As I've often said here before, you guys know everything about me. Good, bad and ugly. It becomes harder and harder over the years to give you all a new nugget of information about me. Especially one that can be read by mixed company. I recently realised my manager, any potential bosses, and anyone that I send an email to (it's in my signature) can read my craziness. So I can't put in the time I ate the (hee... can't go there). Or the time my pants (forget it...)
Anyway, this I can tell you. This is new and cool and won't get me fired. This is good. Ready?
I was in a movie with Kiefer Sutherland.
You read that right. I forgot all about it since it was almost 25 years ago. I remembered about it when I saw an old photo of the day my friend and I spent as extras. And no I'm not posting it. Remember? The aforementioned bosses et al.?
The movie was Crazy Moon. The year 1987. Doesn't that sound like the start of a Sophia Petrillo story? My friend and I won tickets on a radio station to be extras. The filming would take all day and later we'd be treated to a concert by the amazing band Rational Youth. You'd need a time machine to see how big they were in Montreal in the late '80s.
Kiefer was super nice to all of us and shook hands, gave autographs and took photos with everyone who wanted them. Back then he was actually more famous for being the son of Donald Sutherland but dammit, I wish I'd let down my Montreal-cool for 5 seconds for a photo with him. We just never thought he'd ever get that big. Ha-doy. Say it out loud.
The plot was pretty goofy. Typical Canadian movie of the times. It was about a dorky kid (Kiefer) in love with a deaf girl. That was pretty much it. Our part was to rock out in a club while Keifer showed the girl how to dance using the force....I mean the beats from the speakers she could feel. They must have filmed the little scene of Kiefer and the girl (Vanessa something and really deaf btw) walking past the tables in the club to the dance floor at least a million times. I was for sure getting my face on the silver screen. To my surprise when we finally got to see the movie, the entire scene from start to finish was about 10 seconds long and no Karen to be found. Damn. There went my claim to fame. At least the Rational Youth concert was great.
Thank goodness I'm still a superstar in my own mind. No shortage of self-esteem here. At least I dodged the dreaded fame bullet. All those people are completely nuts, highly spoiled and embarrassingly rich. Two out of three ain't bad. Right? Guys?
This was an email sent to me titled "Always Check Your Child's Homework"
(Here's the reply the teacher received the following day)
Dear Mrs. Jones,
I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer. I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had, and then I found one more in the back room, and that several people were fighting over who would get it. Her picture doesn't show me dancing around a pole. It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot. From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.
I just came back from the doctor and thankfully he said not to worry and not to make drastic changes in my life. He said that because I'm relatively stress-free and sorta fit, I can blame my high blood pressured parents for my newest condition.
He did say in order to manage it I should lose a "couple of pounds" (a couple means 2, right?) and keep the salt shaker off the table. No weird diets or medications. Thank the Lord above. Now pass mama her poutine.
Scott and I have been seeing the best picture nominees for the past 5 years. It's always fun because they're movies we wouldn't normally see (I'm a romantic comedy girl and he's a WWII true story guy), we get 5 kid-free dates in a month and the Oscar telecast has far more relevance if we've seen all the best picture movies. So in the next 4 weeks we're going to see:
-The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Frankly I would have preferred "WallE" and "Dark Knight" to "Frost/Nixon" and "Milk" (I never look forward to the American political movies they always nominate) but I've seen them already anyway. Besides, the movies I think I'm going to hate often surprise me ("Good Night and Good Luck" from last year was surprisingly good).
I can't wait to see "Slumdog..." since the buzz is deafening. I've always been an enormous fan of Bollywood movies (anything with Shah Rukh Khan) so a aminstream one? Deeelish! Oprah said someone compared "The Reader" to "soft-core porn" so that'll be interesting. And I get to watch the handsome adulterer Brad Pitt. A 4 week movie marathon with Scott that'll start on the weekend. Can't wait.
Scott and I have distinctly different ways of appreciating music. I didn't realize there could be more than one way. I really thought you liked certain songs or you didn't.
When I hear a song, I listen to the way the whole thing sounds. I sort of hear the whole thing at once and notice the feeling I have at the end of the song. Good feeling = liking the song. Bad feeling = yuck. Indifferent feeling = meh. My initial feeling can change through repeated listenings, either good or bad.
Scott, on the other hand, listens to all the components of a song right away. The melody, the words, everything. He'll hear something in a song that I never heard before, point it out once, then totally wreck the song for me.
He hates what he calls "playdough songs" For him that means a song that sounds like every other song out there. Like those songs that use that horrendous auto tune. You know the thing. The Cher-"Do-You-Believe-In Life-After-Love"-voice-distorter-thingie. Everybody seems to use that awful thing and every song sounds ridiculous. On that we both agree. Except for that new Kanye song. I like it there...
He'll pick out a crappy guitar break or keyboard section that I heard as a part of the whole and ruin it. It'll be the only thing I hear from then on and after that I start to not like the song too. Aargh!
Here is an example of the kind of song he loathes (because of the simple keyboard work and the fact that it sounds like the musicians are "unaccomplished") but I like because the whole song in general gives me a warm feeling:
Shall I tell you the entire story? Oh, why not. It's my blog and I'll do what I like. So there. But I will wait until you make yourself a tea or grab a sandwich...................
Okay, so here's the story. About 15 years ago I went to see a psychic. Among other things she knew I couldn't swim and told me that learning to do so would be one of the tasks I'd have to complete in this life. She also said I drowned in a previous life. How cool was that?
Anyway, I went to the Y and found a lifeguard who taught me the basics for free on a Saturday afternoon... floating and treading water. Finally I was unafraid of the water. A few months later Scott and I found ourselves in Jamaica and I went snorkelling for the first time ever. It was so beautiful I cried. It was the highlight of my trip. I could have done without the part where I was told by the boat captain to jump off the back of the boat into the water. I was never taught to jump in just to lower myself daintily into the pool. That was 10 minutes of whining and bargaining I'll never get back. Another shining moment in my life.
Since then I've been to pools, lakes, rivers and "swam". Jumped into deep water, treaded it like nobody's business, did the doggie paddle like a prize Newfoundland and when I got tired I floated on my back lazily in the sun. I participated in watersports and basically lived my summers like a bobbing buoy.
Fast forward to last summer's triathlon. Confident in my swimming ability, I get in the water with about 99 other yellow swim-capped participants. I hear the gun. I put my face in the water and start windmilling my arms. When I get tired I stand up and look around (the water portion takes place in boob deep water parallel to a sandy beach). Almost everyone had gone and I had only moved about 25 metres. Reality dawns. I. Can't. Swim.
I never really realized that not being afraid of the water, being able to float, being able to tread water, even swimming underwater and doing handstands, doesn't mean I can actually propel myself forward in any way shape or form. I started running (thank goodness for the water aerobics classes) and I came out of the water 3rd from last. In front of a lady that must have been 89 years old and a young girl that was looking for the timing chip that had fortunately for me fallen off her ankle in the melee at the gun. I made up for the non-swim during the bike portion and ended up 12th overall. Not too shabby. Imagine the damage I could do if I could actually swim?
Which brings us to this weekend. See, I made a promise to myself to learn to swim properly before the next tri this August. I already signed up for it so I'd better make good. I had my second lesson on Sunday afternoon. In 2 classes I've already learned 3 strokes (front and back crawls and breast stroke), did a few trick jumps, did a kneeling dive and even jumped off the diving board. Hell, I've never been prouder of myself. I can finally swim. Now if only I could rock a bathing suit and find a way to remind myself to shave my bikini area before I see all that lovely hair while practicing egg-beater kicks at the side of the pool. Then my summer would be perfect.
If you're on facebook then you have time to mindlessly entertain yourself by doing this.
1. Put Your iTunes on Shuffle. 2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer. 3. You must write down the name of the song no matter how silly it sounds! 4. Put any comments in brackets after the song name. 5. Tag at least 10 friends. 6. Anyone tagged has to do the same, because fun pointlessness spreads like a virus.
If someone says, “Is this okay?” You say? Bodyrock- Moby
How would you describe yourself? Stay With You- John Legend
What do you like in a guy/girl? Dying to Live Again- Hedley
How do you feel today? The Hanging Garden- The Cure
What is your life’s purpose? La Copa de la Vida- Ricky Martin
What is your motto? Noorie- Bally Sagoo
What do your friends think of you? Pop Culture- Creature
What do you think of your parents? Just a Girl- No Doubt
What do you think about very often? 2 The Sky- Robin Thicke
What is 2 + 2? Son of a Preacher Man- Dusty Springfield
What do you think of your best friend? Dear Blank- Hedley
What do you think of the person you like? Koop Island Blues- Koop
What is your life story? Electrico- Tim's Myth
What do you want to be when you grow up? What Difference Does It Make- The Smiths (this is the only remotely interesting one so far!)
What do you think of when you see the person you like? Middle Of The Road- The Pretenders (hee.)
What will you dance to at your wedding? Ask Myself- Robin Thicke
What will they play at your funeral? A Night To Remember- High School Musical 3 Soundtrack (I laughed for ages when this came up)
What is your hobby/interest? Radio Silence- Blue Peter
What is your biggest fear? Por Arriba Por Abajo- Ricky Martin
What is your biggest secret? She is Beautiful- Andrew WK
What do you think of your friends? Mozart's Piano Concerto Number 20 in D Minor
What will you put as the title? American Boy- Estelle
I'd like to apologise for the pathetic-ness of this survey. Usually when I do these at least half make sense or are funny. This one was neither. But at least you can see what I have on iTunes. Pretty eclectic if I do say so myself...
I hate the Mini Pops. You know. The kids that sing popular songs aimed toward children? I think it's vile for lots of reasons. They were popular in the 80s and I recently saw a commercial for them again at Christmastime. They're now singing modern songs like Fergie and the Pussycat Dolls. But see? That's one of the problems right there. Little girls singing lyrics like "I see you watching me, watching me, and I know you want it"? Ew.
As a general rule I hate when kids sing. Their voices are like nails on a blackboard for me. It was a problem when I did daycare for 10 years and still is at every single one of my kids' school shows since Elliott was in kindergarten. I've since learned to grin and bear it. But those tears in my eyes aren't from joy. Children's music was and is banned from my house and car. If the kids want to listen to music, they get the radio and like it.
And that's my point with the Mini Pops. Why not just get the original song from iTunes? What's the big deal with the originals? If you are going to let them listen to Fergie songs anyway, why not let Fergie do the singing? I don't know. The whole Mini Pops thing seems like a useless cash grab or a pedophile's dream. You choose.
This show is comedy gold. Especially right now when the judges are sifting through all the sadly deluded teens to get to the ones who can actually sing. On Monday night I watched in shock, horror and immense delight as the ever sensitive Ryan Seacrest tried to give a visually impaired man a high five. I think I pulled a groin muscle laughing so hard. This is going to be the best few weeks ever. Seacrest out.
I just got through cleaning out my shoe closet. And yes, I have a shoe closet. I wanted to pare down a little and donate the ones that I don't wear anymore or find too unfashionable. I tossed out about twenty pairs, leaving me with only 41. And that doesn't count the boots. I have 7 pairs of those.
I'd much rather buy a pair of shoes that cost $15 and lasts 2 years than a $100 pair that lasts forever. Why? Because I'm fickle, that's why. I'll definitely hate the shoe I buy today tomorrow. So why pay a ton? Now, of course the above statement won't count when it comes to my someday Louboutins. The $800 I'm willing to spend would be an investment. Not in my kids' future but in my future happiness. Sigh.
Why so many? Well I'm not a guy. I can't get by on one pair of dress shoes, one pair of sneakers and one pair of sandals. It's positively barbaric. This is the way women think. Guys, listen up. Let's take simple black shoes for example. I have (and need): -a strappy pair of heeled sandals (for summer) -2 pairs of heeled pumps: 1 leather, 1 suede -2 medium height heels: one leather wedge for every day, one kitten heel (look it up) -a pair of ballet flats -a pair of black Converse -black flipflops -a pair of black water shoes
Anyway, check out the shoes I dumped. Audrey will try them on first then off they go to charity letting the rest of my shoes stretch out a bit. Then I need to think about filling the new holes created by my charity. Oh, the work that needs to be done...
I have to say that the boy (my brother) gives the best gifts ever. He has an incredible way of spending very little money on something he knows will bring immense joy. Very unique for a man.
I'll skim over the time he bought my kids those "Robots" stomp around boots. I'll never forgive him for that one. The singlemost irritating gift humanly possible. He did that on purpose to drive me nuts, I know it. Funniest gift? When I got married he gave me a lovely wrapped box the size of a brick. It weighed about 100 pounds. Seriously. When I got it unwrapped I saw that it was a bunch of rolled up nickels. $100 worth. He later told me that he'd wanted to give them to me loose. The boy is evil. He once gave a girlfriend a cow's heart for Valentine's Day. Ugh.
Anyway, this is what I got from him this year. Say what you want about the guy but he sure knows his intended victims. The Year Without a Santa Claus is my favourite Rankin-Bass joint.
Well, I don't make any. I usually just break them and disappoint myself. This year I did make a vow to get more active over the winter, though. I tend to save my exercise and fitness for the summer what with dragonboat, jogging and biking. In the winter I do nothing. Less than nothing. I bake, eat, wear bulky sweaters and hide in the house until the temperature reaches above 10C. This unfortunate habit makes the first few times I get out in the summer a sweaty, stroke provoking endeavour.
So on Sunday I'll start weekly swimming lessons and Monday night will be my first yoga class in over 2 years. I also want to do my pushups again. Maybe situps too.
So you won't see me skiing or snowshoeing anytime soon. I loathe outdoors in the winter. You may find me skating on the canal, though. I can't resist those hot chocolate and beavertail shacks.
I like commercials. Sometimes more than I think is necessary or even medically sane. I've been known to, while zooming through stuff on tape, stop before the ads are done to watch one I've never seen before. I know how it looks.
I spend more time than is healthy thinking about ads. What I especially like to do is if there are 2 or more people in a commercial, I like to try to figure out what their relationship is. Once Scott and I had a comically long discussion about 2 women in a commercial. I was convinced that they were daughter-in-law/mother-in-law, and Scott was convinced they were neighbours. We never settled that one.
So lately there's been another one where one woman is making a family dinner and another comes into the kitchen asking to help. The first woman says she could bring in the gravy. The second woman is surprised she's not making it from scratch. They're pretty close to the same age and from the way they're talking to each other, they're clearly not sisters or even friends. Scott and I have discussed it and we've decided. Sisters-in-law.
Right now in Ottawa we are enduring a transit strike. I've been vocal in my distaste for the striking bus drivers, saying they should run at least one crosstown bus for people who can't get around or maybe have transit declared an essential service like Toronto or Montreal so they'd at least have to run the buses at rush hours. That's what I say out loud.
But deep down, a little part of my heart is singing. See, we have a car. Almost every day Scott and I left it behind and took the bus to work. Now, because of the strike, I get to drive every day. Heaven. The only down side is that I haven't listened to my mp3 in over a month. The upside? No transit related panic attacks, no standing on a moving vehicle, no one stepping on my feet, no more having my face jammed into stranger's damp armpits because of my diminutiveness, no waiting for a bus that doesn't come, timely arrivals at home, no searching for bus tickets, no 15 minute walk to and from the bus stop...
That evil, secret part of me wants the strike to go on forever. I know. It's so wrong...
Can I just say that I love a good exciting hockey game? I swear, it's the best, most exciting sport out there. And I can say that because it's my blog. There is no better sport in existence.
Saturday night Scott and I watched the Canada v. Russia World Junior Championship semi-final. The game that would see the winner play Sweden for the gold medal. Holy crap, I don't think I've ever seen a better hockey game. They went back and forth with the scoring until the Russians were in the lead 5-4 with 5 seconds left in the game. Then a cute little boy named Eberle (I say this because they are juniors and old enough to be my children) scored with 5 seconds left in the game. We were beside ourselves with joy. I dion't think I've ever screamed so loud. No score in overtime led to a shootout where we won it. Fantastic!
At the risk of boring you guys even more, I have to say that junior hockey is so much more exciting than NHL (which is pretty cool in its own right, to be perfectly frank). I just hate the idea of bloated millionnaires chasing the puck just to earn the oversized novelty paycheque I wanted when I won the 6/49. These junior boys just play for love of the game with grit and heart. They're still in high school for goodness sake. Some are already draughted into the big leagues but most will never make it. This is their hour of glory. I hope they enjoy it while they can. Because soon they'll be sitting behind their desks in the public service while their former teammates date models and buy ridiculously expensive mouthguards. I hope they remember how much joy they brought us back in the day.
You really have to think at this time of the season how far you'd go to take care of those you love. I can't go into details but suffice it to say that a good friend of our family has gotten himself into a "spot of bother". There was a debate as to whether he'd stay here over the holidays. It turned out that it wasn't necessary but it really made us think about Christian values (even though we're more of a karma-do-unto-others kinda family) and the true value of friendship. When someone reaches out to you do you slap their hand away because it inconveniences you?
It doesn't matter what religion you are. You don't turn away a friend in need. You just don't. But man, we really had to think hard about this one.
No matter what you say, Ottawa is a small city. Oh, it tries to be big with it's aloofness, business centre, art galleries and rush hour traffic. Bless 'em.
But it's a small city. We have crappy mass transit, you can drive from the airport to anywhere in town in 20 minutes or under, coyotes and deer often wander into town and make the 6:00 news. But that's not what I want to use to prove my point. What should I use to prove my point that Ottawa is a teeny tiny town? The fact that Ottawa has had 10 murders in 2008. Ten.
That's not to say that there haven't been traffic accidents or other tragic circumstances that caused death. But Ottawans have lost their minds and purposefully taken another life only ten times last year. I know this is going to sound callous but how cute is that?
I once told my friend Kathy about this phenomenon a while ago. One 6-murder year when she was living in Miami. She told me that there were 6 murders in her apartment building that morning. Now she was joking but still. I think that makes this town quaint and safe. And a lovely place to live and bring up children. And still get a decent pair of Louboutins. If you can afford them.
I'm a married mother of 3. I'm Canadian. I'm a Whovian, a sci-fi nerd, a ukulele player, knitter, cartoon/animé lover and a tv/pop culture-holic, I keep a blog that inflates my already swollen ego. I'm not all that interesting but I have high self-esteem which makes up for it.
Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Let's talk about the stuff I love.