Hippie chicks and the crisis of consciousness
This quotation may explain something about the contradictions of my character. Must meditate on this ...
"On the one hand you had the politics of revolution and equality and liberation and on the other hand you had silent women in long dresses, gathered in the kitchen, preparing great meals of meat, which were brought out and served to the men — who ate alone. The men and women didn't eat together. The men ate before a gig or after a gig. They'd come home and pound on the table like cavemen. And the women were very quiet. You weren't supposed to hear from them. Each one was supposed to service her man quietly." —Danny Fields in Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk
Happy Birthday, Dave!
Saturday, May 29, 2004
Sunday, May 23, 2004
Because I used to draw ghosts in my spare time
Howdy howdy,
It's been a while, huh? Sorry about that. Apologies to the Taureans whose birthdays I missed announcing this month — the time of year or the time of man? We'll just say that I don't know who I am and life is for learning.
Moved all my detritus from my parents' basement last week. One accumulates a great deal in 30-odd years (that works without the hyphen, too). Most of it I'm giving back for the purportedly giant garage sale. Perhaps there is something of value for someone else. If not, plan B is a big donation to a garbage fair. I don't know anything about it, but my brother does; he'll make sure my stuff finds a new home somewhere.
Did I mention that I'm teaching two spring courses? One of the startling discoveries of this reality is that I need the ritual of dinner. Grabbing a muffin and a carton of milk is just not satisfying (not to mention not nutritious). If I don't sit down to eat with others now and then, I get rather lonely and crazy. What else? The weather is still frightfully cold and the garden is shivering, stuttering. Zak tried to make an impression on Bellerose Drive earlier this afternoon. For his efforts he'll have a scar to match the one on the right side of his face, from when he tried to go head to head with a tree of indeterminate species. Guess who won?
Haven't gone climbing in weeks and weeks — didn't make it enough of a habit, I guess. Did I mention that we're going to Newfoundland this sumer? Daily more complex. Hmm. We're renovating the basement so Doug can move in. Next Sunday is the Super Cities Walk for MS — if you have a donation to send my way, please let me know soon! We fixed the washing machine! A tiny plastic spoon was making all that noise and finally jammed up the drain pump. But now the Bosch works perfectly again and restores my perfect place to meditate (in absence of the pergola). Did I mention that I got ill from having the furnace cleaned? Strange toxic chemicals, I think.
Sorry this is dull dull dull dull — rather like the dimes that I also found in the washing machine. My creativity reservoir is down a couple of litres. More later, I hope.
From a windy, craggy place,
Leslie
Howdy howdy,
It's been a while, huh? Sorry about that. Apologies to the Taureans whose birthdays I missed announcing this month — the time of year or the time of man? We'll just say that I don't know who I am and life is for learning.
Moved all my detritus from my parents' basement last week. One accumulates a great deal in 30-odd years (that works without the hyphen, too). Most of it I'm giving back for the purportedly giant garage sale. Perhaps there is something of value for someone else. If not, plan B is a big donation to a garbage fair. I don't know anything about it, but my brother does; he'll make sure my stuff finds a new home somewhere.
Did I mention that I'm teaching two spring courses? One of the startling discoveries of this reality is that I need the ritual of dinner. Grabbing a muffin and a carton of milk is just not satisfying (not to mention not nutritious). If I don't sit down to eat with others now and then, I get rather lonely and crazy. What else? The weather is still frightfully cold and the garden is shivering, stuttering. Zak tried to make an impression on Bellerose Drive earlier this afternoon. For his efforts he'll have a scar to match the one on the right side of his face, from when he tried to go head to head with a tree of indeterminate species. Guess who won?
Haven't gone climbing in weeks and weeks — didn't make it enough of a habit, I guess. Did I mention that we're going to Newfoundland this sumer? Daily more complex. Hmm. We're renovating the basement so Doug can move in. Next Sunday is the Super Cities Walk for MS — if you have a donation to send my way, please let me know soon! We fixed the washing machine! A tiny plastic spoon was making all that noise and finally jammed up the drain pump. But now the Bosch works perfectly again and restores my perfect place to meditate (in absence of the pergola). Did I mention that I got ill from having the furnace cleaned? Strange toxic chemicals, I think.
Sorry this is dull dull dull dull — rather like the dimes that I also found in the washing machine. My creativity reservoir is down a couple of litres. More later, I hope.
From a windy, craggy place,
Leslie
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Grumpy grammar girl
Grammar is an x-ray and your head is made of lead!
Now reading: Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss (incidentally, when I first heard the panda joke, it involved a prostitute, not a waiter), The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester, and Book Business: Publishing Past, Present and Future by Jason Epstein
Grammar is an x-ray and your head is made of lead!
Now reading: Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss (incidentally, when I first heard the panda joke, it involved a prostitute, not a waiter), The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester, and Book Business: Publishing Past, Present and Future by Jason Epstein
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Saturday, April 24, 2004
Today's thought
(a quotation, of course, since I am so overwhelmed by marking that I can no longer form independent thought...)
"In our cynical world, where suspicion is a necessity, insisting that something is true is not nearly as powerful as suggesting that something might be true." —Thomas King in The Truth About Stories
Only 21 more piles to go...
(a quotation, of course, since I am so overwhelmed by marking that I can no longer form independent thought...)
"In our cynical world, where suspicion is a necessity, insisting that something is true is not nearly as powerful as suggesting that something might be true." —Thomas King in The Truth About Stories
Only 21 more piles to go...
Sunday, April 18, 2004
Happy happy congratulations to us all!
The Alberta Book Awards were presented last night in Calgary, and two Edmonton-area publishing personalities were among the winners.
• Trade Non-Fiction Book of the Year was awarded to Hole’s (Edmonton) for Lois Hole’s Favorite Bulbs: Better Choices, Better Gardens, edited by Jim Hole and Valerie Hole, and published by Bruce K——, publishing manager for Hole's.
• Trade Fiction Book of the Year was awarded to The University of Alberta Press (Edmonton) for An Ark of Koans by E.D. Blodgett and with illustrations by Jacques Brault. (Apparently the jury didn't read the text, because it's a volume of POETRY!). Leslie V——, former managing editor, had acquired the volume for the Press. In a move that shows a startling absence of creativity, An Ark of Koans also won awards for cover design and book design, despite that the designer has now used (and been awarded for using) both designs twice before.
Ah the ironies of the publishing life. In other news, Bruce and I passed our belay checks on Saturday. The walls of the world had better look out!
Must continue marking — I may hit 100 pieces of student work marked in a single day tonight. Sigh. Exam week has begun.
L
The Alberta Book Awards were presented last night in Calgary, and two Edmonton-area publishing personalities were among the winners.
• Trade Non-Fiction Book of the Year was awarded to Hole’s (Edmonton) for Lois Hole’s Favorite Bulbs: Better Choices, Better Gardens, edited by Jim Hole and Valerie Hole, and published by Bruce K——, publishing manager for Hole's.
• Trade Fiction Book of the Year was awarded to The University of Alberta Press (Edmonton) for An Ark of Koans by E.D. Blodgett and with illustrations by Jacques Brault. (Apparently the jury didn't read the text, because it's a volume of POETRY!). Leslie V——, former managing editor, had acquired the volume for the Press. In a move that shows a startling absence of creativity, An Ark of Koans also won awards for cover design and book design, despite that the designer has now used (and been awarded for using) both designs twice before.
Ah the ironies of the publishing life. In other news, Bruce and I passed our belay checks on Saturday. The walls of the world had better look out!
Must continue marking — I may hit 100 pieces of student work marked in a single day tonight. Sigh. Exam week has begun.
L
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
It's raining!
It's been a long stretch, but I can see light at last. (Bruce would probably disagree, as it's been a few weeks since he could see the floor of my office.) I have marked pages and pages and pages and pages of student work in the last week. (That's an example of polysyndeton.) I want combat pay! But just two more weeks of school and then final exams start. Then I have a week off and then ... spring session! Or two months off.
The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done; and there is no new thing under the sun. Ecclesiastes 1:9
Or...
That that is, is; that that is not, is not; is that not it?
Went climbing on Saturday. Soon I will be qualified to belay climbers while using an ATC rather than a gri-gri, so we can climb many more interesting routes. And one day perhaps even challenge the wall at the Butterdome (!). Celebrated my parents' move to Skyview on Saturday night. Must go get my "stuff" from the old house one of these days. Walked through the yard on Sunday. So many plants are emerging already: crocuses and tulips, the arctic raspberry, the irises, the violas, the saskatoon. We have about a million new strawberry plants: yum. I planted some new lily of the valley, and the lettuce trough is already out. Soon, soon it will be summer.
Now reading: My Invented Country by Isabel Allende.
Also flipping through the many many free books that come to me in the mail (e.g., This is P.R.: The Realities of Public Relations — doesn't that sound fascinating?). The list of books I want to read is getting longer every day. I'm so grateful for the library! — if only I could get there. Have you noticed the preponderance of blogs by librarians? I think ref-grunt started the trend, but there are dozens of them, most very good. Urm, yeah. Whatever.
OK, that's my break. Back to marking very bad essays on editorial ethics — as if! : )
L
It's been a long stretch, but I can see light at last. (Bruce would probably disagree, as it's been a few weeks since he could see the floor of my office.) I have marked pages and pages and pages and pages of student work in the last week. (That's an example of polysyndeton.) I want combat pay! But just two more weeks of school and then final exams start. Then I have a week off and then ... spring session! Or two months off.
The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done; and there is no new thing under the sun. Ecclesiastes 1:9
Or...
That that is, is; that that is not, is not; is that not it?
Went climbing on Saturday. Soon I will be qualified to belay climbers while using an ATC rather than a gri-gri, so we can climb many more interesting routes. And one day perhaps even challenge the wall at the Butterdome (!). Celebrated my parents' move to Skyview on Saturday night. Must go get my "stuff" from the old house one of these days. Walked through the yard on Sunday. So many plants are emerging already: crocuses and tulips, the arctic raspberry, the irises, the violas, the saskatoon. We have about a million new strawberry plants: yum. I planted some new lily of the valley, and the lettuce trough is already out. Soon, soon it will be summer.
Now reading: My Invented Country by Isabel Allende.
Also flipping through the many many free books that come to me in the mail (e.g., This is P.R.: The Realities of Public Relations — doesn't that sound fascinating?). The list of books I want to read is getting longer every day. I'm so grateful for the library! — if only I could get there. Have you noticed the preponderance of blogs by librarians? I think ref-grunt started the trend, but there are dozens of them, most very good. Urm, yeah. Whatever.
OK, that's my break. Back to marking very bad essays on editorial ethics — as if! : )
L
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Because I'm too tired to think tonight
...and look, The West Wing just came on ...
The last, best colophon
This book is set in 12-point Monotone Bimbo,
with chapter headings in Basketball Overextended.
Both faces were designed by the great Adolf Pflupfl
and are characterized by noble, full-bodied proportions
with complex, slightly fruity serifs.
It was printed by upset lithophagy
on 70-lb. Tropicana Ivory mislaid Cowabunga Slipshod Overcoat.
The ink came out of a can.
This paper is 100% unrecycled.
Whole forests were leveled,
thousands of small furry animals left homeless,
and vast virgin landscapes devastated
to make this book.
—courtesy of an AAUP editor whose name is lost due to the forcible imposition by my employer-at-the-time of Outlook on my baby Mac
And from the Department of Redundant Academic Research Department ... "Latest survey shows that 3 out of 4 people make up 75% of the world's population." Pace, Dr Taylor.
To sleep: perchance to dream
Leslie
...and look, The West Wing just came on ...
The last, best colophon
This book is set in 12-point Monotone Bimbo,
with chapter headings in Basketball Overextended.
Both faces were designed by the great Adolf Pflupfl
and are characterized by noble, full-bodied proportions
with complex, slightly fruity serifs.
It was printed by upset lithophagy
on 70-lb. Tropicana Ivory mislaid Cowabunga Slipshod Overcoat.
The ink came out of a can.
This paper is 100% unrecycled.
Whole forests were leveled,
thousands of small furry animals left homeless,
and vast virgin landscapes devastated
to make this book.
—courtesy of an AAUP editor whose name is lost due to the forcible imposition by my employer-at-the-time of Outlook on my baby Mac
And from the Department of Redundant Academic Research Department ... "Latest survey shows that 3 out of 4 people make up 75% of the world's population." Pace, Dr Taylor.
To sleep: perchance to dream
Leslie
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Things to do instead of working: A composition by Leslie
(with apologies to those of you who weren't there)
Living in the 80s
It all began when video killed the radio star. We were living on video in freeze frame — life was a thriller. We were kids in America; we were up where we belonged. We had the time of our lives. We told time by the clock of the heart and wondered how soon is now? Life was urgent — we were hungry like the wolf. Life in a northern town somewhere down the crazy river was the best of times. There was always a situation at our house and your daddy don’t know whatcha did to my body. It was an adult education. We were having sweet dreams and talking in our sleep. We were doing aerobics and eurythmics — but where was the air supply? We were running with the night, running with the shadows of the night. We were running up that hill with no problems; we ran faster than the speed of night. We had the look — it was the look of love — but we were too shy. Too bad. We looked pretty in pink and electric blue, and wore psychedelic furs with black velvet and blue jean. In the cruel summer we went on vacation to Xanadu, Valotte, Graceland, and Echo Beach, far away in time — we ate rock lobster. We sat in the purple rain watching St. Elmo’s fire during the total eclipse of the heart. It was a nice day for a white wedding, but she blinded us with science. Luckily, we had the eyes of a stranger. We wore our sunglasses at night: the future was so bright, we had to wear shades on our Bette Davis eyes. We were on the loose, and the kid was hot tonight. Our moonlight desires got physical — we got our emotions in motion and did the stroke — but we did it for love, in the name of love. We did it one more time: we had endless love. We wanted to know what love is. We learned that love is like oxygen, love is a stranger, love is a battlefield — that love bites. We made modern love in a bizarre love triangle; we were addicted to love. Then we made tainted love and needed sexual healing. We let it go to rise up, like a virgin, like a prayer. Magic power was in the air tonight. You might think we fell out of touch, but we were living in a box, livin’ on a prayer. We had faith on the edge of seventeen. We looked for fame in the big time — what a feeling! We found the perfect way. At first it was rapture, but when doves cried, we were in jeopardy. We got the beat and were victims of fashion, but it was a glamorous life. Don’t it make ya feel like dancing? We were shadow dancing, dancing in the dark, dancing on the ceiling, dancing with tears in our eyes, dancing barefoot. We did the safety dance at the love shack — we were footloose. We were walking on sunshine, walking like Egyptians; we did the walk of life and got our money for nothing. We gave it straight from the heart, but then we had a change of heart. We wanted to go to the edge of heaven. Heaven was a place on earth where we made circles in the sand — I get weak just thinking about it. We were stepping out on electric avenue in erotic city, where the streets have no name. We were left of centre; it was an obsession that cuts like a knife. We were hyperactive with Dolby. We would shout and rebel yell — but voices carry. We lost our self-control; we were going nowhere fast. We learned to spin right round, like a record, while looking for a brand-new lover. We learned that girls just want to have fun, but don’t go messing with a girl with guns — this much is true. There was always something there to remind us.
One thing leads to another. We discovered we had broken wings and our beds were burning. Prince Charming turned out to be a goody two-shoes; he wouldn’t strip for his centerfold. We had to beat it; we ran so far away. We learned to hold the line in Africa while living in the land down under. We learned to stand back, but don’t give up — everybody wants to rule the world. Then came the hazy shade of winter. All you zombies can relax — don’t do it. We saw eyes without a face and an eye in the sky — no wonder we always felt somebody’s watching me — and who can it be now? The missionary man. Sister Christian, a maniac in the driver’s seat of her little red Corvette, took us down the middle of road on the freeway of love. Say it isn’t so! Of course, I’m only foolin’ — or is it just a twist in my sobriety? Perhaps it’s just the reflex: I still don’t like Mondays.
(with apologies to those of you who weren't there)
Living in the 80s
It all began when video killed the radio star. We were living on video in freeze frame — life was a thriller. We were kids in America; we were up where we belonged. We had the time of our lives. We told time by the clock of the heart and wondered how soon is now? Life was urgent — we were hungry like the wolf. Life in a northern town somewhere down the crazy river was the best of times. There was always a situation at our house and your daddy don’t know whatcha did to my body. It was an adult education. We were having sweet dreams and talking in our sleep. We were doing aerobics and eurythmics — but where was the air supply? We were running with the night, running with the shadows of the night. We were running up that hill with no problems; we ran faster than the speed of night. We had the look — it was the look of love — but we were too shy. Too bad. We looked pretty in pink and electric blue, and wore psychedelic furs with black velvet and blue jean. In the cruel summer we went on vacation to Xanadu, Valotte, Graceland, and Echo Beach, far away in time — we ate rock lobster. We sat in the purple rain watching St. Elmo’s fire during the total eclipse of the heart. It was a nice day for a white wedding, but she blinded us with science. Luckily, we had the eyes of a stranger. We wore our sunglasses at night: the future was so bright, we had to wear shades on our Bette Davis eyes. We were on the loose, and the kid was hot tonight. Our moonlight desires got physical — we got our emotions in motion and did the stroke — but we did it for love, in the name of love. We did it one more time: we had endless love. We wanted to know what love is. We learned that love is like oxygen, love is a stranger, love is a battlefield — that love bites. We made modern love in a bizarre love triangle; we were addicted to love. Then we made tainted love and needed sexual healing. We let it go to rise up, like a virgin, like a prayer. Magic power was in the air tonight. You might think we fell out of touch, but we were living in a box, livin’ on a prayer. We had faith on the edge of seventeen. We looked for fame in the big time — what a feeling! We found the perfect way. At first it was rapture, but when doves cried, we were in jeopardy. We got the beat and were victims of fashion, but it was a glamorous life. Don’t it make ya feel like dancing? We were shadow dancing, dancing in the dark, dancing on the ceiling, dancing with tears in our eyes, dancing barefoot. We did the safety dance at the love shack — we were footloose. We were walking on sunshine, walking like Egyptians; we did the walk of life and got our money for nothing. We gave it straight from the heart, but then we had a change of heart. We wanted to go to the edge of heaven. Heaven was a place on earth where we made circles in the sand — I get weak just thinking about it. We were stepping out on electric avenue in erotic city, where the streets have no name. We were left of centre; it was an obsession that cuts like a knife. We were hyperactive with Dolby. We would shout and rebel yell — but voices carry. We lost our self-control; we were going nowhere fast. We learned to spin right round, like a record, while looking for a brand-new lover. We learned that girls just want to have fun, but don’t go messing with a girl with guns — this much is true. There was always something there to remind us.
One thing leads to another. We discovered we had broken wings and our beds were burning. Prince Charming turned out to be a goody two-shoes; he wouldn’t strip for his centerfold. We had to beat it; we ran so far away. We learned to hold the line in Africa while living in the land down under. We learned to stand back, but don’t give up — everybody wants to rule the world. Then came the hazy shade of winter. All you zombies can relax — don’t do it. We saw eyes without a face and an eye in the sky — no wonder we always felt somebody’s watching me — and who can it be now? The missionary man. Sister Christian, a maniac in the driver’s seat of her little red Corvette, took us down the middle of road on the freeway of love. Say it isn’t so! Of course, I’m only foolin’ — or is it just a twist in my sobriety? Perhaps it’s just the reflex: I still don’t like Mondays.
Monday, March 22, 2004
The Nature and Nurture of Power
What Grows Here?... Evil grows in the dark.
To avoid slander charges the names have been changed. I'm not doing anything about protecting the innocent because.. well... ain't nobody really innocent!
S'we're doin' this book. Big Bart decides to sign a contract with Large Press. "No no!" I cry, "let[s go with Wide Captions! A much more reasonable choice." Alas and alack Large Press gets the go-ahead and we venture off to the dark side.
All in all things seem to go smoothly other than the deadline which looms and hastens us unbeknownced to our nervous breakdown. Then the communication (actually the lack thereof) begins. "Send them a proof" says Bart. "Why not" quips I. "Then we are agreed" responds Big Bart. "Aye aye," states I and off goes the proof for the edification of the Large Press conglomerate.
Suddenly... (crash of thunder)...
The proof... RETURNS!
The changes are marked, the proofing begun,
The Large Press conglomerate have suddenly begun,
to edit and write, to markup and slight.
Now now, pooh pooh,
we shall inform you what to do!
Don't worry your empty little heads!
Aww @*#% them.
And so it started. A series of non-communications with hangups and swearing and lots of sullen staring. I have never been so pissed in my life and it was nothing more than a battle of egos, a war of insecurities, a massive exercise in how stupid people can be if they really, really try. Sure the baby's gone, but I sure did get rid of that ol' bathwater!
Who's book is this... whose style will reign supreme...who cares if I added in a few inconsistencies...I sure fixed those other ones...score one for the Large Press...oops looks like Hole's got in a low blow...REF! REF! Did ya see that! It's mine, no it's mine. Ya but we're better! No we're better! Poop! Poop back!
Proof goes out, proof comes back.
Proof goes out, proof comes back.
Files go out, [intercepted!] proof comes back... but really, we are done now.
Files go out, [intercepted!] proof comes back.
Now, really... do ya think I'm stupid enough to send it out again?
Cover...what cover... ooh we can fix it, we can fix... no let me. Who the hell said it was broken? Screw this, let's just print it upside down, then no one will notice anything else...
But wait folks... it's not over. Sam Kibbles, the puppet master himself, rises from the depths of the sub stage to take his rightful place right behind his puppets. "Say this!" he now whispers, "say that" he rejoins. "Tell them they're wrong," he mumbles, "maybe they won't notice..."
sigh
Like I said, I'm learning...do you really think the files are going out again?
sigh
I'm tell' ya folks this is insufferable. I mean really insufferable. Suffering all around! It ain't gettin' done and we are back to pre-contract footings. All I want is for an honest effort to get to the end but it seems we are just gong to play pissing contests. "Ooh, look at me I can PISS!" Me too, me too!" SNARK SNARK SNARK! My son did that his first day on the planet... I hadn't realized he was so mature...maybe I can make some money offa all this piss. If we gotta play games, why not make it worthwhile, pistols at dawn, double or nothing, give'r till ya puke. We were more mature with a 26 of lemon gin in our gullets.
Anyway I'm finished whining although the end of the tale is not yet written. I seems likely that this will continue evermore because Karma can't be avoid, pride cometh before the fall and TANSTAAFL. But I sure would be willing to pay for it if I could just avoid the aggravation...
Power...worth every penny, worth every drop...
Gotta keep on fightin' till that last,
satisfying,
plop
Aw crap.
B
What Grows Here?... Evil grows in the dark.
To avoid slander charges the names have been changed. I'm not doing anything about protecting the innocent because.. well... ain't nobody really innocent!
S'we're doin' this book. Big Bart decides to sign a contract with Large Press. "No no!" I cry, "let[s go with Wide Captions! A much more reasonable choice." Alas and alack Large Press gets the go-ahead and we venture off to the dark side.
All in all things seem to go smoothly other than the deadline which looms and hastens us unbeknownced to our nervous breakdown. Then the communication (actually the lack thereof) begins. "Send them a proof" says Bart. "Why not" quips I. "Then we are agreed" responds Big Bart. "Aye aye," states I and off goes the proof for the edification of the Large Press conglomerate.
Suddenly... (crash of thunder)...
The proof... RETURNS!
The changes are marked, the proofing begun,
The Large Press conglomerate have suddenly begun,
to edit and write, to markup and slight.
Now now, pooh pooh,
we shall inform you what to do!
Don't worry your empty little heads!
Aww @*#% them.
And so it started. A series of non-communications with hangups and swearing and lots of sullen staring. I have never been so pissed in my life and it was nothing more than a battle of egos, a war of insecurities, a massive exercise in how stupid people can be if they really, really try. Sure the baby's gone, but I sure did get rid of that ol' bathwater!
Who's book is this... whose style will reign supreme...who cares if I added in a few inconsistencies...I sure fixed those other ones...score one for the Large Press...oops looks like Hole's got in a low blow...REF! REF! Did ya see that! It's mine, no it's mine. Ya but we're better! No we're better! Poop! Poop back!
Proof goes out, proof comes back.
Proof goes out, proof comes back.
Files go out, [intercepted!] proof comes back... but really, we are done now.
Files go out, [intercepted!] proof comes back.
Now, really... do ya think I'm stupid enough to send it out again?
Cover...what cover... ooh we can fix it, we can fix... no let me. Who the hell said it was broken? Screw this, let's just print it upside down, then no one will notice anything else...
But wait folks... it's not over. Sam Kibbles, the puppet master himself, rises from the depths of the sub stage to take his rightful place right behind his puppets. "Say this!" he now whispers, "say that" he rejoins. "Tell them they're wrong," he mumbles, "maybe they won't notice..."
sigh
Like I said, I'm learning...do you really think the files are going out again?
sigh
I'm tell' ya folks this is insufferable. I mean really insufferable. Suffering all around! It ain't gettin' done and we are back to pre-contract footings. All I want is for an honest effort to get to the end but it seems we are just gong to play pissing contests. "Ooh, look at me I can PISS!" Me too, me too!" SNARK SNARK SNARK! My son did that his first day on the planet... I hadn't realized he was so mature...maybe I can make some money offa all this piss. If we gotta play games, why not make it worthwhile, pistols at dawn, double or nothing, give'r till ya puke. We were more mature with a 26 of lemon gin in our gullets.
Anyway I'm finished whining although the end of the tale is not yet written. I seems likely that this will continue evermore because Karma can't be avoid, pride cometh before the fall and TANSTAAFL. But I sure would be willing to pay for it if I could just avoid the aggravation...
Power...worth every penny, worth every drop...
Gotta keep on fightin' till that last,
satisfying,
plop
Aw crap.
B
Sunday, March 14, 2004
Just ask me
Want to know about waterborne pathogens? Or pain assessment for neonates? Or First Nations peoples in Alberta? Just ask me. I no longer have a human brain; I am a text-processing machine. My eyes are weird little squares disconnected from dreams. Aiiee!
Too much to do. Can't wait for the end of the week — or even Wednesday, my purported day of rest. Eh bien...
L
Want to know about waterborne pathogens? Or pain assessment for neonates? Or First Nations peoples in Alberta? Just ask me. I no longer have a human brain; I am a text-processing machine. My eyes are weird little squares disconnected from dreams. Aiiee!
Too much to do. Can't wait for the end of the week — or even Wednesday, my purported day of rest. Eh bien...
L
Sunday, February 29, 2004
Today's language lessons
1. Dr Seuss does chiasmus
a.
Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.
b.
I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent.
c.
From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere.
2. Recreational grief
"The British think tank Civitas published a report this week under the title Conspicuous Compassion. Its author, Patrick West, argues that public outpourings of grief, such as those after the death of Diana, Princess of Wales and following a number of recent child murders, show that society hasn't become more caring or altruistic, but more selfish. He asserts that what seem to be public signs of caring — such as wearing coloured ribbons, signing Internet petitions, and carrying banners saying 'Not In My Name' — are part of a culture of ostentatious caring which is about feeling good, not doing good; of projecting one's ego and thereby showing others what a deeply caring individual you are, not actually doing anything that makes a difference."
Kinda makes you think, huh?
3. Lucid in the sky with diamonds
"The death was reported this week of the British-born, Canadian-based psychiatrist and researcher Humphry Osmond, who in the 1950s carried out many experiments in mood-altering substances such as LSD and mescaline to find therapies to aid schizophrenics (he helped Aldous Huxley to experience mescaline, whose effects the author described in The Doors of Perception in 1954). Osmond coined the word psychedelic for such substances in a letter to Huxley in 1956; he said it included 'the concepts of enriching the mind and enlarging the vision.' He coined it irregularly from psyche + Greek delos (clear, manifest)."
I believe my family had one of those weird degrees-of-separation relationships with Dr Osmond — but by that reasoning, we also have relationships to Marilyn Monroe, Margaret Atwood, and Kate Bush, so perhaps that's really apropos of nothing but coincidence. (But my mother likes the Marilyn thing...)
4. Oh those Martians!
"The Martian day is some 39 minutes longer than ours and has been officially named the sol (the Latin for sun, which is also the official astronomical name for our star). NASA workers on the various Mars spacecraft projects have coined "yestersol" for the sol before the current one."
Maybe I'll move to Mars ... after a few weeks I'd catch up with myself! Though I suppose Martians don't have weeks either, since a week is seven days. We need a word for seven sols!
5. Chiastic pedagogy
"Teachers operate at a higher level of effectiveness when they question answers than when they answer questions." —Dr. Mardy Grothe
Yours crossingly,
Leslie
1. Dr Seuss does chiasmus
a.
Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.
b.
I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent.
c.
From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere.
2. Recreational grief
"The British think tank Civitas published a report this week under the title Conspicuous Compassion. Its author, Patrick West, argues that public outpourings of grief, such as those after the death of Diana, Princess of Wales and following a number of recent child murders, show that society hasn't become more caring or altruistic, but more selfish. He asserts that what seem to be public signs of caring — such as wearing coloured ribbons, signing Internet petitions, and carrying banners saying 'Not In My Name' — are part of a culture of ostentatious caring which is about feeling good, not doing good; of projecting one's ego and thereby showing others what a deeply caring individual you are, not actually doing anything that makes a difference."
Kinda makes you think, huh?
3. Lucid in the sky with diamonds
"The death was reported this week of the British-born, Canadian-based psychiatrist and researcher Humphry Osmond, who in the 1950s carried out many experiments in mood-altering substances such as LSD and mescaline to find therapies to aid schizophrenics (he helped Aldous Huxley to experience mescaline, whose effects the author described in The Doors of Perception in 1954). Osmond coined the word psychedelic for such substances in a letter to Huxley in 1956; he said it included 'the concepts of enriching the mind and enlarging the vision.' He coined it irregularly from psyche + Greek delos (clear, manifest)."
I believe my family had one of those weird degrees-of-separation relationships with Dr Osmond — but by that reasoning, we also have relationships to Marilyn Monroe, Margaret Atwood, and Kate Bush, so perhaps that's really apropos of nothing but coincidence. (But my mother likes the Marilyn thing...)
4. Oh those Martians!
"The Martian day is some 39 minutes longer than ours and has been officially named the sol (the Latin for sun, which is also the official astronomical name for our star). NASA workers on the various Mars spacecraft projects have coined "yestersol" for the sol before the current one."
Maybe I'll move to Mars ... after a few weeks I'd catch up with myself! Though I suppose Martians don't have weeks either, since a week is seven days. We need a word for seven sols!
5. Chiastic pedagogy
"Teachers operate at a higher level of effectiveness when they question answers than when they answer questions." —Dr. Mardy Grothe
Yours crossingly,
Leslie
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Words words words
• A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket. —Charles Peguy, poet and essayist (1873-1914)
• Melancholy is the pleasure of being sad. —Victor Hugo
• Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it. —Michel de Montaigne
• When one is learning, one should not think of play; and when one is at play, one should not think of one's learning. — Lord Chesterfield
Watching raspberries march across the property line, into the back alley where the neighbours sample the fruits, enjoy the sweetness of the sun captured in the juice. Who could kill a raspberry cane? Let the mint free of its container, let it creep across the yard, let it overtake your senses with pungency, with bite. Take it upon your tongue like a word. Touch with your tongue, forbidden. To eat is not to consume. To consume is to have again. It is only farewell, not goodbye. —Leslie
• A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket. —Charles Peguy, poet and essayist (1873-1914)
• Melancholy is the pleasure of being sad. —Victor Hugo
• Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it. —Michel de Montaigne
• When one is learning, one should not think of play; and when one is at play, one should not think of one's learning. — Lord Chesterfield
Watching raspberries march across the property line, into the back alley where the neighbours sample the fruits, enjoy the sweetness of the sun captured in the juice. Who could kill a raspberry cane? Let the mint free of its container, let it creep across the yard, let it overtake your senses with pungency, with bite. Take it upon your tongue like a word. Touch with your tongue, forbidden. To eat is not to consume. To consume is to have again. It is only farewell, not goodbye. —Leslie
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Eating buttered muffins with relish
That ought to get your attention if you know anything about me. No, I wasn't eating buttered muffins, with relish or without; I just made some delicious bran muffins for dinner and the conversation took a funny turn...
I know entirely too much about enteric pathogens for my mental comfort!
I have crossed off ONE item on my to-do list for Reading Break, and tomorrow is Friday. Ick blick yick.
Bought tires for my Sunfire. Ugh ugh ugh: now the driver's side headlight has burned out! I had predicted my next car would be a Volvo, but perhaps we haven't become quite so middle class. If it wasn't so trendy, I'd get a Beetle. Maybe vintage...1958? Hmm.
Red light yellow light green light go ...
Today I like: Gwendolyn sweetpeas. Chai. Easter creme eggs. My scruffy blanket. Sweet words.
"pour some sugar on me"
Leslie
That ought to get your attention if you know anything about me. No, I wasn't eating buttered muffins, with relish or without; I just made some delicious bran muffins for dinner and the conversation took a funny turn...
I know entirely too much about enteric pathogens for my mental comfort!
I have crossed off ONE item on my to-do list for Reading Break, and tomorrow is Friday. Ick blick yick.
Bought tires for my Sunfire. Ugh ugh ugh: now the driver's side headlight has burned out! I had predicted my next car would be a Volvo, but perhaps we haven't become quite so middle class. If it wasn't so trendy, I'd get a Beetle. Maybe vintage...1958? Hmm.
Red light yellow light green light go ...
Today I like: Gwendolyn sweetpeas. Chai. Easter creme eggs. My scruffy blanket. Sweet words.
"pour some sugar on me"
Leslie
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Windows
Virus
Adware
I just don't get it. I mean I understand viruses and malicious hacks and such but when my computer becomes a uselss piece of junk just by clicking on the wrong link? Sheeesh. I don't understand Microsoft for allowing it; I don't understand adware writers that are killing the mouths that feed them; I don't understand PC users that don't scream in frustration and go running to their Macs.
I just went through about 3 weeks of screwing around so I could finally just format my harddrive and start over. Kate (Bill' Hole's daughter) is just starting the same process. Go to web security sites and read about people screaming in frustration.... AAAaarrggghhh!
We bought a new eMac so I could use my XP box to share the printer, so L would have more space for MP3s and because I wanted Panther (OS 10.3). So now we have 4 functional computers and a semi-functional laptop... Last time I counted there were only three in the household... 4 if you count the cat... no opposable thumb there though...
Conspicuous consumerism or justifiable modernization? You decide!
Panther is cool though. I loaded it up with 60 meg of RAM and it purrs along. The fast user switching is mucho cool and I actually like the interface after a while.
Anyway gotta go pick a peck...
B
Virus
Adware
I just don't get it. I mean I understand viruses and malicious hacks and such but when my computer becomes a uselss piece of junk just by clicking on the wrong link? Sheeesh. I don't understand Microsoft for allowing it; I don't understand adware writers that are killing the mouths that feed them; I don't understand PC users that don't scream in frustration and go running to their Macs.
I just went through about 3 weeks of screwing around so I could finally just format my harddrive and start over. Kate (Bill' Hole's daughter) is just starting the same process. Go to web security sites and read about people screaming in frustration.... AAAaarrggghhh!
We bought a new eMac so I could use my XP box to share the printer, so L would have more space for MP3s and because I wanted Panther (OS 10.3). So now we have 4 functional computers and a semi-functional laptop... Last time I counted there were only three in the household... 4 if you count the cat... no opposable thumb there though...
Conspicuous consumerism or justifiable modernization? You decide!
Panther is cool though. I loaded it up with 60 meg of RAM and it purrs along. The fast user switching is mucho cool and I actually like the interface after a while.
Anyway gotta go pick a peck...
B
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Some things to think about
"Terrorism is the war of the poor, and war is the terrorism of the rich." —Peter Ustinov
"The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to beg in the streets, steal bread, or sleep under a bridge." —Anatole France
"Years ago I recognized my kinship with living things, and I made up my mind that I was not one bit better than the meanest on the earth. I said then and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it; while there is a criminal element, I am of it; while there is a soul in prison, I am not free." —Eugene Debs
"Terrorism is the war of the poor, and war is the terrorism of the rich." —Peter Ustinov
"The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to beg in the streets, steal bread, or sleep under a bridge." —Anatole France
"Years ago I recognized my kinship with living things, and I made up my mind that I was not one bit better than the meanest on the earth. I said then and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it; while there is a criminal element, I am of it; while there is a soul in prison, I am not free." —Eugene Debs
Sunday, February 08, 2004
Late-breaking news
New computer: eMac! Means I'm learning OSX. Slowly. Good news: now I have access to (listening to) the iTunes music store. And I can watch DVDs while I (don't) work. How ... productive! But I sure do like this new box.
And now, as a diversion, a quotation from one of my favourite movies ever, Say Anything.
"A career? I've thought about this quite a bit, sir, and I would have to say, considering what's waiting out there for me, I don't want to sell anything, buy anything or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed or buy anything sold or processed or repair anything sold, bought or processed as a career. I don't want to do that."
OK, back to wrestling with the dock...
L
New computer: eMac! Means I'm learning OSX. Slowly. Good news: now I have access to (listening to) the iTunes music store. And I can watch DVDs while I (don't) work. How ... productive! But I sure do like this new box.
And now, as a diversion, a quotation from one of my favourite movies ever, Say Anything.
"A career? I've thought about this quite a bit, sir, and I would have to say, considering what's waiting out there for me, I don't want to sell anything, buy anything or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed or buy anything sold or processed or repair anything sold, bought or processed as a career. I don't want to do that."
OK, back to wrestling with the dock...
L
Dramatic irony
Says Colin MacLean, "the dean of Edmonton theatre reviewers":
So who was Shakespeare? Well, perhaps Christopher Marlow [sic]. Marlow [sic] was reasonably educated and a brilliant playwright. But he was also a wastrel, an egomaniac and a heavy drinker. He supposedly died in a tavern brawl in 1593 about the time Shakespeare began to gain attention as a playwright. Conspiracy theorists suggest Marlow [sic] was wanted for treason, faked his own death and used Shakespeare as a cover for his subsequent writings.
I think the Citadel theatre needs an editor for its playbill. Checking the masthead, I learned that The Citadel Playbill is a Suggitt publication — say no more!
oh the sound of the wind through my bones makes me laugh...
—Jann Arden
Says Colin MacLean, "the dean of Edmonton theatre reviewers":
So who was Shakespeare? Well, perhaps Christopher Marlow [sic]. Marlow [sic] was reasonably educated and a brilliant playwright. But he was also a wastrel, an egomaniac and a heavy drinker. He supposedly died in a tavern brawl in 1593 about the time Shakespeare began to gain attention as a playwright. Conspiracy theorists suggest Marlow [sic] was wanted for treason, faked his own death and used Shakespeare as a cover for his subsequent writings.
I think the Citadel theatre needs an editor for its playbill. Checking the masthead, I learned that The Citadel Playbill is a Suggitt publication — say no more!
oh the sound of the wind through my bones makes me laugh...
—Jann Arden
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Happiness is a warm CD
You're my friend, you keep me going
You make me see where I went wrong
You make me laugh when things just don't seem funny
Things aren't funny anymore...
from "Tiny Thing," written by Charlotte Wiebe; recorded by Jenson Interceptor
• Thanks to those of you who send encouraging notes! I do enjoy writing. Now where did I put my hourglass?
love you,
Leslie
PS: Now reading: Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. This book is absurd and hilarious — it makes me cackle! Recently finished: Paul Quarrington, Whale Music. A lovely faux-biography. I miss the sixties...
You're my friend, you keep me going
You make me see where I went wrong
You make me laugh when things just don't seem funny
Things aren't funny anymore...
from "Tiny Thing," written by Charlotte Wiebe; recorded by Jenson Interceptor
• Thanks to those of you who send encouraging notes! I do enjoy writing. Now where did I put my hourglass?
love you,
Leslie
PS: Now reading: Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. This book is absurd and hilarious — it makes me cackle! Recently finished: Paul Quarrington, Whale Music. A lovely faux-biography. I miss the sixties...
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