An update from my girlfriend, who was raped 3 years ago. Her words are more powerful than mine.
It boggles my mind what some are jailed for, and what actions some walk away from, even with a guilty plea.
Again, fight for each other and stay safe.
Friends,
It's taken me a while to be able to write this without it turning into a screaming rant...
My mom and dad and Mr. Awesome came to Vancouver with me on August 17 to attend the sentencing of Fernando Manuel Alves. You may remember he pleaded guilty to one charge of sexual assault in order to have a second charge dropped.
I read my victim impact statement to the court. It was honest and it was painful and though I had to stop a few times to get my voice back or stop my shaking hands, I read it loud and clear. I am proud of that. The judge thanked me for it, and said he hoped one day I would be able to deal with the pain. Then he gave Alves a 9 month conditional sentence, which means no jail time.
... no jail time for sexual assault.
The judge apparently fell for the defence lawyer's "aw shucks, he's a good guy, just didn't realize that she was in no state to be able to give consent." I did not consent, nor would I EVER, to being drugged, leaving a bar through the back door with a disgusting individual, having my nose broken, body bloodied and bruised, and being violently raped. I am enraged, and horrified, and stunned.
The good news is that he IS registered on the Sex Offender's database for the next 20 years. So at least they'll be able to find him when he does it again, which he will.
It has been a long road, almost 3 years, and it's hard not to see this as a huge waste of time. Funny thing is, I did everything I was supposed to, everything I possibly could. It was the police, the Crown counsel, the legal system, and the judge that, in my view, failed horrendously to protect me and all other women out there.
I have found some comfort in the fact that many people are taking up the fight. There are numerous blogs on the internet about the injustice done, and many are writing to the Crown counsel to have the sentence appealed. If you search "Fernando Manuel Alves" you will find the story about the sentencing on CBC.ca, and links to dozens of blogs and comments about it - all thanks to my Special K, who originally wrote about it on her blog. At least the general public seems to understand the horror of our justice system.
We will carry on, as time marches inexorably forward, and time will pass. This chapter is over, and we can only go forward.
Thanks to you all for your support.
-Friend
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Gaaack!
So, I told you all about my great new job, tralalala, life is good etc in my last post. I just realized today that I have had the exact same routine for approx. 4 years now and I am going to have to switch things up! Sometimes Meanie doesn’t like change. I’m of the if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it category.
For the past few years I have done the following:
1) alarm goes off at 5:50, I hit snooze until 6:15, at which time I take inventory of who is in my bed (the kiddies, people the kiddies!)
2) stumble to the shower, somehow manage to do all things required to make me beautiful while ½ asleep (let us remember, beauty is in the eye of the beholder)
3) tip toe out of the house to avoid contact with said kiddies (I can’t handle guilt trips first thing in the morning about whhhhhyyyyyyy I have to work and whhhhyyyyyyy I can’t bring them to school).
4) After tiptoeing out of the house run like the dickens to my bus stop with 30 seconds to spare.
5) Usually sit in the same seat, on the same bus, nod to the same people every morning.
6) Sleep/read.
7) Get off bus one stop before work so I can get my venti bold black, at the same Starbucks, from the same server, every morning.
8) Walk to work, with intimate knowledge of the timing of the lights.
9) Arrive to office. Nod to the same early birds at the same time each morning.
10) Turn computer on, remove sneakers, put on one of the umpteen pairs of shoes I have stored in my office (pick me pick me! They all call out).
11) Type in pass word, pull breakfast from my lunch bag and eat the same thing I have been eating forever – a green smoothie and an energy bar from Trillium bakery. Only consume coffee once I have finished breakfast, by then it is the perfect
temperature.
12) Work away, work away, check a few blogs :)
13) 11:00 eat lunch while working.
14) 11:30 Get ready for The Walk (I try to walk for an hour each lunch hour)
15) Return to work when everyone else has gone to lunch (I’m a social butterfly, can’t you tell?)
16) 3:00 p.m. close up shop. Walk one bus stop further than the one closest to me. The one closest to me would require walking back a block, and I can only move forwards, not backwards. Does that make sense?
17) 3:30, grab car, do any quick errands I need to do before I pick up the girls, or pick up the girls, bring them to a park and run them before heading home.
18) Once home, homework is done while I make dinner.
19) Yell at kids to get ready for Brownies/Track/bathtime whatever is going on that evening.
20) 8:00 gather kiddies for bedtime, start off like Mary Poppins, end up like Genghis Kahn because of their bedtime shenanigans.
21) Say goodnight.
22) Go to the office, check email and, ummm, LaineyGossip.
23) Make lunches for the next day (always stressful).
24) Maybe watch a show/fold laundry.
25) Lay out clothes for the next day (I hate September for this – I always lay out something completely inappropriate for the unpredictable weather we are having).
26) Wash face, apply beauty products, pray they will work, brush teeth, floss if feeling ambitious, go to bed.
For my new job I have to take 2 busses to get there. This will add a 27 to my 26 steps of the day. This may require some therapy on my part. And there is no Starbucks where I am going. And I will be in a cubicle, not an office with a door. I may be limited in how many shoes I can bring with me.
Think of me Monday morning.
So, I told you all about my great new job, tralalala, life is good etc in my last post. I just realized today that I have had the exact same routine for approx. 4 years now and I am going to have to switch things up! Sometimes Meanie doesn’t like change. I’m of the if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it category.
For the past few years I have done the following:
1) alarm goes off at 5:50, I hit snooze until 6:15, at which time I take inventory of who is in my bed (the kiddies, people the kiddies!)
2) stumble to the shower, somehow manage to do all things required to make me beautiful while ½ asleep (let us remember, beauty is in the eye of the beholder)
3) tip toe out of the house to avoid contact with said kiddies (I can’t handle guilt trips first thing in the morning about whhhhhyyyyyyy I have to work and whhhhyyyyyyy I can’t bring them to school).
4) After tiptoeing out of the house run like the dickens to my bus stop with 30 seconds to spare.
5) Usually sit in the same seat, on the same bus, nod to the same people every morning.
6) Sleep/read.
7) Get off bus one stop before work so I can get my venti bold black, at the same Starbucks, from the same server, every morning.
8) Walk to work, with intimate knowledge of the timing of the lights.
9) Arrive to office. Nod to the same early birds at the same time each morning.
10) Turn computer on, remove sneakers, put on one of the umpteen pairs of shoes I have stored in my office (pick me pick me! They all call out).
11) Type in pass word, pull breakfast from my lunch bag and eat the same thing I have been eating forever – a green smoothie and an energy bar from Trillium bakery. Only consume coffee once I have finished breakfast, by then it is the perfect
temperature.
12) Work away, work away, check a few blogs :)
13) 11:00 eat lunch while working.
14) 11:30 Get ready for The Walk (I try to walk for an hour each lunch hour)
15) Return to work when everyone else has gone to lunch (I’m a social butterfly, can’t you tell?)
16) 3:00 p.m. close up shop. Walk one bus stop further than the one closest to me. The one closest to me would require walking back a block, and I can only move forwards, not backwards. Does that make sense?
17) 3:30, grab car, do any quick errands I need to do before I pick up the girls, or pick up the girls, bring them to a park and run them before heading home.
18) Once home, homework is done while I make dinner.
19) Yell at kids to get ready for Brownies/Track/bathtime whatever is going on that evening.
20) 8:00 gather kiddies for bedtime, start off like Mary Poppins, end up like Genghis Kahn because of their bedtime shenanigans.
21) Say goodnight.
22) Go to the office, check email and, ummm, LaineyGossip.
23) Make lunches for the next day (always stressful).
24) Maybe watch a show/fold laundry.
25) Lay out clothes for the next day (I hate September for this – I always lay out something completely inappropriate for the unpredictable weather we are having).
26) Wash face, apply beauty products, pray they will work, brush teeth, floss if feeling ambitious, go to bed.
For my new job I have to take 2 busses to get there. This will add a 27 to my 26 steps of the day. This may require some therapy on my part. And there is no Starbucks where I am going. And I will be in a cubicle, not an office with a door. I may be limited in how many shoes I can bring with me.
Think of me Monday morning.
Monday, September 21, 2009
On to the next adventure.
I’m a public servant. I have been working for various government departments now for about 15 years. I’ve been so so so lucky to have had jobs (for the most part) that have actually interested me as well as provide me with a decent pay cheque, 2 fully paid maternity leaves, generous time off for vacation, illness, and tending to the family when they need some extra TLC. I’ve also had very liberal thinking bosses who have all acknowledged the all important work-life balance, and have been kind enough to have allowed me to work 3 day work weeks, 4 day work weeks, one day from home, and flex hours (all in different circumstances).
I know am lucky, and while I may sometimes complain about the goings on at my work, I have been never been ungrateful for the wonderful opportunities I have been given.
I have been with my current department for 10 years, and found myself a little bored, not too excited to get up in the morning and get to work. I always promised myself that I had to feel good about going to work and never be bored. As soon as I started feeling that way, it would be time to move on (I spent a year in a job that I just hated and it is the worst feeling in the world). I applied for job with another department, a bit of a long shot I thought at the time, and I was pleasantly surprised to be offered it. My new manager has also agreed to a 4-day work week. It sounds like a fun, exciting job, I will still be involved in working with material I find interesting, and will learning about something I know nothing about. Yay all around.
I have that September feeling, making all kinds of promises to myself (I will go to bed earlier and exercise at lunch time – there’s a gym at the new place!) And remember that September feeling of needing a new day timer and notebook, maybe even new back pack and some new clothes? I’m giddy with change.
I’m a public servant. I have been working for various government departments now for about 15 years. I’ve been so so so lucky to have had jobs (for the most part) that have actually interested me as well as provide me with a decent pay cheque, 2 fully paid maternity leaves, generous time off for vacation, illness, and tending to the family when they need some extra TLC. I’ve also had very liberal thinking bosses who have all acknowledged the all important work-life balance, and have been kind enough to have allowed me to work 3 day work weeks, 4 day work weeks, one day from home, and flex hours (all in different circumstances).
I know am lucky, and while I may sometimes complain about the goings on at my work, I have been never been ungrateful for the wonderful opportunities I have been given.
I have been with my current department for 10 years, and found myself a little bored, not too excited to get up in the morning and get to work. I always promised myself that I had to feel good about going to work and never be bored. As soon as I started feeling that way, it would be time to move on (I spent a year in a job that I just hated and it is the worst feeling in the world). I applied for job with another department, a bit of a long shot I thought at the time, and I was pleasantly surprised to be offered it. My new manager has also agreed to a 4-day work week. It sounds like a fun, exciting job, I will still be involved in working with material I find interesting, and will learning about something I know nothing about. Yay all around.
I have that September feeling, making all kinds of promises to myself (I will go to bed earlier and exercise at lunch time – there’s a gym at the new place!) And remember that September feeling of needing a new day timer and notebook, maybe even new back pack and some new clothes? I’m giddy with change.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Patrick Swayze was in one of my all time favourite films, The Outsiders. He played the father figure roll. I had forgotten about that all together (I was too preoccupied with Matt Dillon, oh Dally Winston, you made me forever fall in love with bad boys).
I also clearly remember in grade 7 or 8, watching Dirty Dancing with a girlfriend who lost her shit over Swayze – I mean tears and sobs over his-on screen passion. I didn’t get it at the time, but by pure coincidence, I watched the movie this past weekend, and I think I get what she was so worked up over. It is a pretty great movie.
I have never watched Ghost – I really don’t think I could. Just not my cup of tea. When it came out I remember thinking it was the cheesiest movie idea I’d ever heard of. And I can’t stomach Whoopi or Demi much.
What I also remember, and can’t help but laugh out loud whenever I picture it in my head, is the Chippendales skit on Saturday Night Live, featuring Swayze and Chris Farley (also RIP). That was genious, and kudos to Swayze for having a sense of humour.
I also clearly remember in grade 7 or 8, watching Dirty Dancing with a girlfriend who lost her shit over Swayze – I mean tears and sobs over his-on screen passion. I didn’t get it at the time, but by pure coincidence, I watched the movie this past weekend, and I think I get what she was so worked up over. It is a pretty great movie.
I have never watched Ghost – I really don’t think I could. Just not my cup of tea. When it came out I remember thinking it was the cheesiest movie idea I’d ever heard of. And I can’t stomach Whoopi or Demi much.
What I also remember, and can’t help but laugh out loud whenever I picture it in my head, is the Chippendales skit on Saturday Night Live, featuring Swayze and Chris Farley (also RIP). That was genious, and kudos to Swayze for having a sense of humour.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Shoe installment #3 – Biker Boots
I have gone through 3 pairs of biker boots. I have never owned a motorcycle (though have dated a biker and a Vespa-boy), but I have always loved loved loved the look of biker boots. The love of this look goes back to one image. An image that I saw in Vogue when I was around 14 or 15 years old. It is a picture of Linda Evangelista, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans in a fantastic wash, and these incredible, black, motorcycle boots. She looked a beautiful she-male Marlon Brando. I have carried this image in my head for years. A perfect white-T is easy enough to find, as are jeans (well, those are getting more difficult to find), but the boots have proven to be much, much more difficult.
I have compromised over the years and bought boots that came close, but not quite close enough, to emulating the boots in Vogue. Friends near and far have been dragged into my search. My Montreal peeps knew that when I came to town, part of the trip would involve a likely unsuccessful hunt for “the Boots”. Edie’s former caregiver even called me from a Value-Village one afternoon , as excited as anything, letting me know that she had just picked me up pair of tags-still- on, black Harley Davidson boots, ½ a size too big than what I needed. I’ve actually worn these boots over the past few years, and they have become favourites, but they just weren’t perfect enough.
And then, while searching the Net for the illusive perfect boot, I found them. Without a doubt, these were them. I zoomed in and out on the image, looked at every angle possible (Zappo’s is amazing for that) clicked on my size, the colour I wanted and proceeded to the checkout.
SHRRRRRIIIIEEEEKKKKK!
Do not deliver to Canada!! WTF! And only 2 pairs left in this size!!!! What’s a girl to do? I called upon my trusty friend in Chicago, a fellow lover of shopping, who I knew would sympathize. And sure enough, within minutes of sending her an email, she had confirmed that they had been ordered, would be shipped to her husbands’ work and he would take care of sending them off to me. I have nice friends.
And so, here they are. I look nothing like Linda Evangelista, but I do like my boots.
*thanks CD for the pic!
I have gone through 3 pairs of biker boots. I have never owned a motorcycle (though have dated a biker and a Vespa-boy), but I have always loved loved loved the look of biker boots. The love of this look goes back to one image. An image that I saw in Vogue when I was around 14 or 15 years old. It is a picture of Linda Evangelista, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans in a fantastic wash, and these incredible, black, motorcycle boots. She looked a beautiful she-male Marlon Brando. I have carried this image in my head for years. A perfect white-T is easy enough to find, as are jeans (well, those are getting more difficult to find), but the boots have proven to be much, much more difficult.
I have compromised over the years and bought boots that came close, but not quite close enough, to emulating the boots in Vogue. Friends near and far have been dragged into my search. My Montreal peeps knew that when I came to town, part of the trip would involve a likely unsuccessful hunt for “the Boots”. Edie’s former caregiver even called me from a Value-Village one afternoon , as excited as anything, letting me know that she had just picked me up pair of tags-still- on, black Harley Davidson boots, ½ a size too big than what I needed. I’ve actually worn these boots over the past few years, and they have become favourites, but they just weren’t perfect enough.
And then, while searching the Net for the illusive perfect boot, I found them. Without a doubt, these were them. I zoomed in and out on the image, looked at every angle possible (Zappo’s is amazing for that) clicked on my size, the colour I wanted and proceeded to the checkout.
SHRRRRRIIIIEEEEKKKKK!
Do not deliver to Canada!! WTF! And only 2 pairs left in this size!!!! What’s a girl to do? I called upon my trusty friend in Chicago, a fellow lover of shopping, who I knew would sympathize. And sure enough, within minutes of sending her an email, she had confirmed that they had been ordered, would be shipped to her husbands’ work and he would take care of sending them off to me. I have nice friends.
And so, here they are. I look nothing like Linda Evangelista, but I do like my boots.
*thanks CD for the pic!
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Seigfried and Roy couldn’t have tamed these wild beasts.
Grace and Edie are on probation. As far as Jo and I are concerned, they are never allowed to go to a restaurant ever again. Well at least for a month. And in this month they must practice dinner etiquette. Pretend they are dining with royalty. Pretend their little asses are velcroed to their chairs (hmm, that is actually not a bad idea). The must politely say please and thank you and you are welcome for every little thing their hearts desire. They must respect their father and mothers conversation (as boring as it may be), and wait their turn to say whatever it is they so urgently need to express. And when expressing their thoughts, they must use a volume that is appropriate to the space, as in, if a freight train is not the in the near vicinity, it is appropriate to lower their decibels a few notches.
That’s not what went down last night yo.
As a celebration of back to school, and a celebration of a sunny day in September, we decided to dine out. On a patio. Where cold beer is available. I’m not sure where it all fell apart. Could have been when the girls whined and fought for the bench seat. Could have been when they refused to sit down. Could have been when they started fighting over crayons. Could have been when Edie wouldn’t stop asking where her food was. I do know, that by the time our drinks and food came, Jo and I were regretting our decision to dine out. I also know that when Jo took Edie’s straw away from her because he had asked her to stop blowing bubbles and she didn’t listen, Edie did not react well. There was a tantrum a-brewing, and other diners were being disturbed. The ultimatum was to stop crying or else she would have to go to the van. This resulted in further (loud) protests, so I picked Ms. Edie up, and walked her to the van. Did I mention I knocked over a pitcher of ice water on the next table in the process? Yeeeeeaaaaahhhhh.
While sitting with the prisoner in the van, apparently Grace took this opportunity to bounce all over the bench, defying Jo’s order to sit down and eat her meal. A pretty picture, right?
Once Edie had waved the white flag and agreed to finish her meal quietly, I brought her out of the van. I also insisted that she apologize to the wait staff, to the table beside us, and to her father. She was mortified but I think it was an important lesson.
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Not an “gee I’m enjoying my dinner” silence, but more of “if I hear one more word out you young ladies there will be trouble” kind of silence. Which is really too bad. It could have been a nice evening out.
And that is why the girls are on probation. They are not happy about it, but the Meanies are cracking down on this kind of behaviour. I don’t have the expectation of bringing them to a 5 star restaurant, but it would be nice to go to a casual diner and talk about our day.
To the people dining somewhere on Bank Street last night, again, my sincere apologies. We won’t be back for a month, 6 months, a year. Whatever it takes.
Please tell me you have similar horror stories, we aren’t the only ones who have been unsuccessful in socializing our children, right????? Honestly people, it’s like they were feral.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Counting down the days to summer holidays…..
This summer I took two weeks worth of vacation days. I took one week in August and one week in July.
I don’t feel like I had a holiday at all.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the time off, paid in full and all, but I never disconnected from work. With a week here and a week there, I still felt fully connected to the workplace, and because of certain things going on, I even monitored my email and phone messages.
Evil evil email and answering machines.
I suspect my parents generation felt more rested after their vacation, as there was no way to contact them once they hit the road. Not even a cell phone. Sometimes not even a phone number, for emergencies. (I remember my parents going camping, leaving me and my siblings to our own devices, with no number to contact them. We just had to look forward to their phone call from a phone booth somewhere in North America. If someone was there to answer their call, great. If not, we were none the wiser because there was no answering machine to record their I love you’s and I miss you’s). I actually really envy what was their carefree ability to take off like that, leaving me at the tender age of 16, to care for the family dog and hold the fort down (ooooooh, that reminds me of a funny story about our highly neurotic dog, and his reaction to my parents leaving town). I’m not sure that I will ever be that care free.
Next year, I vow to take my family off the grid. Where no computer can be found. I bet it’s actually really hard to find such a place. I want to re-enact those day of youth, where we went to the same campsite every second year. My parents would circle the site, looking for the ultimate spot. We popped up the trailer, fiddled with the dial on the radio to find the station we would be listening to for the next two weeks, played scrabble and/or Yahtzee every night (it just occurred to me that my parents might have let me win at those games) and hit the beach every morning. I want to smell the bbq, heat generated by coals, not gas. I want our kids to make friends with the kids from the site beside us, those friendships that are almost instant (ahhh, the solidarity of campsite kids is powerful).
I want our kids to see us in the relaxed state. I remember loving the scruffy face of my dad when we were camping. He was off the grid so he didn’t have to shave. I love the memory of my mom in her green Hawaiian mu-mu and flip-flops, preparing picnics for the beach. I remember thinking that I had died and gone to heaven because all nutritional morals were tossed for those two weeks, junk food reined for me, while my parents ate sea food almost every night.
Remind me to thank my folks for those great times.
**update – last night I asked Jo to commit with me two weeks next summer to re-visit my childhood holiday destination. What fun!
***further update, after speaking with my brother the other night he reminded me that those camping trips weren’t all sunshine, unicorns and rainbows. He remembers my parents making us sleep in the back of the Green Machine while they got to slept in the tent. It was stiflingly hot the van and we couldn’t open the windows because the bugs were so bad. Ha ha, that would be considered child abuse today!
This summer I took two weeks worth of vacation days. I took one week in August and one week in July.
I don’t feel like I had a holiday at all.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the time off, paid in full and all, but I never disconnected from work. With a week here and a week there, I still felt fully connected to the workplace, and because of certain things going on, I even monitored my email and phone messages.
Evil evil email and answering machines.
I suspect my parents generation felt more rested after their vacation, as there was no way to contact them once they hit the road. Not even a cell phone. Sometimes not even a phone number, for emergencies. (I remember my parents going camping, leaving me and my siblings to our own devices, with no number to contact them. We just had to look forward to their phone call from a phone booth somewhere in North America. If someone was there to answer their call, great. If not, we were none the wiser because there was no answering machine to record their I love you’s and I miss you’s). I actually really envy what was their carefree ability to take off like that, leaving me at the tender age of 16, to care for the family dog and hold the fort down (ooooooh, that reminds me of a funny story about our highly neurotic dog, and his reaction to my parents leaving town). I’m not sure that I will ever be that care free.
Next year, I vow to take my family off the grid. Where no computer can be found. I bet it’s actually really hard to find such a place. I want to re-enact those day of youth, where we went to the same campsite every second year. My parents would circle the site, looking for the ultimate spot. We popped up the trailer, fiddled with the dial on the radio to find the station we would be listening to for the next two weeks, played scrabble and/or Yahtzee every night (it just occurred to me that my parents might have let me win at those games) and hit the beach every morning. I want to smell the bbq, heat generated by coals, not gas. I want our kids to make friends with the kids from the site beside us, those friendships that are almost instant (ahhh, the solidarity of campsite kids is powerful).
I want our kids to see us in the relaxed state. I remember loving the scruffy face of my dad when we were camping. He was off the grid so he didn’t have to shave. I love the memory of my mom in her green Hawaiian mu-mu and flip-flops, preparing picnics for the beach. I remember thinking that I had died and gone to heaven because all nutritional morals were tossed for those two weeks, junk food reined for me, while my parents ate sea food almost every night.
Remind me to thank my folks for those great times.
**update – last night I asked Jo to commit with me two weeks next summer to re-visit my childhood holiday destination. What fun!
***further update, after speaking with my brother the other night he reminded me that those camping trips weren’t all sunshine, unicorns and rainbows. He remembers my parents making us sleep in the back of the Green Machine while they got to slept in the tent. It was stiflingly hot the van and we couldn’t open the windows because the bugs were so bad. Ha ha, that would be considered child abuse today!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Xup had this great post about idioms. Which got me thinking about things my mother says, that her mother likely said, that her mother likely said, and so on and so on…..
So when I say these things, people usually look at me like I’m one canoe short of a paddle. That’s fine. And what makes me giggle is that this legacy is being passed on to Grace and Edie, as they are starting to use the expressions. A few of them are:
1) Keep your eyes peeled! (As in keep your eyes peeled for a Dairy Queen!)
This one has the potential to scare the very young, as one can’t help but picture a potato peeler working on an eyeball.
2) And we’re off like a dirty shirt!
Because I am late for everything, as was my family when I was younger. When we finally climb into the mini-van of cool, I usually yelp out this saying, to celebrate that we are finally taking off, like we would take off a dirty shirt. This one gets giggles because it makes a 7 year old think of nudity, and, you know, nudity = hilarity at that age.
3) “Oh, here’s the postey, the housey, the manney, pretty-mych-anything-ey”
Adding an ey to everything comes from my Scottish heritage. My Nana would add ey to any inanimate/animate object. Edie has particularly embraced this (lamb-ey, blanket-ey, bikey). Might have to put an end to this as the school year approaches.
4) “There are some chippy bits left, would you like them?”
This is usually applied to the few remains of a salad. Little bits of celery, green onion and cucumber that didn’t make the first round. My mom always offers these remaining chippy bits because the woman can’t bear to waste anything.
5) “Would you like the dregs?”
This usually refers any remaining beverage, usually coffee/wine. So, if you are invited to my next dinner party, when I offer you the dregs of something, I’m not offering you something foul, I’m just trying to give you seconds!
6) “ I am dripping with a cold”
Ewww, this one is gross, but so wonderfully visual. Whenever I have a bad cold, like last week, my Mom always remarks that I am just dripping with a cold. Dripping as in a nose like a tap, watery eyes, fevered forehead, liquids coming from everywhere they can. Love it.
What weird things do you say that will get your kids made fun of?
So when I say these things, people usually look at me like I’m one canoe short of a paddle. That’s fine. And what makes me giggle is that this legacy is being passed on to Grace and Edie, as they are starting to use the expressions. A few of them are:
1) Keep your eyes peeled! (As in keep your eyes peeled for a Dairy Queen!)
This one has the potential to scare the very young, as one can’t help but picture a potato peeler working on an eyeball.
2) And we’re off like a dirty shirt!
Because I am late for everything, as was my family when I was younger. When we finally climb into the mini-van of cool, I usually yelp out this saying, to celebrate that we are finally taking off, like we would take off a dirty shirt. This one gets giggles because it makes a 7 year old think of nudity, and, you know, nudity = hilarity at that age.
3) “Oh, here’s the postey, the housey, the manney, pretty-mych-anything-ey”
Adding an ey to everything comes from my Scottish heritage. My Nana would add ey to any inanimate/animate object. Edie has particularly embraced this (lamb-ey, blanket-ey, bikey). Might have to put an end to this as the school year approaches.
4) “There are some chippy bits left, would you like them?”
This is usually applied to the few remains of a salad. Little bits of celery, green onion and cucumber that didn’t make the first round. My mom always offers these remaining chippy bits because the woman can’t bear to waste anything.
5) “Would you like the dregs?”
This usually refers any remaining beverage, usually coffee/wine. So, if you are invited to my next dinner party, when I offer you the dregs of something, I’m not offering you something foul, I’m just trying to give you seconds!
6) “ I am dripping with a cold”
Ewww, this one is gross, but so wonderfully visual. Whenever I have a bad cold, like last week, my Mom always remarks that I am just dripping with a cold. Dripping as in a nose like a tap, watery eyes, fevered forehead, liquids coming from everywhere they can. Love it.
What weird things do you say that will get your kids made fun of?
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I'm still reeling from the rapists sentencing. If you are reading this and you have a blog, and you don't feel like blogging one day, why not cut and paste the story below, or simply link to this CBC article to further spread the word that this sex offender is out there, with a slap on the wrist to keep him from doing it again.
Pub owner avoids jail time for sex assault
Last Updated: Monday, August 17, 2009 | 3:59 PM PT
CBC News
Fernando Alves will be on the sex offender registry for 20 years following a guilty plea in a highly publicized sexual assault case. (Vancouver Police)The former owner of a Burnaby, B.C., pub has been handed a nine-month conditional sentence after pleading guilty to sexual assault in a case that prompted criticism of the police from the convicted man's lawyer.
Fernando Manuel Alves, 46, had faced four charges of sexual assault and one charge of administering a noxious substance.
His arrest two years ago prompted police to warn the public about drink-spiking.
Alves ultimately pleaded guilty to one count of sexual assault after the other assault charges and the administering charge were dismissed following a preliminary hearing.
Alves's lawyer said his client was innocent of the other charges and insisted Alves was not the man police made him out to be.
"Police seem to think they can speak with immunity, and not take responsibility and proper respect for the process that is required," Lawrence Myers said following Monday's court proceedings.
It was revealed during the trial that in October 2006, a woman in her 30s woke up in Alves's bed, bruised and bleeding after an evening at a downtown Vancouver nightclub.
The married woman — who cannot be identified — said she had no recollection of meeting Alves the night before.
Medical testing confirmed she had had sexual intercourse and found traces of alcohol and sedatives in her system.
The woman told the court her will to live had been drained because of what happened to her and that she was unable to feel safe or to be intimate with her husband.
In sentencing, the B.C. provincial court judge said Alves was not pathologically dangerous but had committed a crime of opportunity.
The judge ordered that Alves be placed on the sex-offender registry for the next 20 years but that he not spend time in jail.
This justification kills me "In sentencing, the B.C. provincial court judge said Alves was not pathologically dangerous but had committed a crime of opportunity."
How can this violent, life-altering crime, particulary by a pub owner, not be considered dangerous??? So post his picture, get his picture out there so anyone who might come into contact with him can react accordingly, and god forbid, protect themselves from a "crime of opportunity".
Sickening.
Pub owner avoids jail time for sex assault
Last Updated: Monday, August 17, 2009 | 3:59 PM PT
CBC News
Fernando Alves will be on the sex offender registry for 20 years following a guilty plea in a highly publicized sexual assault case. (Vancouver Police)The former owner of a Burnaby, B.C., pub has been handed a nine-month conditional sentence after pleading guilty to sexual assault in a case that prompted criticism of the police from the convicted man's lawyer.
Fernando Manuel Alves, 46, had faced four charges of sexual assault and one charge of administering a noxious substance.
His arrest two years ago prompted police to warn the public about drink-spiking.
Alves ultimately pleaded guilty to one count of sexual assault after the other assault charges and the administering charge were dismissed following a preliminary hearing.
Alves's lawyer said his client was innocent of the other charges and insisted Alves was not the man police made him out to be.
"Police seem to think they can speak with immunity, and not take responsibility and proper respect for the process that is required," Lawrence Myers said following Monday's court proceedings.
It was revealed during the trial that in October 2006, a woman in her 30s woke up in Alves's bed, bruised and bleeding after an evening at a downtown Vancouver nightclub.
The married woman — who cannot be identified — said she had no recollection of meeting Alves the night before.
Medical testing confirmed she had had sexual intercourse and found traces of alcohol and sedatives in her system.
The woman told the court her will to live had been drained because of what happened to her and that she was unable to feel safe or to be intimate with her husband.
In sentencing, the B.C. provincial court judge said Alves was not pathologically dangerous but had committed a crime of opportunity.
The judge ordered that Alves be placed on the sex-offender registry for the next 20 years but that he not spend time in jail.
This justification kills me "In sentencing, the B.C. provincial court judge said Alves was not pathologically dangerous but had committed a crime of opportunity."
How can this violent, life-altering crime, particulary by a pub owner, not be considered dangerous??? So post his picture, get his picture out there so anyone who might come into contact with him can react accordingly, and god forbid, protect themselves from a "crime of opportunity".
Sickening.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Fuck.
Sentencing was today. He got 9 months probation, no jail time. He is woefully sorry for all of it. He didn't realize she was too "drunk" to willingly give consent (drugging charges were thrown out).
Look out for each other ladies, because nobody else is.
Sentencing was today. He got 9 months probation, no jail time. He is woefully sorry for all of it. He didn't realize she was too "drunk" to willingly give consent (drugging charges were thrown out).
Look out for each other ladies, because nobody else is.
I believe in miracles….
So, behind Edie’s legs, inside of her elbows, her neck and back are raw from her scratching. She has eczema, and she’s got it bad. So bad it disrupts her sleep. The sound of her scratching at her skin, so violently, brings tears to my eyes. The creams the doctor has prescribed do nothing, except make her cry because it stings so much. And none of these creams are intended for long term use.
And then there is Grace, who continues to struggle with anxiety at bedtime – she fights to fall asleep (she’s not fighting us anymore, it’s an internal struggle). She wakes in the middle of the night, petrified of something she can’t express. She has to call me to come to her room to walk her to our room, where we’ve set up a little bed for her on the floor. She hates this. She says herself she is tired and she wants it to stop. It breaks my heart to find her finally asleep, blankets wrapped around her head to block out whatever it is that is scaring her. She has gone through one night in the past 5 weeks without waking, and she was elated, so happy that the anxiety had disappeared. Imagine her disappointment when the very next night she was up again, stomach in knots with anxiety.
I’m tired too. At first I don’t think I dealt with the situations very well. Always patient at first, but overcome with sleep deprivation adopting a get over it attitude. I’m back to being sympathetic, but still frustrated, and have decided it’s time to seek help.
I’ve made an appointment with the girls with a NAET practitioner. She pretty much guarantees and end to Edie’s suffering, and also feels she can help Gracie with whatever is causing her problems at night with Thought Field Therapy. It definitely sounds hokey, but I do have some first hand testimonials that are very positive.
Do you have any experience with “alternative medicine”? What do you think?
So, behind Edie’s legs, inside of her elbows, her neck and back are raw from her scratching. She has eczema, and she’s got it bad. So bad it disrupts her sleep. The sound of her scratching at her skin, so violently, brings tears to my eyes. The creams the doctor has prescribed do nothing, except make her cry because it stings so much. And none of these creams are intended for long term use.
And then there is Grace, who continues to struggle with anxiety at bedtime – she fights to fall asleep (she’s not fighting us anymore, it’s an internal struggle). She wakes in the middle of the night, petrified of something she can’t express. She has to call me to come to her room to walk her to our room, where we’ve set up a little bed for her on the floor. She hates this. She says herself she is tired and she wants it to stop. It breaks my heart to find her finally asleep, blankets wrapped around her head to block out whatever it is that is scaring her. She has gone through one night in the past 5 weeks without waking, and she was elated, so happy that the anxiety had disappeared. Imagine her disappointment when the very next night she was up again, stomach in knots with anxiety.
I’m tired too. At first I don’t think I dealt with the situations very well. Always patient at first, but overcome with sleep deprivation adopting a get over it attitude. I’m back to being sympathetic, but still frustrated, and have decided it’s time to seek help.
I’ve made an appointment with the girls with a NAET practitioner. She pretty much guarantees and end to Edie’s suffering, and also feels she can help Gracie with whatever is causing her problems at night with Thought Field Therapy. It definitely sounds hokey, but I do have some first hand testimonials that are very positive.
Do you have any experience with “alternative medicine”? What do you think?
Monday, August 10, 2009
My John Hughes memory….
Wow. Lots of icons dying.
I was a John Hughes fan, with Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink and Breakfast Club being my faves. I could, and still can, watch these movies over and over again. I used to pour over every single detail of these movies, from the wardrobes, dance techniques, vocabulary used and hairstyles. I longed to dance like Ferris Bueller in the streets to “Twist and Shout”; I wanted to find my own Judd Nelson to press my diamond earring into his leather glove. I wanted to work in a record store just like the one in Pretty in Pink, and have someone like Ducky to pine over me. I day dreamed to the soundtracks of the movies (all of which I own on vinyl, thank you very much!) Everything about these movies I wanted, and probably attempted to emulate in one fashion or another.
When I started university, a very small school in a very small town, I guess I stood out a little. There weren’t too many “alternative” girls there and it was predominantly a football/rugby school filled with jocks and sorority girls. I did find my place there though, and had tons of fun. With Hughes death I was reminded of the nickname given to me my first year there. Molly. The odd friendship that developed between me and a group of footballers gave way to the nickname. They said I reminded them so much of Molly Ringwald in those movies that they took to calling me Molly all the time, never referring to me by my real name. Even today when I occasionally bump into one of these guys, they still greet me as Molly.
After Hughes death I watched these movies, and can’t help but smile and feel proud that I reminded these friends of the iconic figure of the 80’s that Hughes had created. Kinda silly, but still really kinda nice.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
warning: swearing
so i went to social distortion last night in montreal at the medley. let me get my walking stick out and put my dentures in kids. i have seen this band 5 times in my life. in ottawa and toronto. never in montreal. mother fucker, montreal pissed the hell out of me last night. i have never seen such a disrespectful motherfucking annoying audience than i did last night. mike ness even had to shush the audience at one point when he was trying to introduce a new tune. all the times i have seen this band the audience treated them with reverence, it is a rare fucking treat to see these guys live in this neck of the woods. this audience just fucking loved to hear themselves talk. all jo and i could hear was bleah bleah bleah of the people around us. i really tried to not let it ruin my evening, but it was hard. and nobody could stay in one spot...people wandering back and forth, spilling beer, yelling at each other etc etc.
gawd, i'm old, i'm cranky, but for fuck's sakes montreal, go to a pub and talk at each other, not to the church of mike ness.
mother fuckers.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
SHOE SERIES, INSTALLMENT 2
A few weeks ago I went into Town Shoes to “browse”. I should know myself well enough by now that by browse I mean buy. And I did find a sweet little number that made my heart skip a beat, were comfy and would fill that gap in my shoe wardrobe that I always convince myself that I have (the gap never seems to close). I slipped one on and he sales woman cooed, the gal beside me trying on Puma’s told me they looked great and when the cartoon birds and chipmunks brought me the second shoe, my feet were magically transformed. I looked a the price tag, it was totally do-able.
I had a quick question for the sales lady though, about quality. Excuse me miss, I didn’t catch the make of these, could you tell me? Why yes dear, they are by Jessica Simpson.
*crickets*.
Whaaaaaaa?
How did this cat:
go from being badass, to wearing HER
shoes on my feet?
Well, I obviously got over it and bought the shoes, but note to Britney Spears – don’t even try bitch, I’m not buying.
(the shoes are cute though, right?)
A few weeks ago I went into Town Shoes to “browse”. I should know myself well enough by now that by browse I mean buy. And I did find a sweet little number that made my heart skip a beat, were comfy and would fill that gap in my shoe wardrobe that I always convince myself that I have (the gap never seems to close). I slipped one on and he sales woman cooed, the gal beside me trying on Puma’s told me they looked great and when the cartoon birds and chipmunks brought me the second shoe, my feet were magically transformed. I looked a the price tag, it was totally do-able.
I had a quick question for the sales lady though, about quality. Excuse me miss, I didn’t catch the make of these, could you tell me? Why yes dear, they are by Jessica Simpson.
*crickets*.
Whaaaaaaa?
How did this cat:
go from being badass, to wearing HER
shoes on my feet?
Well, I obviously got over it and bought the shoes, but note to Britney Spears – don’t even try bitch, I’m not buying.
(the shoes are cute though, right?)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Yesterday was completely void of television. It was filled with doing volcano experiments, reading books, doing puzzles, dashing outside when the sun was shining and dashing inside when the heavens poured rain.
It involved a drive out to Nanny and Grandads house where we played Battleship, poked at the frog who lives in my parents pond. It involved strolling through the garden, looking at the beautiful specimens my parents have so lovingly tended to for the past 35 odd years. The girls picked different varieties of mint leaves, crushed them in their little hands and inhaled and marveled over the aroma. They also cooed over the baby zucchinis with their giant yellow flower hats. There were giggles when Grandad pretended to stab himself slowly with a pen and more shrieks when he dramatically removed his thumb (he’s so full of tricks that guy!) There was peace and quiet on the deck when Nanny brought out some snacks, juice boxes and beer.
Later, dinner at home was a quiet affair, outside on the bistro, none of us very hungry, but happy to sit and chatter away about nothing in particular (Edie is particularly adept at that).
There was laughter after bath time when we ran outside and played one of Grace’s complicated games (involving a dump truck you pedal, a pink princess ball, and Edie charging down the driveway in the truck yelling Tractor coming! Tractor coming! all while wearing her best Tinkerbell gown while Grace tried to headbut the ball in the truck loader). Then there were shouts of glee when Jo came home earlier than expected.
There were a lot of shitty things that happened yesterday too, that I won’t get into here. But I’m glad to be able to hold on to the good.
It involved a drive out to Nanny and Grandads house where we played Battleship, poked at the frog who lives in my parents pond. It involved strolling through the garden, looking at the beautiful specimens my parents have so lovingly tended to for the past 35 odd years. The girls picked different varieties of mint leaves, crushed them in their little hands and inhaled and marveled over the aroma. They also cooed over the baby zucchinis with their giant yellow flower hats. There were giggles when Grandad pretended to stab himself slowly with a pen and more shrieks when he dramatically removed his thumb (he’s so full of tricks that guy!) There was peace and quiet on the deck when Nanny brought out some snacks, juice boxes and beer.
Later, dinner at home was a quiet affair, outside on the bistro, none of us very hungry, but happy to sit and chatter away about nothing in particular (Edie is particularly adept at that).
There was laughter after bath time when we ran outside and played one of Grace’s complicated games (involving a dump truck you pedal, a pink princess ball, and Edie charging down the driveway in the truck yelling Tractor coming! Tractor coming! all while wearing her best Tinkerbell gown while Grace tried to headbut the ball in the truck loader). Then there were shouts of glee when Jo came home earlier than expected.
There were a lot of shitty things that happened yesterday too, that I won’t get into here. But I’m glad to be able to hold on to the good.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
If you had the opportunity to take a 5 year sabbatical from your 9 to 5, do you think your kids would benefit more from you being home for them in the summer/after school at the tender ages of 4 and 7 or the potentially difficult pre- and adolescent years?
Just askin’……your insight is valuable to me.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Have you all been wondering where I have been? No? Oh.
Well, for my own documentary purposes, I am going to tell you. Bluesfest 2009. A little run-down on the fun I had, with commentary:
Ben Harper – he was great. Don’t know a whole lot about this guy, but I liked the music a lot. He also seems to inspire people to spark one, up, so the fragrant air was kinda nice too. Oh, I love that he had a button down on with jeans and loafers. Well played Ben. He did an AMAZING cover of Red House.
Metric- Fun, boppy. Girlfriend looks a lot like my sister in law. Freaky.
Steve Earle – Meeellllloooowwwww. Liked it better when I saw him at Barrymore’s over a decade ago, when you could still smoke in bars. All about the atmosphere I guess.
Jackson Browne – I didn’t know him from John Doe, and while his music isn’t my cup of tea, what I loved about him was that he was so happy to be here. Whenever I looked at him through the binoculors, he had a twinkle in his eye and seemed to be amazed at the reception he was getting. And the 50+ crowd really seemed to dig him!
Brian Setzer – Front stage for this one. The Best. This guy knows what he is doing, what to say and when to say it. It was an awesome show. I was hoping for more rockabilly eye candy (pompadours and tattoos) in the crowd – who is representing the rockabilly crowd in Ottawa these days?
Estelle – she’s actually a great performer. Brought Grace and Edie to this show – it was rainy and icky, but fun nonetheless.
Stone Temple Pilots – I didn’t go, but Jo did, and the fact I found a little note from him the next morning with “I’m in the basement” scrawled on it indicates that it was a good time.
The National – so glad I caught them. New faves for me.
BEAST – impressed me with the ability to keep audiences attention, as they were opening for…
KISS – vocally they suck, instrumentally - meh, but they can perform! It was really fun.
Blue Rodeo – always good, have seen them before, and found them a little mellow. But wow, do they ever draw a crowd!
Paolo Nutini – So glad I cut out of Blue Rodeo to go see him. Great performer, smallish intimate crowd made for a great show. Oh, and he is Hotness.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – these guys were great! She is a wonderful performer. Kooky and crazy, but she was having a great time. She is such a strong singer and so full of beans. It was great show. Judging for the age of the crowd, I felt like I should be slurping up Metamucil instead of beer, Jo and I were pretty old compared to those around us.
We also saw some wonderful, wonderful blues acts. Real dirty blues.
I’m exhausted, broke (babysitters have practically bankrupt us), a few pounds heavier (so much beer and bad for you food) but will do it all again next year.
I love that Ottawa has this festival. Boo to all you haters. The spirit and vibe is just so wonderful, I don’t really understand how anyone could be bitter about it.
Well, for my own documentary purposes, I am going to tell you. Bluesfest 2009. A little run-down on the fun I had, with commentary:
Ben Harper – he was great. Don’t know a whole lot about this guy, but I liked the music a lot. He also seems to inspire people to spark one, up, so the fragrant air was kinda nice too. Oh, I love that he had a button down on with jeans and loafers. Well played Ben. He did an AMAZING cover of Red House.
Metric- Fun, boppy. Girlfriend looks a lot like my sister in law. Freaky.
Steve Earle – Meeellllloooowwwww. Liked it better when I saw him at Barrymore’s over a decade ago, when you could still smoke in bars. All about the atmosphere I guess.
Jackson Browne – I didn’t know him from John Doe, and while his music isn’t my cup of tea, what I loved about him was that he was so happy to be here. Whenever I looked at him through the binoculors, he had a twinkle in his eye and seemed to be amazed at the reception he was getting. And the 50+ crowd really seemed to dig him!
Brian Setzer – Front stage for this one. The Best. This guy knows what he is doing, what to say and when to say it. It was an awesome show. I was hoping for more rockabilly eye candy (pompadours and tattoos) in the crowd – who is representing the rockabilly crowd in Ottawa these days?
Estelle – she’s actually a great performer. Brought Grace and Edie to this show – it was rainy and icky, but fun nonetheless.
Stone Temple Pilots – I didn’t go, but Jo did, and the fact I found a little note from him the next morning with “I’m in the basement” scrawled on it indicates that it was a good time.
The National – so glad I caught them. New faves for me.
BEAST – impressed me with the ability to keep audiences attention, as they were opening for…
KISS – vocally they suck, instrumentally - meh, but they can perform! It was really fun.
Blue Rodeo – always good, have seen them before, and found them a little mellow. But wow, do they ever draw a crowd!
Paolo Nutini – So glad I cut out of Blue Rodeo to go see him. Great performer, smallish intimate crowd made for a great show. Oh, and he is Hotness.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – these guys were great! She is a wonderful performer. Kooky and crazy, but she was having a great time. She is such a strong singer and so full of beans. It was great show. Judging for the age of the crowd, I felt like I should be slurping up Metamucil instead of beer, Jo and I were pretty old compared to those around us.
We also saw some wonderful, wonderful blues acts. Real dirty blues.
I’m exhausted, broke (babysitters have practically bankrupt us), a few pounds heavier (so much beer and bad for you food) but will do it all again next year.
I love that Ottawa has this festival. Boo to all you haters. The spirit and vibe is just so wonderful, I don’t really understand how anyone could be bitter about it.
Friday, July 10, 2009
THE SHOE SERIES, INSTALLMENT 1
And your Mother wears combat boots....
Well, I haven’t put them on for awhile, but these babies are probably the ones that could talk the most.
I purchased these little drill boots after I decided to commit whole heartedly to the punk scene. After a trip to the army surplus at the age of 12, nothing else graced my feet for the next 3 years. This was a time of much drama in my life, not fitting in here, not fitting in there, experimenting with this and that. It was also a time when doc marten boots were becoming popular, but if you wore them you also risked getting rolled for them. Terrified of this prospect, I remained satisfied with my steel toe boots, polishing them up diligently on a daily basis.
These boots got me out sticky situations (I kicked a guy in the berries who was trying to have his way with me). They clocked quite a few miles (I once walked to Manotick from Hog’s Back after a night of excess). They got me made fun of. They made me feel tough. I felt complete with my boots, like they were part of me, part of my uniform. Even when I gave in to my mom BEGGING me to wear something nice for a special event, those boots would top the outfit.
They collect dust now, but when I look at them I am overwhelmed with the memories they bring back. All at once I am nostalgic for the good times, sad for the lonely girl who wore them and mad at certain memories.
I’ll never throw these puppies out, and will likely insist that my girls wear them on their first dates.
And your Mother wears combat boots....
Well, I haven’t put them on for awhile, but these babies are probably the ones that could talk the most.
I purchased these little drill boots after I decided to commit whole heartedly to the punk scene. After a trip to the army surplus at the age of 12, nothing else graced my feet for the next 3 years. This was a time of much drama in my life, not fitting in here, not fitting in there, experimenting with this and that. It was also a time when doc marten boots were becoming popular, but if you wore them you also risked getting rolled for them. Terrified of this prospect, I remained satisfied with my steel toe boots, polishing them up diligently on a daily basis.
These boots got me out sticky situations (I kicked a guy in the berries who was trying to have his way with me). They clocked quite a few miles (I once walked to Manotick from Hog’s Back after a night of excess). They got me made fun of. They made me feel tough. I felt complete with my boots, like they were part of me, part of my uniform. Even when I gave in to my mom BEGGING me to wear something nice for a special event, those boots would top the outfit.
They collect dust now, but when I look at them I am overwhelmed with the memories they bring back. All at once I am nostalgic for the good times, sad for the lonely girl who wore them and mad at certain memories.
I’ll never throw these puppies out, and will likely insist that my girls wear them on their first dates.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
My Michael Jackson memory.
Like most 11 year old girls, I was crazy about Michael. Innocent and young enough that it wasn’t a lust thing (unlike my ongoing issues with Mike Ness) but rather an obsession that made me smile, dance and yearn to hear his music all the time.
These were the days of Samantha Taylor on Video Hits. I would rush to get my homework done so I could sit thisclose to the T.V. and she teased us with what videos should would be playing that day. Can you imagine in the days before MuchMusic that we were allocated only ½ an hour of music videos a day? At any rate, during the Thriller album days, chances are Sam would play a couple of his videos a week. Sometimes I would get my tape recorder and tape the song off the t.v. (seriously - you can imagine the sound quality of this with the sounds of my Mom making dinner in the background).
I also had Thriller on vinyl, and would play it over and over and over again, skipping past certain songs (Human Nature, The Lady in My Life) and warping the tracks of others (I just loved The Girl is Mine). I don’t remember anyone in the house complaining either about playing these songs so often – maybe I’m romanticizing here, but it seems like everyone liked Michael Jackson.
So, back to my memory. My folks would pack me up every second summer for a road trip to go camping in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Because of our age differences, my brother and sister stopped joining us on these trips and it was just me, my mom, my dad, and the CBC (or the equivalent torture of whatever state/city we happened to be crossing). My folks favour opera and classical music. Like finger nails down a chalk board for an 11 year old (and sometimes for a 36 year old).
Part of this trip included a trip to downtown Boston. This would be an awesome trip because I would see soooo many walks life (Black people! Punk rockers! Hare Krishnas, oh my!) It would also be a fairly stressful trip because my dad behind the wheel of a big ass, two toned green van in a very busy downtown core which he was grossly unfamiliar set his anxiety levels at an all time high. I’m sure the steering wheel (also green) had his finger nail marks on it.
Anyhoooo, I had been whining and complaining on my sticky green vinyl seat about the radio station they had on. To shut me up, my mom found a pop station, and lo and behold, Billie Jean came on the radio.
I screamed. I screamed as if Michael walked right up to the two toned van (with matching curtains I might add) and asked for directions. I screamed like an 11 year old who had not heard her mostfavouritesongintheworld for over a week and a half. I screamed like only an 11 year old girl can scream.
My dad slammed on the brakes in the middle of downtown Boston rush hour. Concerned that he had hit someone or I had seen someone murdered on the street, he asked what the bloody hell was wrong. D-uh! Michael Jackson’s on the radio Daaaad! *Crickets* You know that quiet angry that parents get? When they aren’t quite sure how to pick the words they want to say and it’s really scary? My dad didn’t do it often, but I’m sure the whole of Boston felt the chill that fell upon the big ass two toned green van with matching curtains and vinyl seats.
The radio dial was promptly turned to, and remained on a classical station for the duration of the trip, and I had a walkman for our next road trip.
Rest in peace, Michael, thanks for the memories.
Like most 11 year old girls, I was crazy about Michael. Innocent and young enough that it wasn’t a lust thing (unlike my ongoing issues with Mike Ness) but rather an obsession that made me smile, dance and yearn to hear his music all the time.
These were the days of Samantha Taylor on Video Hits. I would rush to get my homework done so I could sit thisclose to the T.V. and she teased us with what videos should would be playing that day. Can you imagine in the days before MuchMusic that we were allocated only ½ an hour of music videos a day? At any rate, during the Thriller album days, chances are Sam would play a couple of his videos a week. Sometimes I would get my tape recorder and tape the song off the t.v. (seriously - you can imagine the sound quality of this with the sounds of my Mom making dinner in the background).
I also had Thriller on vinyl, and would play it over and over and over again, skipping past certain songs (Human Nature, The Lady in My Life) and warping the tracks of others (I just loved The Girl is Mine). I don’t remember anyone in the house complaining either about playing these songs so often – maybe I’m romanticizing here, but it seems like everyone liked Michael Jackson.
So, back to my memory. My folks would pack me up every second summer for a road trip to go camping in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Because of our age differences, my brother and sister stopped joining us on these trips and it was just me, my mom, my dad, and the CBC (or the equivalent torture of whatever state/city we happened to be crossing). My folks favour opera and classical music. Like finger nails down a chalk board for an 11 year old (and sometimes for a 36 year old).
Part of this trip included a trip to downtown Boston. This would be an awesome trip because I would see soooo many walks life (Black people! Punk rockers! Hare Krishnas, oh my!) It would also be a fairly stressful trip because my dad behind the wheel of a big ass, two toned green van in a very busy downtown core which he was grossly unfamiliar set his anxiety levels at an all time high. I’m sure the steering wheel (also green) had his finger nail marks on it.
Anyhoooo, I had been whining and complaining on my sticky green vinyl seat about the radio station they had on. To shut me up, my mom found a pop station, and lo and behold, Billie Jean came on the radio.
I screamed. I screamed as if Michael walked right up to the two toned van (with matching curtains I might add) and asked for directions. I screamed like an 11 year old who had not heard her mostfavouritesongintheworld for over a week and a half. I screamed like only an 11 year old girl can scream.
My dad slammed on the brakes in the middle of downtown Boston rush hour. Concerned that he had hit someone or I had seen someone murdered on the street, he asked what the bloody hell was wrong. D-uh! Michael Jackson’s on the radio Daaaad! *Crickets* You know that quiet angry that parents get? When they aren’t quite sure how to pick the words they want to say and it’s really scary? My dad didn’t do it often, but I’m sure the whole of Boston felt the chill that fell upon the big ass two toned green van with matching curtains and vinyl seats.
The radio dial was promptly turned to, and remained on a classical station for the duration of the trip, and I had a walkman for our next road trip.
Rest in peace, Michael, thanks for the memories.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
I bought the most beeeeuuutiful shoes on Monday. I am writing about them because I just took them off to put on my sneaks for my lunch time constitutional and I think I actually cried a little when I took them off. I must take a picture and post for you all to see. I would be torn if I was to ever made to choose between a child o mine and these shoes. They are just that Awesome.
I am finding it difficult to find things to blog about these days – p’raps I should do a shoe blog. An entry for each pair of shoes I own, going back to my combat boots from the mid-1980’s. What do you think? Most of them have a story (or two) to tell.
I am finding it difficult to find things to blog about these days – p’raps I should do a shoe blog. An entry for each pair of shoes I own, going back to my combat boots from the mid-1980’s. What do you think? Most of them have a story (or two) to tell.
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