Archive for March, 2008

Happy Anti-versary

It was sixteen years ago today that I stood barefoot on a beach in Fiji and tied the knot, got hitched, fused, welded together, or whatever your romantic metaphor for getting married.

It was a spontaneous thing, growing out of a beach conversation that went something like this:

I wouldn’t mind getting married.

Me neither.

They’d sure be surprised at home.

OK, let’s do it tomorrow before we change our minds.

My dress was bunched up in a backpack, a red-and-white Bali batik purchased a couple of weeks before in Australia for $15 AUS. I hung it up for the day and most of the wrinkles fell out.

The deed was done by a Methodist minister wearing a sulu with a congregation that consisted of the sulu-wearing bar staff/band from the hotel. They were bored out of their heads.

Not sure what 16 signifies, but apparently the recommended gift is silver holloware, whatever that is.

My present?

Well, after having secretly switched the text on my Blackberry to Magyar, the language spoken by Hungarians, and then watching me panic as I tried to navigate my way through menus with funny words with squiggles, he graciously offered to switch it back to English.

You know, as an anniversary present.

Sweet, huh?

Earth Hour was dark

We ate by candlelight last night, joining in with the millions who participated in Earth Hour. The little typists were keen, possessed with a sense of urgency. “We have to do this for the environment!”

I was glad to see their energy. I’ve been hanging out clothes, turning down the heat, flicking off lights, buying energy-efficient appliances and light bulbs, measuring kilowatt-hour usage, dumping second car, taking the bus and trying to reduce my carbon shoe size since the Kyoto Protocol.

I picked up many of these habits while living in Europe. But since returning to Canada I learned to keep my Kyoto habit in the closet. I’ve been overly sensitive to WTF looks and sneers. “You. Hang. Out. Clothes? You. Take. The. Bus? Weird.”

Strange how “normal” elsewhere is bizarre here. Even stranger because I used to think of Canada as such a environmentally aware country.

I still have a way to go. March trips south. Car ownership. Yesterday I bought snow peas from Guatemala.

I am convinced the world will reduce its dependence on fossil fuels, but it won’t be because of Earth Hour or environmental concerns. It will be due to the laws of supply and demand.

One of these days, it will be declared that we’ve reach the dreaded peak. And then stand by for the $200 per barrel of oil and the $300 per barrel.

It was only four years ago that I read a report from a credible oil and gas think tank predicting the $100-barrel of oil. It seemed impossible at the time, like some futuristic dystopia. The think tank predicted it would take 10 years to reach this point.

I’m not an armageddonist. There’s lots of sunshine, wind, tides, waves and geothermal energy supplies. (But not biofuels - they do more damage than good.)But that will take a massive shift in attitude and investment into innovation. You’re seeing this in Germany right now with massive investments into alternative energy R&D.

In my little neck of the woods, the visionless, small-minded politicians are talking about increasing the number of bridges and expanding road infrastructure to get more cars on an already crowded finite little peninsula on which my city is built.

They want to build a fossil-fuel dependent Atlantic Gateway mega-port to receive goods shipped from China - the long way round - and then truck and railroad them to Wal Marts in middle America. The myopia defies logic and beggars belief.

But Earth Hour is a good idea despite these people and because of them. Its aim is to  get people thinking differently and maybe changing some of their habits. It’s a bottom-up movement.

It’s a good idea to do this voluntarily before we are forced to do it.

Breasts, mega mammaries and supersized hooters

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I’m not normally one to gawk, but my word, women’s breasts seem to be getting big these days.

Honestly, the number of supersized hooters bobbing around St. Maarten was absolutely breathtaking. And virtually all of these super boobs were supported by the most minimalist of pouch-and-string bikinis. It’s like the place was overrun with Lara Croft Tomb Raiders.

I’m not talking about the old fashioned type of breasts you may be familiar with. You know, the ones: made of soft tissue and prone to a little jiggle now and then. No, these babies are rock solid and no matter how big, they are always pointing straight ahead Fred, like the headlights on a car.

Ten-Hut! Attention!

No droop. No sag. Gravity defying. Could they be injected with something supernatural? Like Kryptonite?

And these mega mammaries always seem to appear on the most stick-insect of bandy-legged little women. You almost feel afraid for these women carrying such a heavy front load of breast.

If they aren’t careful, they could teeter forward and topple over, falling on their face. And wouldn’t that be a shame.

St. Maarten through a typist’s lens

Go here to view these pictures in Flickr

A week in this French/Dutch Caribbean island brought some fantastic seascapes, skyscapes and lightscapes for a typist on the roam with a camera.

Sadly, the UV filter on my favourite lens (Canon 17-40mm) was smashed in transit. When I uncovered the lens on the first morning I found broken glass all over the lens surface. I took it to a shop to have it cleaned. They removed the tiny fragments of glass that remained on the lens, and on a superficial glance they said there was no damage.

But my superficial glance saw things I didn’t like.

And now that I’ve downloaded the pictures, I can see that damage in the pictures. If you look closely, you can see consistent patterns of dots in certain pictures. I’ve “healed” some of these in Photoshop so they don’t appear in all pictures.

I guess it’s off to the lens hospital with the Canon 17-40.

I want to feel sick about this but know I shouldn’t worry too much about the health of inanimate objects.

Especially when I have a drugged up cat recovering from oral surgery.

I’m back and tending to NBL

Just getting caught up with my Non-Blog Life (NBL). You know: work, laundry, cat surgery.

She’s in theatre as I write. She’s having three rotten teeth out. It’s a good thing we took the holiday before this bill comes in. It’s going to be a whopper. I’ll blog later this week on the morality of forking out money on cat dentistry.

Below are some pictures of her fangs. See for yourself.

(Update as of 16:00. She is out of surgery and in recovery. Drowsy but doing well. Three fangs were extracted.)

Also, I have a load of pix of St. Maarten to post later. Think green water.

Thanks for sticking around. GT had a record number of hits on Friday.

Guess what? Eliot rhymes with Idiot

See live column here.

You know who I mean. Spitzer aka Mr. Clean aka the Love Rat of New York.

I heard a number of women call into the CBC radio program As it Happens to defend poor old Eliot. They say the wife’s to blame. 

The argument goes something along the lines of this: Silda wasn’t paying enough attention to her husband (read: giving him sex) and THIS is what drove Mr. Clean into the arms of the $1000-per-hour call girl.

Oh, I see. So, the man cheats  on his wife, humiliates his three daughters and betrays New Yorkers who voted him in because he was Mr. Clean…. and it’s all Silda’s fault.

Silly me for pointing a finger at Eliot the Idiot

Tell me. What century are we living in again? 18th or 19th? Is this what happens to women who give up their high-powered jobs to support their husband’s political career and bring up the kids? Do we blame the Silda’s of this world for the dispicable acts of the Eliots?

What’s particularly sad about this is that it’s coming from women. In 2008. What does this say about us? What do we tell our daughters and our little sisters?

Even cave women were more liberated than this.

Other than the tropical depression, high winds, ocean surge and coastal evacuations…

…I’m having a rather spiffing time here in St. Martin or Sint Maarten, depending on which side of French-Dutch border you’re on, on this Caribbean island.

The tropical depression,  now in the mid Atlantic, didn’t make a direct hit but it has churned up the sea and produced a powerful ocean swell that is now slamming the island with spectacular waves. Many beaches have been evacuated and most coastal cafes and shops have been closed.

Several roads have also been closed and the million-dollar-per-square foot super yachts you see around here have all taken refuge in the posh ports you see around here.

We are safe, high on a hill with a perfect view of the dramatic skyscapes, seascapes and lightscapes. For a light-hound who brought the camera and the good lenses, this is quite a treat.

There’s been plenty of sunshine too, along with heat, beach frolicking and lounging by the pool-with-a-view. The temperature is perfect. 

Off to do some wave-watching now.

Pictures to follow when I arrive home in a few days.

I’m outta here

For a week. I’ll be in sunny warm climes.

I will spare a thought for you. Once. Over a Caipirinha, or ten.

I will take lots of lovely pictures of Caribbean sunsets and seascapes. And then I will come back and share them with you. If you can stand it.

And if you’re bitter and twisted about this, don’t come and break into my house because someone is living here while I’m gone.

And she is big and very ugly.

TTFN

Housework is the new Viagra

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Forget the flowers, chocolates and the racy lacy lingerie, boys.

If you really want to get your gal in the mood, take home a nice bottle of vintage Lysol, fill a bucket with steaming hot water and try on a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

That will get your gal in the mood according a new study which says married men get more sex if they do their fair share around the house.

So the next time you get love on the mind, men, don’t look at her with bedroom eyes. Gaze at her with I’m-going-to-scrub-the-toilet-bowl eyes.

You could be smiling for days.

What do you do with an old oil storage tank?

Well, you convert it into a bar and grill, of course. Or at least that’s what they do here at Flippers..I’d heard of this place but didn’t really believe until I spotted it with my own eyes one day. It is located about an hour and a half’s drive from my house. Luckily I had my camera that day, otherwise no one would have believed it.

Flippers was closed on this particular day, but some day I will walk into that oil storage tank, slap down a fiver on the bar and order a beer from Flippers.

Someday.

Do you have orthorexia?

Orthorexia is a condition that describes people with an unhealthy obsession with healthy eating.

ortho = right or correct

rexia = appetite.

I found the term in a book I’m reading “In Defence of Food” by Michael Pollan, the fellow who wrote Omnivore’s Dilemma.

The book itself is excellent, as was his previous book Omnivore’s Dilemma. It talks about the confusion and reductionism around food. Nutritionists, food industry lobbyists and governments have reduced food to nutrients.

It’s no longer meat and veg; it’s now proteins and fats. This he says robs us of the pure pleasure of food.

Dr. Einstein - Paging Dr. Einstein

When the clock strikes midnight tonight, is it really midnight? Or does time really shift ahead to 1 am.

Technically, it jumps forward. I know.

But metaphysically, what happens to that hour?

Is it like your car keys or the scissors? Do you just lose it? Into thin air? Do you suddenly become one hour older? Just like that? Too bad about the extra wrinkles?

And will the age and wrinkles repair themselves when the time falls back again in October?

Dr. Einstein?

Can you let me know? Before midnight preferably?

Ninja Girl goes to the supermarket

See live column here.

There was a time when grocery shopping was easy. Not so now.

These days, the supermarket is fraught with danger, risk and - gulp - long-term consequence: evil carbs, pesticides, antibiotics and trans fats. That is why yours truly sheds the humble, mild-mannered typist persona and transforms into Ninja Girl!

Ninja Girl is a crack martial artist engaged in grocery store guerrilla warfare. She uses special powers to identify and rub out these dangers.

The most dangerous part of her mission is - cue Gothic horror score - The Aisle of Doom where trans fats are crouching in processed products with long shelf life. It’s scary business, but Ninja Girl is trained in unorthodox shopping techniques.

When it’s all over Ninja Girl transforms back into the mild-mannered typist. But only until the next trip to the supermarket.

The dilemma of Tom Sawyer and the N word

The other night I was merrily reading Adventures of Tom Sawyer to the little typists. It’s good stuff, very funny and a great read.

But then I stumbled upon THAT word. I stopped and made the snap decision to read the word out loud.

Then, all hell broke lose. The little typists were shocked and they admonished me for using such filthy racist language. I was pleasantly surprised by their outrage. They are 11 and nine.

So we had the chat. The book was published in 1876 but it was based on Mark Twain’s memories of growing up in the South in the 1840s when racism was still rife.

I chose to read the N-word “as is” to show them how racism was deployed, even by fun likable people like Tom Sawyer. I wanted them to understand that people used that word and still do. I wanted them to see that racism still exists, sometimes it comes from fun likable people they know.

So, should I have changed the word to something else - like say “tiger? I certainly would have changed the word if I thought they were too young to understand a concept like racism. But I felt they were mature enough to have the chat.

Is it right to use N-word to educate people about racism? Or are we perpetuating it by using it?

Someone else blogged about this awhile back. I can’t recall who it was. If you see this, let me know your thoughts.

RIP Jeff Healey

Waking up this morning to news of Jeff Healey’s death was like getting mugged and whacked over the head with a 2 x 4. I still have the stars circling over my head. I feel sick about it.

This amazing blues and jazz musician and musicologist died from cancer at 41. I didn’t even know he had a relapse of the disease that robbed him of his eyesight when he was just a young child.

I saw Jeff Healey rip up the blues guitar a number of times in the 80s and 90s. He was one of those musicians who made you smile until your face hurt. His hit Angel Eyes was sweet, growly and soulful. In the right mood, it could bring tears to your eyes.

And I listened that base-tone voice talking jazz and blues on his CBC radio show. He was an authority on old jazz and blues and drew on a vinyl collection of over 30,000 records.

He was a musician’s musician and played with likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan, George Harrison and B.B. King.

He was about to release a new album called A Mess of Blues.

Jeff Healey was a young talent with an old soul. We are going to miss him.