So, a couple nights ago, I’m in this bar in Ottawa, meeting some of the milliner’s old friends. Most of them have gone the computer route, either having become programmers or whatever. The times being what they are, most of them were now unemployed. Time for them to get out of Ottawa, thinks I. Anyhow, being a stranger to them all, I’m staying kinda quiet. One chick is handing out business cards for her new career, that of finishing quilts. I have no idea what that entails, but she does it. In Calgary. Finish quilts. Which? I have no idea what it is. At one point, she asks me what I do. “Um, I’m a writer…”
“Really!” (I swear to gawd, she left a wet spot on the seat when I said “writer.”)
“Um, a tech writer,” I clarify. And, no joke, this incredible look of utter disappointment befell her mug: “Oh. Never mind. I guess that’s okay.”
Okay? Bite me. Right there. Oh yeah. I swear, the next time I’m asked, I’m answering “Fireman!” Or Viking. But only when I sleep. Or communicator. After which I won’t say a word. But I’m leaning toward fireman.
Going through airports, I’ve often had to explain what all the shiny metal things in my baggage was for.
Moi: “Have you seen Vertical Limit? Well, remember when that family is hanging on the rope? At the beginning of the movie? They’re hanging on these things.”
Airport peon: “What, you do that stuff? You’re crazy.”
Yeah, it’s great when the only reference they have is for god-awful, over-the-top movies like Cliffhanger. But, to tell the truth, I sure am looking for to Touching the Void, Joe Simpsons tale of being stuck high up some mountain, both legs shattered from a fall, his partner gone for help. Yeah, I think I’ll stick to rock myself. Anyhow, the trailer is here.
Wee hee. As a follow up to yesterday’s blog, it turns out that Parmalat, in fact, has been fucked, requesting bankruptcy protection. The only downside is that Saputo is placed to buy them out.
BTW, could there be any better place to eat than Parma, Italy, home of parmesan and prosciutto?
So, it seems that the major milk distributors in Quebec have decided to not collect milk from dairy farmers for the next while, what with this being the holidays and all. Now, since cows will continue to produce milk, this means that the dairy farmers have no choice but to toss the milk, to the tune of 4 500 000 liters, away. Since they’re taking the loss anyway, the farmers have offered to give the milk away, as long as the distributors pick up the produce.
Imagine what 4.5 million liters of milk could do for food banks at this time of year. But, no, the distributors can’t be bothered. Fuck ‘em. Fuck Agropur, fuck Parmalat and fuck Saputo, your godawful cheese and your shady, good-fella business deals.
I’m going back to goat’s milk.
I’ve been watching all this snow come down in the past few weeks, I’ve read all the hair-pulling about how all this snow is an inconvenience to them and their ability to park their cars, and I can’t help to look at all this snowy weather as a life saver. Here’s how:
-Some folks will drive in this weather,
-Some folks will get into accidents in this weather,
-Some folks will die in these accidents,
-Some of these folks, having reached a higher state of consciousness, will have signed their donor cards,
-The victims’ families will allow doctors to harvest the organs,
-Which will then be transplanted to someone (up to 11 someones, actually, per donor) who desperately need the organs.
-One family mourns at Christmas, eleven either rejoice or have greater hope.
Oh, and it makes for great skiing.
A co-worker brought in homemade truffles today, and is passing them out freely. Popped a couple in my mouth, my eyes rolling back in ecstasy.
So, Friday night, as mentioned before, I was floating on the fumes of waaay too many Cosmos. After a while, we moved the festivities from the apartment to Jello. Hey everyone, look: even six years after my last visit, it’s still populated by the same fuckwads who were always there. Regardless, I’m beyond caring, the cold and alcohol have rendered my brain useless. I mean, I even accepted waiting 5 minutes in the cold to get in.
We struggle through the crowd, sweating in our winter jackets because, even though the club doesn’t mind packing in as many people as it can, as long as there’s a way to make a buck, they can’t spend a few dollars for extra hangers. I don’t know, maybe they’re hoping that the pheromones in our sweat will make us just that little more attractive. Yeah, good luck. Get to the bar, where we all pitch in to help keep it up. The bar. Keeping it up. Never mind.
A few more drinks and the pixie in me comes out. There’s some dude next to me who, in my altered state, I swear looks exactly like Angel from Buffy, right down to the top two buttons of his pale-blue rayon shirt undone. Mind you, not fat, present-day David Boreanaz Angel, but the thinner one from a few years ago. I’m dragging all the girls over to check him out, and pretty much making fun of him. Why I didn’t get my ass handed to me, I’ll never know.
But, what really made me laugh during the course of the evening was seeing all the geeky, male-pattern-baldness, approaching-30-and-never-was-cool-in-any-way guys who, in their sad way, not only had a cell phone clipped to their belts, but a pager as well. Now, who in the fuck needs a pager and a cell phone?! And, if they really do, what in the name of all that is good are they doing in a club where they’ll never hear the ring or feel the vibration anyhow?
Damn, no wonder they all have the sexual prospects of a eunuch in a petting zoo.
Just received this, don’t know where it’s from, but it sure is funny.
1. Stand up halfway through the movie and yell loudly, “Wait… where the hell is Harry Potter?”
2. Block the entrance to the theater while screaming: “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” – After the movie, say “Lucas could have done it better.”
3. At some point during the movie, stand up and shout: “I must go! Middle Earth needs me!” and run and try to jump into the screen. After bouncing off, return quietly to your seat.
4. Play a drinking game where you have to take a sip every time someone says: “The Ring.”
5. Point and laugh whenever someone dies.
6. Ask the nearest ring-nut if he thinks Gandalf went to Hogwarts
7. Finish off every one of Elrond’s lines with “Mr. Anderson.”
8. When Aragorn is crowned king, stand up and at the top of your lungs sing, “And I did it…. MY way…!”
9. At the end, complain that Gollum was offensive to Ethiopians
10. Talk like Gollum all through the movie. At the end, bite off someone’s finger and fall down the stairs.
11. When Shelob appears, pinch the guy in front of you on the back of the neck.
12. Dress up as old ladies and reenact “The Battle of Helms Deep” Monty Python style.
13. When Denethor lights the fire, shout “Barbecue!”
14. Ask people around you who they think is the next “Terminator” sent from the Middle Earth of the future to assassinate Frodo Baggins
15. In TTT when the Ents decide to march to war, stand up and shout “RUN FOREST, RUN!”
16. Every time someone kills an Orc, yell: “That’s what I’m Tolkien about!” See how long it takes before you get kicked out of the theatre.
17. During a wide shot of a battle, inquire, “Where’s Waldo?”
18. Talk loudly about how you heard that there is a single frame of a nude Elf hidden somewhere in the movie.
19. Start an Orc sing-a-long.
20. Come to the premiere dressed as Frankenfurter and wander around looking terribly confused.
21. When you see Sauron’s eye, stand up and yell, “It looks like a flaming vagina. I hear penecillin is good for that”.
Indulging in many, many Cosmos on a Friday leaves you with a horrible, horrible hangover on a Saturday. My head, my head.