One more sleep until Hallowe'en, that night when the darling little goblins don their ill-fitting, cheaply-made costumes and descend on us in droves, begging for food. It's the night that still-bald, six-toothed toddlers dressed in furry pyjamas with ears, their little button noses dabbed with black grease paint, the apples of their cheeks rubbed with mummy's red lipstick, get carried from door to door because they are too pooped to walk. They don't care about tricks or treats, but mummy and daddy saw the costume and decided that Hallowe'en would be the perfect excuse to dress their little pumpkin up cute and parade him, shamelessly, before the neighbours. It's the night that windows get egged. Not all of them, of course. Just the darkened windows of the curmudgeons who either pretend to be out so they don't have to participate or give out the crap candy. Old Bag Brown's windows got egged every year when I was a kid, although not by me, of course. Never egged a window in my life. Incidentally, Old Bag Brown was probably younger then than I am now, but she seemed ancient at the time.
Then there was Pam's mum, who spent the week leading up to the big event making pan after pan of chocolate fudge, cutting it into perfect squares, wrapping it in parchment and plastic wrap and tying it up in orange grosgrain ribbon. We used to go to her house twice. It was bloody great fudge! It was the only homemade treat we were allowed to eat because everyone knew Pam's mum, although come to think, none of us knew her name. She was just Pam's mum or the fudge lady.
I remember getting home, exhausted from hitting every house in a ten mile radius, dumping my pillow case and separating it into piles. Chips, chocolate bars, Tootsie Rolls, Rockets and Pam's mother's fudge were the cream of the crop. Then there was gum and other chewy things - jellies, BB Bats, MoJos. Finally there was the shit that got thrown away due to safety concerns or inedibility - apples, peanuts, other people's mother's fudge, unwrapped things, gooey things and those vile candy kisses.
By my estimate, and I think you'll agree I'm being conservative, each year candy companies produce roughly five billion metric tonnes of molasses-flavoured candy kisses and ship them all over Canada and the US, if not the world. Of those five billion tonnes, roughly three and a half pounds are actually consumed by freakish weirdos who, for whatever twisted reason, like the taste of them. That means that, annually, slightly less than five billion metric tonnes of the putrid confections go directly to landfills. I wonder if Al Gore knows about this. Then again, given the recent allegations that his home's energy consumption is thirty times the national average, I wouldn't be at all surprised if he gives them out. Perhaps he should start giving out chips, chocolate bars, Tootsie rolls and Rockets. Those are the things kids actually eat. Or better yet, maybe he and the missus should get into the kitchen, make fudge, wrap it in parchment and tie it with pretty, orange grosgrain ribbon. The amount of rejected candy going to landfills would be significantly reduced. The grosgrain ribbon can be reused. The paper can be recycled and everyone's happy. Not to mention the water and detergent usage to scrub the diamond-hard egg residue from the windows will be avoided altogether.
Tomorrow evening, lovely sister-in-law will answer the door to the goblins while brother and I follow Perfect Niece and Perfect Nephy-Poo around the neighbourhood while they, looking ever-so-cute in their outfits, ask the neighbours for goodies. And we will see the babies dressed as honeybees and bunny rabbits, sleeping on their father's shoulders, their pudgy little hands still clutching the handles of their orange plastic pumpkins. And when we've said hello to everyone on the street and gushed over the costumes of other people's children, we'll go home and dump the goody bags and separate the contents into piles. We'll sneak a treat while the kids' heads are turned and it will all be over for another year. Here's hoping you all have that much fun on Spook Night too!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Refresher Course...Rules of the Road
I'm the first person to admit that I am not the world's greatest driver. The formula one people are not knocking down my door to sign me to an obscenely lucrative contract. I have run up my share of kerbs while trying to parallel park and I stalled so much when I learned to drive a standard that I got frustrated and gave up altogether. However, I am reasonably sure that I, and the vast majority of us, know the rules of the road and apply them, as well as the rules of courtesy, regularly. This gentle reminder is for those who do not.
1. The lane on the left is for passing, hence its name The Passing Lane. It is not for cruising along absently. It is not a feeder lane for the left hand turn you intend to make fourteen blocks henceforth. It is not there to alleviate the boredom of always driving in the right hand lane. It is for passing. Once you have finished passing, please move over to the right hand side and feel free to cruise along absently. The rest of us will use the left lane to pass you.
2. And on the eighth day, God created turn signals. Enough said.
3. You, in all likelihood, were born with two hands. One is clearly on your mobile phone. The other is wrapped around your coffee cup. What, in the name of hell, are you steering with?
4. Weaving is for qualified basket makers. In the city, in the heat of rush hour traffic, the only place you are going to get to ahead of me by repeatedly changing lanes is the next red light. And you might just endanger other drivers, not to mention yourself, in the process. Relax. Turn on the radio, listen to the morning drivel and enjoy the fact that the traffic is making you ten minutes late for work, a place you probably don't really want to go to anyway. Tell your boss there was a bottleneck holding things up. He'll understand. It happens.
5. While we all enjoy a little music while we drive, we don't need to hear each other's. Here's a good tip: if the car is visibly vibrating and drivers around you are clutching their chests and covering their ears, your music is likely too loud. Apart from the fact that you are a nuisance to everyone, you will go deaf. Period. For all our sakes turn it down, even just a little.
6. You cannot effectively discipline your rambunctious brat, in bumper to bumper traffic, by giving him the evil eye via the rear view mirror and swatting him with a road map, and still stay focused on the road. Pull over. Admonish/ scold/ threaten the offending waif to within an inch of his life, then resume the commute. My unblemished bumper thanks you.
7. Cyclists...you cannot demand equality on the road if you are not willing to comply with the rules. We all understand that you have every right to be on the road too, and you are just as important as motorists are, but if you want to be entitled to the privileges you must also accept the responsibilities. Therefore, hand signals are not elective. You must use them. If you don't you have no right to complain that a motorist got in your way when you didn't bother to tell him where you were going. Also, stop signs and red lights apply to you too. And it is probably worth the few bucks investment to buy a head light and a tail light, for your safety, of course.
8. Just because your fancy car cost more than my house does not mean you own the road. You just own a fancy car that cost more than my house. Now get over into your lane so I can pass you. Thanks.
9. DON'T F*ING TXT MSG WHILE DRVNG. IT'S DNGEROUS, **SHOLE!!
10. If it says 'No Parking', it means you can't park there. If it meant 'You can stop here with your hazard lights on and/or motor running for five minutes while you just nip into Starbuck's for a quick coffee' it would say 'Pretentious Prat Parking - five minute time limit' or 'Starbuck's Drive Thru'.
11. And finally...ladies, there is not enough time, at a red light, to rummage through your purse looking for lipstick or eyeliner. The 422nd law of the universe clearly states that items lurking in the depths of a woman's handbag can only be retrieved when needed by removing every single item one by one. The required item will always be found last. As soon as the item is no longer immediately required, it will leap into the hand of the woman every time she reaches into her bag. That's just the way it is. Even if you could find a lipstick before the light turned green, if the person you want to see you with full, pouty, hyperglossed, kissable lips is in the car with you, they've already seen you without it so the lipstick can wait. If they are not in the car with you, you can take a minute when you get where you are going to touch up your face. The person in the car next to you doesn't care whether you have on lippy or not. They're too focused on the road.
Hopefully this clarifies a few things. Happy Driving!
Note: Thank you to Lane for the Rockin' Girl Blogger Award. I've never been awarded anything before.
1. The lane on the left is for passing, hence its name The Passing Lane. It is not for cruising along absently. It is not a feeder lane for the left hand turn you intend to make fourteen blocks henceforth. It is not there to alleviate the boredom of always driving in the right hand lane. It is for passing. Once you have finished passing, please move over to the right hand side and feel free to cruise along absently. The rest of us will use the left lane to pass you.
2. And on the eighth day, God created turn signals. Enough said.
3. You, in all likelihood, were born with two hands. One is clearly on your mobile phone. The other is wrapped around your coffee cup. What, in the name of hell, are you steering with?
4. Weaving is for qualified basket makers. In the city, in the heat of rush hour traffic, the only place you are going to get to ahead of me by repeatedly changing lanes is the next red light. And you might just endanger other drivers, not to mention yourself, in the process. Relax. Turn on the radio, listen to the morning drivel and enjoy the fact that the traffic is making you ten minutes late for work, a place you probably don't really want to go to anyway. Tell your boss there was a bottleneck holding things up. He'll understand. It happens.
5. While we all enjoy a little music while we drive, we don't need to hear each other's. Here's a good tip: if the car is visibly vibrating and drivers around you are clutching their chests and covering their ears, your music is likely too loud. Apart from the fact that you are a nuisance to everyone, you will go deaf. Period. For all our sakes turn it down, even just a little.
6. You cannot effectively discipline your rambunctious brat, in bumper to bumper traffic, by giving him the evil eye via the rear view mirror and swatting him with a road map, and still stay focused on the road. Pull over. Admonish/ scold/ threaten the offending waif to within an inch of his life, then resume the commute. My unblemished bumper thanks you.
7. Cyclists...you cannot demand equality on the road if you are not willing to comply with the rules. We all understand that you have every right to be on the road too, and you are just as important as motorists are, but if you want to be entitled to the privileges you must also accept the responsibilities. Therefore, hand signals are not elective. You must use them. If you don't you have no right to complain that a motorist got in your way when you didn't bother to tell him where you were going. Also, stop signs and red lights apply to you too. And it is probably worth the few bucks investment to buy a head light and a tail light, for your safety, of course.
8. Just because your fancy car cost more than my house does not mean you own the road. You just own a fancy car that cost more than my house. Now get over into your lane so I can pass you. Thanks.
9. DON'T F*ING TXT MSG WHILE DRVNG. IT'S DNGEROUS, **SHOLE!!
10. If it says 'No Parking', it means you can't park there. If it meant 'You can stop here with your hazard lights on and/or motor running for five minutes while you just nip into Starbuck's for a quick coffee' it would say 'Pretentious Prat Parking - five minute time limit' or 'Starbuck's Drive Thru'.
11. And finally...ladies, there is not enough time, at a red light, to rummage through your purse looking for lipstick or eyeliner. The 422nd law of the universe clearly states that items lurking in the depths of a woman's handbag can only be retrieved when needed by removing every single item one by one. The required item will always be found last. As soon as the item is no longer immediately required, it will leap into the hand of the woman every time she reaches into her bag. That's just the way it is. Even if you could find a lipstick before the light turned green, if the person you want to see you with full, pouty, hyperglossed, kissable lips is in the car with you, they've already seen you without it so the lipstick can wait. If they are not in the car with you, you can take a minute when you get where you are going to touch up your face. The person in the car next to you doesn't care whether you have on lippy or not. They're too focused on the road.
Hopefully this clarifies a few things. Happy Driving!
Note: Thank you to Lane for the Rockin' Girl Blogger Award. I've never been awarded anything before.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Sick Day
So, I think it's about bloody time I actually wrote about writing, seeing as the writing process is the reason I started this blog in the first place. I will likely be up half the night, having slept for three hours late this afternoon, so I might as well do something productive with the time. I was off work today. I took an impromptu holiday yesterday to enjoy the crisp air and breathtaking scenery of autumn. I love autumn. Truth be told I was feeling a little sorry for myself. Not exactly sure why; things are good, but every once in a while we all need a completely self-indulgent day to feel unabashedly sorry for ourselves and nurture our souls. Yesterday was that day. The boss was away, my work was caught up, for the most part, and our office was closed for the morning, so it seemed like a great day for a holiday.
Today is, emphatically, not a holiday. Today is punishment for the wanton hedonism of yesterday. Today I feel like some sadistic bastard is continually snapping elastic bands against the soft, fleshy part at the back of my palate prompting me to swallow what feels like a stew of thumb tacks, gravel and wet sand in a rich, thick gravy of snot and battery acid. Thank God for tea. I was well into the second pot by ten o'clock this morning.
There are certain things you discover while hunkered down with a blanket on the couch on sick days that you would never get the opportunity to discover otherwise. For example, the floor of the Rachael Ray show actually revolves so that the audience doesn't have to move when the focus of the show changes. So if you are an exceptionally lazy person looking for free entertainment while on holiday in NYC, get tickets to the Rachael Ray show. Also, tea molecules duplicate themselves inside the body. I'm not a scientist, so I'm not entirely sure if this is true, but it would explain the fact that for every two pots of tea I consumed, I peed four. Anyway, enough about the hideous sore throat day. It feels a whole lot better now after drinking enough tea to float a cruise ship, a cup of chicken bouillon and a spoonful of grainy vanilla ice cream that really should have been thrown out weeks, if not months, ago.
Tonight I am writing. I foolishly sent the first three chapters of my manuscript off to an agent before it was finished and received the rejection slip last month. The first draft has been finished for ages and I thought sending it off prematurely would force me to finish it completely. I won't do that again. The entire time it was away I was terrified that the agent might want to see the rest of it and I'd have to send an email to the effect of 'Thank you for your interest, Splendid Agent. Unfortunately I am a putz of mammoth proportion and have only a shoddy second draft riddled with holes to show you. Please hang in there. I will send the rest in due course. Sincerely, Arsehole.' Now that I have been rejected I am going to take the time to finish it properly before taking the plunge again. My stomach can't take the stress of potentially looking like an idiot to an agent who has taken the time to request a full manuscript.
I'm having a bit of a hard time trying to put the bits and pieces together. I don't write sequentially so I have to put it all together after I've written vignettes. The problems come when the vignettes contradict each other or when I inadvertently leave little holes in the plot here and there. Now I am filling the holes. It's difficult to get into a rhythm when you're just filling holes. Although I suppose it might be easier if I'd buckle down and get on with it. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make one more cup of tea then buckle down and get on with it. Goodnight.
Today is, emphatically, not a holiday. Today is punishment for the wanton hedonism of yesterday. Today I feel like some sadistic bastard is continually snapping elastic bands against the soft, fleshy part at the back of my palate prompting me to swallow what feels like a stew of thumb tacks, gravel and wet sand in a rich, thick gravy of snot and battery acid. Thank God for tea. I was well into the second pot by ten o'clock this morning.
There are certain things you discover while hunkered down with a blanket on the couch on sick days that you would never get the opportunity to discover otherwise. For example, the floor of the Rachael Ray show actually revolves so that the audience doesn't have to move when the focus of the show changes. So if you are an exceptionally lazy person looking for free entertainment while on holiday in NYC, get tickets to the Rachael Ray show. Also, tea molecules duplicate themselves inside the body. I'm not a scientist, so I'm not entirely sure if this is true, but it would explain the fact that for every two pots of tea I consumed, I peed four. Anyway, enough about the hideous sore throat day. It feels a whole lot better now after drinking enough tea to float a cruise ship, a cup of chicken bouillon and a spoonful of grainy vanilla ice cream that really should have been thrown out weeks, if not months, ago.
Tonight I am writing. I foolishly sent the first three chapters of my manuscript off to an agent before it was finished and received the rejection slip last month. The first draft has been finished for ages and I thought sending it off prematurely would force me to finish it completely. I won't do that again. The entire time it was away I was terrified that the agent might want to see the rest of it and I'd have to send an email to the effect of 'Thank you for your interest, Splendid Agent. Unfortunately I am a putz of mammoth proportion and have only a shoddy second draft riddled with holes to show you. Please hang in there. I will send the rest in due course. Sincerely, Arsehole.' Now that I have been rejected I am going to take the time to finish it properly before taking the plunge again. My stomach can't take the stress of potentially looking like an idiot to an agent who has taken the time to request a full manuscript.
I'm having a bit of a hard time trying to put the bits and pieces together. I don't write sequentially so I have to put it all together after I've written vignettes. The problems come when the vignettes contradict each other or when I inadvertently leave little holes in the plot here and there. Now I am filling the holes. It's difficult to get into a rhythm when you're just filling holes. Although I suppose it might be easier if I'd buckle down and get on with it. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make one more cup of tea then buckle down and get on with it. Goodnight.
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