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Today being July 1st, I should probably say something patriotic about Canada. However, all I can think of right now is how grossly hot and humid it is. Of course that's just a reminder of one of the beautiful things about living alone - when it's really grotesque outside (and do bear in mind that I haven't got air conditioning) you can sit around your house in what Danny Kaye referred to as "the altogether" in the Hans Christian Anderson film. To all you folks that don't have the freedom to be clothes-free whenever the urge strikes you: I pity you.
You know what I did today? Voluntarily? On my own? No prompting or anything? I bought water. I also drank the water. This is not usual for me. I tend to avoid water like it's an unholy plague, preferring something with flavour to it (well flavour that's actual flavour, and not just water flavour), or something with a bit of fizz. My body sucked it up like you wouldn't believe. I think it must have felt deprived or something - which isn't really a shocker, considering how much Coke and tea I normally suck back per day. I am seriously dehydrated.
The humidity isn't supposed to be quite so bad today, and they keep saying we'll get this rain storm tonight. If we do, I'm going to go outside and stand in it shower-style. I am going to stand there and let it soak me to the bone. I'd like to be water-logged with something other than my own sweat steaming off my constantly damp skin. In this heat wave all I can think is, "Thank gawd I don't live in Toronto." They're having a garbage strike. Yeah, I know. Ewww. Apparently it's one unholy stinky mess over there right now.
"Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. (...) Show respect to all people and grovel to none." Tecumseh
There's a lot to be said for being strong; for having courage; for standing up for (not against) something; for having the firmness of spirit to defend; the empathy of spirit to understand; the calmness of spirit to stand firm; the warmth of spirit to be compassionate; the willingness of spirit to compromise; the strength of spirit to admit when you are ignorant of something, mistaken, or unfair; and the courage of spirit to change when change is needed.
Some people find it strange, perhaps obsessive, but I'm very, very particular about the sort of pens I like to write with. I'm very fond of very fine-tipped rollerball pens - the blacker and thinner the better, and they must have black ink. I think high school was what finally turned me off of blue ink - I almost hate it, and find it grating on the eyes. Black seems more definite, and it's sure as hell easier to read. I wonder how the hell it is blue becaome the "accepted" colour anyhow. It must have something to do with India ink.
So one of my online friends says that one of her lunatic acquaintances thinks that there is no such thing as cheerleading in Canada, particularly Quebec, that it does not exist for football teams and high schools. *blink* I would like to know upon which planet, and in which dimension, this man is living, because cheerleading most certainly does exist in this country. Of course, this is apparently the sort of man that thinks women like it, find it complimentary, when you act the neanderthal, that we like it when they whistle at us, and that it helps our vanity.
"I miss the fog. It seems that as I grow older foggy days become less and less frequent, and less and less shrouding and comfortable than they used to be when I was a child." me
... or perhaps it is just, like with so many other things, we become jaded and lose that sense of innocence and belief in magic that could see the charm and beauty in everything. I think that is the one worst thing about becoming an adult, losing the sense of magic and wonder, losing touch with the simple joys of living, and of life itself.
I very much dislike people who expect, and demand, things that they've no right to expect and demand. I don't like people pushing for emotional ties that exist for no other reason than as a function of biology. I dislike people wheedling and trying to manipulate me into a bond that simply isn't there, was never there, and will certainly never bloody exist if they keep pushing. I'll give what I can give, when I can give it. Don't demand more from me than I'm capable of, or ready for. You must earn the right to make demands of me.
I've nothing to say. Shocking, isn't it?
It could be this day hasn't happened yet, and I might have something to say then.
It might be a happening entry in a far-out time and relative dimensions in space sort of way.
A meta-event; a non-event that is still an event at the same time.
This page is not here. The fact that you are reading it suggests that your reality has come unstuck. Please reboot the universe and try again.
This space available for rant.
I have a lot to say for someone who had nothing to say, don't I?
"Life does not have meaning because you fill it up; life has meaning because it fills you up." -me
I see so many people stuffing up, and choking, their lives with activity, thinking that it'll, and is, a substitute, mistaking it for living. You talk and you talk, trying to convince yourself that all this empty toil actually has meaning for you. Who are ou really trying to convince? It's not working on me, is it working on you? I don't think you're as satisfied as you pretend to be, and I don't think you're doing much more than existing.
Oh there's this delicious chill breeze that wafts through my windows at night, it's why I've taken to sleeping on the sofa naked with the windows wide open. This is the only room in my flat where I can catch any sort of breeze at all. It's refreshing. I can feel it rolling over my skin, and almost - at times - seeming to blink in and out of existance. It's been so hot on some days here, that I swear even the bottoms of my feet are sweating, so this icy-seeming breeze is very welcome. Wearing clothing is irritating and cloying.
They say Canada's cold, but Canada contains the hottest temps of all. (with apologies to D. H. Lawrence) When I wish for warmer weather as the icy clutch of winter's grip has got me 'round the throat, I normally wish for something liveable; say, no more than 70 F. I do not, not *ever*, wish for temperatures that, with the humidex, hit 45 C for days at a time. If I wanted weather like this I'd live in Australia during their summer, or move to some jungle land where they have monsoons and bigs as big as your head that would eat small children for breakfast.
(to the tune of "I Love Little Girls" by Oingo Boingo)
o/~ I hate,
I hate being broke,
it makes me feel so
bad, bad, bad.
I hate being broke,
it makes me very
mad, mad, mad. o/~
I need to win a lottery. Now. Immediately, if not sooner than that, because getting money any other way would be illegal, immoral, and dangerous. My employability is about nil at the moment, so I'm not (considering I have school to think of) even looking for a job. My pension is a joke, and doesn't cover the costs of jack squat all.
It's possible, with a little trickery and strict document-type definitions, to make a webpage in HTML with boxes, that uses no tables and nothing but CSS to do it, and one that will work in IE, Mozilla, Netscape, and Opera. I know it's possible, because I've just done it. Using the strict DTD means you lose some prettification factors (like custom-coloured scrollbars), but those only show up in IE anyhow. So, out there somewhere are some programmers and spec writers who might actually be getting on the ball to cross-browser, cross-platform usability. It's not perfect, but it's about bloody time.
Three smells invade me as I walk to the store on this grossly hot day - someone with too much perfume on; someone who has apparently, and for quite some time, forgotten what deoderant is; and the wafting scent emanating from the sewer grate. I can't tell you which is worse. I won't hold much against the sewer, it's not its fault that it smells bad, it's our fault. However, the other two, there's no need to stink like that. It's nauseating. And then there's public transport with no air-conditioning, and scores of these people in one hot, sweating, stinking mass...
I stopped wondering why such sick individuals exist on this planet years ago. We have to allow for the fact that there will always be someone whose behaviour will be seen as aberrant, grotesque, and perverse. I can - to some degree - understand why that freak in Missouri was roasting a kitten on a barbecue, what I fail to comprehend are the group of people who stood around watching it happen, and letting it continue. But then I remember the uglier parts of man's baser side, and the intellect that goes along with them, and I stop wondering about that too.
For the first time in a decade, I wrote a university level exam today. I hated exams when I was in school first go 'round, and I still don't like them. Sitting silent stuffed in a solitary sterile bubble, writing, and writing, and hoping to gawd what you just committed to paper wasn't complete and utter bullshit - at least not bullshit that can be smlled, and lose you marks. Exams stress me, they always make me feel nervous, and I end up, almost invariably, performing badly. I know I passed this one, I just don't know how well. Here's hoping.
In the two years I've had this machine running, I have never once performed a virus scan on it. I just did so this evening - after finding out that my father and his wife have got, and are spreading, *something* - and guess what? ONE stupid Trojan StartPage virus. That's it. One infected file, sp.dll, and all it does is sometimes change your start page in IE without your permission. Big whoop. I attribute my stunning good luck to the fact that I use as few MS products as possible (particularly any for email purposes), nor do I use Eudora.
Do you feel you are well-traveled?
More than most folks are, but not enough for my own tastes. There is a wide planet out there, and I've barely scratched the surface of seeing it. I've been to other parts of Canada, parts of the US, Hungary, France, and England.
Where is the most interesting place you've been?
All places are interesting, and I mean that. If I was forced to choose I'd have to choose London, but that's only because it's the one I have the most emotional ties with outside of the place where I was born.
I am, despite what some less than savoury people think, a trustworthy person; perhaps not in all the ways one can be trusted, but I can be trusted. Just today I was entrusted with two things that wouldn't normally get given to anyone: my mother's credit card information, and my cousin's bank card and number. Don't ever tell me again that I am a liar or a cheat, because it is, evidently, nowhere near being the truth. I have no need to lie, cheat, steal, or manipulate. When I want or need something, I can - and do - ask for it.
I was hoping the rain earlier would stave off the heat somewhat, but it didn't. I was walking through it to the store this evening, and could still feel the gusts of heat blowing up at me from the pavement. The rain was not cool or cooling, the heat is still sticky (though nowhere near as bad as that 45C with the humidex we were experiencing a few weeks back). I can hardly wait til this heatwave breaks, so I can sleep, so I can stop feeling sticky and gross not five minutes after what should have been a refreshing shower.
This morning we had one of those rare events when it pours rain while the sun still shines. I'm certain that if I'd gone outside I'd have seen a rainbow gracing the sky. I did not, and wish I had. Rainbows may not be rare, but it is rare enough that anyone sees them, and they are of the class of things that can still make even the most jaded still believe in something pretty, simple yet complex, and magical. It's been many years since I've seen one and, like the thick foggy days of my youth, I miss them.
My cousin Kimmy brought me some treats made by her boyfriend's mother today: preserves of pickled onions (I've never had pickled onions, and haven't yet tried these), dill pickles (with garlic!, and boy are they strong), and peaches. I opened the jar of peaches and three quarters of it later decided maybe I should stop and save some for later. They were damned good. I haven't had preserved food in years. It's so much nicer than that crap one buys in the grocery store. You can't beat homemade for flavour (and I'm sure Kimmy would point out the nutritional value).
Well, I'm not sure if I'm depressed about it, frustrated, or just a bit angry, but the Coke machine in the laundry room at my grandmother's building ate my last bit of money until next week. This does not make me a happy camper. I shall have to shake down my carpet to see if there's anything spare hiding there, otherwise I'm a flat and broke person with no relief to the situation in sight. The universe is an unfair son of a bitch, and I'm trying to decide what karmic faux pas of mine led to this. Om shit.
Women who expect men to dote on them, wait on them hand and foot, and play patsy to their inclinations, are tiresome. It's one of those things that's a nice treat now and then. Every girl needs to feel like a princess sometimes, and each man likes to feel like a prince, but as a lifestyle choice it's boring. It seems most prevalent amongst the outrageously spoiled and emotionally juvenile. Ladies, you're not invalid, and if you expect equality then act like you really want it, or don't be shocked if you end up with a neanderthal or someone insipid.
I'm particularly fond of Aussie slang (a collection of which you can find at www.lonita.net/slang).
I think my favourites are: ankle-biter (infant), banana-bender (person from Queensland), berko (go berserk, mad), crumblies (elderly parents), God botherer (Religious fanatic - of the door-to-door variety), kark it (die), nut ducker (person who pretends not to see you in the street), (play) sillybuggers (to mess around waste time), wanker (idiot, very silly person, etc.), and wrinklie (old person).
Wanker is my favourite. Next to *bugger* it's my favourite curse (or semi-curse) word.
The Aussies also have at least a dozen slang terms for throwing up.
I go through packs of post-it notes, and highlighters, like nobody's business. When I read through my books for class, along with highlighting text on the page itself, I make small notes and lists on a post-it note and affix it to the appropriate page. It makes it *much* easier to find things later on, since all I have to do is flip through the post-its to find the appropriate subject matter. It's one of the best, and most useful, ideas I've ever had. I wonder how many trees had to snuff it in order to simplify my academic life?
It's been a very destitute week for me, one that's led me to little eating and much frustration. I despise being broke (don't deal well with it), but I think most folks do. Not having one's own money somehow equates to a lack of control over one's life. You feel helpless, sometimes victimised (in the sense of being at the mercy of the fates, and the mercy of other people), and lost. I don't have much, so I'm used to a certain amount of privation - particularly when it comes to luxuries, but doing without basics is another matter entirely.
I had such a thrill the other day, when I finally realised I understood how to perform prime factorisation for a number. This is a major move forward for me, given how prone I have been to crying rather than understanding mathematics. It's a discipline whose intricacies, despite my logical mind, have always eluded me. But when I decided to go back to university I signed up for this very basic math course because I'm determined, just for the hell of it, to do something active about tearing down the wall between my mind and its understanding of things numeric.
What an exciting shopping day it was for me, let me tell you. My thrilling purchases for the day included a calculator, a box of highlighters, a box of pencils, a ruler, a small notebook, deoderant, a pumice stone (weird callouses on my left foot from these crappy sandals), milk, tea, Coke, chips, and - last but not least - a box of tampons. Gosh, I can barely restrain myself from the thrill of it all, really. I think I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out wat the hell all those buttons on the calculator do.
Someone just asked me what works of fiction I found had informed my spirituality. Without hesitation I answered with "Dune". It may seem an easy answer to make considering its subject matter, but it is one of the most affecting books (of that vein) I've ever read. It should be read twice: once for the story (as entertainment), and once as a proper religious text, for that's really what it is. I find the bits and pieces of philosophy very sensible, very Zen in many ways. I think I'll go through the series again soon and make notes this time.
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