More visual puns: This one had me stumped at first. Any guesses? p.s. yesterday's was I-Pod.

Visual puns: Can you guess what this is?

Well, THAT's behind us....

Going through the motions, but not quite grasping reality. I'm beginning to develop a hospital-bed phobia. All I can see in my head is the yellow feet (iodine) on an otherwise very dead-looking father. There was iodine all over him - a jaundiced colour that does no justice to the grey, mechanically breathing body that was lying there.

In contrast, the round-faced, gentle nurse was smiling and optimistic - all went very well, and by this morning, Dad should be sitting ina chair and eating jello. Each new day for him is a day of grace.

I looked around the tubes and monitors to see if there was a pastor lurking around, and back at this body, watching the pump and tube breathe in, breathe out...this person lying here is NOT my Dad. I caught my eyes watering up as the whole vision of Mom lying there, looking more like HERSELF than she had in years, and the soft, Welsh voice repeating Psalm 23. Wait a minute - the sun is shining through a window, and the nurse is smiling.

-----------

Audrey, a very dear friend of his, had noticed and laughed at the pink gown. My brother was calm and matter of fact. My son had completely forgotten that I had to go to Hamilton, so no questions asked; and my husband "cracked a joke" about seeing Dad grumpy again. I feel so very much alone.

Trying so Very Hard not to be nervous

Went out with a couple of folks from my woodworking class for a couple o' last night and enjoyed a very entertaining evening, all told.

At least, that's what my head feels like this a.m., anyway.

While the English girl talked to the (very sweet) instructor about marriage, his friend and I talked about death. He had lost a son. We talked about sincerity and theft and justice and structure.

I'm off to Hamilton today, to hang around the hospital while Dad has his triple (or was it quadruple?) bypass.

I miss my Mom.

Dog and Cat Diaries

As seen in a dog's diary:

7 am - Oh boy! A walk! My favourite!
8 am - Oh boy! Dog food! My favourite!
9 am - Oh boy! The kids! My favourite!
Noon - Oh boy! The yard! My favourite!
2 pm - Oh boy! A car ride! My favourite!
3 pm - Oh boy! The kids! My favourite!
4 pm - Oh boy! Playing ball! My favourite!
6 pm - Oh boy! Welcome home Mom! My favourite!
7 pm - Oh boy! Welcome home Dad! My favourite!
8 pm - Oh boy! Dog food! My favourite!
9 pm - Oh boy! Tummy rubs on the couch! My favourite!
11 pm - Oh boy! Sleeping in my people's bed! My favourite!

As seen in a cat's diary:

Day 183 of my captivity... My captors continued to taunt me with
bizarre Little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat,
while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going
is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from clawing the
furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another house plant.

Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded - must try this at the top of the stairs. In an
attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again
induced myself to vomit on their favourite chair - must try this on their bed.

Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to
make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear in
their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was.

Hmmm, not working according to plan.

There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. More important, I overheard that my confinement was due to my powers of inducing
"allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches.
The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return.
He is obviously a half-wit. The bird, on the other hand, has got to be
an informant and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my
every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety
is assured.

But I can wait; it is only a matter of time.

Our local Freecycle changes it's name, but the concept is the same

And the concept, for some folk, is greed.

From today's postings:

Someone wants a featherweight sewing machine, either working or reparable. They want it for quilting. Makes me wonder why they took up quilting if they don't have a sewing machine. I wonder if an old fashioned, heavier machine would be acceptable to these poor souls. Maybe I should ask for a kiln, because I like working in clay.

A double stroller to get a kid to school because there's a new sibling. Hello? If the kid is old enough to go to school, they're old enough to either walk, get out of the car by themselves, or take a bus. You've had nine months to figure THIS one out.

Then there was the time I waited all day for a pick-up that never happened. I called. Here's the gist: You lost my phone numer, email and address and the van is broken. I never gave a phone number, email is public on freecycle - and oh - your computer broke too? When you talked to me last week, you were in a town twenty minutes away without a car because your husband used it to drive two hours each way to work across the province. Sure hope your husband gets to work tomorrow. And no, dear, I'm not delivering.

Guys, it's about keeping this stuff out of landfills. Our dear moderators have started another group that deals with nominal (sometimes) amounts of cash. There's some intersting comparisons here. One person wants to sell a Christmas card holder for $3.00. Nothing wrong with that, but it certainly skews the concept of value.

A Christmas card holder, according to to good people of York Region, is 300% more valuable than a featherweight sewing machine and a double stroller.

Hmmmmm.

Martha Stewart; Shania Twain and a recipe for poutine

Well, Martha, you walked ALL over Shania, who stood there, looking so petite beside you, trying to get a word in edgewise, trying to tell us that you were making poutine all wrong.

You just kind of insisted it be your way, you know, oven baked potatoes with herbs that you grew in your garden this morning. You DID ask Shania, who started to say deep-fried, but you cut her off and said it was the Chief General Head Army Cook's decision.

Uh oh. Poutine isn't supposed to be healthy.

Then came the gravy, where you delicately began slicing the stems off mushrooms and started mentioning wierd things like porcini, crimini, bikini....

Mushrooms?

Meanwhile, Shania's just chopping 'em up, rough-like, and including the stems. She's starting to just shrug...and says her recipe is pretty complicated (meanwhile, backstage, you have some chef who is about to put a whole turkey and roll it up in a pie and chopping up mushrooms is complicated?) - and I'm beginning to understand - Shania uses mushrooms because she's vegetarian, and they'll add the flavour and weight to the gravy that the rest of us will either buy in a tin or get from a chicken. Or cow.

Meanwhile, you're there with a roux, more herbs and the Lady of Shallotts and some red wine, and this rather wonderful mushroom sauce that should grace prime beef. But, this is poutine, (not Poo-teen but pu-tzin)and you're telling a Canadian how to make it correctly. You even told us that poutine means "big mess". (Actually, it's Acadian slang). Shania, like the rest of us, nodded politely and shrugged. Whatever you say, Martha.

And your army of chefs took the blame for it when you turned around and asked them if they had used Shania's gravy recipe. Actually, your kitchen screwed up on the oven-baked potato thing too.

So this is Martha Unscripted.

The Big Girl tells the Little Girl what to do and how to do it while the Little Girl is politely trying to tell the Big Girl that it's all wrong. The Big Girl blames the Army; and the product gets thrown out. The Big Girl always wins, but may wonder occasionally why she gets a cool reception when she comes to visit the Little Girl.

-----

Poutine isn't really a Canadian comfort food, it's more of a high cholesterol, heart attack, exceptionally fattening snack developed in a province of heavy smokers.

It goes like this:

Take a plate of deep-fried french fries; pile them high, add cheese curds and smother with gravy. The ehat from the fries and gravy will melt the cheese.

Serve with cold beer.

Don't plan on moving for the next half hour.

So subtle - so perfect!

Monday Morning

.... and I'm slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.

"...there is nothing more delightful in life than doing what you want."

Look Ma! I'm an Artist and I'm Pissing the Real Ones off!

"So you're an artist? My aunt's an artist."

Isn't that lovely! My aunt knits. She's made as many sweaters as Picasso did paintings. Do I look like your aunt? Is your aunt in my art history books? Does your aunt frame her stuff to match the couch?

"So you're an artist? I don't have any talent, but my daughter gets hers from her grandmother."

Hi honey, now that you're 21, I have a little present for you. Here's a box of talent. Be careful with it, and don't spoil it by working with it. The only reason I skipped your mother was because she isn't my favourite daughter. But you're the only grandkid who's not the best in the rep league, so I thought you could use this.

"I'm a self-taught self-representing artist and you can buy my stuff on Ebay and Picturetrail. My work is original; made by me. And copyrighted too. There are hundreds more to come. Please send comments."

This one I did get in an email this morning, and this woman has balls. My grade 2's are capable of the same work, with the bonus charm of innocence.

Send comments? I thought about it, but I'm not THAT cruel...how do you tell someone that their work is, well, uhm...somewhat lacking in crafstmanship and expertise? when they've already made $45 selling 20 of them? I'm pretty sure the "send comments" was intended to be "send praise".

And you know, I wasn't aware that the word "original" meant "made by me". What am I buying - fake artwork? There ARE words for fake artwork: "copy, print, reproduction, poster, imposter, fraudulent" to name a few.

Copyright on top of it all! Just in case someone wants to steal chubby, clumsily drawn hands...you're going to put me under the moral compunction of respecting your copyright...and up to a $150,000 (US) fine, not including lawyer's fees.

It's a dicey issue, the intellectual property one. Might I suggest a Crash Course in Copyright?

I promise you, my dear, I won't steal your "abstract" marker work. Pinky swear.

"I'm just not good at this artsy-fartsy stuff"

Would you like it if I rhymed YOUR occupation with a body function?? Chances are good that I can't (but don't try me); but think about what you're saying: You don't understand art. That is far kinder, far more honest, and doesn't make you look stupid. Saying "artsy-fartsy" on the other hand, not only makes you look stupid, but thoughtless as well.

I don't have a problem saying that I don't understand nuclear physics; set-top boxes and zero-based budgeting. I woould never dream of greeting an accountant or an economist with a remark about a lack of personality. So why do you greet me with bowel-duty remarks?


"So, you're an artist. I do crafts too"

Popsicle stick birdcages immediately leaps to mind. And you know, I've seen some beautiful ones. Never had the patience to get past half-a-dozen glued before it fell apart.


"When you said you were an artist, I kind thought to myself - uh huh - right - but them when I saw your stuff....WOW! I don't like your subject matter, though."

Omigod! My new best friend. This one's a SMART cookie, thinking for herself like that. She can tell the difference between technique and content. Too bad we're both at the end of the day and rushing to our respective homes...

Whee-hah! Il neige aujourd'hui!

Je n'aime pas le mois de novembre parce qu'il est si mat, mais seulement pendant quatre jours après que mon érable l'a perdue des feuilles, il neige, me faisant pensent à une vieille chanson du Québec (par Gilles Vigneault)

Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver
Mon jardin ce n'est pas un jardin, c'est la plaine
Mon chemin ce n'est pas un chemin, c'est la neige
Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver



Snowflake Collage Joe McGovern

Second City in the News - Again.

You'd think I had a bad case of sour grapes when it was almost with delight that I read (National Post: Second City puts Brakes on Touring Company) that Second City Toronto is folding the Touring Company.

By George, I think they've got it!

I just finished part of their training program. Coincidentally, just before I started their Training Program, the newspaper announced that Second City Toronto had filed for bankruptcy protection. At least I got great use of my money.

Well, Executive Producers Alexander and Schuller, despite your excuses about SARS and failing tourism; Equity Actors fol-de-rol; and "Second City's name losing it's cachet" (???); whatever else you dreg up from Excuse-O-Mat; the bottom line is that the Touring shows were

JUST NOT FUNNY!

Honestly! Although it was a few years ago, I volunteer at our local community theatre. I was greatly excited about the Second City show, and double-grovelled to be able to volunteer for it. But, after two excessively long, long, long forms with a predictable punchline, antiquated political humour (Joe Clark isn't the PM, guys!) even I ended up in the concession booth, gossiping with my buddies, for the rest of your performance.

Sorry, Touring Coompany guys, you just sucked. It was THAT bad.

Never saw you coming back or being re-booked, either. And I don't think it's because we were a "bad" audience. We were polite (we're Canadian too). All of 50 kilometres north of the Mainstage.

Speaking of which, don't hand me that garbage about rebuilding without government help. Yes, this is Canada, and that's one thing this country doesn't get - the long arm of the government should NOT be involved with the arts. The minute it is, is the minute you lose your freedom of expression. Don't get me going on cultural regulation.

What the market is saying to you, boys and girls, is that you have to be viable all by yourselves. And if they're not coming, you're not good enough.

..................

Look, I had one of the best years of Sundays I ever had. I had no aspirations to go on further because I have a career I love. But for the sake of my friends and colleagues who do want to continue (and who are); get funny! It's been a long long time since Mike Myers graced these stages and he probably did it his own way anyway.

Oh, and answer your emails.

Selfish Ramblings of an undisciplined mind: or I should be Writing Report Cards

1. If a job is worth doing, it's worth doing well.

Yesterday's mail included a lovely Thank You card from the organizer of last week's Spirit Walk which I had participated in. The kind words of praise lightened my heart; but more importantly, it meant that our volunteer time was worth the effort of a follow-through. That doesn't happen much any more, and is far more valuable than a paycheck.

2. Paris is burning.

Why is this on Page 10 of the newspaper? No clear good guy/bad guy; mobs; fear; the disenfranchised; religion and torches strike me as being far more important than our own politicians arguing over a fucked up health care system.

3. Private versus public health care

Private health care could get an MRI for my friend far faster than the system that farted around until it killed my mother. Have I made myself clear?

4. World Wars I & II

Remembrance Day is coming up. Although the last war is before my time, it involved my family. I still felt as if I was blamed for it when I was a tourist in Germany. A passenger on a train remarked on a bomb that was still unexploded sitting on a rail car. It might have helped had I understood German; but I remember looking at this massive thing; hearing her say something about the British and the Americans and thinking: "Did I put that there? You tried to drown my uncle in the North Atlantic!"

So, now I'm thinking that Europe looks like it may be on the brink of war, I hope the hell Hillary is President of the US by then, and if any of my friends or family get hurt, the health care system will kill them anyway and I won't have anybody to write a Thank You note to.

Toronto: The end of the day for Second City and friends; the end of summer; the end of a beginning.

Sayonara, Second City!

I was talking to an aquaintance the other day, and found myself light-bulbing over another connection: Buddhism and passages. I know next to nothing about Buddhism, except in this context, and that is that nothing exists for any length of time.

This passage is the completion of the pre-Conservatory levels at Second City. I'd really like a frameable, calligraphic, gold-sealed certificate to hang up right next to my McDonald's Employee of the Month plaque.

Because, honestly, without it, I don't feel as if I've learned anything this past year. It's a bit like trying to judge whether psychotherapy has done you any good because you can't step outside yourself and see the difference.

It has been good for my work - made teaching drama that much easier and more cohesive; seeing as I'm coming at THAT backwards as well. But then again, I'm only teaching one class this year, and our Prima Donna will take over the school play and all the glory anyway. So, you could argue, the tax receipts have proven to be a "good thing".

Yes, it's also been a healthy way to help manage grieving my Mom: I do wish she could have seen our final show, but I think she would have simply said:

"Very nice dear, but weren't you supposed to be doing your artwork?"

I wanted to prove to myself that I could be creative in different ways. I can play the piano from my heart; write to make you laugh; think on my feet in a classroom; and revel in the lights. And each time, I have to remind myself - don't get addicted to this, you don't have to do this perfectly, you don't have to 'marry' the craft - you need to get back to where you ought to be - making images.

My heart hurts for my classmates who took these sessions because that's where they want to make their mark; and found themselves on the sadder side of auditions. I hope they take this as a minor setback, and build their strengths for the next ones. My heart cheers for the one classmate who did make passage to the next level...subtly, without knowing why, I knew she'd be on her way.

I won't miss the high-pitched screeching or the bedroom humour of the newly young "adults". I won't miss the "NO, because I like saying No". I won't miss the $250 every six weeks. I will be able to go away on weekends. I will miss the time and conversation with Tim; but then he's got to do the good husband/Daddy thing anyway. I will miss the energy and focus. I'll miss thinking, every week, how much the isntructor can look like my brother.

I DO have to say goodbye. Administration offers extended classes ONLY on weeknights. It's not worth (to me) the two hour commute in winter weather; or the coin. As much as it saddens me to say "farewell", it is with joy that I anticipate the next adventure.

Not the easiest grammar test

...as you can tell by the results.


You are a STUDENT of the English language!


You are on your way to becoming
gramatically sound; however, you must keep
studying if you ever want to become a master.
You do manage to speak better than most
Americans, but then again, that's not really
saying too much. Keep studying, little
Student.


How grammatically correct are you? (Revised with answer key)
brought to you by Quizilla


found on: Perfect Fifth

The "spirit of Mrs. R.M. Anderson".

Peeve du Jour - Not Laughing.

"LOL" is NOT a punctuation mark. And oddly enough, I've rarely heard anyone who uses this acronym actually, genuinely laugh in real life. At least out loud at the end of every sentence, serious or not.

Not a Single Harry Potter Came to the door last night....

You scored as Hermione Granger. You're one intelligent witch, but you have a hard time believing it and require constant reassurance. You are a very supportive friend who would do anything and everything to help her friends out. Hermione Granger 80% Remus Lupin 75% Ginny Weasley 70% Harry Potter 70% Albus Dumbledore 60% Sirius Black 50% Lord Voldemort 45% Ron Weasley 45% Severus Snape 35% Draco Malfoy 30% Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...? created with QuizFarm.com