Canada, je t'aime...

Canada, je t'aime. Dans toute ta majesté, je m'endors dans tes bras, sûrs enfin de ce que je ne sais pas.

I am in love with you in a way that I cannot describe.

lashings of the old ultra-violence or: the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry...

I found myself this past weekend, after a fairly heavy conversation, wandering the streets of my neighbourhood in what felt like a search for some lashings of the old ultra-violence. All I needed was a bowler hat and a cane and some poor unexpected louse to give a good lashing. Why I was filled with such thoughts, I don't know. I listened to "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" over and over again until I thought my brain would burst. I walked with purpose and agitation. I clutched everything I passed in my hands. I was immensely frustrated and hugely perplexed at a very unexpected situation.

Then the sky got very dark and it started to rain so hard that the old lashings of ultra-violence were turned back at me and I took several pieces of hail to the face. I laughed at myself and finally decided to change the song. I let my mind wander and tried to think things through. Surely none of the ideas proposed had been bad ones, that was true. In fact, most of them had been good ones. But then the doubt set in. But what if it's a Steinbeck novel and our best laid plans leave me killing a mouse and then a lady and we're run out of town before we buy the farm of our dreams? What if it's the Jeffrey Eugenides Virgin Suicides version where my head's already in the oven while you're out warming the car for our getaway?

The hail stopped and the sun came out and I made it home in one piece. My inklings towards the old ultra-violence had passed and I had quelled my Steinbeckian fears momentarily. I was beginning to like the sound of saying "yes" to you, which came as a pleasant surprise, indeed.

if i had a million dollars...

I would buy a van and drive to Mexico and fill it with catrinas. Especially these ones. These are the most beautiful I've ever seen. Anyone looking to drop $800 on me? Pretty, pretty please?

good burns worth writing down...

I would just like to point out that calling someone a "dirt bag" or "dirt sandwich" is way funnier than I remembered. As is giving someone a "knuckle sandwich". Anything in a sandwich is pretty funny, well almost anything. I remember going to Mabel Lake with my dad when I was six and my dad threatened to give his shady friend Barry a knuckle sandwich after Barry cut his thumb off with the axe in a drunken attempt to chop wood. Even at five I thought that shit was pretty funny.

Just like I think toilet papering cars is funny. Sometimes I'm reminded that I'm actually only 13. Or drive-by mooning people. That's pretty funny, too. It's pretty crazy what sorts of inventive shit you can come up with being a youth in Vernon when you were underage and the only liquor stores out there were government owned meaning that you had to plan weeks in advance to get any booze.

Those were the days.

I'll bet you think this post is about you...

Well, it probably is. My mind is still reeling, so how about that?

don't ask me again...

I just gave someone the most selfless advice ever. It took everything I had to do it. Even though it was contrary to every feeling and intention in both my heart and my head. Even though the thought of it makes me want to die.

Don't ask me again, okay? Because I don't think I could tell you the truth again. I don't think I could tell you to do what feels right despite all my selfish delusions.

Et comme le vent il s’en allait. Et moi je suis réveillée. J'étais seule encore.

thank you for the music...

What can I say? Mamma Mia was everything I had hoped for and more! Cheesy "everything in Greece is perfect all the time" set. Check. Soundtrack from my gestation. Check. About ten martinis too many. Check. Mild hangover. Check. Check.

After my parents saw Mamma Mia, my life was not complete according to them, until I had seen it. I put off seeing it in London, knowing that it was coming to Calgary and I knew that if I couldn't see it with my own mother, the next best person, Glenda Ducharme, would gladly accompany me. We had a fabulous time. Anyone who thinks music can't change the world obviously hasn't seen standing room only at the Jubilee, blonde hairs, blue hairs, cell phones, oxygen tanks, all dancing in the aisles, innumerable Dancing Queens thanking ABBA for the music that surprisingly we've all grown to know and love.

An aside, well two asides actually.
1. I have a new found appreciation for my mom and her bookclub aged crew. It takes a will far far stronger than the one I currently possess to be able to sip more than one dry vodka martini without making a face and running for the toilet.
2. Waking up at 7:30am at a mom-aged sleep over to Ray Charles crooning all throughout the house, fresh squeezed juice and croissants for breakfast. This is bliss, people.

If I could, I'd retire today.