I'm sure I'll live to regret this, but I always keep my word. And yeah, looking back, it's not as heroic as I recall, speedwise, but dammit, this one is for the old broads. Put the sound on. You can hear my very own cheering section from the Kia pits. You know, the smart people. Who stayed off the bull.

It's raining. I'm inside. My hand is better, but not good enough to word outside. In the rain.

Let's talk stupid ads. Why not? I have a new favourite. It's for MiniWheats. I don't eat those, but I do buy them for Christer's girlfriend, Pam. They are currently running an ad I want to punch. You now that song, In The Army? That's the music they use, and they've put their own words to it. Commence humming that in your head now, if you like. Or out loud. Your choice.

All I can hear when the ad plays is 'in the earwig'. Seriously. I've seen the ad several times now, and I cannot figure out what they're saying, because surely a whole wheat cereal, even one with a gloppy dollop of sugar on it, doesn't want me singing 'in the earwig' as I consider whether I should purchase it or not. Well, I already admitted I buy it. But I bet if I tell Pammy that's what I hear, she'll stop eating it.

Wouldn't you?

Sooooooooooo. Whaddya think? Too much royal wedding nonsense?

Join us at 5:30 on Square Off, CHCH 11.

Getting your kid's ears pinned back? Fine. Going on national TV to let everyone know? Let's file this under 'questionable parenting'.

Join us at 5:30 on Square Off, CHCH 11.

Stunning pics from The Atlantic from fire ravaged Texas. I thought 9 would make me cry, until I saw 23.

Really nothing else to say. Go look.

The puddles are outside. The muddles are in my head. I can't seem to make either behave.

On Sunday, I looked up to see big, fat snowflakes. I looked away, my preferred method of dealing with those things that make me sorry I ever stumbled across them in the first place. Ten minutes later, I heard Ari yell down "it's snowing!" as if I had made it so. I waited awhile, then went up and opened Christopher's bedroom door. It was 2 in the afternoon, or as my sons call it, dawn.

After a brief struggle with consciousness, Christer finally glanced out his window. "Holy crap, is it snowing?" he asked. "It is," I replied. "But then, again, it is November, after all." Rip Van Lazyass got up.

Speaking of Timeshift Theatre, I found this throw away on the election today to be quite hilarious. Someone asked Harper what he thought of the current debate to change succession to the British throne to include daughters. You know, to make if all fair- like, and to stop treating the unpenised like second class citizens. Knowing full well this is a nonstarter - I mean, really, who cares? - I was curious how Harper, that unflusterable man of all seasons would joust such nonsense away.

“The successor to the throne [Prince Charles] is a man,” said Mr. Harper. “The next successor to the throne [Prince William] is a man. I don't think Canadians want to open a debate on the monarchy or constitutional matters at this time. That's our position, and I just don't see that as a priority for Canadians right now at all.”

Oh, my. You couldn't have just stopped at 'this item of business is surely best left to the people of that country?'. You couldn't have said to the reporter, 'Tell you what. Let's pretend that question doesn't count, and you can go back to having all 5 of your questions for me intact.'

No, instead he has to chuck his Florsheims down to the low road. I can picture him as a tot. A tot in a sweater vest, but still. "No! We do it that way because that's the way we've always done it!" If women in this country ever needed another reason to show this political party the door, surely this was it. I like when things this ridiculous end up being this revealing.

Got another recorded message from my MP. Listen up: I'm not voting for you. Your calls annoy me. Hell, calls like that from a party I do vote for would annoy me. The fact your leader would be thrilled I am in my kitchen making dinner when you make the call does little to sway me. Maybe I should kick off my shoes to complete the picture. Perhaps have a third child. Get out of the workforce. Get that band of gold on my ring finger. Buy you a sweater vest. Told you I was rambling.

Saw Tina Fey on TV. I would like her to be my friend. Saw ten minutes of the Sun News Channel yesterday. Don't want any of them to be my friends. Wrote a column about my kid drinking coffee with sugar in it. Got told I was killing my kid with sugar.

Go watch this video. Joy Taylor is a buddy of mine. She's a reader, and I adore her. She writes letters to the editor all the time. She writes letters to me all the time. I went to visit her. She wrote her memoirs, and sent me a copy. I want to be Joy when I grow up.

Grete Waitz, who won 9 New York marathons, died of cancer at 57. This has me rethinking the whole fitness plan I recently embarked upon. When I recover from my finger injury (still hurts like a beeotch, thanks for all your letters), I shall have to seriously weigh the pros and cons of getting into shape as seriously as I weigh my butt.

Flipping around the channels last night, I was pleased to note that The Partridge Family is back on. I watched Keith sing I Think I Love You to a fiesty little feminist, and my heart dissolved. I watched the rest of the 'family' lip sync, and knew, as I have always known, that I could have been a Partridge. I would wear that lace bib. I would wear that velvet pantsuit. I would forgive Keith for losing all his hair. And I would overlook just how weird the whole Rueben thing was.

Kids want to be fed. Which means it's time to go melt cheese on something and if they complain, threaten to show them my finger.

Well, that was fun.

I just did an hour spin class for the YMCA - they're doing a fund-raising Spin for Kids at all the area Ys today, and they asked me if I'd do an hour. Well, a few months ago, that seemed like a fine idea. 'Sure,' I replied. 'Happy to participate!'

I haven't ridden a bike since I was about 10. I don't do bikes. Anyway, I found myself at noon propped up on a bike in front of a very enthusastic instructor, some very loud music, and a roomful of people who do this all the time. I didn't realize that there are rules. There are special sections and music and intervals and they yell at you and call it encouragement. My arse wasn't feeling very 'encouraged'. Those seats are mean. I thought the standing up and pedaling part would be welcome, until I realized that after awhile, that hurts too.

I haven't blogged because I smashed my hand in the garage door. Know what you're imagining? Imagine worse. We have one of those insulated doors that has horizontal panels that fold up as you raise the door. I lowered the door with my right hand braced against the door. The door did what it was supposed to do, and unfolded as it was lowered. My hand did something decidedly more stupid, and stuck its fingers in the space that was closing. Piiiiiiiiiiinch. Blood everywhere. My peter pointer, my up yours finger and my ring finger were all smooshed in that space.

I got the blood stopped, finally, and decided it didn't need stitches. Yeah, it could have used a few stitches. Too late now, but my up yours finger is still a mess. And in this spin class, they tell you to stand up and 'get aggressive' and grab the handle bars and so I did and all of a sudden I realized that owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I had a couple of days of useless typing. And I was reading cool stuff and wanted to link it but it hurt too much and I don't like any one of you enough to blog in pain.

And my legs are noodly.

Oh, and my phone just rang. A prerecorded message from my local MP. Recorded. Dude. Piss off.

Always wanted to say that. Not sure why.

Anyway...because I'm so far behind on my Adventures (new website being put together!), here's the link to the Rainbow Country Adventure I recently did with Tourism. Good piece, and if you run the video, I'm the one in the pink helmet. Halfway through, there's an interview.

Tons of fun. I am sooooooooooo going back. Me and some girls are going to get a party cabin. Don't tell the cabin people.

Labels: pretty pink helmets for you and me, rainbow country snowmobile adventure

I'll be co-hosting Square Off today at 5:30...tune into CHCH 11, for all the usual fun and games.

Labels: CHCH, Square Off

I admit, I often have terribly preconceived ideas about things. I'm old enough to have thought a lot of thoughts about a lot of things, and if you say a word to me, I am likely to immediately tell you my thoughts. On that word.

Twice now, I have had instant ideas about what a certain place would be like, and twice now I have been proven wrong. The first one was Dawson City, Yukon. I thought it would be campy and fake and it was awesome and fun. A little campy to be sure, but that's what made it so awesome. In Dawson City, I played pool on a pool table that looked like someone had been murdered on it. Actually, it also looked like someone might have had sex on it, but in Dawson City, you kinda want to go with the murder scene. The ick factor is a little less. Tells you everything you need to know about Dawson City. It's where I also learned to only order a beer in a bottle. I mistakenly had a gin that I think was lighter fluid.

Anyway....I had similar ideas about Key West. It would have to be a corny tourist trap, right? Oh my, no. I love Key West. Touristy, yes. But remarkable and lovely and crazy. I was down there with Kia last week - driving some terrific Optima Turbos - and spent one night in South Beach, and the next in Key West. South Beach had some...interesting...people watching. But after spending 40 bucks for a really big bad daiquiri thing, the best part was trudging back to the hotel on the beach. Totally dark, the tide coming in, I cranked up my jeans and waded through the surf. Fabulous. I also made a sand angel, and then took all that sand back to my room. I forgot that sand gets everywhere, especially when you lie down and thrash around in it.

But on to Key West...my favourite part of Key West was before the sun came up. I snuck out early and drove around in the quiet and dark. It was just....lovely. Roosters and chickens running around, and me worried about running them over and pulling over. I watched the sun come up; no small feat considering I'd gotten to bed at 2:30am.

Back in Miami, I'd made the mistake of telling some colleagues that I'd always wanted to ride a mechanical bull. I babble. One of them, Brad Horn, piped up. "There's a mechanical bull at a bar in Key West! We'll all go! You can do it!" I nodded that this would be great. Sure. After a day spent at Homestead Raceway in Miami, I figured everyone was as tired as I was. The cocktails and dinner that night on the boardwalk of Key West were really nice. And calm. And as it drew to a close and I reached for my room key, a group of 20 or so announced we would be walking up Duval Street - to hit the bars.

I don't hit bars, much. I'm past it. But my blathering about riding a bull had not been lost in the tide, as I'd hoped. I was ordered upstairs to change from my rather lovely dress and back into jeans. And off we went. I will note at this point that Brad Horn knows the words to every Johnny Cash song ever recorded.

Key West is very cool, and very relaxed. You can just trundle along from bar to bar, wandering in and out holding a traveler. They don't get crazy if you're holding a beer from another bar; they realize you are likely to buy another one from them. The music was insanely good, and we walked along, popping in and out as the music drew us in. And then I heard the announcement I'd been fearing. "There's the bull!"

Yeah. I rode the bull. We watched for an hour or more, as one person after another was tossed into the pads. It didn't look painful to fall, but it did look humiliating. There is no graceful way to have your arse over your head, and these people were half my age with far better arses. A colleague who shall remain nameless (Michael Bettencourt) promised me that if I went, he would go. So, I went. I reminded myself of two things: I'd always wanted to do this, and I didn't know anyone here. What's to lose?

8 seconds. You have to last 8 seconds to 'win'. I lasted 8 seconds. Bettencourt never went. I shall remember this, Michael.

A few hours later in the shower (remember, I had that 6am call), I discovered bruises in some very odd places. I'd been so determined not to be flung off, I hadn't realized how hard I'd dug into that bull. Fake bull. Whatever. Thank you, Key West.

There is video, which I don't have. Yet. If I get it, I'll post it.

In the meantime, I have a physical tomorrow. I think I'm gonna have some explaining to do.

Labels: brad horn, bruises, bull riding, homestead, key west, kia optima, miami, michael bettencourt

I'm back from a quick - much too quick - couple of days in Miami and Key West. I'm one of those who still enjoys flying, for the most part, and not just because I am sometimes up front. Not actually flying the plane, but fairly close to those who do.

Up front you get room for your bum and your legs and your elbows. I don't mind flying coach - if it was on my dime, you most certainly would never find me anywhere else, if on a plane at all - but not having to contend with Middle Seat issues is nice. Not to be confused with Middle East issues - which are just as complicated though date back much further - I don't like being in the middle seat. Unless I am traveling with blood relatives or still-loving mates who will let me slop over the edges of the seat, sit cross-legged and poke them with my slippers, or remember to say yes to the extra whatevers-are-on-offer even if they don't want them. Seat pouches on airplanes are to be treated like kangaroo pockets: they must contain things to eat and drink and wipe and blow with in the event of an emergency.

On long trips, you often get planes that have full on beds. This is beyond cool. I lie there and watch all the movies I haven't seen at home, and gleefully zap any I start watching that are lousy because I don't feel obligated to watch Jennifer Aniston to the bitter end of the same movie she has made over and over again for the last ten years just because it's due back tomorrow or there is nothing else on. There is always something else on.

I did quit on All The King's Men, sad to say. Just too big a movie for the little screen, and I knew I would regret it. I'm up to date on Modern Family, thanks for asking, though laughing out loud while wearing headphones makes you feel like an idiot. I will never call anyone an idiot ever again. Or at least for awhile.

I watched Black Swan because I could. I could no more bring that movie into this nest of testosterone than serve a fritata for dinner (even if I could make one, which I can't). It was uneven, actually. I like all involved, and that darling little girl from the TV show - Mila Kunis - well, I just loved her. Natalie Portman is excellent, but I feel like she is always excellent in that way of girls in school who get perfect marks and never have zits and then at 35 run away from their perfect husbands and homes and children to go live in a meth house. Like that.

So the movie is about ballet and crazy girls and crazier mothers, and having had a friend who very nearly went that route, I know there is much truth to many parts of it. And I like ballet, and crazy girls and crazy mothers, so I was underwhelmed by the movie in total. I'm sure there was a message about getting from here to there with bleeding toes and bad dreams, but I'm not sure I received it.

So I tugged out my earphones - the cheapies because one of the boys stole my good ones - and pulled out my Vanity Fair. If you read nothing else today - hell, this whole week - go read this. A.A. Gill has been featured here chez Lorraineonline before, but his review of a famous Parisian restaurant, L'Ami Louis is hysterical. Hysterical. When you're in there, go find Hitchen's latest as well. Brilliant as usual.

A friend texted me a picture of the next Vanity Fair cover, featuring a shirtless Rob Lowe. I thanked her. The man may not have a talent for much other than being pretty, but my, does he do it well.

In Key West, I stuck my head through the gates at Ernest Hemingway's house, trying to spot a 6-toed cat or 3. No luck. But I loved Key West, and actually stayed out late trolling from bar to bar. More later on South Beach and Key West.

Labels: a a gill, black swan, cats with 6 toes, Christopher Hitchens, ernest hemingway, jennifer aniston, key west, mila kunis, modern family, natalie portman, rob lowe, south beach, vanity fair