August 21, 2012


Sooooo.......whaddya think?

New digs.

I think it's quite spiffy, myownself. I rather like the bolder colours, to contrast with my subdued character.

I'm back from Monterey and Pebble Beach, and the most spectacular bunch of cars I've ever, ever seen. I'll post pics and stuff when I know what the paper wants first, but what a spectacular show. It's called Concours d'Elegance, and I kept getting it wrong, but now I know. We also spent a day at Laguna Seca watching vintage racing. So so so much fun.

Got to trundle along the coast the first day - we had a driver - so we went down to Big Sur, and through Carmel. And Carmel Valley. And Carmel By the Sea. Yes, there are that many Carmels. I looked for Clint Eastwood every single place we went. I did not see him. More likely, he saw me first.

The Concours is a fancypants event, like Ascot or Wimbledon, but with cars instead of horses or tennis. The best part was watching what people wore. Tons of money there, but somehow, well, I dunno. I did see a few hats, but the best thing was a poodle with a hat on. Yup.

Anyway. My new site is not nearly as posh as the Concours, but it is more laid back. Hope you'll hang out...I leave again Monday, but I'm sure Roz will hold court, as usual.

Heh.


August 14, 2012


Sorry. My old blogs crack me up.

This is  from 2007.

I crack myself up.


Gone, baby, gone...

I'm outa here. Off to discover how the rich and richer do it, here. Get to drive a bunch of Porsches. I think it will be quite lovely.

I'm running around last minute, as usual, trying to cram 6 days worth of why-bother-I'll-never-fit-in into a carry-on, inexplicably ironing things and then scrunching them into the case. You think I'd be better at this by now. You'd think.

I finally gave up on the list, and handed Christer and Pammy my card and said "you guys go do a top up shopping". I also reminded them to check with Ari because he too, will be eating, and might like a say. I hand them cash as well (carefully separated), but sometimes, if I time it right, I can actually get them to cook a few nights while I'm gone. The ATM spat out 2 50s and 5 20s. I gave Ari the 20s, because if I give him the 50s, apparently, every time a bill or a pizza comes, he says "I don't want to break the 50" and Christer ends up using his money to pay. I love that. 'His' money. 'Their' money. Heh. Sigh.

The kids just got back with groceries. Ari hauled it in, peeking in the bags. I asked what they got.
"Acne juice," he tells me, pulling out a thing of Coke.

I told Christopher I wasn't going to bother putting a texting plan on my phone. Nobody ever answers me, and I end up sending 4 texts (one to each kid that says 'I love youuuuuuu', then a follow up telling them they're evil little non-responding bastards), then just daily to Pammy who promptly answers me, usually with a picture of Maggie sitting at my computer missing me. Pammy is gold.

But that means 40 texts go unused. It seems wasteful. It seems silly. It seems I do it every.time.I.go. And it never changes. So, I just put a plan on, because the one time I don't...For a change, I'll be heading back to the U.S. to Anchorage before the month is up - they usually expire. The texts. Not the kids.

Maggie is eyeballing my open suitcase. She is not pleased. Last time I was away, she racked up 500 bucks in vet bills. The kids now refer to this as the time Maggie faked her own death to get even at me for leaving her.

It's almost worth 500 bucks to have somebody miss me.

Though I think JoJo does it for free.

*Edit: I just asked JoJo if she was going to miss her Mommy. She said "Mommy who?. And Ari is upstairs eating the junk food Christer bought. He laughed on his way up the stairs and said "you're not even gone yet!"





August 11, 2012


Hey NBC: It's a 7 second time delay, not a 7 hour one

After catching bits and pieces of the Olympic coverage the past two weeks (not very much; I am unapologetically unable to theoretically get it up for sports I don't recognize) I  find myself scrabbling at my arm to yank out the saccharine IV that the American press has somehow jammed in there. I do not need a tedious backstory on how every urchin made it to the Games. I just don't. NBC has been particularly bad, but mostly because they discovered two weeks ago that the internet exists, and viewers would somehow - somehow - find out the results of an event that ran at 9am our time (later that same afternoon Olympic time) and be less inclined to wait for NBC to cue up a two hour Very Special Olympic Presentation at night replete with spoilers from top to bottom.

Pssst NBC: There Are No More Secrets.

I've been marveling with the rest of you at the lovely fitness of so many athletes. Though my vote has long been cast for a complete return to the original Olympic events, with the original official uniforms (they were naked), it appears we are nearly there. It seems every sport now requires people - which means women - to wear a bikini. They're beautiful, really. Spectacular athletes running, diving, leaping and spiking the ball. There is much discussion about the merits of beach volleyball, but they get the sand from Huntsville, near my cottage, so, go team. NBC helpfully put together a video for you to appreciate the vast range of athletes at these events. Somehow, however, in the editing process, the only people who made the cut were beautiful women, and mostly blondes. You can practically hear the chick-a-wow-wow playing, and while they are quite lovely, I'm not certain years and years of training and sacrifice took place so a bunch of letches in an NBC editing booth could pull their puds and lament that the winter Olympics requires so many damned clothes.

I'd rather watch the BBC broadcasts; they're far freer with their words, and they don't have to pretend they don't know who won. The last few days of the Olympics are usually the mop up sports, anyway, as the rhythmic gymnasts are finding. I'm tired of having to listen to people argue what is and isn't a sport. Lots of things are sports; doesn't mean they're Olympic sports. It's become a bloated mess, frankly, and dancing with a wand confuses more than just me - this piece from Zoe Williams in The Guardian cracked me up: it's not mean, but it's so true. On the hometown girl:

""The thing with Francesca Jones is that she sets small goals and achieves them," the commentator said. "And she's definitely realised those with coming to the Olympics." I'm not sure about that. A small goal is putting your make-up on before you go to the shops."

But, you all knew I was just saving the best for last. Tim Dowling is spot-on today -  you know you want a laugh. Off you go.

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August 10, 2012


Square Off Friday

Busy day today...from the NHL coming (maybe?) lockout, to the rights of a sperm donor, to sexsexsex. Must be Friday.

Join us for what will no doubt be a spirited talk, in so many ways.

CHCH Channel 11, 5:30

August 9, 2012


CHCH Square Off Thursday

Soooo....do we get to know the medical condition of our politicians? Once they're in office? Before they get there? Where's the line?

We'll also take a look - and a very big jab - at the guy who wrote his son off - literally - for being gay. Nice good bye letter from your Dad. And they always blame Mom for everything.

I'll be co-hosting today. Join us at 5:30 on Square Off, CHCH channel 11.


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August 7, 2012


CHCH Square Off Tuesday

Co-hosting today...what's up with the Mars Rover? What's up with organized crime in the U.S.?

And, what's up with taxing our Olympic athletes if they win a medal? Yup. That incentive for a shiny disk has to go through the taxman first. Just like lottery wins. Just like Governor General Awards. Oh wait. Scratch those last two. Just the medals.

Really?

Join us on CHCH Square Off at 5:30.

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August 5, 2012


Hummingbirds & corkscrews

Ever watched a hummingbird? They never settle on anything, and it exhausts me just watching them. The last one I saw was when I was on the deck at the cottage a couple of weeks back. I heard the unmistakable thrumming - well, I guess that's a lie; I often mistake that noise for a distant airplane at first - but looked up to see the bird. The problem with hummingbirds is that if you glance quickly, you first think it might be a large bug, which makes you jump because it's such a damned ugly bug. Then you realize it is instead a tiny bird, and somehow that makes it far cuter. Perspective is everything, it would seem.

It bugs me however, that they don't sit down. Real birds take a load off, at least once in awhile. I drove past a highwire yesterday, just as a whole pack/flock/group of birds were swooping in to do their big sit. A whole string of them queued up on the wire, one after another. There was some jostling going on, and it reminded me of when we used to have to go to pep rallies in the school gym and my friends and I would all try to sit on the same bleacher, and eventually have to scooch over to make room. The birds were scooching, though I'm sure they weren't there to clap for a losing football team and roll their eyes at the cheerleaders who thought they were better than us, even though only one of them could sort of do the splits.

I have mourning doves in my backyard, and the things are so lazy they walk everywhere. Seriously. They forage around in the weeds (there is no grass) just like the squirrels and bunnies I have. I will see something moving, get ready to make that stupid noise I make when I see a bunny (the boys now roll their eyes, and no, I can't do the splits) and then realize it is a bird. A bird with wings, too lazy to use them.

I put out stale bread and old popcorn and stuff for this zoo I keep in my backyard. Ari was eating corn on the cob on the deck last night, and a wee bunny was eyeing it. I considered tossing down a cob, but then all I could picture was a raccoon in the middle of the night eating corn on the cob, and I didn't. I tossed out some stale taco shells the other day, and only the squirrels would go near them. Expect for one, who gives me the side eye and reminds me he's gluten free.

I'm typing this around JoJo's Rubenesque form lying on my lap. She's been cacking up too many hairballs, so I found her brush and now I brush her. She actually likes it, unless I touch *that* spot by mistake and then she turns into something from the Exorcist and draws blood. Ten minutes later I've barely staunched the blood, and she's back on my lap deciding we can try again.

It's dark and raining here, and I'm supposed to be doing touch up painting in My Nearly Done Bathroom. Instead I'm doing laundry, paying bills and staring at a hallway clogged with garbage bags full of clothes to drop off somewhere. I decided to do my spring cleaning. I have a closet that has the normal row of hangers in front, then another behind it. Way behind it. If I go back there, we tie a rope around my ankle to pull me out. I tossed things that have been back there for a decade.

The good thing about cleaning my bedroom? The things I find: the party pack of 9Vs to change the smoke detectors, the fitted sheet for that set of sheets I haven't been able to use, two pairs of black sandals I forgot I bought, a Shopper's bag with shampoo and stuff in it, a red sweater I lost and love, another red sweater I lost and hate, three chargers to things I no longer own, a stack of Vanity Fairs for Roz, 9 scrunchies the cats had chased under the dresser, and a rechargeable phone I've been accusing the boys of losing.

I was dumping my purse upside down yesterday to pay for a coffee at the bookstore. I knew I had a crapload of change, and there was no lineup. As the guy patiently waited, I stared what had fallen into my hand: a video card, a silver hoop earring, a boarding pass, a safety pin, a nail file, a mini flashlight, a mini screwdriver and over 22 bucks in change. I used to always have a corkscrew, but I've had too many confiscated at customs. That, and Ari was horrified one day when he was little to discover that I carried a corkscrew with me. "Oh my god, you have a CORKSCREW IN YOUR PURSE?". I can still hear him.

I'm still missing a white leather jacket (do not worry: I bought another one), and we're still down a phone. Ask Roz about her earrings some time. I dream of a day where everything is in its place and I don't lose things. Dream big or go home.

July 31, 2012


You have mail. Strange, strange mail

I can't help it; even when I get an email clearly marked 'spam', if it pops into my inbox and doesn't go directly to junk, I open it. I don't click on links - I'm curious but not stupid - but oh my, I love my weird emails. This one came in a few weeks ago. I will cut and paste it, verbatim:  

someone told me I was drunk. I can tell you right now that I can still drive home because I'm drunk, not with alcohol, but with love for you. I have forwarded you an eCard to let you accept how I feel. take a look at your message Here and nothing could be done, so I went around to the back to see not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me! unless you are near enough to see down. The houses of the old town-- 

  I do not know who it was from, but I think I really, really like them. And while I can totally understand someone being drunk on their love for me (shut up; I know, I know, but delusional is the new black), it is the 'houses of the old town' that are keeping me glued. I am such a fan of random. This email is like a Jackson Pollock painting, whom I adore, because it too makes no sense unless your brain is already a little addled from something - booze, love, gas fumes.

I also keep getting emails in Arabic. I think they're quite pretty, but of course I have no idea what they say. I open them, and the pretty letters are all upside down and the note is jammed over to the right hand side and starts at the bottom because everybody knows Arabic letters are like Australian drains, and go the opposite way of ours. After receiving about 6 mysterious emails, I finally dropped the content into Google translator, eager to hear if someone was drunk on their love for me, but in Arabic.  

Need a loan? Get personal advice service today to help you get exactly the loan You need the best conditions Let the experts handle your credit applications, including a wide range of financing solutions Creative and supplementary credit funding, making a tender among banks, monitoring the recruitment process and more For more information and an initial meeting at no cost click here : This email was sent to lsommerfeld@cogeco.ca

I'm going to stop translating things.

July 30, 2012


CHCH Square Off Monday

Co-hosting today...so, Kristen Stewart lapping up all the blame for those oh-so-predictable pictures of her with her oh-so-much older director? Hmmmm. A 22-year-old cheats on her boyfriend, but the MARRIED TURD OF A MAN WITH TWO KIDS flies under the radar? I don't think so. Plenty of blame to go around...though I'm still amazed anyone cares, except for a handful of people who are, you know, actually impacted by this. And, a new book revisits the Bandito biker murders outside London. Were they all really guilty? Or at least, as guilty as they were found? Join us on CHCH 11 at 5:30.

July 29, 2012


No word on what they charge egos...


I was driving around aimlessly for hours yesterday - well, you would to if someone chucked you the keys to a wonderful convertible in this weather - doing my favourite thing: getting lost in someone else's expensive car. I basically head north, and more north, then take any sideroad that catches my eye. Once I'm totally lost, I snap on the navigation system, usually realize I am still lost, but like it even more. The nav has a way of trying to push you back onto nasty roads like Highway 401. A bold orange line tries to drag your car back to the big red highways. I do not want big red highways. I want little weird roads. So when the nav lady says 'prepare to make a right turn, take a right turn now, go right, argh what the hell is wrong with you, woman' I just keep on going. You can always gets from here to there; anybody knows that. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, actually. Though yesterday I slowed all the way down for what I thought was a kitten I was going to rescue, only to have said kitten be a whole cat, and a cat with attitude at that. What I thought was a tiny lost baby mewling by the side of the road turned out to be a cat strolling down the road, totally knowing what it was doing and telling me to listen to the nav lady and get off his road and back onto the highway with all the other idiots. I will continue to slow down for kittens. I'm also checking out real estate, I realize. I'm so sick of the busy city (and yes, I'm aware I don't live in a big city), but it's still too big and noisy. I want peace and quiet. And a piece of quiet. I don't want to live on top of anyone else. If I want to go stuff one last thing into the blue box early on garbage day, I want to be able to scoot out in a tshirt and bare feet and not see anyone. I don't know exactly what I want, but I guess it will be like kittens: when it's right, it's right. And until then, I'll just keep avoiding the busy highways and hope that lost leads to found.