and more in the spirit of new years.

futureme.org.

Such A Good Idea.

Inadvertent immortality.

987056 told me about some strange archive site where supposedly some cyber-entity is archiving previous incarnations of websites all and sundry. I went there today, only to come face to face with archived pages from my websites, since the year of 2002. Eek. How would one blush on the internet?
That said, I found a page on a previous site where I had posted pictures of some of the choicest of my old mail art; I don't even know where that stuff is anymore! Probably lurking in a suitcase. But fascinating nonetheless.

The Glorious and Scathingly Brilliant Who.

Mr. (Tom) Baker of course.
Presently 70 and living in Tunbridge Wells.
Hear him sing "How Soon is Now" here.

And whilst listening, read below for the pithy pleasures he entertained me with this evening. Be still my enamoured (although un-bescarfed) neck.

the Doctor (the Real one):
i've been tied to pillars by better men than you, captain.

good looks are no substitute for a sound character.

Bafflegab, my dear!

It's an economic miracle, of course it's wrong.

His compatriots:
do you mean they slammed him to the wall with "good vibrations"?

I'm concentrating on the doctor's mind, don't disturb me.

And the arch villains, occasionally rife with cleverness themselves. (Although not quite so dreamy. They don't wear the scarf, after all.)

you dare to lay the rotting fruits of your own incompetence at my door?

your manner appeals only to the homicidal side of my nature.

by the left frontal lobe of the fiery demon, Fibuli!

EXTERMINATE. EXTERMINATE.

(and this from the New Who)
go canoodle her spoon, or whatever it is you British do.

voice-mail dooms us all.

assam and "Little Miss Disaster"

tea and the Damned.
What a Perfect way to start the morning.
Merci bien 073666.

one night stands.

i have of course told everyone who will listen about my latest little book project, rendering the whole idea banal and done with at best, but regardless, here is one of the drawings from my "one-night stands" book, which will be launching with my art window at Pages in January 2007. the project has been...highly enjoyable.

magic.

Seeing as it is a spiritual time of year, i cast about for a bit of relevant reading yesterday, and re-introduced myself to some basic thoughts on magic, courtesy of Mr. Grant (thumpa thumpa) Morrison, of Invisibles fame.
He lays out his basic priniciples of sigil-making here; stuff which I paid A Whole Lot of attention to ( I went down to DisinfoCon in New York in 2000, specifically to hear Morrison speak.)
GM talks about two kinds of magic in his PopMagic manifesto (and in Pop Magic part two). There is your basic sigil-making-focusing-your-will stuff, and then there is what he calls "narrative hypersigils". For him, this was The Invisibles. Basically the man drew himself into a comic book existence to parallel one he wanted to see for himself.

Both are very similiar to principles of living well or being ones real self, it seems to me. Namely, one has to make a decision, strip it down to the essentials necessary for said decision to manifest itself, and then stop thinking about said decision and let the will run its course.

And if necessary, fake it 'til you make it.

I've struggle with this. I am an empiricist, and I trust the reality of what I see with my own eyes. I trust facts. I'm too aware of "faking" to do it well.
I have based my ideas of "truth" on these facts for a long long time, except for those unfortunate times when my emotions get in the way. More and more I am coming to understand that honesty means Squat when there is more than one person involved. There are as many kinds of honesty as there are people in the universe.

Lately I've been pondering the fact that the liars might be more trustworthy than those who tell "the truth".
When you listen to someone's lie, you listen to what they need/want/aspire too, unassailed by illusions of morality, insecurity, or responsibility to others. This, I admit, is dangerous. But everything in the right context, it seems to me.

a small piece of wisdom (possibly misquoted) from Mark Twain

"History doesn't repeat itself, it rhymes."

and what did i get for Christmas?

a tin monkey who solves problems with his feet and his groin.
I would say i was kidding.
but i'm not.
i Love it.

clever little me.

well, i didn't make too many gifts this christmas, and i haven't yet given them all to their recipients, so some remain unspoken of. I did knit a pair of very lumpy armwarmers for one friend ("you gave her your time and your love! R said. ah yes, that is my time and love, crooked and lumpy, with strings hanging out everywhere.) gave a drawing from the past to another friend (said friend has suggested I should refer to my friends as numbers, so as to avoid privacy issues. so, to friend 163478, i gave a piece of history), and i...well, you will have to re-visit, dear readers if you want to know what friend 231079 got for Christmas.
But back to my armwarmers, I did redeem myself to their recipient with these what I thought to be rather clever t-shirt transfers, made by scanning scrabble letters into funny little tidbits relevant to their recipients. The first two for a couple dedicated to most persistent scrabble challenging, the third for a fellow fan of Jeannette Winterson's powerbook ("carbon-based primitive in a silicon world"), and for myself, 'coz i had some extra transfer paper, the last most timely warning.

"new you"

a message from above that little ad men tapped in tin onto the billboard across the street over the course of today. of course, from the angle I took the photo, the "you" is obscured. sigh.

Harassment.

Having just posted nudey photos of my work cohorts (I got permission from them, dear reader(s)), i feel there can be no more apt time to move quite to the other end of the spectrum to rant endlessly about a rather uncomfortable situation I find myself in frequently these days, with nary a clear solution.

I work more than one job, dear reader(s), and my other place of employment finds most of my colleagues fairly consistently clothed. This is a great relief to me, specifically in the case of one gentlemen I occasionally find myself working alongside, who pays FAR TOO MUCH ATTENTION TO MY PERSONAL LIFE. FAR TOO MUCH.
It began sometime back with your average work chatter, what do you do, where do you live, etc etc. Not unusual. From most people, this kind of chatter I find both welcome and immensely edifying.
However, in this case, things graduated to a point where this gentleman, a self-confessed illiterate when it comes to computers, was reading my (previous) blog daily and visiting my (rarely changed) website regularly (or so it seemed, judging from the comments about it) At work he would comment on events in my life back to me in greater detail than I ever outlined in this silly cyber-preoccupation of mine.
I began to realize that something one-sided was going on, but how does one stop being amicable, with someone who is being "kind" and "considerate", by most peoples judgement?
When I printed my first comic, and threw away a badly coloured one, this man protested, grabbing the book and saying he would like to keep it, despite already owning a copy of the completed book. At the time I was indifferent to the matter.
A month or so later he confessed that every time he goes to one of the bookstores that carries them in the city, he buys a copy, so now I no longer know if my books are actually selling, or if they are piling up in this man's personal environs.
These days I cannot enter the room without being leered at, and somehow such things as orange juice appear for me on the lunch table when I'm sick, despite NOT asking for it, despite expressly insisting that I am not in need of anything.

A month ago I moved house. This gentleman has asked me where I live THREE times now. Specifically. He isn't content with "the west end" or any response like that. And he isn't content with "I moved TO A DIFFERENT ADDRESS" either.
When male friends visit me at work, there is an impromptu quiz about who they are, what they do, "my, (they are) handsome" etc etc.

For a long time I have tried to accomodate these questions with pleasant vaguaries, in the interest of keeping the peace (read: being passive agressive). This has been, of course, completely ineffectual.

My next step was to begin pointing out to this man that he pays far too much attention to my personal life. This was greeted with a chuckle on his behalf, along with some vage sort of disclaimer.

Finally, the other day, when he mentioned that he had read about a friend of mine in the latest uTOpia book (about culture and the arts in Toronto), identifying her by her first name, as if she was an acquaintance of his, i announced that she is NOT his friend, and HE REALLY PAYS FAR TOO MUCH ATTENTION TO MY PERSONAL LIFE.
His retort? "well, she's in (the book) for anyone to read about"
How do I argue this, dear reader(s)? Of course, nothing about her relationship with me is "in the book", but he remains staunchly oblivious to the inference that HE HAS CROSSED EVERY RESPECTABLE BOUNDARY ONE CAN CROSS WITH A COMPLETE STRANGER whose only shared connection is the workplace lunch table.

Now, all of this seems to imply a simple solution, non? Keep Away. Plain and simple. This man, rife with good intentions as he sees them (and they no doubt are), has absolutely NO intention of listening to my complete lack of interest in him, or my increasing discomfort with being constantly waylaid with attentions that even my ex-boyfriends wouldn't indulge in.

Now here, dear reader(s) is the problem. This gentlemen runs two of the machines I need to use to do my own book projects. And, try as I might, I cannot get him or anyone to teach me how to use them INDEPENDENTLY if I decide to use them off my own accord, it is pointed out that I am doing a far from perfect job, and this gentleman inevitably steps in to improve on it, Completely Ignoring my entreaty that I am not in fact Interested in doing a perfect job, I am interested in doing the project on my own. I have attempted to negotiate these jobs in trade, since the gentleman has an affection for scotch, but now my offer of compensation to ensure that the arrangement is seen as a business one is greeted with a voluble tirade that he WILL NOT help me if i purchase him anything of the sort.

The difficult thing is, I need to use the machines, I need help using them (at the moment) I am grateful for the help. These projects are SO important to me. I need to make the books. There isn't a question here. That is a mutual understanding. Unfortunately.

Good intentions, ladies and gentlemen.
"Good Intentions".

What's a girl to do?

WELL.

it's time. I am officially casting everything shamelessly aside to post naked pictures of my work colleagues on the internet.
Enjoy.



(ok. I have to add a disclaimer. I promised I would, and it's only fair. All of this silliness is photoshop. All of it Disarmingly seamless photoshop, but photoshop nonetheless. i have no idea who owns the bodies I have put my work colleagues heads upon. But here's a toast to them!)

One of our staff gratuitous nudey shots for an eccentric old man in Patagonia

as a small token of thank you for the most Extravagant and Life-Changing Dinner I will ever be a part of. Permission to post the naked photos of my work colleagues on the internet are still pending approval. Stay tuned.

ib thick.

Having been bested by a BLASTED cold, i find myself doing the useless meandering things one does when one doesn't even have the energy to eat a corn flake. This in my email, gratuitous time waster, but so funny...

Once again, The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly neologism contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.

The winners are:

1. Coffee (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.
3 . Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.
6. Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.
7. Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle (n.), olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence (n.) emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism (n.), (back by popular demand): The belief that, when you die, your Soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Circumvent (n.), an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

The Washington Post's Style Invitational also asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are this year's winners:

1. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
2. Foreploy (v): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
3. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house,which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
4. Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very,very high.
5. Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
6. Inoculatte (v): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
7. Hipatitis (n): Terminal coolness.
8. Osteopornosis (n): A degenerate disease. (This one got extracredit.)
9. Karmageddon (n): its like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
10. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
11. Glibido (v): All talk and no action.
12. Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
13. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
14. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
15. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you're eating.

And the pick of the literature:

16. Ignoranus (n): A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

The questionable state of The Golden Rule.

Although not always consciously, I have laboured much under this bloody thing as a basic tenet of living. Forever in fact. More and more in the last year or so though, i've been feeling like it's rubbish, since I don't treat myself half as well as I treat most people, and often I find myself spending alot of time treating many people like gold who, in my world anyhow, just aren't worth it.
Anyhow.
Today i was informed that the original version of this rule, before the good Jesus changed it, was in fact this: "What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor" - [Hillel to a heathen (Judaism)]

Think about it for a second. It's not the same thing at all. Where's the senseless sacrifice, the martyrdom, the servility?

Googling further into the matter, I discovered these examples from other eastern religions:

"Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful." (Udana-Varga 5:18) (Buddhism)

"This is the sum of the Dharma: Do naught unto others which would cause you pain if done to you" (Mahabharata 5:15:17) (Hinduism)

And this from Wikipedia: Older Eastern culture formulations (Confucius, Hillel) tend to be passive or negative, while in Western culture, it is most commonly rendered as an active or proscriptive form, beginning with "do", "love" or "treat."

And while it is a rare moment that i advocate the passive over the active, or the negative over the positive for that matter, I wonder in this case. I really really wonder.

zen Osho.

A friend of mine recently introduced me to this tarot deck (or rather the real tarot deck, of which this link is the online version). It's not the conventional fool, kings and cups sort, but involves suits of cards that are the elements of nature and such.
Reading into it, it's super lovely, although I confess some of it I find a bit too ethereal for my liking. But I've felt that way about practically everything I've encountered in life that involves faith and belief, so whatever. And it is at times disarmingly accurate.
Anyhow.
Feeling rather faithless and anxious this evening, I indulged in one of their online multi card readings, and got this:
(warning: long and probably of little interest to anyone but me. Don't say i don't look out for you, dear reader[s])

TRANSFORMATION.

A master in Zen is not simply a teacher. In all the religions there are only teachers. They teach you about subjects which you don't know, and they ask you to believe because there is no way to bring those experiences into objective reality. Neither has the teacher known them - he has believed them; he transfers his belief to somebody else.

Zen is not a believer's world. It is not for the faithful ones; it is for those daring souls who can drop all belief, unbelief, doubt, reason, mind, and simply enter into their pure existence without boundaries. But it brings a tremendous transformation.

Hence, let me say that while others are involved in philosophies, Zen is involved in metamorphosis, in a transformation. It is authentic alchemy: it changes you from base metal into gold. But its language has to be understood, not with your reasoning and intellectual mind but with your loving heart. Or even just listening, not bothering whether it is true or not. And a moment comes suddenly that you see it, which has been eluding you your whole life. Suddenly, what Gautam Buddha called "eighty-four thousand doors" open.

Osho Zen: The Solitary Bird, Cuckoo of the Forest Chapter 6
Commentary:

The central figure in this card sits atop the vast flower of the void, and holds the symbols of transformation - the sword that cuts through illusion, the snake that rejuvenates itself by shedding its skin, the broken chain of limitations, and the yin/yang symbol of transcending duality. One of its hands rests on its lap, open and receptive. The other reaches down to touch the mouth of a sleeping face, symbolizing the silence that comes when we are at rest.

This is a time for a deep let-go. Allow any pain, sorrow, or difficulty just to be there, accepting its "facticity." It is very much like the experience of Gautam Buddha when, after years of seeking, he finally gave up, knowing there was nothing more that he could do. That very night, he became enlightened.

Transformation comes, like death, in its own time. And, like death, it takes you from one dimension into another.

OR SO I THOUGHT.
Then i realized i got the reading of the cards wrong, and that card was not in fact the "Me" representative card at all. This was: (and yes, there is more)

INNOCENCE.

Zen says that if you drop knowledge - and within knowledge everything is included; your name, your identity, everything, because this has been given to you by others - if you drop all that has been given by others, you will have a totally different quality to your being: innocence. This will be a crucifixion of the persona, the personality, and there will be a resurrection of your innocence. You will become a child again, reborn.

Osho Dang Dang Doko Dang Chapter 7
Commentary:

The old man in this card radiates a childlike delight in the world. There is a sense of grace surrounding him, as if he is at home with himself and with what life has brought. He seems to be having a playful communication with the praying mantis on his finger, as if the two of them are the greatest friends. The pink flowers cascading around him represent a time of letting go, relaxation and sweetness. They are a response to his presence, a reflection of his own qualities.

The innocence that comes from a deep experience of life is childlike, but not childish. The innocence of children is beautiful, but ignorant. It will be replaced by mistrust and doubt as the child grows and learns that the world can be a dangerous and threatening place. But the innocence of a life lived fully has a quality of wisdom and acceptance of the ever-changing wonder of life.

Rats. I think I preferred the first one. Isn't there something to be said for the significance of error, even in the art of reading...erm...online tarot cards?

small moment of petty, immature, gossipy Bliss.

When i was in publishing school two years ago, we had a class discussion towards the end of the year about the term assignments/workload etc. At the time we were putting together two issues of a 24 page magazine. I was happy and lucky enough to be art director of one of said issues, until I realized this meant collecting stuff from 40 different people who were also battling their own strained schedules, most of whom didn't know computers super well (including myself, at times) which created difficulties, whilst trying to please them all in terms of how the magazine looked, and doing 5 or whatever other classes and full-time work as well.
I suggested that perhaps the project could be structured differently in the future, since the work load was disparate, depending on the positions each student had.
One of my more clever "colleagues", who had procured herself the "magazine launch party" planning position, put up her hand and loudly announced to the whole class that I was obviously not capable of handling the work load because I had never finished university. I turned to her and said WHAT?!?! (font size indeterminably large), the whole class went silent, and then the teacher, a diplomatic sort, glossed over the whole thing and we moved on.

So tonight, there is no way for me to contain myself after somehow hearing that the impertinent cow just got a chin implant.
That's right. A chin implant. Of Course.
I Fucking Love It.

sweet balls of christ...

it's christmas in 11 days, and i haven't finished making even ONE of my christmas gifts yet. What's an overachiever to do?!? (sounds of stifled sobbing in the corner).

and obviously i have yet to master posting pictures in beta blogger.

One of the things about gutting a place before moving in is you can personalize it in ways hitherto unthought of. Thanks to the remarkably clever idea of my assistant homewrecker/builder Ishmael (or so he is named for the purposes of this blog) this whole wall building conquest will be remembered when armageddon comes.

Was Scrooge a Zen Master?

now i am Infamous for my, how shall we say, parsimonious ways. but it was only today, putting up my very economical (and accordingly stunning) bookshelves, that i heard myself utter what is in fact my mantra when it comes to these things:
"They'll do. After all, i can't take 'em with me when i leave the country or when i die."

silly, really.

unsolicited submissions and a tiny, tiny world.

I was reading a short essay on a self-publishing project the other day that had been submitted to Br...ck (ah, ellipses, bane of the spambot world). It was about two people who had put a book project together that no one would publish, and so they decided to publish it themselves. They approached Co..ch Haus (heheh) about printing it.

It was only at this moment that I realized i was now passing judgement on a process essay about one of the first books I was responsible for putting together when I started working there last year.

Well, i did manage to find out they were immensely happy with the results!

small victories.

For almost two months I have been unsuccessfully calling Annex Property Management, the people who deal with my old apartment building (yes googlers, that's ANNEX PROPERTY MANAGEMENT, or perhaps if you google "Incompetent Dickheads" you would arrive at the same agency.) It's about my rent-interest cheque, a measly $60, but they have been negligent for my entire tenancy, and assholes to boot, so now it's the principle of the matter.
They had, of course, not returned one phone call.
And so, upon vacating the building, I decided that the gate key (a special security gate key that is costly to replicate) would come with me, as well as my apartment and mail keys.
And today i get a phone call from the above, telling me that (shocker) they still have my rent-interest cheque, and perhaps I could meet up with the superintendent and make a "swap"?

small victories, dear reader(s). It's all about the small victories.

we can double your one-eye monster size.

oh spam.
how you brighten my day with the boundless stretch of possibility.
would that they could, i think. would that they COULD.

a fashionable day

there are few things more immediately gratifying than leaving the house in legwarmers, i've decided.
especially stripey ones.

thank you doctor dictionary.

Today's Word: Dwam (Noun)

Pronunciation: ['dwæm]

Definition 1: 1) A fainting fit, a swoon; 2) a daydream.

Usage 1: In north-eastern Scotland a sickly child can be called "dwamie" or "dwamish," demonstrating that the two meanings of "dwam" are not as far apart as they at first appear. The feverish child not only feels faint, but may also drift off into half-waking reveries. To be "in a dwam" is to be far gone in a daydream. The verb "to dwam" means "to faint," but to "dwam over" is simply to drift off gently to sleep or to take a nap.

Suggested Usage: "Dwamming over" is just as pleasant as it sounds: "I had just dwammed over nicely last Sunday afternoon, when some idiot phoned the wrong number and woke me up." But going into a dwam at the wrong moment can be problematic: "I came out of a dwam at the last board meeting to discover I'd been elected to chair the pay-review committee."

Etymology: Originally spelled "dwalm," this word reaches back to an old Germanic "strong" verb, the sort that switches vowels as it changes tense, like "swim : swam." In this case it shifted from "dwel-" to "dwal-" to "dwol-", and meant something like "to be stunned" or "to go astray." From the present tense of the same verb we have derived English "dwell," which originally meant "to delay" or "to desist from action," and only later shifted to take on its modern meaning of staying in one place for some time.

item number 16 you don't want to find when scrubbing under the veggie drawer in the fridge in your new apartment.

hair.

(NOT MY) HAIR.

(shiver)

permission to create a tiny bloggy window into the witticisms of the UCCS.

I was asked earlier this month if I would like to apply to be a member of the UCCS. I was thrilled. Just now, I've received note that I might share these witticisms with anyone lucky enough to stumble upon this blog. And so, dear reader(s), I refer you to the posts of a week or so back, and then the application update, followed by my joyous acceptance.

on the signboard of a useless accessory store.

"how many times do i have to tell you i'm not going to lick that icky thing?"

someone's purple bum.

went to an art opening tonight at the Wallace space, and amidst the countless wonderful installations was a wall with four squares cut out in it, two of which framed human skin in different, changing capacities over the course of the night. When I arrived up at the wall, people were deliberating over the one, which was a purple poke-worthy bit that seemed much like a belly. Some strange lady and I had a mini-debate over whether it was a belly or a bum, which of course ended in me going up and poking said unknowable body part, which was covered in purple body paint.
Moments later the portion of skin shifted, and what appeared in the square frame?
a bum crack, ladies and gentlemen.
a bum crack.
i poked a purple bum this evening.
could i be Any More Bohemian?

blessed geeky bookmark.

Went into She Said Boom today, and chuckled (a bit melancholily, to be honest) to see my own books gracing their bookshelves, product of my recent purge. Noticed a bookmark sticking out of Proust's Remembrance of Things Past. Couldn't remember if it was volume 1 or volume 2 i had sold, both are books I enjoyed reading BUT NEVER WILL AGAIN let's face it.
Anyhow. Knowing I have left many a bookmark loitering between the dustcovers, with small quips and comments on them, I reached for volume 1 where said bookmark was lurking to see. Well. It was volume 2 I guess I had unhanded, this volume 1 belonged to someone else, also with the same careless habit of abandoning bookmarks.
But, like me, said previous owner had obviously gotten tired of reading Proust with a dictionary constantly at the ready, and had taken to writing unknown words on his/her bookmarks, to look up later. I pondered a moment, tearily almost, at the length of time it took me to investigate all these gaps in my vocabulary. Bookmark after bookmark I went through those books with, covered in 20 letter words, thanks to Proust (and his translator no doubt) having Far too much time on his hands in a sickbed.
But at the time and onwards, i thought I was the only one neurotically determined enough to not have one unknown word slip by me. So yay, mysterious reader, yay to You. And yay to you for finally deciding that yes, Proust has had his time, and now he must to the second hand bookshop to grace yet another aspiring genius with his lengthy and most wordy nostalgia.

Sunday, 26 November, 1.08am, courtesy of Rebecca Silver Slayter.

This is not a joke.
Tomas (Rebecca's cat, for those you as yet unenlightened), with I swear absolutely zero input from Conrad or I, woke up today and decided from now on he was going to use the people toilet to pee. I shit you not. The first time it happened, we just heard the sound and went in to find Tomas exiting the bathroom, and the unmistakable odour of cat pee in the toilet. Tonight it happened again.

and anon....

You'll have to bring your camera and record this--it's true, there are a few examples on the internet, we've just discovered, because people do train their cats to use the toilet (a friend of mine did), what is fucked up in this instance, is that he just spontaneously decided to do it. I found a video online of a cat that flushes. That's the next step.

But it's just funny. Because he has no instincts for doing this. It's a result ofsheerly watching us and wanting to imitate us. What if tomorrow I wake up to hear the shower running. And then I notice Tomas's breath smells minty fresh. And then one day we happen to notice Tomas is wearing a shirt, and boxers; loafers. And soon he's in a suit, and got a day job. Eventually he tells us he got a lease on a nice condo by the Drake and he packs up and moves out. Our little kitty's all grown up. Toilet training is just the beginning.

the True Christmas Spirit. (so help us all)

Rebecca and i were meandering through the market the other day when we passed a dancing Santa doll with no legs outside a shop. It was dancing a weird pelvic thrust on its hips that was perhaps an attempt to imitate belly-jogging Santa-like jovial laughter.
There was a woman standing in front of said Santa, with her hands on his shoulders, with his head at a most appropriate height, and as he gyrated away she pushed down on his shoulders.
I don't know what was going on.
We kept walking, though. It was lunch-time.

baring benediction and blessings upon my confreres

And, upon my acceptance!

Most esteemed chaps,

On this dreary Sunday afternoon have I put aside my Conan Doyle for the moment (Over the years Mr Doyle has been kind enough to offer me bounteous private romps between his (dust)covers, where I am privy to hours of insightful stimulation by a fine chap called Holmes, and on special occasions his doctor friend as well.)
But anon!
It is with no small heave of my ample bosom that i thank you vociferously for allowing me admittance to your fine ranks. I only hope I can live up to the fine standards I have caught but a glimpse of during these past few days, whilst anxiously awaiting the decision of the UCCA's inner circle on the status of my application.

I thank Vivian Pickleford the Grenedier for second, thirding and fourthing the motion. (dabbing eye to hanky) It has been such a rarity for me to see such alacrity in acceding this my modest petition, and from a Grenedier no less!

And thank you to Penchance Polyflute the Loinhearted for his efficient communiques, calming my flummoxed nerves with updates as my application passed through the ranks.

And I'd like to thank the academy, and my long-dead cat Pushkin, and, Douglas Furrier for initiating the process and quelling my disquietude that perchance my application might prove bootless.

And with that I raise my skirts, ahem, my glass, in salute to you all, and may your collective panache permeate my email inbox for a long time to come.

Pox upon the Vulgoise!

yrs incessantly,
Missus Pippa Ellsworth Marigold - Urban Esquiré, Lady of the South

the application process: an update.

from: Douglas Furrier
date: 11 September, 2006
subject: your application to the U.C.C.S

Dear Ms. Marigold,
As you will be aware by now, your most satisfactory application for
admittance to the Upper Canada Chaps Society is under full review by
the board. I have no doubt your worthy self be soon be receiving the
benefits of membership to our most esteemed chaphood and we will all
be celebrating the arrival of our new sister over a lovely pims at the
Royal York.
Yours in Chapdom,
Sgt. Douglas Furrier, BFA

application for the U.C.C.S

It is with great honor that i was asked by my good friend sir Douglas Furrier if i would like to apply to the Upper Canada Chaps Society, a gathering of civilized sorts bent on returning to long-past days of chivalry, gentility, and general good taste.

See below my letter of intent.

from: Pippa Ellsworth Marigold
date: September 11, 2006
subject: Please Forward to the Pertinent Personages

Dearest Dandies, Flaneurs, and most convivial chaps,
I have had the honor of being forwarded the latest correspondence from Mr. Wildflower to Sir Furrier, and am writing this with a slight apprehension that if I am not prompt in my reply, I will lay waste this second chance to be included in such fine e-pistles and worldy missives as you all seem to have been indulging in for some time.
For many a month now I have sat, sipping tea and staring out my basement window, at the flabby buttocks and unfortunate footwear that pass me by, wondering where and what civilization has gotten to. Could it be that the lifting of a dog's leg is all that is left to mark the cultural progress of my fair neighbourhood?
Well by the tiny balls of Christ, I fervently hope Not.
Perhaps, then, a hearkening unto new avenues of discriminating pursuits and dialogues will prove fruitful? I certainly hope so.
Now.
I have few recent tales of exotic lands, having landed, oh, now, four years ago, from mine own worldy travels; to this (ahem) "fair" city of Toronto, in the hopes of making something vaguely respectable out of myself.
I am however prone to frequent bouts of teary nostalgia, for dreary foreign lands with overcooked food, for incomprehensible guides through highly underrated nooks and crannies of the East, as well as other less-spoken of but equally curious nether regions of this fair planet.
I would be most happy to partake in any like-minded meanderings, as well as perhaps contribute a thought or two from my modest corner of existence, were you to be so kind as to accept me into your brethren.
Most kind regards, and a toast to you all, mit (unintentionally) soggy biscuit,
Pippa Ellsworth Marigold. (Esquiré)

ps. (having just received an outline for potential membership, mere MOMENTS before sending this off, I would like to add a small...adjunct, complimenting the present members of the UCCS on their genius and all-round chapliness. So there. Pip Pip. Jolly Good.)

oKAY.

since my camera cord is under a pile of rubble, i will wait no longer. you shall therefore be deluged with the products of my last week of insomnia, and in a week or so, I shall begin officially in blogworld, with a pictoral update of my change in geography and everything. SO. publishing onward!

and almost exactly a year to the day later...

it's TIME.
tomorrow...erm...today, i move house.
when I recover and find my computer amidst the rubble of post-move detritus, i will begin anew.
aren't you all excited.