"Hello. Hello! Hello hello. Hello. Hello!"

"You never listened
to a word that I said."

Don't say "hi how are you" -- or worse, "heyhowyoudoin'" -- as if you're just saying "hi" (with a little extra-special something tacked on the end). Just say "hi" and forget the "how are you", ESPECIALLY if all you mean to say is "hi" and won't even pause for a real answer to your fake question. Next time I will tell you EXACTLY how I am and you will wish you'd never inadvertently asked.

If you actually want to know how I am or how I am doin', well, I appreciate your concern. If not, you are an insincere jerk.

Thank you.

-- Christian Marclay, "Telephones" (1995)


TRACK LISTING: Public Image Ltd., "Public Image"

[UPDATE 18-May-07: Yeah, next time like THIS!]

"There may be so many, many pains..."

"...'til of old
the golden goal
you gain."

Things I saw on the walk to work this morning:

Fire trucks screaming towards me; police cars making sharp turns onto side streets.

Twenty teenagers, maybe more, passing me on the sidewalk two-by-two, sucking on lollipops.

Two women sipping coffee and laughing like machine guns, HA! hahaHA! haha! HA!

Everything that happened at work over the past week seems impossible, like a dream, but really like a nightmare. Sometimes I can't believe I'm still around. What am I doing right? What am I not doing wrong? Am I lucky or just imperceptible?


TRACK LISTING: Donovan, "Divine Daze of Deathless Delight"

"Bark! Uhhhhh..."

"Bark! Uhhhhh..."

I have pink eye on the brain! (Yes, that play on words was intentional, and terrible. Sorry.)

Seriously, this affliction is taking on urban-legendary proportions in my head, like some bloody hook hanging off a car door handle. It's an ingredient for a joke and almost unreal. I mean, I don't want to catch pink eye myself, and I don't wish it upon anyone, though it would be interesting to see it in person, and possibly up close.

It's fascinating! I only know it from what I believe was an episode of 3-2-1 Contact -- in which a sandwich prepared by a conjunctivitis-ridden short-order cook carries the infection to the Contact gang, putting one of them into something like a coma, and killing their poor kitty (who ate the bulk of the sandwich after the woman about to go into a coma left it unattended) -- so pink eye'd food can kill! THAT is terrifying to a young child watching PBS! (It must be noted, however, that I am not entirely certain that the pink eye fiasco was an episode of 3-2-1 Contact. I watched a LOT of television as a kid.)

Also, there was that story a friend told me about another friend going to a male strip club for her birthday. She got a lap dance! On stage! "And the man's junk was THIS close to her face!" Anyway, she had pink eye the next day, and punchline status for the rest of her life.


TRACK LISTING: Ween, "Pink Eye (On My Leg)"

[NOTE: That is Rocky, the lovely (non-bushy) Bichon Frise, in the photo above. He does NOT have pink eye.]

"Please don't spoil my day."

"I'm miles away."

More people than usual were asleep in the subway today. There were rows upon rows of closed eyes; so many clumps of people with nodding heads. I wondered how long they'd been on the train. What time did they wake up this morning? Maybe this is the only free moment they'll have all day. Why shouldn't they relax?

I remember my dad telling me that he'd fall asleep on the bus every now and then, but would always wake up just in time for his stop. Lavado once fell asleep on an eastbound streetcar after a night out; he didn't wake up until he reached the end of the line, in the wee hours of the morning, far away from home.

This leads me to a particular British web site, if only because of its name; I used to check its "gossip" section quite regularly. I suppose this is one of the advantages of not being able to fall asleep on public transit, or anywhere else in public, for that matter: the unintentional entertainment.

TRACK LISTING: The Beatles, "I'm Only Sleeping"

"Lightweights? I really can't stand 'em."

"Who's gettin' messed up?"

We've just flipped the channel onto the closing bars of a Sanjaya rendition of No Doubt's "Bathwater"!

Okay -- maybe I'm going crazy/tone deaf -- but I thought he sounded fine this time. It appears that he's gaining some much-needed (real) confidence, and that this confidence is in turn strengthening his voice. He might not have been fantastic, but I believe he was on-key (although what I believe to be "on-key" shouldn't be granted much authority, honestly). That's not exactly high praise for someone participating in a singing competition, but then again, that someone isn't just anyone. He's The Malakar!

To paraphrase Simon Cowell's comment following tonight's performance: "I have a feeling that what we think doesn't matter anymore." Which reminds me -- check out Vote for the Worst! I see their point and, at the risk of seeming like an Idol killjoy, it's pretty funny that the system itself is being used to totally F the system up.

TRACK LISTING: Lady Sovereign, "Gatheration"

"Relax and let your mind roll on."

"Let your mind go round."

Anything you watch, for certain moments you won't wander if it's very very good, but many times, even if it's very good, you will wander, and the reason you wander is because [it] touches on some elements of your life -- something you've lived, something you've forgotten, something you've buried, something you've shared, something you don't wanna think about. It somehow, often in a very circuitous or oblique way, hits upon something, and of course you think about that and you miss the next ten minutes.

-- "Malkovich, Malkovich, Malkovich"

Ah, John Malkovich! That actually makes complete sense...or at least enough sense to me that I am going to use it to justify each time I lose the plot, so to speak, while watching a television show or movie. Before reading this article, I would have just assumed that these space-outs were the result of my own, as author Larry Getlen puts it, "flightiness or Attention Deficit Disorder."

Quickly, another famous person! Figure out why I routinely fell asleep while watching films between the years 1993 and 1999.

TRACK LISTING: The Who, "Relax"

[NOTE: The image above is a snapshot of our television during an episode of Futurama ("The Why of Fry").]

The Sunday Night Lights: No.22

"There's a feeling
growing stronger in me;
there's a difference
everyone can see."


TRACK LISTING: Dr. Hook, "There's a Light"

"And it looked like everyone was having fun."

"There's nothing wrong with
just a little little fun."

"I say we put mustard on it!"

One day, Saturday Night Live will release a DVD collection of their digital shorts, and I believe I will be compelled to buy it. Digital Short touchstone Lazy Sunday, A Day in the Life of Natalie Portman and the now-legendary Dick in a Box must be on there, but I'm hoping Young Chuck Norris will make an appearance as well. That's the video that made me love Jason Sudeikis! Well, that and the Two A-Holes (so true! With the gum chewing).

TRACK LISTING: Daft Punk, "Digital Love"

[NOTE (30 March 2007): I am conflicted! I have laughed at many an SNL Digital Short, but now feel somewhat guilty considering that a good number of these Shorts were, erm, "inspired" by other sketches! Even the clip above, that lovely "Business Meeting", is reportedly based on a bit by The State called "Just the 100,000 of Us" (or something)! What does this mean? That Samberg & Co. aren't the wunderkinds people thought they were/think they are? Perhaps they can just chalk this up to "common comedic perspective". PERHAPS.]

"You don't have to be so exciting."

"Sometimes love
don't feel like it should."

I've only recently found out about Sanjaya Malakar, but I am already conflicted. I mean, on the one hand, I want every brown kid who seizes the North American pop culture spotlight to make it -- to really make it! gosh darn it. On the other hand...er...ummm...I still have no idea how this particular brown kid made it. Young girls love puppy-cute boys with floppy hair? Howard Stern is more influential than you thought? There's even a Malakar hunger strike, for pity's sake, though I am not entirely unconvinced that this petition is NOT fake and NOT the work of some snickering American Idol intern (and if it is, then...well played, A.I. publicity team...well played indeed).

Seriously, isn't this kind of like William Hung making it past the audition round?

TRACK LISTING: John Cougar Mellencamp, "Hurts So Good"

"Oh! Oh! Look what you've done."

"You've gone straight
to my head!"

Late to the game again, I am now obsessed with Flickr, especially the Geotagging feature. Oh, and their HTML badges in the form of random thumbnails (look up...waaay up. Or down).

OBSESSED!

TRACK LISTING: Def Leppard, "Photograph"

"Showing up uninvited, she ain't got no class."

"She's just so much
in our business!"

"If you can button it and clip it when you're in your 40s, you're going out"-slash-"You know, you can't blame parents for kids."

Dina Lohan: bitch is CRAZY, no?


TRACK LISTING: Lucy Pearl, "Can't Stand Your Mother"

"You are here; so am I."

"Maybe millions of people go by,

but they all disappear

from view."

Happy anniversary, PF.

TRACK LISTING: The Flamingos, "I Only Have Eyes for You"

"Where we want to be."

"What that we could be."

During the third burial, my eyes unexpectedly filled with tears; I was hit with the weight of reality. Our dreams are so inspiring! They motivate us to go further. But how lonely it can be sometimes, how sad, to live on dreams alone.


TRACK LISTING: Spoon, "Paper Tiger"

The Sunday Night Lights: No.21

"The black of the night
cannot harm us."


TRACK LISTING: Ashley Cleveland, "There's a Light"

"And when their ham and eggs need savor..."

"Coffee ketchup
gives 'em flavor!"

Cups of house blend coffee and an Americano; a small bottle of Orangina; butter croissants and a pear-almond tart; a mocha eclair; French onion soup and a spring roll; a golden baguette filled with chèvre and roasted vegetables; pizzaladiere with caramelized onions, sweet tomatoes and black olives.

More butter croissants.

Two more cups of coffee with sugar and cream; a pint of iced tea and a half-pint of pineapple juice; huevos rancheros with shredded hash browns on a bed of lettuce; English muffins with scrambled eggs, spicy ground beef, chopped peppers, tomato salsa, onions and Monterey Jack cheese; thick French toast with maple syrup, sliced ham and orange wedges; glasses of cool, clear water.

Thin-crust pizza with green chillies, mushrooms, onions, ground beef and roasted red pepper; bottles of soda; slices of double-cream Brie and smoked Gouda with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon; a perfect slice of mille-feuille; and one more cup of black coffee as we settle in for the night.

Lazy Saturdays like this are as lovely as ever, as satisfying as I'd imagined. We are lucky.

TRACK LISTING: Frank Sinatra, "The Coffee Song"

"They always claim they know me."

"Comin' to me,
call me Stacy."

When I was much younger, I loved Kids Incorporated, and when I say "loved", you best believe I mean LUVVED, l-u-etc etc. Alright, granted, I only loved it from 1984 through, like, 1987 (a year or so after the departure of the artist formerly known as Marta Marrero -- at least that was her name in the pilot and first season credits -- and certainly before the arrival of The Ghost Whisperer). In 1987, I turned 11 and soon considered myself above such trifles as children's shows in which the cast broke out into plot-modified covers of contemporary pop songs, especially when there were newly-minted teenage shows in which the cast broke out into plot-modified covers of classic pop songs, thank you very much. Also, I think WROC stopped carrying Kids Incorporated around that time, so, you know, whatever.

But! from 1984 through 1987, half an hour of every Saturday morning was devoted to watching Kids Inc. I worshipped the wee performers, but none more so than Stacy. Sure, Gloria was cool and Renee was smart, but Stacy was my age, so (naturally) I chose her as a role model. I wished my hair was blonde; I wished my first name was Stacy; I wished my last name was Ferguson; and so on. I even bought puffy, plastic, rainbow-themed, personalized "Stacy" stickers and decorated various items with them, as if that wasn't TOTALLY WEIRD.

I didn't keep track of Stacy after I'd moved on from Kids Incorporated, probably because this was a pre-Google, pre-computer ubiquity era, but I do remember seeing some Wild Orchid years later and thinking, "Hmm, those girls are wearing a LOT of makeup...oh...no...did she just say her name is Stacy Ferguson? Wait. Is that RENEE beside her?" I remember thinking that this sort of low- to mid-level fame made sense as part of a post-Kids career arc, like being a somewhat indistinct member of an R&B-lite girl group was a completely logical next step for a former syndicated television player. I mean, how many "Toy Soldiers" could the world handle, right?

When my childhood idol resurfaced as a Black Eyed Pea, I didn't make the connection between Fergie and Stacy Ferguson (and no, it had nothing to do with (alleged) plastic surgery rendering her unrecognizable). Sometimes I still find myself gripped with mild disbelief, like when I'm riding to work on a streetcar and it just hits me, She's the motherf-ing DUTCHESS! Wha?

TRACK LISTING: Fergie, "Fergalicious"

"I'd met her before somewhere."

"I knew the face."

I left a message on Sophia's voicemail this evening.

"Soph! I JUST SAW ANNE TOSKY! I didn't stop and say hi or anything, but she looked great! Her hair is still dark, but now it's cut in a really nice bob, and she was wearing this pretty, white, trench-like winter coat. She looked like a career woman! She didn't look anything like I remember, but I guess that figures, because the last time I saw her she had teased bangs and was wearing biker shorts. YOU know."

After I hung up, I regretted not saying hello to Anne. I mean, we weren't very close in junior high, but we knew each other and weren't enemies in any way. Here's someone I hadn't seen in over fifteen years, yet I recognized her immediately as I rushed to the subway. Surely I could have missed a train or two in the interest of catching up quickly, no?

TRACK LISTING: Stiff Little Fingers, "She Grew Up"

[NOTE: Isn't the Internet great for catching up with someone without actually speaking to the person in question? It's nice to see that Anne is still a runner, but I must say that Googling never felt more like stalking than it did when looking for Anne's information a few minutes ago.]

"See these eyes so green."

"I can stare
for a thousand years."

On Sunday afternoon, my cousin's wife broke the news to us gently: "I'm afraid you two have become cat people."

It's true. We speak about the kitty as if he were our own child, our own flesh and blood; when people casually inquire about him, we ramble on at length, never failing to go into detail about each and every quirk our cat possesses. We know we're boring the listener, yet we cannot stop ourselves. It's very much as if the cat has turned into a baby.

Look at the little one! Isn't he precious?

I can't wait until we start dressing the kitty in sweaters! He is going to LOVE that.

TRACK LISTING: David Bowie, "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)"

"Boy, talk about changes!"

"I guess you never quit
tryin' to make sense of it."

Speaking of unexpected twists of taste, who would have thought that I'd end up counting Tom Petty as one of my favourite musicians? I guess we all grow up eventually.

Of course, there's always a downside to "maturity" -- like, how did I come to truly enjoy "I Want to Know What Love Is"? I used to HATE that song, even as a child, and that was when I would listen to almost anything! (Just to provide some perspective here, "anything" included La Toya Jackson's "Heart Don't Lie".) What gives? I hit my thirties and suddenly I've got that song on my MP3 player and I'm hoping against hope that no one on the subway notices that my eyes are welling up with tears? Seriously?

My teenage self would be appalled, and probably with good reason. I got old and I got old fast.

TRACK LISTING: Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, "Ain't Love Strange"

"This is where I draw the line."

"I'm here
to kill all the fun."

Trucks and cruisers pull up across the street, sirens blaring. Without another word, we put our conversation on hold. We peer out the window at workers rushing to hydrants; rushing with ladders; rushing with hoses; a mad rush. One of our superintendents pauses for a moment on the sidewalk, then continues her chores.

I felt voyeuristic, creeping into our building's stairwell, using the third-floor window to land a better angle for photographs. Spotting an elderly lady on the fourth floor -- back turned, wearing a floral housecoat, leaning on the window sill -- I feel marginally better about spying on a small emergency. No discernable smoke; no stretchers; no panicked tenants standing at the edge of the driveway, looking up; but still, a lot is happening. Click, click, click.

Half an hour later, the vehicles are still there, though from the partially obstructed living room vantage point it appears that things are being packed up. I don't think anyone watching from a safe distance knew what was going on.

Earlier, the sound of tense young voices, springing out from behind the closed door of the apartment at the end of the hall: I don't care, man! The last thing we need is a bunch of cops coming up here to check things out!

TRACK LISTING: Sahara Hotnights, "Fire Alarm"

The Sunday Night Lights: No.20

"The rest belongs to time
and things that are meant to be."


TRACK LISTING: The Doobie Brothers, "There's a Light"

"Oh, where've you been?"

"Where've you been?"

It's not like I hated Doogie Howser, M.D. or anything, but I certainly didn't expect that I'd actively love Neil Patrick Harris in my later years. (It is but a crush, I know, and yet! the comic timing! So enchanting.)

Damn you, Friends: The Next Generation!

TRACK LISTING: Arthur Alexander, "Where Have You Been All My Life"

"Whatcha doin' tonight?"

"Whatcha doin' tonight?"

A couple of hours ago, a few friends gave me the opportunity to do something I hadn't done in a long time: get on stage. We played a song, danced around and enjoyed ourselves; it was almost like old times, except at the end of the night I was able to see my husband in person, instead of only hearing his voice on the other end of a telephone line. It was just right.

TRACK LISTING: You Say Party! We Say Die!, "Midnight Snack"

[NOTE: The clip below is the video for the track that Jeff and Vanessa and I performed with YSP!WSD! It was directed by Jason MacFarlane for Soft Citizen The embedded video clip above ("get on stage") shows the actual performance, as shot by Jess Cook.]

"You'll see him in your nightmares; you'll see him in your dreams."

"You'll see him in your head;
on the TV screen."

I'm sure there are many differences between Raines and Medium, but right now, the trailer for the former isn't doing much to set it apart from the latter. I know, I know: One takes place in Los Angeles, and the other takes place in Phoenix! One of them features a dude in the title role, and the other features a lady! And the lady is TOTALLY SLEEPING when she sees the dead people, and the dude isn't even sure he's seeing dead people in the first place! So there.

TRACK LISTING: Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, "Red Right Hand"

[NOTE: The photo above was taken a bathroom at the Hotel Senator in Saskatoon; the hotel is a lovely place with lovely staff, but when this photo was taken (around 2am), I was fairly certain that the place was haunted. Obviously, I was just creeping myself out with my own imagination...OR WAS I? I tell you, though, if any orbs had appeared in that shot, I would have FREAKED OUT. I should mention that the bouquet was a gift from my husband, who had them sent to the hotel because he was stuck in Toronto that night (it was my birthday). Awww.]

"You got to find yourself another...another piece."

"Another piece
of the action!
(Yeah!
Ow yeah!
LOOK OUT!)"

I'm about six or seven pages into Vanity Fair's seemingly infinite article on Pat Dollard, which is probably a good place to take a break, because MAN! this fucker is IN-TENSE. He's serious like a heart attack (no joke), like the guy who says to you, "Hey, do you know what metal sounds like when it hits bone? Here, let me show you."

I don't know whose diagnosis is correct: that of his mother, who believes that he is bipolar (at least); that of his ex-wife, who is sure that his (to put it mildly) excessive drug use scrambled his brain beyond repair (and, evidently, beyond the hope of regaining lucidity); or that of his younger sister, who simply proclaims him "evil". Any of these three hypotheses seems credible, given the shit that comes out of Dollard's mouth.

I'd recommend reading the article, which is in this issue; it's fascinating, but be warned, it's LONG. It is a commitment. And speaking of commitment (ah-thankyou)...it's remarkable how Dollard appears to be EVERY SINGLE BRET EASTON ELLIS CHARACTER ROLLED INTO ONE, complete with the copiously used, casually tossed-off, "dude" in place of actual names. (He was a Hollywood agent, after all.)

Oh, yes, and the fact that he is a psycho.

TRACK LISTING: Guns N' Roses, "You're Crazy"

"It is time."

"It is time for,
it is time for,
stormy weather!"

As the city turns its eyes to the sky -- or, more precisely, the skyline -- it's easy to be reminded of what hit us almost a decade ago.

I remember camping out in a darkened apartment in Montreal; I was lucky to have candlelight and friends for warmth, with a little water in the tub just in case. I also remember trying to go home a couple of days later, when it was safe to do so. Pedestrians like me were directed into the middle of the streets, and I don't recall where the cars went.

The sidewalks were roped off like a stage for the falling sheets of ice. I'd never seen anything like it! They shattered and crashed so loudly as they hit (hopefully only) the ground. All the roofs suddenly appeared dreadfully sloped -- all the better to create these sliding shards. Everyone trudging and stumbling along the road in front of me was clutching at least one bag of groceries. I tried to imagine what the supermarket shelves looked like that morning. It must have seemed as if the rumoured apocalypse arrived two years early.

TRACK LISTING: Pixies, "Stormy Weather"

"The chains are locked and tied across the door."

"Baby, sing with me
somehow."

Halfway through the film, beaten down by the sound of children screaming for their hands and feet and lives, I had to literally hide away.

PF turned it off but I was ashamed. I was heartbroken, too, bursting into tears. I had no idea what to do; yet I knew that the point was not to first comfort myself.

And if I feel so powerless, how do they feel?

TRACK LISTING: Neil Young, "Helpless"

The Sunday Night Lights: No.19

"I don't pray
for what could have been."


TRACK LISTING: Rory Gallagher, "There's a Light"

[NOTE: Tonight, because we have (for now, anyway) exhausted our supply of "Shine a Light" songs, we will move on to another collection. (Namely, "There's a Light.") Enjoy.]

"War in the east; war in the west."

"War up north;
war down south.
War, war,
rumours of war."

In the face of possible prophesy, I think about where we are headed, and I know these moments of consideration are late.

In war, there are no zones, only fronts. The damage will eventually reach you, somehow, if it hasn't already; you will feel it.

Only, please, don't be cynical! How many times can it be said that without hope, we truly have nothing? (As many times as necessary to convince and carry on.)

TRACK LISTING: Bob Marley & The Wailers, "War"

"Everyone's waiting."

"They're holding out!"

Yes! This is what I've been waiting for, what I've missed: that feeling of near-exhaustion on a Friday afternoon; a week's worth of work accomplished, instilling a sense of satisfaction; all glazed with that shiver of antici...pation; giddiness! Because Friday night is only a few hours away. Because the weekend is here!

TRACK LISTING: Loverboy, "Working for the Weekend"

"Reflect what you are."

"In case you don't know."

There's an air of delightful narcissism about my friendship with Sambot (aka Sammit). After all, the reason we were compelled to meet was because we were routinely mistaken for each other, mostly around Cambridge, and once in Austin. (The latter instance is particularly memorable because the gentleman who thought Sam was me had just been introduced to me. That says a lot about the, er, lasting impression I make upon people, doesn't it? haha)

Doppelgänger intrigue aside, I was also drawn to Sam because of the fascination I've had with twins since I was a child. I desperately wanted one of my own and am still somewhat envious of the many sets of twins I've met. (I've known so many pairs that I've lost count, but the number is likely around twenty and increases regularly, what with babies and new co-workers and all. Knowing this many sets of twins might not be statistically improbable, actually.) Twins became super-cool to me about five minutes into The Parent Trap. From there it was a straight line to Double Trouble and Sweet Valley High novels.

Really, Sam and I don't look much alike; we ourselves can't figure out why people are fooled by us (is it because we're both a little short? Maybe it's because we're both Sri Lankan). I still love the confusion, though. Obviously, I'll never have a twin, not even a long-lost one, but with Sam, I get to pretend every now and then.

TRACK LISTING: The Velvet Underground, "I'll Be Your Mirror"