While at film sleep away camp I was put up with a roommate. She's sweet and funny. She's also a fan of this blog, a bonus. And I could tell right off we were gonna be pen pals for a long time. I was even thinking about wearing my friendship bracelet for the whole month of September, just to prove to my other friends how wicked my film camp friend is- but she lives in another town, so you don't know her.
Our 'cabin' however was not so sweet. It was soggy and furry and smelled of hot sweaty feet wearing thick socks in shoes that recently got wet and now they just smell that yucky shoes smell...you know the one. It was just like ruffing it. But felt more like a punishment. Fearing our sensory's saftey we fled to find comforts in the 'camp cantina'- a Moose of a place with everything on the menu but marshmallows. The first evening was eventful and endearing. Building new friendships and inside jokes that my friends at home wouldn't get cuz they just had to be there. These grown up campers singing songs and telling scary stories around the glow of the patio. As taps began to play we were all sent off for lights out.
Before we'd even gotten into our jinkies, my bunk mate remarked on how regimented I was. Which surprised me because I always considered myself more of a Walter Matthau than a Jack Lemmon. But then I really thought about it... I am a lemon. With my outfit laid out for the next day. And all the nerdy facts I know, the way all my clothes go together and all my quirks, I guess she's right. Every night my skin- gets washed and buffed, polished and moisturized. My clothes get organized, worn and put back into the suitcase folded, taking special care not to let them touch any surface in the hotel. My 3 pairs of all weather shoes lined up side by side in the closet by the door, awaiting every change in weather even though camp is only two sleeps. These patterns are what keep my film camp fire life burning. Though if I were honest I would admit it was my Momma's early onset OCD. Yeah! One Camper's Delight!
A protective boyfriend covers his girlfriend's low cut neckline, hiding it from his buddy's prying eyes. While two unlikely partners kiss eachother hello. And the previously innocuous guy suddenly has so much more potential. A familiar easy listening soundtrack plays gently in the background of a slightly breezy patio. Isn't social time the best? I don't know why I fret whenever I know I am going out with work people. But when you work hard in an industry that has long hours, it's rare that you have the opportunity to get to know those around you personally. So, when it does happen, sometimes the wheels fall off- in the very best of ways.
While sitting at a table with very familiar faces covered with strange expressions; I noticed that even the most unlikely of us have something special to offer. For my role I chose to be-surprise- the cockeyed optimist with a sardonic dash of realism. Which is truly an underrated role. Making it my job to interject and avert socially awkward situations. For example a colleague wallowing in self pity. Tactic: I assured them they are not the 'Before' photo and even if they went completely off the rails at this point in their lives, they would still end up on the bright side. Or the indecisive dinner chooser. Tactic: I simplify an overwhelming menu by breaking it down into -always good, even when it's bad (ie: chicken wings & nachos) -hit or miss (ie: Cobb salad & quesadillas) and the -steer-clear (anything with the word buster or bonanza). And when the conversation veered back towards work, as it tends to do with work friends struggling with topical connections, I would pleasantly steer it back towards the safe zones. Cuz when I am not getting paid, I don't wanna talk shop. Although I accept shop talk for a grace period of an hour. From then on I need to talk about anything else. Oh and the safe zones you ask? In each group no matter their initial connection there are several topics that everyone can participate in. For example in the film industry we can talk about movies and music. Bands we've seen. Dances we've learned. Comics we love. As long as they are unrelated to our project. Theatre is also a great option. Close to film but different enough to be unrelated. The obvious don't topics are: politics, religion & fantasy sports teams. The last one simply because I do not understand them.
Work friends are a strange breed. Especially in this industry, where our attachments are fast and fiery. Only to be quickly shifted and scattered to the wind. It's always nice to know how many people out there share my same strange obsession of toiling in this industry. So, as I laid my head down last night in the cheap stinky motel room that production provided, I was thankful for our dinghy shared station. But the very best thing about these work friends is their collective attachment to the business of creating attachments.
Dude! That's my daughter you're teaching! Urgh Girl, you drive me crazy. No- legit- you're driving me crazy. As a digital society I think we've forgotten how we affect the world around us. Influence is a very important word. Everything is influenced by something. Where you live influences what you wear. The weather, economy and social climate these are all factors. The kennel club's best in show rating influences next year's popular dog breed. Movies, music and social icons influence life and style. Anyone who knows me knows I am a woman of class. Emphasis on lass. Some might even go so far as call me a prude and I wouldn't argue. I tend to take the high road when approaching delicate situations. My influences include my Momma, G'Ma Far, Marilyn Monroe, BFF and Rita Hayworth. These are all ladies of mystery and dignity. Perhaps they didn't always make the best choices but even when things got crazy, they live or lived life with pride, humility and bravery.
But where are we now? On a daily basis I am surprised with the disinterest and disrespect we have. The blatant disregard, thinking only of ourselves, and not about the influence we have on others and the little eyes watching us. The public people influencing our young'uns are starting to raise some serious concerns. What kind of influence are they getting wasted and starting Shore-line fights? Or cheating on their significant other in the Twilight to lengthen their career. Or attacking each other with messy public divorces and cruel Suri-eal custody battles that amount to a greedy grabbing of dollars and no sense. With zero ramifications their actions are running rampant and highly publicized in our media. Easily influencing the teen-angst 'FB Like me's' begging for 50 thumbs up, while in the same post admitting it's for selfish silly reasons. These same teens hoping to be plucked from their 'meaningless' lives and thrust into the prying public eye for taking a photo of their dog sleeping. Starting each data day with hope that it will be the day they rule the viral world. They are under the influence of those drunken examples and being led astray.
Adulation without achievement. Where's the dignity in that? Social status without talent or virtue. When I was growing up we celebrated people for accomplishing something. For raising awareness. For making a difference. For creating something beautiful. It is my hope that with all the influence we have, we will start influencing change. We can use our influence for good. Changing how our 'Like me' teens see us and how they want to see themselves. I am ready to be treated with dignity, bravery and humility. Who wouldn't like to be under this influence?
Yesterday was my 1 year wedding anniversary. Hurray! It's paper. The year wasn't easy but it sure was interesting and awesome. There was so much stuff to see and do. So, I wanted to let you know some of the things I learned:
1. My Momma loves buying hats.
2. Condos stoves do not accommodate an 8 quart roasting pan with lid.
3. If you ask nicely enough your Hubby will take care of it because you're so busy. (must be busy to qualify)
4. Positive reinforcement goes a long way.
5. It's easier to let Hubby do what he wants than try and convince him otherwise. Though he's finally realized that I am the one who knows how to find the fun.
6. Some people talk and some people do. But it's best to be a bit of both.
7. Actions speak louder than words. Except yelling, that's the loudest.
8. Telling someone to relax has the opposite effect.
9. Teaching each other to be better people is a fun activity.
10. Mastering social flow of conversation is key to becoming a social master.
11. Rock Hudson and Danny DeVito are both sexy for different reasons.
12. A bed is not sleepable until there is at least 2 teeny furry bodies in it.
13. Being married means giving gifts as a couple.
13a. It also means someone taking 1/2 the credit for your wicked gift.
14. My Hubby can be very persuasive when he wants to be.
15. An August anniversary is perfect timing. Except when it falls on a Monday after FanExpo.
16. Paper is not a good gift. Unless there is a former prime minister on it.
17. I would rather have chicken wings and a lemon drop with our favourite bartender than fancy-it-up for my anniversary dinner.
18. Being married to the Karaoke host is just as brutal as dating him. Drunk girls love the karaoke host.
19. People remember what they got you for your wedding. And think you use it while they're there to impress them- when really you use it all the time.
20. Gift certificates are the 2nd best gift.
21. I am a workaholic for the wrong reasons on the wrong things.
22. Working opposite shifts is hard on your relationship but great for shower schedules.
23. Being a newlywed has a different feeling, that doesn't last long enough.
24. Tough Ole' Papa B likes to hug us all- including Bucy and the Bean.
25. I did good picking such a rocking Hubby. And I even love him the days I might not like him.
26. Everybody can dance to Bluegrass.
27. I am lucky My other Mother is as great as she is.
28. Having inside jokes as a married couple surprises people.
29. People love giving newlyweds advice- especially if their marriage didn't work out.
30. Marriage isn't easy. But our lives are better because of it.
This last year has changed both of us. And for the next marital year we have already made our resolutions. It's exciting and I look forward to helping those things happen. We are becoming two braver and bolder people with each other's love and support; I wouldn't bet against these underdogs. Watch me! Watch Us! Watch out! The honeymoon might be over, but I am still over the moon.
On my way to work I found a wallet. Jammed full of papers- could've been receipts, money or the perfect standup comedy routine; I didn't look inside to see. While standing there, wallet in hand I made the decision to hand it over to the authorities. As I was on the bus platform, those authorities were TTC officers. While walking back to the ticket booth, I saw a man running frantically past me, scouring the area, looking for something and looking hard. As he passed me I spoke up: "Excuse me? What are you looking for?" Catching himself he pulled me into focus and realized I was holding a man's wallet. A smile crossed his face and a sigh escaped his lips: "That! I am looking for that." Now, I have no way of knowing if it was actually his wallet- but the odds are in his favour.
Growing up I heard many great stories about being a good Samaritan. Three travelers on the highway, the Mermaid and the Woodcutter and Red Rose and Snow White. Each one rewarded for their generous quality of spirit, though not always financially. Generosity and kindness aren't things that can be quantified, though it would be nice to be known as the best Good Samaritan. But no matter how much effort I put into being one, there's always someone better at it than me. Now, I know it's not a competition for goodness but nobody likes winning a scruffy bronze at the Samaritan games.
As for that man and his lost wallet, I gave it to him and he began running frantically back towards the bus he thought he was sure to miss. With barely a thank you, I was left standing empty handed on the platform. As important as finding his wallet was to him, he forgot that I was honest enough to give it back, unopened and safe. Leaving me to wonder if being a good person was my reward, or if the universe would make a deposit into my Karma account. I am hoping it's option 2; cuz I could really use a low interest Karmortgage.
Almost a kids story.
Inspired by the word: Lance
The following events are fictional and any semblance to my pets living or dead is almost coincidental.
Once upon a time there was a kitty. But she was no ordinary kitty, for this kitty was a queen. Not exactly an evil queen, but she definitely had her moments. Her face was the cutest and her paws were bedazzled with gleaming jewels. Tip tip tapping across the kingdom floors she would bring a smile to her subject's faces. Then one day a wicked Stinkeroo Witch cornered Queen Bucy. The Queen though outweighed and outmatched by the Stinkeroo Witch was brave. Lashing out at the Witch with a sparkling paw she growled "I will not be bullied in my own kingdom, you barking and bothersome Stinker." The Stinkeroo Witch was taken aback, having underestimated the Queen's bravery. Cursing the Queen the Stinkeroo Witch curled up her tail and conjured a hex.
"Because dear Queen you are a beast.
Life no more a Fancy Feast.
Heed my words and my bequeath.
This curse will rot your feline teeth." With her words hanging thick in the air the Stinkeroo Witch turned tail and disappeared into her caged cave. Shocked; Queen Bucy had never been hexed before, she was unsure how to deal with it. So she took a relaxing bath. A very-very long and involved bath. As she lay in a sunspot she noticed a slight humming feeling buzzing in her ear- chalking it up to her own purr, she ignored it and fell into a deep sleep. Sleeping for hours and hours until the sun fell; suddenly Queen Bucy awoke to a strange sound. Something big and something close was pounding. Softly at first then the noise drew near until Queen Bucy could feel something slimy and slippery slide down the inside of her ear. Taking her tip tap toes she scratched, shaking but it was too late the ooze was inside. In the darkness Queen Bucy waited. Sitting quietly trying to feel the slimy slippery ear sliding substance, the pounding began again. Softer this time but almost from... inside. Was that possible? The Queen felt her temperature rise underneath her fur coat. The pounding gained momentum and infection congestion pushed against her insides, for the first time in her royal life she was scared. As she sat uncomfortable the pounding transformed into a throbbing; dragging her into the darkness. A haze surrounded her, pulling her down, past the pounding, through the throbbing into a foggy dreamscape. As her eyes adjusted the Queen saw a figure in the distance wriggling and twisting towards her in the mist. Standing in the dreamy darkness, frozen with fear Queen Bucy watched the shape draw near. Her feline eyes catching the glimmering form taking the shape of was it? Could it possibly be...King Action Jackson? Swimming towards her; his purple scales gleaming in the ethereal light.
"Queen Bucy, you've been cursed." he bubbled woefully, "I have come to you in your time of need. The future is unclear but filled with much pain. Your mouth will remain cursed and ailing unless you follow my instructions. There is an ancient healer you must find. His knighted name is Sir Kent, his method may cost you, though his abilities are of great value." And just as quickly as he had arrived he was gone. Leaving Queen Bucy to awake with a start from her dreamland and feel the sheer throbbing swollen slimy pain King Jackson had predicted. It had started to affect her vision. With her tail tucked between her legs the Queen approached her high court advisors. Coming to them with her ailment, purring with hopes of relief.
"I believe the Stinkeroo's curse to be real. King Jackson came to me in a dream, telling me of the mystic healer Sir Kent and that he could break the spell.". Seeing the effect of the curse reflected in her face her advisors had no choice but to find Sir Kent and mend their Queen. After traveling many miles with the Queen upon the advisor's back, they finally arrived at the modest hovel of the land's most revered healer. The Queen had been expected, Sir Kent welcoming and hypnotizing her into a deep sense of calm. The throbbing pain eased, only to reveal the curse ran deeper. Sir Kent knowing that a hex as strong as this would require special herbs, potions and perhaps a healer's dance. He dismissed the Queen for the evening with promises of future comforts in the morn. Dawn breaks early in the Kingdom as their drowsy Queen keeps a patient watch over her many bustling subjects. The night was ignored agony as she waited for the Mystic to return. Arms full with baskets of Nightshade and magical roots Sir Kent invited her Highness to attend a curse breaking ceremony. Distraught at the thought that she may leave her station unattended, she fought with her advisors.
"Your Majesty, please," they implored her "We know the kingdom will await your return and greet you with flowing ribbons and cuddly blankets." With slow actions Queen Bucy quietly approached the sacred site Sir Kent had prepared, turing back once more to look upon her trusted advisors. The hours dripped by until all at once the trumpets of the kingdom rang out with the joy of a Queen freed from curse. The advisors eagerly awaited her as she emerged from the healer's hands. Her face the Queenly vision of loveliness her subjects recognized. With wide unvexed eyes Queen Bucy returned triumphant to the throne. Throughout her recovery her Majesty knew that though she had been cursed by the evil Stinkeroo Witch they were destined to inhabit the same small kingdom together. Her only hope that her trusted court advisors would preserve and protect her. As for the Stinkeroo Witch she would haunt the land with tails of woe, the constant reminder: the baleful howl of the wind from her caged cave.
At work I am a stand alone department-literally. I spend most of my time with hair people, the wardrobe department and makeup. With rotating shifts of camera department, grips and electrics. I have taken it upon myself to be the cruise director. A position in which I excel- thank you, Momma. I was the first person on set to know everyone's name and the only one who tried to find a connection with each of them. But there is one... Heretofore known as the 'Subject'. One stubborn colleague who chooses to be opinionated, which I have no problem with. Herein lies the rub: No matter my opinion, the Subject's is opposite. Les sigh.
While working together these last 54 days (but who's counting?) I have started a study in human psychology. As a rule I look on the bright side, so for the first 10 days I answered everything with a positive spin. This method was quickly labeled as annoying optimism and treated as a buzzing fruit fly. Small, obnoxious and unrelenting to the Subject's swatting pessimism.
In an effort to modify my 'behaviour' I began to simply agree with the notions put forth. Positive or negative, I would acknowledge and accept the Subject's opinion. This I thought would appease the ever shifting perspective of the Subject- sadly no. When met with agreement the Subject would retract the statement and defend the target. Sadly, I was on the wrong side of the fence again.
If the Subject didn't like optimism and isn't looking for pandering. The new theory I implemented was: I would remain impartial. With no opinion. Stay on the fence. A simple plan...though the Subject was not impressed with my silence. The fact that I would listen without retort was not what they wanted. I am sure the thought crossed their mind: What happened to all the Meliciousness from last week? This brought me to my current position.
With the most recent 10 days I have attempted to play Devil's advocate. Opposites attract you know. And boy do they stick and flip and repel in a complicated dance of 'I hate you-then I love you-then I hate you again'. The Subject's eyes lighting up at the sight of a new challenge. Another adversary to be crushed. But for me- it was a delicate navigation. Always on my toes; waiting to take position on the other side of the fence. Opposing all offenses with a full court press. Not something that was easy- though this was the wheelhouse the Subject desired.
Hey. Wait, hold the phone. Roddamned if you do, roddamned if you don't. The only way to get the Subject to like me was to constantly create conflict. After 54 days, psychology taught me that not everyone will like me, and I don't need to like everybody either. Wha-wha-what? Could it be true that the study of the human psyche actually taught me about psychos? Some people are just not meant to be friendly. Sad but Hurray! The 54 day realization is that I can try my darndest to get people to like me, but if I don't like the person I am while trying, what's the point? As for this cruise director, I have posted a schedule of this week's activities in the mess hall, be sure to sign up for fun as slots fill fast. Our first event? Fencing.
While eating midnight tacos and splitting a Coke with my Hubby the pros and cons of eating vegetarian came up again. Pros: I feel better, I look better, it's better for the environment. Cons: Bacon is delicious, I miss bacon.
We are foodies by definition, though I wish we had more time to cook for ourselves. Hubby is an especially great cook. He makes a mean spaghetti and a brilliant egg breakfast. His sautéing skills have really blossomed. While enthralled in a conversation about our favourite foods, currently mine is Saag Paneer roti and Mexican, and stuffing our faces we stumbled upon a common question: What would you want for your last meal? Which brought up another question: If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life what would it be? Which brought up another question: Is there a food that you would erase from the face of the Earth? Today at long last all these questions will be answered, please read on.
Last meal
This is what you would choose if it was the last meal of your life. You may not be on death row cuz my impulse tells me I don't have a lot of inmates or future convicts in my readership but it's always good to be prepared. As it's my last meal, and I won't have to deal with the consequences. I will be having:
Steak Tartare with toast corners.
Kitchen sink salad- a salad I made up with loads of veggies on an arugula/Boston lettuce base with a light lime vinaigrette.
Roasted fingerling potatoes with ancient grainy mustard.
Rainbow chard with garlic and lemon oil.
Prime rib with Horseradish. Mmm hmmm
And for dessert? Lemon meringue or Pavlova with fresh fruit- I say OR because both of those desserts are a challenge to get the foam just right. And perhaps something outside the standard jailhouse fare.
For the rest of your life
This category is for when you get trapped on a desert island with only one thing to eat. Crates and crates of the same thing. This example also exists in a world where you don't need all those fancy vitamins and minerals to have a happy healthy life. This desert island is a utopia despite the fact that you only get one meal forever. So, with all that in mind, ideally I would like a taster platter with avocado, New Brunswick smoked salmon, sliced Ontario field tomatoes, red onion, spicy dills, toast corner and capers. But if you're playing this game with a purist like my Hubby, you must pick one thing... That's tougher. He chose protein shakes- yuck. For my crates and crates of one type of food to live on for the rest of my life: I might say Chex Mix because it's savoury and salty. It has many different textures and reminds me of all the things I've left behind to live on this lonely utopian island. Or I might say Cinnamon Toast Crunch, a sweet and crunchy meal- but would it include milk? I guess I'll have to wait until I am shipwrecked to find out.
Banished
This one was simple: Cream of turkey. A white gloppy nearly gravy gross not quite soup. My Papa B used to eat open faced white bread sandwiches for weeks after Thanksgiving or any other turkey serving holiday. Cream of turkey might be the reason I became predominantly herbivore. That plus the movie Babe. Who could eat ham after hearing that little stinker sing?
A good life deserves good food. That's an emotionally scientific fact. Delicious meals can release all sorts of great things into your body. You know how they say all you need is love? Well, all I really need is a personal chef with a fully stocked pantry. And barring that a credit card with an available balance and some strategic reservations.
There has been a rash of losses around me. Thankfully none have affected my life directly. Fingers crossed/knock on wood. There have been a few people who're moving away or leaving town but nothing as permanent as death. And seeing others go through that type of loss serves as a reminder that it is a constant possibility. A day without loss is a lucky day. There is also a big difference between the long drawn out planned departure and a tragic shock, though neither one is easier.
While awaiting a planned departure; watching an illness slowly erode the person we love. Waiting as your loved one drips away. This is not something I wish upon anyone, though it does allow for time to spend together, taking advantage of their final weeks, days and hours, telling them how you feel and saying your goodbyes. The projected timeline bleak and knowing that though the Doc said 5 months, everyday is a gift.
The tragic shock is hard to recover from. With all the unexpected events happening each day- people unwittingly putting themselves in harm's way just to get to work or take time off. People ripped away while trying to live their lives. Heart attacks, bike accidents, falls and many other momentary lapses in judgement can steal you from those you love. Leaving behind questions and unfinished business. A shocked sadness that fills a funeral home with unasked questions, never to be answered.
Two different poisons with the same effect. Neither way could ever be called: Better. So, my dear friends with burning eyes red from crying, with your loved one's memory in tow, I will celebrate your life today. Please love each other now for tomorrow may be too late. The sands of time wait for no man. After years of watching my Grandma Near slowly loose her memory. Each loved one becoming a stranger to her. Forgetting herself but knowing there's something missing. The tragic emptying of the human soul, as she lays impatiently waiting for mercy. On the other side my Grandma Far sat knitting, and drifted off to sleep; finding rest eternally. Dying of a broken heart and leaving the rest of us to mourn her abrupt departure. I hope for the sake of my family that the thing I lose will be my body- taking my mind with it swiftly and quietly. And when my time is finally through I want people to speak of me with honor, dignity and love. Which is how I wish them to speak of me today. Friends, family and loved ones: lend me your years. For it won't be long enough before we're gonna need each other to lean on.
When I first brought my would-be-Hubby home; Papa B pulled him aside and asked: 'Are you getting used to doing things her way yet?' to which Hubby laughed... Little did he know. I am a tad/lot controlling. Not in a bad way; in a the shortest-distance-between-two-points it's my way or the highway -way. If there is a simple way of doing something I will find it. And if your doing something and ask me to help, I immediately take control of the whole project, even if I don't want to do it. Not a great feature in a partner/teammate/roommate/employee/wife or child. Of which I have been all.
I correct everyone. Hubby says I am not supposed to tell people when they're doing things 'wrong'. He goes on to say just because I am like my Papa B, doesn't mean I get to run things in this one dog-town. But I like things my way. For example, I go on bursts of cleaning. Sprees of cleanliness. Organizing everything, so that when I come home from a long day, I don't have to do anything domestically. That means I have to make sure it isn't a disaster before I leave. But Hubby knows by Thursday that the teeny pile of projects on my desk will become a heaping mound of laundry and mail, with a new book thrown in, a cluster of knick knacks and a comedy writing journal. A pile of my working titles and things I hope to have time for...eventually. My way is to sit in that pile for the week and absorb all the life from those things; taking it all in and loving every bit of it. His way is to throw all that laundry into the dirty clothes hamper and hide any evidence of work from our home. Then he promptly remarks on the amount of laundry there is.
My way can be a sloppy and disorganized mess. Taking me off my direct route. Do you ever wish you could take your own advice? As for Hubby, I think he pretends to do things my way so he can stay on the shortest path with the least resistance on the road to his carefree destination. Cuz no one should waste their lives fighting with a control freak over laundry.
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