the wagon once the weather cools down a bit.
Is it me or is it hot in here?
Oh, Sara Gilbert. She did a great guest star turn on Will and Grace playing a Barry Manilow fan, a "fanilow." She has some great dry wit that one does.
My stomach is growing as we speak.

and the heat goes on

I seem to have a little gastrointestinal distress. I chalk it up to the extremely hot weather wreaking havoc with my intestinal area. Far too much information really.
It is still too hot although a cooling trend is set for Tuesday or Wednesday. Excellent.
The weekend. A might dull really but it was so hot that any real excitement may have been too much for my heart.
On Saturday morning-early afternoon I went to this novel symposium thingy at SFU downtown campus. Suffice it to say that the building was air-conditioned and that I got five books (one from each of the authors present) for the price of admission. Nice. After awhile though, with that manhy bodies in one room, it still gets hot. Nonetheless, enjoyable.
Today I went to the glorious New Brighton Pool. I was there about an hour and a half and then I met my pal Ruth there. An excellent pool. A bit more crowded but still great. Although at one point Ruth and I saw something fall into the pool - a tissue, a hat? don't know. That heeby-jeebied me out. I have an irrational fear of things in water. ICK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was never seen again although at one point Ruth thought she felt it scrape past her leg. ICK!!!!!
Now the only problem with this pool is the cement and no shade thingy. Hot, hot, hot. But the water was so refreshing I can't tell you. The only way to beat the heat. Well, unless you have air conditioning.
Tonight I was flipping channels and came across channel 34, TLC. Oh my gosh they were profiling this little 3-year-old girl and her parents. The girl has some unpronounciable syndrome, resulting in her being tiny, tiny, odd looking with cognitive deficits. She'll never get past 30 inches apparently and her head is the size of a six-week old. She walks though and is learning to talk. Sniff. The aneuryism in the brain is the thing to worry about. I was mesmerized. I even stopped obsessing for the hour it was on. Uh huh! That's the trick! I must watch TV programs with tragic yet hopeful stories like this.
On Dateline NBC I think on Friday evening (yes, I stay home much too much) they had the story about a woman with five wee sons. Her husband fathered the last two I think. Anyway, her friends loved her, she was very close to two friends particularly. Well, next thing you know she is saying she is dying. They fundraise, blah, blah. But she was lying!! The whole time!!! Fascinating.
Dateline NBC is part of the government conspiracy to keep Americans (and, well, Canadians) from thinking about, well, their government. It is always sensationalistic. And my god I love it.
Turn on the news and you hear about Israel bombing the remains of Beirut. And Hezballah (spelling?) bombing back. I turn it off now because 1.) it is immeasurable depressing, 2.) no facts or background is ever given, it's just, here's more bombing news. Boom (as it were). Sickening. I have opinions (of course) but will not share them as I want to read up in an intelligent way on the whole thing. Well, after I watch the show about the poor syndrome girl and the evil lying woman.
Hot.

is it hot enough for ye

Well, like, yeah. Like. Indeed it is.

You know, I am from Winnipeg and it gets $%^%$# hot there in the summer. I left almost 20 years ago (watch for my blog entry in the next few weeks: Winnipeg: I left almost 20 years ago) but I still recall the heat. When I was 15, my father finally decided we needed air conditioning in the house. Good call. Mind you, he always wanted it turned off AT NIGHT. The same theory, I guess, that gave us the immortal you can't have both the heat and the radio on in the car at the same time.
Hot.
Even in my thank-god-its-a-basement-suite it is HOT. I feel drained of all energy and so I'm just lying like a slug. Hot. hot. hot.
I finally got around to watching the British series that Janis so kindly lent me months ago on DVD. Little Britain. Do you know it? I like it, especially the teenage girl who speaks in the ultimate teen speak, even while on trial for shoplifting. There's lots of men-dressed-up-as-women and it reminds me a bit of the great Canadian series, Kids in the Hall. I also like the Fat group meeting, where the leader can't understand what the East Indian woman is saying, even though she has no accent to speak of. Ha!
Today was our annual teachers picnic. Instead of having our monthly meeting, we go out to Sunset Beach and sit around and have sandwiches and potato salad and oddly good chocolate cake. It was, well, HOT. Basically we get out there, we sit, we wait, we eat (think: pigs to the trough), we chit chat with the same people we sit with at work (it's like the lunch room moved to the beach, observed Kristina), we wait to see who wins the five Starbucks gift certificates, we use the bathroom at the Aquatic Centre and we leave. I, of course, was obsessed with which groups formed where. As in every workplace in the world, cliques have formed. Our ESL school is certainly better than others, hundreds of times better in fact. As I've said before, I greatly enjoy my co-workers and on the whole, they put up with me. Plus, remember I get to read the People magazine for free every week. Oh, heaven, heaven. But, you know, I noticed some cliqueing. There are certain people who draw others like moths to a flame and that person "holds court." Because I'm obsessive (really?) I therefore obsess about this. "What is with so and so?" I ask. "Why do people gather around so and so like they are the king/queen of the universe?" Oh, Karen, you say, you just want to be the queen of the universe. True. It's like I have this rather distressing gift to see the adult cliquisms but not the gift to not obsess about it like a 17-year-old. ("Like why didn't Kathy Magura invite me to the party? Like I heard Tinla say like she totally saw the like guest list and I totally wasn't like on it) Yes, my fan base, I am well past 17. Well well well past. Group dynamics are fascinating.
Wendy, of last blog, and her good pal Michelle, also a co-worker who has been wanting a blog mention for some reason (you people do realize that my fan base is about 5.2 people on a good day)do not involve themselves in these cliques. Yes, of course they talk too much about clothes but they are very inclusive. You wouldn't think that from the blonde clothes thing, but they are. So that's like, nice.
Group dynamics. Please, please, please let me in your clique. Wait that is high school talking.
In other news, it is hot. Tomorrow I am taking a thingy at SFU downtown campus, "Symposium on the Novel," from 10-3. I'm looking forward to it because the admission price includes five books from the authors and because it will be air-conditioned (I certainly friggin hope). It is suppoed to be 752C tomorrow so, you know, be careful out there.

Wendy knows her shoes

Remember former sub-boss, now lateral? That's Wendy. Anyway, Wendy knows for shoes and clothes. "That's fabulous," she is known to say about someone's ensemble. And she has the critical eye up and down thing down pat.
"You are doing that critical eye thing up and down to me!" I often say, "stop it."
"Huh," says she. She is such a pro that she doesn't even know she is doing it.
I find Wendy quite interesting and would love to do a psychological profile on her. As I've blogged before, she is one of the most confident people I have ever met. As I've said, you could literally scream, YOU ARE THE ANTI-CHRIST!! repeatedly and she would simply say, "interesting," in a bored, nonchalant way. And mean it. Fascinating.
She may be blonde but she is not dumb this Wendy. With her obsession with clothes, hair, makeup and her 120-month younger boyfriend, you might think at first glance, "dumb." But you would be wrong. She is a smart cookie. She knows that I think she is a tad too obsessed with fashion but this merely results in the bored, nonchalant look. "Why do you care what other people think?" she has often asked me as I obsess about so-and-so not inviting me to a party that they invited everyone else to.
Anyway, I have desperately needed some new sandals. I like the shoe stores on Robson right near where I work but I'm, you know, terrified. I begged Wendy to come with me today.
"In, out, easy peasy," said I, like I was describing how Bush had envisioned the takeover of Iraq.
"I don't have time," said she.
But I knew begging would work. Wendy worships shopping.
So off we went. In and out of stores so fast one guy said, "zoom, zoom." And sure enough, she found me a lovely pair of Born black sandals. comfortable as all heck. I just need a nice pedicure now. Wendy knew I wanted black because matching clothes and shoes overwhelms me. In the meantime she was trying on all manners of wackiness. Thanks, Wendy.

exploding toads

This is an article from the October 2005 edition of Canadian Wildlife Magazine. I know, I know, if you wanted a magazine/newspaper article, you would read it yourself. I'm doing this for the part of my fan base that may be horribly crippled due to a car or bus accident and can no longer read easily. Also, no one wants to read to them because all of their friends/family are quite selfish. They could get books on tape or CD! you say. Yes, but not this I think. Anyway, here it is:

Compiled by Jason Santerre
It sounds like a bad name for a garage band, but exploding toads have baffled scientists examining the strange phenomenon in Hamburg, Germany. Earlier this year, more than a thousand toads inhabiting a pond in the city simply blew up, in a particularly gruesome and bizarre scene.
Janne Kloepper of the Hamburg Institute for Hygiene and the Environment had few answers for the media hordes who descended on Hamburg from all over Europe, wondering, among other things, whether whatever killed the toads could also affect humans. "It's absolutely strange," she said. "We have a unique story here. This phenomenon doesn't seem to have appeared anywhere before." She added that local scientists tested both the pond water and the toads themselves, but turned up on conclusive answers.
Could a bacterium or virus have caused the toads' stomachs to swell and explode? Biologists have come up with several theories, including one about a South American fungus that causes bloating. But so far, the most plausible theory involves crows in search of a delicacy: frog liver.
"The crows are clever," said Frank Mutschmann, a Berlin veterinarian who collected and tested specimens of toad remains at the Hamburg pond. "They learn quickly from watching other crows how to get the livers." Based on the wounds he saw, Mutschmann said it's possible that when the crow pecks into the liver, the toad puffs itself up as a natural defence mechanism. He theorizes that, with the liver missing and a hole in its body, the toad's blood vessels and lungs could burst, expelling the other organs.
It appears there's no danger to humans from whatever caused the amphibian explosiions, but Hamburg residents have been asked to steer clear of the area until the toads start croaking again for the right reasons.

well, well

Well, fan base, it's been a tough week for Auntie Karen. And it's Monday. "Oh, Karen," you say in unison, "thank god you are back to talking about yourself. We've missed that precious commodity known as utter self-absorption."
Well, I won't go into the brain stuff, I 'll keep my self-promise there. But, sigh. Let's see, a few students are finding me anti-Christy again, much to the chagrin of my boss. My boss was trying to give me some advice in a closed door! meeting this morning but all I heard was, "moi, moi, moi, moi" you know that voice for adults in Charlie Brown - not moi but close to it. Because I have little self-control whilst self-flagellating and being semi, yet gently, flagellated by the boss, I felt teary. This resulted in my not being able to say anything other than "right, yes, yes, right." Boss is fairly observant and probably saw my brown eyes all wet and mushy. moi moi. Sigh. Half the class worshipped me, built a temple to me out of origami paper, kimchi and a taco from Taco Bell. The other half not so much. "Here's what I've heard," says boss. "We don't want another anti-Christ episode," says she. Well, not at all in those words but you know the basic idea. "I thought you were settling in nicely to the elementary level."
"Can I take my temple of origami paper, kimchi and a taco from taco bell home with me," I asked, all choked up. "I think it would be, you know, encourraging."
"Actually," said boss, "we used it to get some old rust stains out of the toilets."
"I will take this student information," I tell myself, "and use it for evil. I will add it to my already overtaxed brain. I'll pour it in like apple sauce into my muffins. Like water into a cup. Like diarrhea into an overflowing toilet." There, I went too far. Like whatever.
What else? Well, I did have a lovely, lovely x10 swim at New Brighton Pool again yesterday. I frolicked. Co-worker/friend/curly-haired former African volunteer that I admire Kristina tried to show me how to do a somersault in the water so I can use it as a turn when I get to the end of a lane. "I'm oddly terrified," I said to her. I'm not at all afraid of water, just bandaids in water. (yuck!). But for some reason diving and somersaulting scare me too much to consciously be able to do. "I know lifesaving techniques," said Kristina, "in case you bash your head against the bottom and get knocked unconscious, bleed and become paralyzed." Well, I actually added everything after techniques but still.
So the water was excellent fun but then I got a disturbing call from someone all mad at me.
"What?" I said, "I can't hear you over the screaming, frolicking children."
"Maybe we should talk later," said this ticked off someone.
"No,no," said I, "I so enjoy the experience of others being angry with me that I would like to talk about it now, while I am at my oasis of the swimming pool."
But I should not minimize this. This person may or may not still be part of my shrinking fan base. I must not alienate the fan base! I left the pool soon afterwards which was okay because I'd been there for about three hours. I then went to Ruth and Barth's house.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" asked Ruth.
"Good lord in his heaven yes. For the love of sacred cows, pigs and tofu yes yes yes."
We had great barbecued hamburgers and just then made in the bread machine hamburger buns. We talked about books, swimming, veganism, god, gardens and a few other things. Ruth, Barth and their 12-year-old son Justus are good people. I've known them for years but had never hung out before. As I went to leave I asked if they were mad at me.
"No," said Ruth, "why?"
"Just checking. If you become angry, please don't call me at the pool to tell me. That is my sacred oasis of calm, frolicking and peaceful co-habitation with other people of the species."
"How will we know that you are at the pool?"
"Excellent point."
And fair enough, ticked off someone did not know this. I actually really like ticked off someone.
So there you go, the week so far. Tomorrow I start a new four-week session at work and I will only have two of the students in the morning from last session. The others have either left or been promoted. One of the students likes me, the other, I find out, does not. He may have requested another class. If not, I will give him money and candy to love me as I am.
What would solve everything, fan base, well in my life, certainly not in the lives of the poor Lebanese, is if you all sent me money. Large amounts please. No need to do it surreptiously, under cover of night. Just hand it on over. Fifties, hundreds, thousands, or, you know, more. I will humbly take it and spend it on me. I'll rent out the pool for an afternoon of fan base frolicking. I'll bring air mattresses.

a little dyke drama

yup. I have known for a few years that for some reason the Vancouver Folk Festival (and maybe other folk festivals) has a large contigent of lesbian fans. Not gay men so much or the transgendered but lesbians. I remember the first year I went, 2003 it was, I saw many a lesbian, shirtless, holding her sweetheart's hand. Well, a pair of them even made out in front of me one year.
As my fan base knows, I am vaguely obsessed with all things lesbian - Commercial Drive, the L-Word (well, it could be argued that there is only a real lesbian or two on that, but still), Portia de Rossi's odd eyebrows, Queer as Folk (well, that was mainly straight men playing gay men, also enjoyable. But I was so interested in the lives of the actresses playing Melanie and Lindsay that I ended up using my old journalism credentials to freelance a story on Thea Gill, Lindsay. We are friends now. Well, acquaintance type friends but still), short haircuts (a requirement in England, I am told by an Englishwoman). Now, now I do certainly know that not all lesbians have short haircuts. Now now.
I keep thinking were I a lesbian how partnered up I would be! I hear Vancouver's lesbian community is small and so I think new blood would be snatched up. Ha! A great double entendre there.
Anyway, folk festival. I didn't go this year, but I did stand outside the gates along Jericho Beach, where there are vendors and many people milling around. I also lay down at one point and people watched. A great little dyke drama unfolded. K. There was butch lesbian and a bit less butch. They were hugging for a good 7 minutes. Then they unembraced and butch wiped her eyes. A bit less butch looked at her with great empathy and love, kissed her cheek. I got verklempt. Then, another long hug. Then, tears. Then, empathy look. Then hug. Then finally, walking away hand and hand.
Could this exchange have happened with a straight couple? Of course but I wouldn't have stared for so long, intrigued by the very butchiness of it all.
Now, now. Don't buy into the myth of the butch-femme. Just look at Bette and Tina. Or Dana and Lara. Or, or - Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Tolkien. Or Bianca and Lena (All My Children).
I'm also vaguely obsessed with gay men. Gay male erotic writing is much more erotic than straight erotica. Er - so I've heard. No, I do not stand in Little Sisters' Bookstore and read gay male erotica with titles like, "My first Time," or "I thought I was straight until . . .' I just hear these things through the grapevine.
Sigh

Days of Our Bloody Lives

I've been coming home early enough some days to catch the last bit of Days of Our Lives. Now I grew up on the soaps, as I think I've mentioned before. All my Children, General Hospital, Young and Restless, As the World Turns, Another World (before it was ruthlessly cancelled in June of 1999. It was the lowest rated soap. That was crushing let me tell you), Texas (a spinoff of Another World, it had a short shelf life, cancelled on New year's Eve 1982), and One Life to Live. The only one I've never seen is Guiding Light. I can still picture my mother lying on our love seat, watching the soaps. Comforting. And she still watches them.
I got her hooked on All My Children. First she said, "Karen, you are too young to watch this." I was about 15. Next thing I know her, my sister and I are all enthralled with Nina and Cliff's marital problems. Of course Cliff later went on to play Jack on Young and Restless, replacing an unhappy Terry Lester. Terry later went on to As the World Turns and then later, died. I've met both Terry and the Cliff Jack, years ago interviewing them for various newspapers. Thrill o my life. Oh and Danny from Y and R. Not daniel, but Danny.
Phew. My sister got me hooked on Y and R in 1984. And Victor is still on! Although I hear they are going to kill him off. Shocking.
Lots of movie stars have come from soaps - Julianne Moore, Meg Ryan, Kevin Bacon, Demi Moore.
The soaps are like a bizarre fantasy world where people where glamourous clothes and stomp out of rooms more than can be good for them. "Do you think your life is a soap opera," asked a friend of mine recently, concerned about my concern about being 40 and single. I wish it were a soap. I love stomping around.
Back to Days. It seems that Bo and Hope are apart again. Something to do with Bo's daughter having killed Bo and Hope's son. Don't know any background on that one. Sammy, much slimmer than I recall, is now married to Austin. Sammie is a woman, not a man. Carrie, Sammy's sister, is now with Austin's brother Lucas. Lucas is the father of Sammy's young son. And there is all sorts of other intrigue as well, I see that Marlena is still kicking around, John Black, Roman. Fascinating really. Bo is still kind of hot after all these years, but the pressure of being a cop and having these wayward adult children is definitely showing on his face. I worry.
I sometimes catch Y and R as well. My god Phyllis is pregnant. Now either Nick or Jack (cliff jack) is the father. Nick is married to Sharon, who really wants to do Brad. Brad is married to Victoria, Nick's sister. The original Victoria is now on One Life to Live.
I feel comforted by the fact that I remember all of this weird meta-reality. At least the old memory is still a bit intact.
Oh and for my Aussie fan - Home and Away - I enjoyed that when it aired here for awhile.

movies

So I saw a couple of good movies this weekend. I had a lovely three-day weekend, due to the students taking the TOEIC test on Friday. Once every four weeks the students do that, resulting in a nice three-day weekend. (albeit unpaid). But still, nice.
I saw the Devil Wears Prada. I thought it would be good only because of the great Meryl Streep and I was right. She is biting and brilliant. And it is set in NYC and Paris, two of my favourite places. Very light movie and easy breezy.
On Saturday evening I saw Road to Guantanamo. Now, since I've been accused of only seeing (and hearing and absorbing as Gospel truth) left-wing stuff, I will say right off the top that the movie was very black and white. I'm sure those boys had more to do with the Taliban than they admitted but I doubt they knew Osama personally. I'd known the conditions at Guantanamo were brutal and brutal they were.
A movie not to see if you are at all not completely emotionally in good form is Gia. It was on TV (Bravo) on Friday night and I caught a bit of it. It's from 1998 and stars the christ child's mother, Angelina Jolie. It was before all the the hype about her. I'd heard she was good in this and she is amazing in this. But it is a brutal, brutal true story about a supermodel named Gia, who died in 1986 of AIDS related complications at 26 years old. She was a heroin addict and wowza Jolie captures it well. She's one messed up woman. The first half (most of which I missed) apparently delves a bit more hopefully into her life. The last half is all rehab and falling off the wagon again and again. I finally turned it off when Gia was headed to the back alleys to buy more heroin after she had been sick with AIDS-related pneumonia. Yikes. Oh, Angelina, would that you could go back to those days of just being known for you artistic work. She was equally good in Girl, Interrupted a few years back and stole the show from Winona Ryder. Poor Winona, she steals a few things from a store and has to hide for years. apparently she has a new movie out now too though.
I'm looking forward to the upcoming Vancouver Film festival as well - well that's not till the end of September but yee haw.

that damn Flashdance tune

For some reason that damn Flashdance song keeps going through my head. What a feeling, feeling believing (or something like that), and why is she dancing like she's never danced before? Has she never danced before? Is this her first time actually dancing? Was she a Mormon or JW or something?

Well well. I write a little political commentary thing and wowza the floodgates opened. I don't know politics, I am told. I have selective hearing. I should go to Iraq and teach ESL. Apparently I lap up non-right wing material like Gospel. Actually, I don't even lap up the Gospel like Gospel and Jesus was a Jewish socialist, so there's a piece of left wing material for you. Yes, it was all very exciting to have the comments flying back and forth and to and fro. But really now people. Can you express your opinion without attacking? You'll notice nowhere NOWHERE on my blog do I attack my wee fan base. I could say, "nah, nah, you go teach in Iraq." or "nah, nah, stick and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me, although, on a side note, depleted uranium bullets will hurt me for a long time."
So, please, disagree with me so much that you want to ring my little 40-year-old neck because what the heck am I talking about I am so brainwashed by Noam Chomsky, Robert Fisk and the gospel of the last shall be first and the first last and I don't know history, but try, I ask, just try to leave out all of the "you's." Otherwise I think it weakens one's argument. I apologize if I come across in a condescending tone sometimes, god knows when someone is condescending to me I tune them right out.
Anyway, I'm going to lighten up a bit for awhile. I'm not going to write about the goings on of my brain or the goings on of military stuff like that there. But I can't resist one last quote I found from Dick Cheney:
"The story of Wal-Mart exemplifies some of the very best qualities in our country - hard work, the spirit of enterprise, fair dealing, and integrity."

hair removal

well, in just half an hour, at 4:30 p.m., I will be having a hair removal appointment (on my head of hair) by a new hairdresser. New to me anyway. As I've mentioned in the past, my great and saved-my-hair hairdresser has gone on maternity leave. Eeek! I've waited a couple of months and now I definitely need a good thinning out, de-bulking. I'm going to a woman downtown near where I work. Wish me luck.
I would like to thank those of the fan base that have given me some brain suggestions. Particularly to Janis who wrote a treatise. I appreciate all of it.
god bless the fan base.
what else be happening? I could get all serious and talk about the story I read of the 21-year-old American soldier living on a base in Iraq. Seems a 15-year-old girl living near the base caught his attention. So did he talk to her? ask her out on a date? bring her flowers? Nah. He raped (as did two others) and murdered her, then slaughtered her family, including, I believe, her younger brother. I'm speechless on that. Apparently this soldier was known to have a personality disorder. Well, okay then.
And the slaughter continues. But hey, at least Saddam is gone. My god, my god. I believe that some of my wee fan base have children. Do you have a fifteen-year-old daughter? Could you imagine that happening to her (and then to you and your spouse and your son). Collateral damage I believe they call it. Former Secretary of State Madeline Albright was famously known to have responded, when asked if the deaths of 500,000 Iraqi children because of the first Gulf War and sanctions was worth it, "yes, we believe it is." Enough said on that one.
Geez, Karen, you are either political or be-moaning your brain. Is there no middle ground? Sure, there is and that middle ground is television. So maybe I'll talk about a few tv shows next time.

various thoughts

yee haw it is nice and hot now. Hot hot hot. Hot like, like - hot.
As I said, I've been doing some great outdoor swimming at New Brighton Pool. today was excellent. A bit more crowded (holiday Monday after all) but still plenty of room in the adult swim lanes. I got some good swimming in and even though I forgot my towel I dried off very quickly lying on the cement. I love it, this outdoor swimming. I've gone three times in the past week. I'd go every day if I could, but alas work, which I skipped on Friday because of the damn insomnia, gets in the way. This week is a three day work week, as Friday is TOEIC test day for the students and sleep and swim day for me. Yee haw.

I felt actually kind of relaxed after swimming (wowza! says fan base). I think it was the swimming and the hot sun. Any calmness has eluded me lately, as my fan base knows, so I welcome this.

If you are the praying sort fan base, please pray that I begin to sleep well again, without the chronic wake-ups. I struggle with the concept of prayer for many reasons, one being that people are dying for goodness sakes, being blown up and dying, and yet I hope for answers. That's a big question and I suspect people rationalize how prayer still works despite that. Anyway, I'm off to my doctor's sub on Friday to try and get some answers to my brain problems and the meds not working so well. I feel that I take a small risk in mentioning this but my fan base is small enough that it is not going to go around the world. I have a fan or two from my work and I don't want them to think that my brain problems are affecting my work. They're not. In fact, work is very helpful as a distraction.

I have been getting to know, this past weekend mainly, a woman I have known for many years but not well. And her husband and 12-year-old son. It's been awesome and rather touching to get to know her better. She is a very peaceful person and her very way of speaking relaxes me. "I'm not always so relaxed," she tells me. I know that and that's okay. So that's kind of exciting me thinks.

I saw the documentary last night, "Enron: the smartest guys in the room." Really, really good. I recommend it highly, highly. Janis, I know you like films, so please go off and get this. Excellent. And horrifying. Oh and Janis remember I very much want to meet the fruit of your loins - in this case, Alex. Don't worry, I can behave well, especially with a donut stuffed in my mouth.

I think I need to find some kind of genuine peace about myself. It appears that some people really like themselves and forgive themselves their foibles/mistakes/big fuckups. Fan base, if you do that, and if you have any insight, a comment or two would be appreciated.

oh and the being 40 thing? the being 40 thing is fucking bothering me.

apologies for the cursing. well, not really.

oh and meatloaf. i tried to make it again this morning (in the heat I put the oven on). Last time it was too dry. This time, burnt on the top (to a crisp) and too full of tomato paste on the inside (the odd recipe said 4 cans for 2 pounds of beef). so it is rather red and soggy. i threw most of it out. but i also just made more strawberry/banana muffins. yum.