I have returned from Detroit with many rolls of film to be developed and lots to talk about. Though I doubt that I'll be able to talk of it all in this post, I'll hopefully talk about it over the course of the next few.

The drive down to Detroit is unbelievably easy, but the sheer number of trucks is scary, as is their sometime utter disregard for the smaller vehicles on the road. Once you've passed the suburban sprawl of Toronto, the highway becomes quite a bit more attractive, with the rolling farmland of the Halton Hills and then the verdant, wealthy farms in the London area. The last hour before Windsor is pretty boring, flat, dull, and, of course, full of tractor-trailers. The border going into Michigan was easy as pie, with not too bad a wait, but the trip back was a pain in the neck once we'd crossed over. My advice is to use the bridge as it takes you straight out to the 401, whereas the tunnel routes you through Windsor and the traffic is ridiculous.

Detroit is shocking. I thought I was prepared having spent many hours looking at the photographs of ruined buildings, but from the start, as you come through the downtown, it's unreal how empty it is. Probably 60-70% of the shops at the base of the skyscrapers are closed and boarded up, there is no one out walking (because there's nothing open), and there is a general sense of despair in the streets. The drive up Woodward (the main drag) to the place we were staying at was hardly an improvement, with boarded up buildings and broken windows interspersed among still functioning stores and a few restaurants. Life returns to the city when you enter the Cultural centre of the city, where all the museums and Wayne State University are located. This is where we stayed at The Inn on Ferry Street.

The Inn is, in fact, a large bed and breakfast, and is set up in four grand houses that have been designated as historical buildings. There are also two carriage houses that are used for business, etc. The houses, as we learned from one of the lovely staff, Jonique, had been abandoned for at least a decade and were falling into terrible disrepair (as is generally the case in this once stunning city) when they were bought by two women with the support of the Detroit Institute of Arts. At the not insignificant amount of 7.5 million dollars, the houses were restored to as close to their original condition as possible, with additional upgrades like sprinkler systems, etc. Most of the trim and interior design is original, including marvelous stained and cut glass windows and the seven-foot-long cast iron bath tub (in our room !!). Breakfast was served from 8 until 10am and included a waffle maker for fun and deliciousness as well of tons of fresh fruit and really scrumptious coffee.

Minutes from the Inn were the major museums of Detroit, including the Institute of Arts, which was the whole purpose of our pilgrimmage, the New Science Centre, the Museum of African-American History, the Detroit Historical Museum, the beautiful Public Library, and of course, the University campus. There is much parkland around these institutions and public sculpture, with beautifully planted gardens and lovely mature trees. The DIA was our major stop as it was hosting the traveling exhibition, Magnificenza! The Medici, Michelangelo, and the Art of Late Rennaissance Florence. This was no typical traveling show, let me tell you; it was enormous, taking Mom and myself about two-and-a-half hours to go through. It took up a floor of an entire wing and had sixteen gallery rooms devoted to it, each with well displayed art and text. The spacing allowed for maximum viewing, even with the crowds that sometimes amassed. Highlights were some of the extraordinary sculpture by Michelangelo and Cellini (pronounced Chel-EEN-ee), as well as the incredible portrait and narrative works by painter Bronzino. Other lovely surprises in the exhibition were the ceramic works created under the Medici name. This wasn't an exhibit about Michelangelo, as apparently some people thought (who obviously didn't read the show's title), rather, it was a show about how he and the Medici family left their imprint on Florentine art for more than a century. It was incredible.

The DIA is what any world class museum should be. It is well laid out, peopled with knowledgeable and friendly staff, has a fantastic little restaurant (none of this Druxy's bollocks that the ROM has) with a salad bar, hot entrees, and exquisite desserts. I didn't like the museum as much as I do the one in Philadelphia (which is a place of magic), but the collection is vast and stunning. After spending the better part of the day there, we walked back to the Inn through the side streets and returned to our room. Mom lay down for a nap and I went out to explore the neighbourhood.

I think I'll leave off here for now as I have been typing for about an hour now and I have work to do. Perhaps I'll write a little more later, but if I do not write again until Sunday, forgive me, it's Rick's sister's wedding this weekend and I'll be away in the Hamilton area.

In another fit of procrastination, I have just lost one and a half unrecoverable hours reading the exhilerating and heart-thumpingly delicious articles at Infiltration.org. This site appeals to me on many levels. It speaks to that year of my life when I wasn't afraid to go places where we aren't supposed to go. That year, my final year of highschool (OAC/Grade 13, now abolished in Ontario), found me trying many new things and letting go of inhibitions. No, I wasn't dropping acid or having orgiastic adventures in the city's parks. That year, though I didn't know at the time that what I was doing had a name, I was an infiltrator. Infiltrators are the people that go places they're not supposed to go, like subway tunnels, abandoned buildings, drains, etc. For me, following the boy I was infatuated with (which is a sort of infatuation that is rather hard to describe) into strange and illegal places was a beautiful adventure and also something of a rush. Mostly we'd just go places and he'd tell me of his adventures breaking in and exploring, but sometimes he worked up my courage and I followed him. I would have followed him to Hell if he'd suggested it. I think, in retrospect, maybe my mother sort of felt that indeed he was leading me there. I never lied to her. "I'm going out with Kelk," would turn into, "Oh, we went to a construction site..." upon my return. God bless my mother for being so cool. She just let me. It was that kind of a year, and my outings with Kelk were more my salvation than endangering.

"We're looking for Dave," he'd say as we left the eight or ten foot fence behind us, entering into whatever site struck our fancy (usually this was the future site of the Metro Convention Centre). Dave could be our friend, a dog... whatever. It took us places and it worked. Another good excuse I learned when caught in a location with another boy, who seemed to attract the attention of the law, was that we needed a place to see each other since our parents forbade it. You should only know how hardened police officers melt when a cleancut white girl says that, fighting back tears. Okay, that particular instance is both a moment of pride and of embarrasment. I digress, however; I shall return to Kelk. The construction site was a place of utter bliss. It's not easy to explain, but you cannot imagine the freedom you feel, standing many, many feet above a gaping foundation, up on a plywood platform, in the middle of a spring night when the lightest of rain falls, turning the air to a haunting mist. This feeling is only broken when you step on a two inch nail and it goes right through the sole of your boot. The skin wasn't broken, and though puddles caused my sock to get wet thereafter, it was mostly humourous. And it was a valuable reminder that what we were doing was dangerous.

The effect Kelk had on the people around him was, and probably still is, tremendous. While everyone else was going off to get drunk, high, or laid after our graduation formal, he took us to Exhibition Stadium at the CNE grounds - a wonderful landmark that has ridden off into history. Never before had I agreed to go up the catwalk, though we'd been there many times. The six foot ladder up onto the stage made me queasy and yet, that night, in heels and a short velvet cocktail dress, I climbed up to the catwalk and danced thirty feet above the stage. This was a stage where many of the world's best and most infamous acts had played; their grafitti covered the walls. And up on that catwalk, dressed to the nines with five my friends, we were a part of history. It must have been a strange sight, eight or so graduating teenagers, in formal wear, running about in the stands and around the stage. It was way better than getting drunk, high, or laid, frankly - and certainly not a cliche.

There were some adventures with the much younger Scarlette, my beloved Subaru wagon - stories that make my mother want to revoke my driving privaledge to this day. I never told her about those misadventures at the time, I admit. I wasn't completely stupid. There were the adventures up in the Sesna ("No, you will NOT practice dives and stalls !"). I look back at the things Kelk and I did, our Infiltrations, and I shake my head. Mostly I have trouble believing that I did these things. Me. Most of my law-breaking is summed up by speeding and jay-walking. Once in a while, though, I look at those construction site gates, those single floodlights that don't really illuminate anything, those fenced off sites, with momentary longing, a little piece of me remembering that I enjoyed those adventures. Kelk gave me security while we risked our necks, but it's the former that I remember best. He saved me from myself, from grief, from despair when few others could, or would, and he gave me the courage to go places I had only ever considered loosely in the fringes of my imagination.

This wasn't supposed to become an essay on Kelk. I was talking about Infiltration, which was supposed to lead neatly into my next subject, Detroit. It didn't, but let's not allow that to stop us.

Detroit, an Infiltrator's dream. It is a city built on faded dreams and crumbling into oblivion. While there are wonderful people bent on recovering and saving the old historic and awesome buildings of Detroit, still much of its downtown is slowly dying the sad death of abandonment. Inspired by this incredible site, my friend Megan and I had long ago decided to take a road trip to view and photograph the awesomeness of that city's former splendour, but time, money, inclination kept us from going. Tomorrow, though not with Megan, I will be going to this city that sits mythic in the history of the American Dream. Mom and I are going to Detroit, baby ! Okay, we won't be prowling around with a tripod into the seedy strips, among the crumbling warehouses and burnt-out mansions, but I intend to see the decay and take photos. At some point between The Institute of Arts and the Science Centre, I'll do this. I'm excited. It's not really Infiltration if you stay on the roads and sidewalks, but a little of me will be climbing up sagging stairs and opening broken doors, even if only in my mind.

There is a serious downside to working from home. Don't get me wrong, being able to work in your pjs is great, and being able to wander into another room to watch television is also pretty sweet, but stepping into your room and staring at your computer takes on a whole new meaning. No longer is it a vehicle of mindless time wasting and internet surfing, or of creative writing, or other fun things; when you work from home, your computer becomes a ball and chain. Hello, it says every time you look at it, there is work you should be doing. At least when you go to an office, you can leave that office. When your home is your office, especially your bedroom, it kind of sucks.

When did Blur become retro? I hate that music I still consider recent has made the ten-year mark and can now officially be played on retro night. Oh well, just another symptom of that irritating time thing. That same thing that says I should be on my way to BEING SOMEONE at this time in my life. That same thing that tells people they're too old to do stuff, whatever that means. FUCK YOU, THING, and that pocket watch you rode in on.

No particular kitty stories tonight. Things have been relatively quiet, with a brief exception last night, when a fight caused me to wake up, sit bolt upright, thrust out my hand, and holler, "Company car !" ...

Okay, I typed too soon. Tobe was just being bad, sneaking up on Willi while the latter was nesting on my bed. At least I can say one thing for Tobe, all this exercise is causing her to lose weight, and just when she's started answering to Pork Chop.

And now, because working at home also means 'procrastinating', here are some results from some web quizzes that I took. Wot wot.




Jolly good, wot! Anyone for tennis? That'll be ten ponies, guv. You're the epitome of everything that is english. Yey :) Hoist that Union Jack!

How British are you?

this quiz was made by alanna

From a question in the kitten quiz: "A normal day for you consists of.... Eating food, eating plastic, eating hair, caughing it back up, eating lint, eating my owners hair... " I've known a few cats, nevermind kittens, like that... Willi? Pepper? Newman (bless his little soul)?

I am a giant mutant kitten. Not strange at all.


Which cute or possibly strange kitten are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Anyone else notice that the corner chair in that kitten picture is turned the wrong way for decent sitting? AND not in a proper corner? No, octagonal rooms don't count. Hmm.

The Chubby kitten is the cutest, though. You can view it's adorableness at Ben's weblog (friend in Philly).

Also, apparently emode.com believes that my popstar style would be "Loud 'n Proud". Well, I guess they got that dead on. Okay. Now it's time for bed. And, for the record, Pork Chop just jumped on Willi while she was having a poop, and I had to shut her in Stew's room. Now I'm bleeding and the neighbours downstairs think I torture animals.

The Senators lost with a goal scored by New Jersey in the final three minutes. The Sens put up a brilliant fight, coming back from a deficit after the second period to make the score 2 all. The Ottawa fans continued to show their love of their team long after the game ended. Good job to the Senators, they deserved to get this far and they put up a long battle to stay in the race. Best of luck to New Jersey, I’d hate to see Anaheim win.

I had an interview today. I was called for it yesterday in the middle of the afternoon. It was for a company I didn’t remember applying to, though it all came clear when I got there today. The company is located out in the east end, across from the Science Centre. I opted to drive because I couldn’t be sure how reliable the transit would be. The drive took less than half an hour, but the confusion over parking took nearly as long and I ended up arriving with less time to spare than I would have liked.

The location for the interview was creepy. Let me translate some notes I made about it while I was waiting in the interview room. Maybe I’ll write more and turn this into an image poem. Anyway:

A suburban expanse; sanitary and lifeless, a lone smoker outside on an empty plateau of pavement. Half deserted office buildings – glass and concrete, asphalt and eerie grey textures. Post modern pink tones fail to warm up the broad expanse of empty space. It is claustrophobic. Like a video game; at any moment some one will step around a corner and shoot me.

I quickly realised, while waiting with several others, this was going to be a group interview. I’ve never experienced one before, but it was as bad as I imagined. Talk about an antiseptic way to handle an interview. Dixon, our ‘interviewer’ was African* and pretty humourous but the only purpose he actually served was to give us a spiel about the company, which doesn’t sound like a bad place to work for, despite appearances. Rather than asking us questions, we filled out pieces of paper that we had to supply with answers to the vague questions listed on a page given to us. We had a chance to ask some questions, briefly, and then it was, “You’ll hear back about a second interview in two business days, Monday excluded as it’s Memorial Day. Good luck.” So, I’ll hear on Wednesday.

Frankly, the company could have saved us and themselves time and effort had they just screened the resumes more carefully and simply invited the chosen few for a normal, one-on-one interview. This cattle call process was degrading.

-----------------------------------

*Why is it that all the African men I’ve met have given names like Dixon, Franklin, Lawrence, and Cameron? They -must- change them, right? I just find it kind of strange. Sure, ignorant white folk might have trouble pronouncing names like N’Doch and Mwaka, but African names are so beautiful ! Why would you choose a name like Franklin over Babtunde?

Well, there was much in the way of kitty fisticuffs today. After a certain amount of yelling from one's bed, one has to just give up. I don't know who won or lost, but I was aware of Stinky Bee joining me under the covers some time later. At the time time, I thought it was because she wanted to hide with mummy, which still might be true, but looking at her today, she is walking about the house with some amount of confidence. Cats are so complicated.

Last night, we had much cat silliness, too. Stew and I were watching late-night television and Pork Chop missed the mark on the kitchen windowsill. Almost in slow motion, we watched her tumble and try desperately to hold on with one paw as she plummeted to he floor. We couldn't help it, we laughed very hard and she scurried through the living room to go sulk in Stew's room. Then, some time later, Stinky got in the cleaning bucket and ... peed. At first I thought it was because she's disaffected and upset because Tobe had been especially naughty last night, but when I took Willi to the litter and put her in it to remind her of its existence, I realised that the litter needed cleaning. And BOY did it need cleaning. When I realised just how dirty it was, especially considering that Stew had cleaned it the day before, I think I would have peed in the bucket too. Dear God, it was rank.

Now I'm waiting for a courier to arrive with photographs for me to use for some of the stuff I'm doing for Booboo. I'm also waiting for some stuff from B______. I can see this is going to be an exciting day, full of waiting. Woo ! Anyway, in other news, I have been busily applying for work. I'm a busy little mouse, yes I am. Also, in some time of procrastination over the last couple of days, I did a rather sweet illustration of two kids on a pony that turned out quite nicely. I tried to write a little story about the picture, but got stuck about a hundred words in.

Maybe I'll get out of my pjs and do some room cleaning while I wait for the courier. Or, maybe not. There's something kind of nice of having my shifts canned for the week. Getting dressed, for instance, is optional.

I had meant to enter a couple of posts before now, but for some reason, I just never managed to get around to it. I chalk it up to both business and stress-induced procrastination.

Last night was the final episode of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and I have to say I was somewhat disappointed. I had hoped to be moved to tears, but I really wasn't. It had some excellent moments, including a very funny D&D moment, and some nice Scooby Gang stuff, as well as a good, strong message, but it probably could have benefited from being two hours long and a little more full of classic Buffy goodness. Rumour is, there's a new spin-off in the works, and one has to wonder who will be in it and who won't.





Which flock do you follow?

this quiz was made by alanna


You are a -
Geek Sheep!
you're one l33t g33|< 5|-|33p! No one understands a word you're saying, but you don't care. Bespectacled geek by day, fearsome DND warrior by night! Geek power ;)

On the cat front: Yo-yo escapades. That would make a good name for a band, I think. Well, if Pinstripe Truck fails, I'll reform and be Yo-yo Escapades. Or, maybe that will be my first album title. Anyway, I have discovered that one, if not both, cats have been peeing on my suitcase in my closet. Both have been spotted going in and both have been spotted making stinky-smell faces upon leaving. My suitcase is now soaking in the shower in pinesol and water. I will clean the closet floor later. Tobe has been really pushing the limits of what's acceptable, but despite trying to kiss up to me, she's finding more time spent locked in Stew's room. I hope things go alright when I'm in Detroit next week.

I visited with Tracy on Monday, my best friend in the whole wide world, who is currently in TO, rather than Guelph. She's working at the mixed-practice in Stouffville and is doing such cool things as working on animal surgery. Keen. We hung out chez moi for a bit before heading downtown to do some window shopping. We enjoyed Queen St. to its maximum, or at least part of it, and went for dinner at Java House. It's been ages since I was there. I introduced her to bubble tea, which she enjoyed, and I did buy one tiny thing. I bought a fancy cap at a keen, cheap store in Chinatown, called In Shoes, recommended by my old friend, Irene.

Now go see the initiative implemented by the campaign regarding the little girl who was savagely murdered and disposed of in pieces on the island. It's pretty exciting and is quickly spreading beyond the control of those behind it. If you want to sign the petition, be aware that the server is being blasted by the incredible number of hits the site is getting.

Last night, around the time I first though about going to bed, the phone rang. An emergency, last-minute communications piece was in the process of being written and could I please, please, please, do the graphics for it? Well, heck. That's what I'm here for, right? So, several phonecalls later, and me taking copious notes over the phone, I sat down at my computer to bang this thing into life. Now, a couple of hours after that first thought of bed, I sent it off for approvals and did, in fact climb into bed. The first thing I did when I got up was to turn on Natasha and check to see what changes needed making. So, I did so and was about to send it on down the chain of 'getting done' when I get a stop-the-presses sort of email. Several phonecalls later, with much too much effort having been expended on several fronts, the project was put on hold.

They're not even in government, yet, and it all feels sort of small-time West Wing. Oh well, I signed up for this.

I got an email from Richard, today, that cuts my data entry shift and the shifts of both Tony and Aman as well for next week. Oh. Yay. At least we saw this coming. There just isn't enough for us to do in the office at the moment. Memberships, just like the attendence, have fallen off. Did they really thing membership wouldn't suffer as the ROM began the lengthy process of demolition and construction? Yes, it's staying open, but they big-wigs, in their infinite wisdom, closed one of the largest draws to the museum, the children's hands-on Discovery Gallery. It's only one of the most successful children's galleries in the world that draws other major institutions to study its unparalleled popularity. Anyway, the long and the short of it is, we aren't selling enough memberships to warrant three of us coming in a couple times a week.

The cats... I know my mother enjoys reading my cat logs, so I'll give a brief update. Pork Chop has reached the stage in socialising that has her trying to bite Stinky's bum as she runs by, and invades my bedroom to try and entice Stinky to play (well, not always, but those pricked-up ears and arched tail speak volumes). To be quite frank, Stinky wants nothing to do with the other, and these invasions of her space really tick her off. Sometimes they get out of hand, too, when Tobe lands on Willi and fur flies. Tobe also has no idea how to play, with cat or human, with her claws retracted. Okay, it took Willi a long time to learn to stop, so there's hope. Anyway, to make a long story short, the Chop needed some time out after a particularly unpleasant, unwarranted attack on the Stink, and I wrestled her and her talons to the floor, grabbed her up, and chucked her into Stew's room, slamming the door. While I did this to give Willi a chance to eat her dinner, I can't really feel too sorry for my cat because this is how she behaved at my mother's house when she first came out to visit.

Tonight, despite the very cold, wet weather, I barbequed a couple of steaks. Stew baked some potatoes (that was a bit of an adventure) and I made asparagus. Stew has fed me several times since arriving and so I felt it was necessary to do the same for him. Also, it was really time for the asparagus to be eaten. Our tummies are happy this eve.

Hotmail is poopy today. Work is sloooooooooooow. Had Kim not come to the rescue with some returned mail for me to play with, I was considering going home early.

BIG, FANTASTIC NEWS ! Dave Gahan will be playing at the Kool Haus on Wednesday, July 30th ! There's no sale date for tickets yet. He'll be in Montreal on the 29th. Stacey is heartbroken as she's not going to be in town when he's here. Poor Stacey, I feel for her.

The volunteers are here at the ROM today. So far, they haven't mentioned the Second World Wa- wait, does discussing The Pianist at length count? Well, SARS, the dollar, mayoral candidates have been done to death and they're not done yet. Beyond that, one of them is wearing so strong a perfume that I can smell it over top that which I'm wearing. I'm thinking that I should put on my earphones.

Tuesday night was informal meeting night at the Black Horse pub and lots of people came out, including a girl with whom I went to highschool and we had a number of friends in common. I also got to meet Olivia Chow, who came out, and she's delightful. She's very funny and, though I'd never say this in ear shot for fear of being smacked down, cute. Jack Layton is a lucky man. It was an evening of political discussion and debate, and when that got tiresome, I pulled out the amazing fifteen dollar shoes (marked down from $30 !) that I bought on my way there from the ROM. Brendan said, when I showed them to him, "Hey, those are nice. They're such girl shoes !" My answer: "Brendan, I -am- a girl." Sometimes I just have to wonder at the things men say.

I had a bit of bad sour cream at the pub, I think, because when I got home around midnight, my stomach started to tie itself in knots and cramp up in that special way that screams something isn't agreeing. I filled a plastic water bottle with very hot water and held that on my stomach for most of the night and that eased the cramping. Interestingly, the bottle was still warm at least four hours later. I ate very lightly yesterday as my stomach was still very sore, heating up some of the chicken stew that Stew made the day prior. That was tasty and full of good things that were easily digested.

The Matrix Reloaded opens today, but I'm not going. I'm not sure when I'll go, but probably not this weekend. I was going to attend Anime North on Saturday before D&D, but now I have to have a design meeting with the communication people, instead. I don't mind, I guess, as attending the convention was rather last minute, anyway. Obviously, the Development Plan is way more important than seeing boys dressed as Sailor Scouts, though arguably less fun. Anyway, I guess the movie can wait. I never did see the original movie in theatres on its first run, so if I see this one when my tax refund comes, so be it.

I was early to work today, though not of my own choosing. I like to get to work on time, but the Dufferin bus usually conspires to either get me there late, or later than that. Today, due to its unfailingly bad schedule, there were tons of people at every stop and the bus reached capacity shortly after I got on allowing us to rocket down the street, not picking up any more passengers. So, I got to work early, but not early enough to get my muffin and coffee before starting.

I just did something strange, which is not in and of itself particularly unusual; I wrote Leonard Cohen some fan mail. His website makes it pretty easy with a contact form and everything, and goodness knows, he probably doesn't even read his own mail, but whatever. I am feeling kind of wacky today and just decided to do it on a whim. My mom knew the guy back in Montreal, and I've sort of been surrounded by him through his poetry on her shelf and stories and whatnot, and sometime ago, I went out and bought an album. And then another. And I was talking about him with Liz, the intern, and discussing Nancy White's very amusing song, Leonard Cohen's never gonna take my groceries in, all because I'm listening to a live album of his out of Liz's collection. Gah. I'm such a dork.

Briefly, on the subject of music, I just thought of a band name that I might like to have, were I ever to have a band: Inconnu. I did a very quick google search and it seems there might already be a band of that name, but the sites are in German. Odd, with a French name. Of course, my all-time favourite were-I-to-have-a-band name is Pinstripe Truck. Don't ask, I never did come up with a reason why.

Rick came over last night and we made a tasty beef stirfry full of delicious things like red pepper, snowpeas, mushroom and green onions. I find I get very territorial over his using my kitchen for cooking and I do try not to give him too many 'helpful' hints, but you know, he's got his cooking style and I've got mine. Neither are bad, neither are wrong, but they aren't the same and in my kitchen, it bugs me that he's not doing as I would have him do. Anyway, all was well and dinner was nummy and CSI is a good show and was on last night, though it's not the normal night, and we had fun.

The cats continue to do their cat thing, though they can share room space now. Pork Chop comes into my room to look out the window and Willi doesn't freak. They can sit by each other at an arm's distance so long as they pretend they can't see one another. It's pretty amusing. But, one toe across the invisible line and it's spit'n'hiss, claws out. Stinky guards my bed when I first get into it, stationing herself at its foot in order to watch my door. Tobe is not allowed to come near the bed when I'm in it. All this observing of cats makes me feel like something of a naturalist, my childhood dreams of growing up to be Gerald Durrell coming true. Well, not really, but I do have one other amusing cat story to add.

Currently, in the bathroom, both litterboxes (Willi's and Tobe's) are set up. I'm not sure why this is, or for how much longer this will go on, but for now, that's the situation. We had thought that they tended to stick to their own boxes, and mostly this holds true, until last night. I turned to go into the bathroom in order to get a cup of water for bed and stopped because Tobe was in Willi's box having a pee. I waited, for what purpose I don't know since I could have gone into the kitchen, but I was set on getting water in the bathroom. When Pork Chop was done, her pee sufficiently burried, she hopped out... only to hop into the other box. I looked at Rick and laughed, thinking it was pretty silly, but then when I realised that she had switched boxes in order to have a poop, I couldn't believe it. One box for pee? The other for poop? You have got to be kidding, I thought, but indeed, Tobe went out of her way to use both boxes.

Cats are so weird.

Well, I ate the pickle but opted to work on a crossword rather than draw. A crossword either gets done or frustrating, meaning it gets put down, whereas starting a drawing could have me at it for hours and two in the morning is not the time for that. I didn't get very far in the puzzle, mind you, as suddenly my brain kicked out for the night.

I've done a tiny update to my homepage.

There is good news on the Cat Front. Willi and Tobe are sorting things out. Stew and I clipped their nails today, Tobe being the bigger problem (and not just because she's rotund) and required Stew to don oven mitts for holding her while I gingerly attacked her talonous claws. Last night, after he'd left for work, Tobe spent much of the evening looking out the sliding door in my room while Willi slept on my bed. They were aware of each other, but there was not hissing until they both came to offer me some love at the same time. Willi got a bit territorial over me and Tobe left. It seems Stew found them both sitting on the stairs, which means that they're definitely learning to share space. Huzzah ! Beyond this, Willi has been getting up to her typical antics. Today, while I was going through the job classifieds, she dug herself under some discarded newspaper as though it was a little army tent, or something, with her nose peeking out on one side. I just kept discarding pages onto her as I went and she kicked at them and wrapped herself up in them like an hors d'oeuvre.

I got a fair amount of work done for Booboo last night and I think he's pleased with it. We're having a little trouble witht he photographs he's sent me, however; as they're of terrible quality. It's not even worth trying to encorporate them into the package because they will detract from the overall design simply by being a pixel soup. Anyway, he assures me that new photos can come in about a week's time. Also, B______ has got me doing a leaflet for a South Asian event that's happening next week. I have to have it done by Wednesday at 5pm. It is a single-pager so it should not be too difficult, barring unusual circumstances.

Rick's coming over tonight and we're going to make dinner. I've got to go out and pick up some veggies and some meat for a stirfry. This is the only reason I'm going to brave the out-of-doors today as the weather took a dramatic and unpleasant turn. It's cold and wet, the kind you just want to sleep through. But, since I have all my work done, I can kill the day with lounging and maybe working on that drawing I avoided last night. I've got a couple of hours before I absolutely must go out to get food and have nothing but a shower planned. It feels like a Sunday - how lovely !

It's nearing two o'clock in the morning. Why, then, when I should be thinking about sleep, am I thinking about eating a pickle and sitting down to draw?

On Friday, Rick took me out to dinner at Red Rose, our favourite Indian restaurant, and then to the Carlton Cinemas for The Pianist. I'd been told to bring tissues, but I hardly needed them. It wasn't a sob film like Schindler's List is, though I did cry. The latter was a life-changing film for me, but this work was something very different. Roman Polanski has given us a film not about the Holocaust per se, nor of heroism in the face of adversity. This is a story of personal survival, and Szpilman is a hero simply for surviving. I grew up surrounded by the stories of my mother's family during the Second World War, their participation in the Resistance movement, and the many moments of sheer 'dumb' luck that saved them from capture and execution. Szpilman, too, survives, in part through this same luck, of near capture, so much so it would seem to be impossible. Yet, I know from the stories my mother told me, that this is exactly what made the survival possible in so many cases.

This film blurs the lines of good and evil, throwing the audience off balance with its sympathetic Nazi officer, the cruelty of the Jewish ghetto police, the desperation that makes people behave the way they do. It feels distant at many moments, especially through the first half, but it becomes clear that it is Szpilman that is distant, putting space between us and his story. The audience are allowed to view his existence, but at the arm's length that he forces. The film does not demand that we love it, nor does it preach to us as so many Holocaust and Second World War films do, but it causes us to think, to investigate our own emotional responses. Polanski, love him or hate him, has created a masterpiece of a film. If he never makes another movie, his reputation can stand by The Pianist and he will be remembered for its power and beauty and honesty.

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The battle between Willi and Tobe continues, domination shifting as often as I go to the washroom in a day (a few times). Currently, it's a draw, but around six-thirty in the morning, a viscious fight occurred. I don't know the details, but it was loud and angry enough to wake me out of a sound sleep. On a positive note, both cats are peeing in the litterboxes, rather than my bedroom vent. I've started giving Willi her food in the kitchen again, as well, so that she doesn't view my room as a security blanket. This decision was brought about partially because I've noticed her licking out Tobe's plate, which is at the kitchen door, and Stew actually saw her steal food. Brave little Stinky Bee.

It's a muggy day today. It also happens to be Mothers' Day: Happy Mothers' Day, Mom !!! I'm not in Peterborough as I have had to work this weekend, but the majority of this day is going to be spent working on Booboo's stuff. Rick's out in Hamilton helping his father and brother build a deck for Darlene, his mother. I had aspirations of going to the gym today, but I'm a little too sore from my work-out yesterday. I'm making a concerted effort to go as often as time allows, no excuses. Also, I finally did my pathetic verigated, leafy something-or-other a favour. This plant used to have a name, but I have forgotten it, and perhaps that why it hasn't recovered from the two times it nearly died. Anyway, I gave it a soil change, pruned it in the hope that it will regain its will to live, and we'll see how it goes.

Willi peed in my vent.

Okay, stop laughing. I came home from work yesterday and found my room smelling very strongly of the unique and rather unpleasant odour of cat urine. It seems that while she appears to be getting along better when I'm home, she turns into a bit of a basket case when I'm at work. When cats are unhappy, they show it in many ways. One of them being peeing in strange places. Like, for instance, when Tanya's cat peed in my suitcase; he was suffering a bladder infection. Willi is suffering a strange cat in her home. Anyway, I poured some Pinesol down the vent and it has mostly neutralised the scent, though there is a slight smell when you get close to the vent. At least it was the vent and not my bed, clothing, or closet. Today, happily, she seems to be getting on quite well and showing the distinct symptoms of boredom. She's gone out into the rest of the house, dug about in the litter, climbed onto many surfaces where she doesn't belong... all signs point to her doing better. And, so far, no more peeing in my vent.

I spent a lot of time working on stuff for Booboo. I'll be invoicing soon enough. Thank goodness, I really need some money. Today, I plan to repot (finally) my spider plant. I mean, 'repot', isn't exactly the right word since she's not in a propper pot now. Willi threw her off the microwave twice and the plant has been living in a jagged terracotta mess for months. It hasn't stopped her from having babies and flowers, and she refuses to believe that she can't be root bound because she has no pot. Hell, she barely has soil. Anyway, that's my big plan for today. I'll get to the rooting crysanthamums (I know that's not how it's spelled...) that live in a bottle when I get a pot that is tall enough for them. It will require me to shatter the bottle to free the significant amount of root growth.

Oh yes, I must apply to some jobs today, as well. I downloaded a number of them yesterday and today I have to sit down and do some coverletter rewritting and whatnot. I really mean to find myself a new and interesting job - preferably in a field where I have experience and knowledge. My goal is to do so by July. I have never really had to do a job search like this before. I usually just fell into them, so this is a learning process. I think I bring a lot of good quality and ability to the jobs I do and I know something is bound to turn up. Back before Christmas, John of Heretic read my cards and told me that I was either going to make a move in March or July. I had the chance to make a move for March and turned it down. That was the job where Al works with the owner from Sheepshead Bay. I don't regret turning it down, I stand by my reasons, so tempting though it was. So, I'm aiming for July. John's not usually wrong and July's only a couple of months away.

Wow, I'm in a really good headspace today. Go me !

Good morning, get off your email. Hello? Do you hear that? That's me growling. Sorry, but it's just such a double standard. I'm not allowed to check my email when I get into the office, but everyone else in the office is busy passing around forwards -and- taking personal calls while at work? I don't have a phone. I pretty much limit my email usage to when I first arrive and lunchtime, which I think is completely reasonable. I intend to continue doing so and, frankly, if I get in trouble, I will argue the point. Let's just say, hypothetically, that someone has to reach me for something important. After trying me at home to find that I'm now at work (where mostly, my cell doesn't work inside the building), they either have to call the main switchboard to at least get someone who can direct them to someone in my department who then might call me to the phone, or maybe will just take a message. I know from experience how effectively this system works - not very. If, however; they email me, chances are, I can respond right off the bat. Besides, my job is crappy enough, I think I deserve one mode of distraction.

Since they won't give me a phone extension because that might imply that I have customer service contact with the public (which I do, anyway), that would mean I might have to get a raise. I just haven't gotten the courage up to say when told to phone people, "I'm sorry, but that's not in my job description."

On a different note, the cats are doing alright. Pork Chop, the rotund little female (Stew's sister hates that I call Tobe rotund, but I could call Tobe "Roundo" or "Tubby" or something more humiliating), is still curious about Stinky Bee, but mostly keeps out of my room now. Stew says she's behaving out of sorts, so I guess she's not feeling as comfortable as all that. Willi, on the other hand, seems to be improving a bit. She's now bucked up the courage to follow me around the apartment and even talks a bit again. It's quite strange having a normally loquacious cat suddenly go mum. She's playing a little again, too, which is gratifying. I think that this will sort itself out sooner than I initially thought. In the meantime, I've moved Willi's dishes into my room, including her water, because aside from the likelihood of Tobe eating Stink's food, I'm tired of her drinking from my mug.

So, wow. I actually have the time this week to see Rick. We're going for a dinner and a movie tomorrow, what a novel idea. Otherwise, my social life is strictly limited to Booboo's campaign goings-on. Meetings, social sessions... Really, when my phone rings, it's going to be one of three people: my mother, Rick, or Booboo. Yes, I lead an extraordinarily exciting life.

An update on the kitty progress from Stew in answering my email query:

Q How are the cats doing? No fisticuffs, I hope?

A Not that I've seen.. and there aren't any large tufts of hair lying around.

I was out for a couple of hours picking up Sierra and
having lunch but things seem okay. Tense but okay.
Wili was holed up in the kitchen window while Tobe
roamed the house.

Both litter boxes have been used but I have no way to tell by which kitty.

My poor cat. Hopefully, she'll rebound to ownership soon. I mean, she managed to do so at Mom's place, overcoming two cats with seniority, why not in her own house?

And, I stand formally corrected, it's Tobe, not Tobie.

Oh boy, my day has started -really- well. Willi wakes up all happy, only to rediscover that Tobie has invaded her house and cowers under my bedside table. Great, guilt. Then, at work, right off the bat, I am greeted with, "Joane's back !" Joy, my most favourite person in membership is back from sick leave. This being the woman who sent me home without any authority to do so, who backstabs and mistreats the part-timers, etc. And I have to look happy about it. *sigh* Then, I'm checking my email like I do every morning and Peter says, "Maya, what are you doing?", because, you see, I'm not supposed to use my email here. Of course, I also don't have a phone extension, so just how am I supposed to stay in touch with the world? I answered flatly, "Email. I have no phone."

Anyway, Peter said nothing more about it and Joane is being extra pleasant (something she might have tried before becoming sick) and I hope it continues. Generally, things have improved in the office to at least the point of non-comment-worthiness.

As I was saying, Willi is none-too happy about having Tobie in the house, it's an invasion as far as she's concerned and something to hide from. Tobie, on the other hand, finds Willi an endless curiosity. Willi doesn't seem to be mad at me, just at the situation, so I feel a little better about things. My poor Stinky Bee, having to share an apartment with Pork Chop. On the other hand, Stew and I had the most fun taking out the garbage - tossing it off the second floor balcony onto the lawn ! "Slop !" *toss* That was great fun and easier than running up and down the stairs with everything. So far, I'm enjoying having Stew in the house. :) And not just because he discovered that we have cable hooked up from my old/his new room. I really should have checked that earlier.

My to-do list for tonight:
1. Hook up Natasha - there's work to be done !
2. Do work.
3. Eat dinner.
4. Watch West Wing and maybe Law & Order.
5. Do more work.
6. Optional: seperate cats at regular intervals.
7. Sleep.

Wow, who knew life out of university could be so exciting? I had another dream about going back to grad school. I mean, if I can't pay my debts now, I might as well go back and incur more, right? *laugh* I might teach in Asia next year, for the money. I might do a lot of things to pay off my debts and get myself back into school. I'll have to think about what I want to study, though - maybe there's an art history/history cross-over programme I could do. Ahhh, the sweet escapism of dreaming...

Speaking of escapism, my mother and I have booked our hotel in Detroit. We decided to stay in the US to avoid crossing through Customs every day. The place is really nice looking and my mom spoke to a very helpful woman on the phone and we managed to reserve our room for a very affordable cost. The hotel sits right in the cultural centre of downtown Detroit, near the Institute of Arts, the Science Centre, the African American History Museum, and, so we've been told, plenty of excellent places to eat. As far as I'm concerned, this trip can't come quickly enough.

Hm, maybe I'll buy a lottery ticket.

Ranting is something we all do, and many of us enjoy doing it. It's a release, a way to blow off steam; about our jobs, politics, our relationships, friends, cars, you name it. For my mother, it's The Osbournes. You have not heard a rant until you've heard my mother fume about them, specifically Ozzy, every time the commercials air on CTV. Oh my lord, she says the same thing every time. For me, it's usually about drivers and how they've managed to rank Toronto worse than Montreal for bad driving. It's true, Toronto rates worse than the traditional bad-driver centre of Canada. Lane changes - Hello, people, you've got a turn signal for a reason ! Road rage - I know all about that and have the dinged hood to prove it. You get the idea. I hate bad drivers. I went to CAA drivers' ed.; mostly, I still use the skills they taught me. Did other people NOT learn how to drive properly? How did these monumentally bad drivers manage to get their licences? I mean, come on. I might be a speeder, but I don't endanger other... But, if I'm not driving, I'm taking the bus, and have I ever told you how bad the Dufferin bus is? Holy shit, it's consistently the worst bus route I've ever ridden in all my bus-riding history in Toronto.

Ranting. It's fun. But it gets annoying after a while. I could write a rant about how tiresome it is listening to people go on and on about what annoys them, but I won't.

Recently, I saw a tank on the back of a flatbed truck pulled over at a rest stop on Highway 115. That was a pretty weird site. I've seen military vehicles on the 401 - it's a massive highway and it passes several Canadian Forces Bases - but the 115? We're talking about a highway with a speed limit of 90 for most of it heading out into the boonies of central Ontario... I know, they were taking the tank out to deal with the encroaching threat of bikers cum blueberry sellers and the rebel forces of nature that are reclaiming all those boarded up motels.

I'm rather facetious today, aren't I?

Other news: Willi is loving me and loving Peterborough. She has been following me around since I got out here yesterday, sleeping with me and curling up near me whenever possible. I think she missed me while I was gone, and though the garden and its many climbable trees (something she's been successfully experimenting with) and tempting birds is lots of fun, it's just better when I'm around. It's nice. Of course, later today, she'll be coming back to Toronto to find a strange (and I do mean strange) man living in the room that I used to live in, with me in the room she previously hadn't been allowed in, and Nick having been replaced by Tobie, the rotund interloping female cat that came with aforementioned strange man, Stew. Boy, is life ever interesting.

I've been working these last few days on Booboo's stuff. It's paying work, I might add, so it's sort of hit my priority list. And, none of it requires my using Booboo's image ! Huzzah ! Of course, if all the information came to me with all the requirements spelled out, that would be nice, but it's alright. I've got some free rein here and each time a change needs to be made, I just smile and remind myself that I'm being paid. By the hour.

Finally, I've updated my Elfwood gallery again. I can't remember if I mentioned this or not. Anyway, I added a couple new Tolkien inspired pieces, a character portrait and an impy lady. No Moderators' Choices for me this time; oh well, I guess three in less than a year is pretty good, right? *laugh*

I have the strongest urge to write a story today, but a weblog entry will have to suffice as I'm currently at work. I do want to write something fictional... or draw. I got this pretty keen inspiration for a picture based on the lyrics of a song that I was listening to last night while organising my room. Neil Diamond, of all things; just have this great image of Brother Love preaching at his Traveling Salvation Show.

Stew has moved in now, cat and all. The couch couldn't fit up the stairs, so my room won't be its repository after all. Goodwill lucked out, instead. I've got two bookcases completely loaded - almost all my books are up. I'm going to keep my third case for my toys and computer/work related matter. Mom's going to help me find a nice wall shelf that is set on brackets (I keep thinking 'buttresses') so I can get my stereo up on the wall. I've got half of my art hanging now, too, with places chosen for at least a couple other works. I said stew came with a cat. Indeed, the new addition is named Toby (not sure on the spelling) and she's a very cute, somewhat rotund little busy-body. Hopefully, Willi and she will get along or at least ignore each other. We'll find out soon enough. I'll be bringing Willi back on Monday or Tuesday.

Anyway, I was thinking about where in the world I would like to visit if I could spend time (and money) traveling. So, I compiled a list of places that I haven't already been.

I'd like to cross Canada and take the Yukon/Alaska highway. New Orleans; New Mexico, Nevada, Calafornia; North Carolina; Peru; Brazil; Chile; Italy, specifically: Florence, Rome, Pompeii & Hurculaneam; Denmark; The UK, in depth; Japan; Indonesia; Iran; Kenya (always wanted to go); Tanzania; South Africa; Egypt; New Zealand. This is by no means an exhaustive list, just places that currently interest me, those in italics being at the top of my list.

As you can see, it's a very taxing day at work. I'm stuffing tax receipts into envelopes for want of other things to do. If you don't allow yourself a break every half hour or so, you'd go 'potty' as one of the senior volunteers said. I suppose she meant 'crazy' rather than 'pee', but with the amount of water I drink when I'm doing this, either could be true.

Well, getting back to Russian Ark, this was not a typical history film, nor was it a costume drama, in that there wasn't really a drama.

Highly abstract, non-linear, the camera takes the audience in and out of rooms and salons of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, following moments in the lives of those who made it their home and glimpsing those that walk through the halls now as visitors. The film opens with a very narrow view, constricted by the confusion of the 'narrator'. Quickly the camera gets lost in the myriad of servant stairs and we the viewer, looking through the narrator's eyes, get turned around and distracted as another soul, out of place, arrives, as confused as us. And it is confusing. There is too much diaolgue in the beginning of the film to support both the fascinating imagery and subtitles. However, as the conversation fades, becoming more intermittent as the movie goes on, the imagery and costumes become more impressive, rivetting, even.

We are allowed to glimpse moments of life and private experiences before the film's monumental end. Just as we entered, constrained, confused, and lost, we exit en masse with all the participants in a grand ball. Hundreds upon hundreds of people, file through sets of doors, leaving the dance to sweep down the great staircase and out into the future. We are witness to a low rumble of conversation, catching snatches of it here and there, as the camera moves with the crowd, washed forward as if on the tide.

One woman trips on the stairs, catching herself on the soldier before her, turning to laugh in embarrassment toward whomever is beside her. It is a natural moment, a tiny sliver of humanity, caught in a massive churning river of people. Another such moment, and in my opinion, the most poignant of the entire film, takes place as we leave the warmth of the interior to follow Catherine outside into the frigid, snow-covered garden. The snow crunches under her feet, a servant struggling to keep up with her as she begins to run - a moment free of her status, of her age, of the confines of the palace. The camera slows, and she and her servant grow obscure with distance, the sound of their footfalls disappearing as we turn a corner and return to the darkness of the palace.

Peppered with similar vignettes, Russian Ark is a fascinating film. I am not sure whether it is these or the groundbreaking technical feat of its creation that caused me to love the work as much as I did. There is only one take, one chance, the film never cutting, always rolling, everything that is captured is set in real-time. There are surprisingly few moments where I would have liked an edit, a cut scene, though the beginning could have done with less dialogue. I said I loved the film and, yes, I do, but I am not sure that I liked it. I would like to see it again, eventually, in order to catch all the things that I missed, but on video, so that I can skip through bits of it. That said, the sheer incredulity of its undertaking, make it a film worth seeing on the big screen.

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And now for something completely different.

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I moved into Nick's room yesterday. I make it sound so easy, don't I? It wasn't. I arrived at the house around 1pm to find that Nick wasn't moved out. My intention was that we'd do cleaning and then I'd move into his room, but because he was still in it, and all over the living room, as well, things did not go as planned. The only room not dominated by stuff, was the bathroom, which I set about cleaning. Then I set about my room, something of a den 'de' mess. I also mopped the hall and bathroom floors and vacuumed all the available spaces. The dust buffalo were in the midst of their semi-annual migration, heading where, I don't know, but in great numbers.

I had hoped that Nick would have cleaned the kitchen. I mopped its floor, but the cupboards and stove are somewhat covered in a film that can only be created by frying up a lot of goodness on the stove, something Nick does a lot of. I'd asked Nick to clean it a while back, but he never got around to it. Bad Nick. I've half a mind to invite him back to clean the cupboards even though he's gone. He did clean his room, which was good since it allowed me to start moving my stuff in while he was still there. Anyway, after work today, I'm heading home to move some of my crap around from one place on the floor to another, in order to make room for the couch that Stew's bringing in. Once that's in, I'll be able to figure out how best to fit my bookshelves along the walls and where to put up my art.

There are several bags for next garbage day, mostly in the living room and on the porch. It's amazing how much junk accumulates in two rooms over the course of half a year (I think that's about when we last cleaned out the crap). Big thanks to Rick and A d a m for helping me move my furniture. Also, to Rick who paid for a much needed dinner. One hundred times, thanks ! Anyway, I get a kick out of the fact that A___ helped out; it's not everybody who gets to say that a president of a federal political party helped them move. Needless to say, I slept pretty well last night, though it was weird being in the front room.