Shakylegs: 01/01/2005

Yoinks
I can't believe I've been (sporatically) maintaining this blog for three years already. Strangely enough, I still haven't gathered that army of minions willing to do my bidding, as I originally envisaged.

Why must I be challenged so?
Sigh. I'm trying to keep it together. But, it's hard, ya know? Woke up this morning, still sad that white-trash-but-somehow-endearing, semi-literate wrestling couple Lori and Bolo were eliminated from last night's The Amazing Race--what can I say? The show for me is like a relationship gone south: you feel dirty watching it, but there's occasional titillation to be had--only to learn that Paige Davis has been fired as the host of Trading Spaces. What the fuckety fuck is that?
It seems that "TLC is taking Trading Spaces in a new creative direction, transitioning to a "host-less" format this spring." Wonderful, just wonderful. No longer will I be tuning in to see the hostess with the mostest, what with her low-slung jeans and midriff-baring tees prancing and dancing around. Oh no. Instead, the show will probably continue with its effeminate mid-west and southern "designers" painting rooms black-with-a-black trim or, even worse, Hilda with her feathers-glued-to-the-wall masterpieces. Rumours abound, of course, from Paige being too fat (wha?) to her, um, striptease and sex tapes.
Luckily, the milliner picked up the season 7 box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, so we're good for a while. Mmmmmm, Willow.

St-Henri Warehouses

Have I ever mentioned that I'm an idiot?
Perhaps once or twice. In case the evidence wasn't strong enough, I was presented with even further proof today. I was heading out this afternoon to see an exhibit of an old friend. Getting close to the car, I realise that, in my spacey-ness, I left the driver's side window open. Overnight. With climbing gear in the back seat.
Oh, and it snowed last night.
I should probably just put a sign on the windshield: "Steal me, because my owner is just too stupid for his own good."

I need my baby back, baby back ribs
It's rough, I tells ya. A discussion board where I frequently lurk and post has been down for several weeks now. Faced with nothing better to do, I've actually gotten a lot of work done. Work I get paid for. This just doesn't jive with my middle-age slacker 'tude. Dude.

What was your first clue?
So, the Cancer Society and the Quebec government are running a bunch of PSAs, featuring Quebec media has-beens and never-weres explaining why they quit smoking, or never smoked in the first place. You may have seen these ads: a vaguely familiar "personality" sitting in a studio food court that's made to look like a bleached-wood-panelled bistro, the requisite white napkin and single glass of water on the table, said personality explaining to someone off-camera their reasons. Good on 'em, there's nothing preachy about the ads.
However, last night, another of these PSAs comes on, someone I've never heard of, Marlene Duylens or something (?), explains that, "after [her] brother, [her] uncle and [her] father all died of lung cancer," she realised that smoking might be dangerous to her health, so she quit.
Wow, thanks for the head's up.
Twit. You see, you don't even have to be smart to quit.

Time for a haiku
Handcream and tissues
Left bloodied, scratched and crying
Cat was in the way

I had to pause
When I read this.
During my little ischemic attack last March, what was most worrisome was how utterly lonely it was inside my head. No gray noise, inner conversations were turned off, simply the echo of any thought I could force myself to make. It was so strange, like one part of your brain was trying to talk to the other part, but the bridge was down. Even monosyllabic words didn't make sense. I learned then that the constant chatter in your brain is a good thing.
Oh, and I also learned not to contradict the milliner or put up a defense when it came to her caring for me.
Luckily for me, that episode was transient. I can't imagine how devastating it can be to be struck with a mental illness, or to have it strike a loved one. To not even be able to control your mind, your thoughts, your emotions, to be able to get your body to even do what were, for you, the simplest of movements.
I'm reminded of my uncle, who was a world-ranked flyweight boxer. Five-foot-four--they're all leprechauns on my mom's side, with her being one of the tallest at 4'11"--and really sweet, but you never wanted to make him angry. He spent the last 20 years of his life fighting Alzheimer's.
I'll stick with the momentary physical emergency situations, if it's all right with you.

Everything makes sense now
A little exercise in Republican thinking, if you will.
Mud slides and storms across the US. Mud slides in Brazil. Floods and nazi royalty in Europe. An awful tsunami rips apart SE Asia and parts of Africa (my brain still can't process that). Major bush fires in Australia, the worst they've seen in over twenty years. Etc, etc.
Conclusion? God loves Canada. Oh yes, she does.

I know it's over, still I pray
You know how it is a few years into a relationship? The object of your affection no longer inspires a longing in your heart (or groin). You no longer look forward to spending time with them, and you only half-heartedly pay attention to anything they say, if you pay any attention at all? You imagine how things used to be, and wonder if they'll ever be like that again. What you could do to make things better. Whether life wouldn't be simply without them in your life, because they make your time with them simply miserable.
Yeah, well, that's how I feel about The Amazing Race. It's unfortunate, but I'll get over it. (Granted, gifts of chocolate would help immensely; email me for my address.) Oh, I'll still watch, but the love is gone.

I'm not worthy
Remember y'all when I linked to some of my pinhole stuff? Well, that's nothing compared to this.

Feel the burn
I keep forgetting that just because I do one type of exercise, it doesn't exactly train me for another. So, even though I might spend a couple of hours a week on a stationary bicycle, in no way can I go jogging or, as I discovered Saturday, skiing. Regardless, headed to Owl's Head on Saturday and strapped on my tele's for the first time in almost two years. Start linking some turns, feeling a bit of tightness in the thighs. Do a few more descents, struggle through icy patches--man, do I ever hate (HATE!) snowboarders--and by now I'm nearly screaming. Head in for lunch after a while, do a couple more descents and nearly call it a day. Instead, accept my fate and head off to the bunny hill (sigh), and end the day like that.
Go home, make boeuf bourguignon but fall asleep before it's done. Go x-country yesterday with the milliner, we decide to get on a 10km loop. Everything's going fairly well, thinking we have it in the bag. Until we come across a route marker that tells us that we've only done half the route. Yikes. Settle on a quicker way back to the car.
The solution would be to start doing lunges, but my legs hurt too much right now.

What every woman wants
Yes! Now you too can write your name in the snow. Harder than you thought, isn't it?

Extreme kayaking
Definitely a fish tale, because this is hard to believe.

Dreams of reason produce monsters
Woke up with this thought: why do dreams leave you angry, sad, jealous, scared, occasionally horny, but never, ever do you wake up laughing?

If I'm at tonight's blog-thingy
Could someone oh-so-subtly remind me to pay my tab before I leave? Because it's getting embarrassing. (Though incredibly funny with each iteration.)

Speaking of photography
Examples of some of my pinhole stuff here.

And this is Frances sleeping. And another one of her sleeping. And another one
So, the milliner and I decided to join the 21st century during the holidays. Yay for electricity! Actually, no, we got ourselves a digital camera. Oooo, all that we can do with this format, ("candid photograhs eh? Eh? A nod's as good as a wink to a bat"), short climbing videos, quickly discarded unwanted shots, my Assathan-is-eliminated-from-the-Amazing-Race victory dance video (shout-out lefty), our upcoming southwest trip, etc.
Instead, looking at the shots that are presently stored, and what do I see? Photos of our cat. Many photos of our cat. Sitting under the tree. Sleeping under the tree. Paw-over-the-face lying under the tree. Repeat sequence on the bed. On the sofa. In the hallway.
Oh, and when I say "cat"? Not a euphemism.