(Note of July 19: This was meant to be posted Friday, July 11. Some obscure malevolent Technical Glitch prevented its publication, but fret not, O Lucky Fanlings of my Heart, here it now is.)
There are very few things which I am unsatisfied about. I have a great house. I own (well – technically, the bank owns) my very own love nest in which I can relax, think, take refuge and enjoy the finer things in life. I have The Man. He is my rock which rocks, both in his stability and gentle swaying motion. He protects me, counsels me, occasionally makes fun of me, is an excellent source of sarcasm and laughter, puts up with my quirky little self and most importantly, he loves me. Very nice for me. Tasty and all.
I have friends I would do anything for. I have a loving, caring family and ties which the most devastating events would not sever. I have a magical cat. I have no idea where he’s hiding right now, but I know when he emerges (probably from the top of the cupboard in the bathroom upstairs), he’ll be happy as a clam to see we are home on a Friday.
(Editorial note: I just asked my half-asleep Man why we use the expression “happy as a clam”. His answer from beneath the blanket, in his sexy raspy morning voice, between two deep breaths: “Never complains – always keeps its mouth shut.”)
I have a kickass job with stellar colleagues in a great business. It’s new - if almost two months working there qualifies as new, it’s satisfying, and I am learning as I go. It is very, very rewarding. Yesterday the power went out at two in the afternoon. It was very, very quiet. Everyone was at a loss: “What do we do when the computers don’t work?” I had cleaned up my hard copy files the day before. Pfff.
Someone pulled out a camera, and everyone in our department assumed sleeping poses at their desks. We sent the results by e-mail to our Vice-President. Heehee. Yay.
Oh - an easy/lazy contest. Three Squibbits to the first person who tells me where the title of this post was pilfered from. Good luck. Don't cheat.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Get Your Dialogue On.
Again this year, The Man and I are privileged individuals. We get VIP passes for the Festival d’été here in Québec. That’s right. We’re VIPs. We marched onto the terrasse section last Thursday night, really excited to finally see (after 15 years of faithful fanship on my part) Marseilles hip hop gods IAM. Ohhhhhh the Magic. The Poetry. The Yumminess. Followed, at 11:30, by the most wonderful fireworks I’ve ever seen. They were magnificent, huge, loud, colourful. Two hundred fifty thousand people all chanting “oooooh! and “aaah!” at once, to celebrate the city’s four hundredth anniversary.
And the sea of people – ohhh the sea of people – was quite impressive too. All trying to get in or out of the walls in the old city, buzzing about and interspersed with baby strollers, motorbikes, old ladies, drunk teenagers, and a family of tourists from Jersey trying to get through against traffic – human traffic - in their freaking minivan. No, seriously. I almost walked up to the van to knock on the window - which was tightly closed, thank you very much, so as not to get any locals intruding on their air-conditioned bubble of safety in this throng of people. I would have said:
Me: “Man, hi. Listen. You see this? This is thousands of people going this way, like this (gesturing with both arms towards the back of his perfectly waxed and shiny minivan)…”
Frustrated New Jersey Guy: “Yeah, I’m trying to get through, here, and uhh…well it looks like I can’t get through, it looks uhhh…blocked. I can’t get through!”
Me: “…you see, while you, in your apparently justified attempt of making it god only knows where – are going that way, you’re poisoning us with your fumes. You’re not even moving.”
Frustrated New Jersey Guy: “Yeah, uhuh…but I’m trying to get through, here. Because of all these people, I can’t get through.”
Me: “You look surprised that people are not responding to your fuming look. Why do you look mad? You drove into this!”
FNJG: “ Yeah, I think the hotel is that way. Can you help me out, here?”
Me: “Yes. Absolutely. (Big, huge smile) Stop the car, turn off the engine, and wait it out, man. Lock your doors. We’re going this way. Oh - and the streets are closed off, did you know?”
I often do this – usually on the bus on the way to or from work. I imagine how a conversation would have turned out if I approached complete strangers. Sometimes, it takes exciting paths I did not expect, and I end up having this very detailed scenario/dialogue play in my mind. I always end up surprising myself. (Note to self: invent mind recorder. Possibility of replaying favorite parts of imaginary dialogue potentially interesting.)
So, with complete confidence and intelligent lines, I strike.
Completely Confident Me: “Hey - come here. Sit down. Here - have a glass of wine”
Super Hunk: “ Uh…”
Completely Confident Me: “ Come on. It’s St-Émilion.”
Super Hunk: “ Yes? Ok. One glass. Haha.”
Completely Confident Me: “Hop in my paint-jobbed solar-powered Mini Cooper and let me take you to my surprisingly huge mansion on top of the mountain over there, where the palm trees grow and little green people pop out of the bushes on their segways to serve us cold beer on rubber trays.”
Super Hunk: “I’m...not sure I understand what you’re talking about.”
Completely Confident Me: “Yes, yes – look over there! See? See? The mansion? Mine. With green people. Segways. Come.”
And on, and on, until I usually find really interesting (or raunchy) things to say that I wish I could remember, just to try them out on The Man. That's usually the moment when I snap out of it, and I get off the bus, and crank up the volume on my i-pod for the five and a half minute walk to my new office. Yes! New Job rocks! Yay! I'll tell you more about it some other time.
Last Friday night, we saw NOFX at the summer festival. Punk rock is, I must admit, one of the few things I like because it’s completely chaotic. It kind of felt like we were too “clean”, not trashy enough to be part of the thousands of people shaking their fists and howling the lyrics to the 2 to 3 minute songs booming into our chests. Aaaargh...but to feel alive! It's a good Summer so far, Army of Fans, it's a really good Summer.
And the sea of people – ohhh the sea of people – was quite impressive too. All trying to get in or out of the walls in the old city, buzzing about and interspersed with baby strollers, motorbikes, old ladies, drunk teenagers, and a family of tourists from Jersey trying to get through against traffic – human traffic - in their freaking minivan. No, seriously. I almost walked up to the van to knock on the window - which was tightly closed, thank you very much, so as not to get any locals intruding on their air-conditioned bubble of safety in this throng of people. I would have said:
Me: “Man, hi. Listen. You see this? This is thousands of people going this way, like this (gesturing with both arms towards the back of his perfectly waxed and shiny minivan)…”
Frustrated New Jersey Guy: “Yeah, I’m trying to get through, here, and uhh…well it looks like I can’t get through, it looks uhhh…blocked. I can’t get through!”
Me: “…you see, while you, in your apparently justified attempt of making it god only knows where – are going that way, you’re poisoning us with your fumes. You’re not even moving.”
Frustrated New Jersey Guy: “Yeah, uhuh…but I’m trying to get through, here. Because of all these people, I can’t get through.”
Me: “You look surprised that people are not responding to your fuming look. Why do you look mad? You drove into this!”
FNJG: “ Yeah, I think the hotel is that way. Can you help me out, here?”
Me: “Yes. Absolutely. (Big, huge smile) Stop the car, turn off the engine, and wait it out, man. Lock your doors. We’re going this way. Oh - and the streets are closed off, did you know?”
I often do this – usually on the bus on the way to or from work. I imagine how a conversation would have turned out if I approached complete strangers. Sometimes, it takes exciting paths I did not expect, and I end up having this very detailed scenario/dialogue play in my mind. I always end up surprising myself. (Note to self: invent mind recorder. Possibility of replaying favorite parts of imaginary dialogue potentially interesting.)
So, with complete confidence and intelligent lines, I strike.
Completely Confident Me: “Hey - come here. Sit down. Here - have a glass of wine”
Super Hunk: “ Uh…”
Completely Confident Me: “ Come on. It’s St-Émilion.”
Super Hunk: “ Yes? Ok. One glass. Haha.”
Completely Confident Me: “Hop in my paint-jobbed solar-powered Mini Cooper and let me take you to my surprisingly huge mansion on top of the mountain over there, where the palm trees grow and little green people pop out of the bushes on their segways to serve us cold beer on rubber trays.”
Super Hunk: “I’m...not sure I understand what you’re talking about.”
Completely Confident Me: “Yes, yes – look over there! See? See? The mansion? Mine. With green people. Segways. Come.”
And on, and on, until I usually find really interesting (or raunchy) things to say that I wish I could remember, just to try them out on The Man. That's usually the moment when I snap out of it, and I get off the bus, and crank up the volume on my i-pod for the five and a half minute walk to my new office. Yes! New Job rocks! Yay! I'll tell you more about it some other time.
Last Friday night, we saw NOFX at the summer festival. Punk rock is, I must admit, one of the few things I like because it’s completely chaotic. It kind of felt like we were too “clean”, not trashy enough to be part of the thousands of people shaking their fists and howling the lyrics to the 2 to 3 minute songs booming into our chests. Aaaargh...but to feel alive! It's a good Summer so far, Army of Fans, it's a really good Summer.
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