"And the hole in the screen is barely big enough for you."

"But I'm leavin'
the back door open
'til you come back."

Things I saw in the apartment today:

The glaring absence of Baby C, who is now safe and sound in his hometown.

PF and I knew all along that his presence was temporary, but that doesn't mean we miss him any less.

Goodbye, Kitty! Farewell until we meet again.

TRACK LISTING: Old 97's, "Murder (Or a Heart Attack)"

[NOTE: As you may have noticed, the cat in the photo above is not our dearly departed. (The kitty you see -- barely -- is in fact lovely Rudy, the Fat White Prince, who is part of /a's family.) But, you know, artistic licence, etc etc.]

The Sunday Night Lights: No.27

"Trying to dodge the stop signs
or people hurrying past."


TRACK LISTING: Chris Rosser, "There's a Light"

"Gabba! Gabba! We accept you."

"We accept you!
One of us!"

Things PF and I saw today in NYC:

Smoked salmon on golden brown potato cakes with creamy dill sauce on the side; poached eggs; a plate of lightly buttered toast; small salads with a delicious honey-mustard dressing; a fluffy omelet stuffed with portobello mushrooms and accented by spicy harissa; great coffee; a glass of cold, house-brewed iced tea topped with a mint leaf. It's another wonderful brunch at Café Orlin.

Kim's! PF sorely misses their used bins. There was such joy in perusing those racks on his lunch breaks!

The Tribeca Film Festival in full swing.

The majesty of Central Park on a warm, sunny afternoon. It was my first visit and I was as delighted as any tourist would be.

Yuppies packed into the patio at Orsay. On our side of the street, a little girl bawls as she waves goodbye to her shiny, airborne balloon.

Coffee, Limonata and a delicious Napoleon at Corrado Bread & Pastry.

The Strand! We get lost in the legendary eighteen miles of books, then make our way to The Forbidden Planet, where we find the perfect birthday gift for S.A.D. The big day itself is a couple of weeks away so we can't spoil the surprise. Suffice it to say that the present we picked up may or may not be A PORTAL TO HELL. PIN! HEAD! PIN! HEAD! Oh, wait. I might have just given it away. Damn.

TRACK LISTING: The Ramones, "Pinhead"

"A billion souls all dying to know me."

"Well here I am!
Loaded with promise
and knee deep in grace."

Things I saw while floating around a foreign land:

The unexpected kindness of strangers, as a fellow Canadian heading into town for a business meeting offers me a ride on his dime. He doesn't ask me for anything. I am floored. After pulling over at his stop, he hands the driver enough cash to get me where I need to go, including tip.

The driver doesn't mind the extra mileage and as we crawl through mid-morning traffic I see the beauty of New York City on a rainy day -- or any day, for that matter. I feel like Serge Gainsbourg singing about "New York USA". Waldorf-Astoria, oh! C'est haut! It's almost mythical and more than stunning.

The driver and I talk to pass the time. He is friendly and sharp and proud of his business. He was recently granted US citizenship! Wow, it was only three days ago! He's beaming. His father sponsored him; now he, his wife, his son, his older sister and his much younger brother all live here. His mother is still "back home" and he is making plans to bring her to New York, too. He has lived here for ten years and cannot imagine living anywhere else.

Later, in the East Village, I run into Ron Livingston. Well, not so much "run into" as "walk past without trying to stare". Hey, do you know that I, like countless others who have accosted you in the middle of a sidewalk, love Office Space? Also, Swingers, right? That was really great, too. These are things I could have said to him, but didn't.

Back on East 11th, Gloria Reuben is across the street, looking for something or someone, pacing a little, doubling back. Someone yells something at her, possibly the name of one of the characters she's played, possibly something flattering, possibly something lecherous. She waves, smiles, hails a cab. I am fond of her, perhaps only because she is another fellow Canadian.

The last thing I see before Kimmmmmyyyyy and I head out to meet up with PF and the kitty is the guiltiest of guilty pleasures, or at least one of the guiltiest. Kimmy justifies the detour as "retail therapy" and I follow my own dubious logic, that it's okay to spend money at a store that doesn't exist in Toronto. In my defense, at the time, I didn't know how fleeting that excuse would be.

TRACK LISTING: Prefab Sprout, "Hey Manhattan!"

"I know sometimes I can be all wrapped up and into me."

"Say enough is enough!"

Things I saw on TV last night:

A spokesmodel trying to pass as a musician.

[clearing throat]

"Dear Hilary (with apologies to Giulia),

This isn't about talent -- that sort of evaluation is terribly subjective and always hotly contested, anyway. This is about why are we calling it a music video? You've gone ahead and made a very long ad.

No doubt, all music videos are commercials in their own right, and the hip-hop world goes balls-out with product tie-ins all the time, but woman, PLEASE. I was all impressed that you decided to call out your ex-boyfriend and his junked-up toothpick of a girlfriend on your new, 'highly personal', record, but now it just seems like you constructed an album around a heartfelt song about perfume. Your single is a jingle.

I know you have a signature fragrance to launch and you want it to be a success, so of course you need to mass-market like there's no tomorrow, and maybe it's better that you're being totally obvious about your pitch. But really, it takes a special kind of shill to actually spray said fragrance on oneself, apropos of nothing, during the video. [See below; the money shot occurs at 1:06.] You couldn't have spritzed it on while you were still at home? If the scent is only worn in order to help the guy in the video identify you later, why even bother wearing the black wig disguise? You're no spy! Grr. I'm beginning to think that those shoes and that purse are Stuff by Duff, too! I suppose the new, huge teeth should have tipped me off to your disdain of subtlety...ah, subtlety...come back, subtlety! Subtle, subtle...subtle like those notes of mangosteen and chai latte and balsam and dfhjsfhdhrtenmfgjhkjhgouiuolmbbsfadadaxsxzzzsfssdghxxxxcmsdfmzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Maybe you need a new manager.

With Love,
Miss Imperial."

TRACK LISTING: Hilary Duff, "With Love"

[NOTE: That's LIQUID ICE in my photo, son! Ice-T represent! Or used to!]

"Now it's time to leave the capsule, if you dare."

"I'm stepping through the door
and I'm floating
in a most peculiar way."

Things I saw today at work, while trolling through the news outlets:

A scientific discovery that makes me feel like an eight-year-old kid again, getting lost in science fiction for pre-teens and dreaming of the endless possibilities.

TRACK LISTING: David Bowie, "Space Oddity"

"When it gets through to me, it's always new to me."

"It takes me out of my head."

Things I saw while walking up the street, on my way to meet PF:

Doppelgängers!

I thought I saw Goddess Trish, but the woman was too heavy. I haven't seen Trish in ages. Would I have said hello?

I thought I saw Li! Of course, that would be odd, because what would she be doing away from home in the middle of the week? Anyway, this woman was too short.

I thought I saw Adam Segal, too, with longer hair and thicker frames on his glasses. I wouldn't know where to begin to look for him.

Why am I so fooled? I remember waiting for Amy and Leila a couple of weeks ago; I thought I saw them everywhere in the passing crowd of pedestrians. We were meeting after more than a year -- maybe even two or three years in Amy's case -- but I've known them for half my life, so I could never forget their faces. Yet I made these mistakes, finding them in the form of five or six different pairs of women, including a mother and her young child. I am constantly, subconsciously, turning strangers into friends.

TRACK LISTING: Foreigner, "Double Vision"

"Is it just so hard to sleep at night?"

"And when the sun goes down,
you're gonna paint the town!"

Things I saw at work today, while scanning the Radar:

Another brown person acting stupid. Shit! I hope we're not related.


TRACK LISTING: The Lawrence Arms, "Beyond the Embarrassing Style"

The Sunday Night Lights: No.26

"See it through the rain;
feel the wind blow."


TRACK LISTING: The Noel Redding Band, "There's a Light"

"This strange transformation takes place in me."

"Instead of myself,
everybody can see
Mister Hyde,
Mister Hyde,
Mister Hyde,
Mister Hyde.
Hyde!"

Things I saw on the internet today:

An unsettling disappointment.

I want him to ABC: Always Be Charming, a-harhar. Can't he just be the gruff yet funny bear of a man who's settled so well into this new, character actor stage of his career?

Maybe it doesn't matter what he does. As the Gawker stalkers point out, we're always so willing to sympathize with or even blindly forgive him. Maybe this is because he can effortlessly and perfectly deliver a line like "Those shoes are definitely bi-curious" or "Does he know you're the Beeper King?" Perhaps it is simply because he blogs for The Huffington Post!

Maybe it just doesn't take much to permanently win our hearts. Sigh.

TRACK LISTING: The Who, "Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde"

"You think this is easy, realism?"

"I am what I play."

Things I saw at work this morning, via MetaFilter:

A chilling example of how music is so truly personal. Every mix tape you make -- every song you share -- is a piece of your biography.


TRACK LISTING: David Bowie, "D.J."

"Ship it out! Out!"

"I'm working
for the black gas."

Things I saw on the ride home this evening:

A corporate billboard proclaiming: No difference!

And yet more surreality, this time south of the border.


TRACK LISTING: Frankie Goes to Hollywood, "Two Tribes"

"The conscious liberation of the female state!"

"The 'inferior sex'
got a new exterior!"

Things I saw at work today, after being sucked into the Internet Vortex:

People going CRAZY over an extremely straight-talking public access superstar from Atlanta.

Holy shit!


TRACK LISTING: Eurythmics with Aretha Franklin, "Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves"

"I am proud that my silhouette is curvy!"

"With my hips
kind of swivelly
and swervy."

Things I saw at the department store this evening:

The woman behind the dressing room assistance counter, removing the hangers from my bras before sending me to my dressing room. (So nice! these rooms, all spacious with dark wood, upholstered benches and spotless, full-length mirrors. They are almost completely at odds with the other cold, bland, dressing rooms in the building. It makes a body want to try on bras even when unnecessary.)

Right now, this is my favourite style of everyday bra: simple, unobtrusive, and able to keep me, er, contained, especially when I bend over. (That is CRUCIAL, no? Who wants to be constantly fiddling with straps and cups at work?) I've grabbed one in each available colour, which this season seems to be limited to pale shades of pink, yellow and blue (ah, the pastels of Spring), but this is no bother.

"These are such great colours!" the woman helping me exclaims. "I always feel so sexy when I'm wearing a bra in a pretty colour!"

"I just want them to match my underwear," I tell her, like someone who has never considered the possibility of purchasing a bra and panty set, and (of course) she seems disappointed in my response. These customers are so unsexy sometimes!

TRACK LISTING: Peggy Lee, "I Enjoy Being a Girl"

"Vengeful aspects became suspect."

"Bending low
as if to hear."

Things I saw this evening:

The future of electronic news gathering.

TRACK LISTING: Patti Smith, "People Have the Power"

The Sunday Night Lights: No.25

"Another Sunday morning
didn't turn out
like you planned."


TRACK LISTING: Touch, "There's a Light"

"Your vision is right; my vision is wrong."

"I'm sorry for smudging
the air with my song."

Things we saw on the subway this morning:

A little boy, speaking very seriously in a foreign language, explaining something of great importance to his mother, who is trying not to laugh. He is making grave gestures with his tiny hands.

The boy's sister is crouched on the seat beside his mother, playing peek-a-boo with three young ladies sitting on the other side of the bench. The little girl is alternating between ducking down behind the seat and simply covering her eyes with her fingers.

Two of the young ladies smiling at the little girl are blondes; the other one, a brunette, returns her attention to the sheets of paper she holds in her hand. The page on top is a Canadian Idol Regional Audition Competitor Release Form. She uncaps a ballpoint pen and begins entering the applicable information.

The little boy, now speaking in English, is counting to twenty very slowly.

One of the young ladies, the blonde in the middle of the group, nods her head sharply; she has made a decision.

"We just have to become superstars," she tells her two friends, "so we can go wherever we want. We won't have to say please."

Ah, the life of an Idol! Speaking of which: wha?

TRACK LISTING: Leonard Cohen, "A Singer Must Die"

"Let 'em know with the quickness. Y'all need to witness."

"Step to the side!
Y'all mind y'all business.
Exercise!
Like physical fitness."

Things I saw at the office this morning (while hard at work, obviously):

AWESOMENESS, via the links section on the Dooce site.

I know it's Friday -- Friday the 13th, even -- and my commitment to posting is hovering around thirty percent, but seriously! this...is...awesome. That's all I can say: awesome.

And yeah, as Chris Sims points out, Chuck Norris jokes are pretty much done, but like Chris Sims, I do not care. I mean, come on! This is basically a PSA, people. YOU NEED TO KNOW.

TRACK LISTING: Kool Keith, "Master of the Game"

"He reads the letter."

"How they are paid in gold!"

Things I saw in the mail this evening:

An envelope with a Malaga postmark and an eye-catching stamp. It is addressed to me; my name appears as it would in a public directory. [SURNAME] [INITIAL OF FIRST NAME] -- not a good sign.

Inside, a piece of orange paper, run through an ink jet printer and attached to a form with fields left blank for personal financial information. Multiple blurry logos! Lots of italics! Underlined sentences! ALL CAPS AND MANY MANY EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!

Due to mix up of some numbers and names, we ask that you keep this award from public notice until your claim has ben processed and money remitted to your account as this is part of our security protocol to avoid double claiming or unwarranted taking advantage of this program by participants.[...]We hope your lucky name will draw a bigger cash prize in the next year program.

Awesome! I won the FOREIGN LOTTERY!!!!!!

Hustlers who are willing to spend money on paper, printer ink, postage and fancy envelopes must really be convinced that their shuffle is going to work, like their deal is somehow more legit than an Inbox full of e-mail from Nigeria, just because they're sending out hard copy. Well, at least they're convinced that they'll recoup their investment. Maybe there wasn't any investment at all; maybe they stole all their supplies and everything is profit.

Anyway, the envelope was pretty cool.

TRACK LISTING: Steely Dan, "The Royal Scam"

"Simmer down; control your temper."

"Simmer down;
for the battle will be hotter."

Things I saw while riding the streetcar to work this morning:

Fifty people at the King & University westbound stop, faces understandably twisted with frustration; they have watched, seething, as two packed streetcars have left them out in the cold. None of them is able to cram into this car, either, so they must wait for the next car, which will probably be full as well. At least half of them will arrive late, no matter where they are headed.

Inside the streetcar, a woman is reading an article on a torn-out, folded-up, page of a community newspaper: WHY FILIPINO WOMEN ARE SLOW TO ANGER. A minute later, she crumples the paper into a ball and stuffs it into her tote bag.

TRACK LISTING: Bob Marley & The Wailers, "Simmer Down"

"Sugar and spice is just a bluff."

"Come on!"

Things I saw while waiting on Queen at Bathurst for Amy and Leila:

A drag queen wearing a sweatsuit and very little make-up, storming away from a butchy woman. The butchy woman, wearing a yellow t-shirt, denim jacket and faded jeans, has a dark brown pompadour and is quite visibly drunk. The two of them stop in the middle of the street, oblivious to the traffic around them.

The drag queen points a finger at the butch. "You are messing with the wrong bitch!"

The butchy woman watches as the drag queen stomps across the street.

The butchy woman yells: "I AIN'T NO TRANNY!"

The drag queen drops her brown leather purse and beckons at the butch with her hands, then her fists.

"Oh, let's go," the drag queen snarls.

"I AIN'T NO TRANNY!" The butchy woman is wobbling slightly.

The drag queen shakes her blonde head.

"Bitch," she warns in a deep voice, picking up her purse, "if you say ONE WORD to her, I will SLICE. YOU. UP!"

TRACK LISTING: The Cramps, "What's Inside a Girl?"

"I wait, anxiously, alone by the phone."

"How could something
so wrong be so right?"

Things I saw while having lunch with my husband and my mother:

Two older women sitting at the table in front of us, dressed like modest hippies and drinking large, frothy, cups of coffee. One of the women is studying a photocopy of a roughly sketched pie chart; the heading, in thick black lettering, proclaims, "What's Missing from The Secret."

In one of the chart's wedges I can read the word "karma", but can't make out what is written around it. I can see the other woman's face; her eyes light up.

"It's the secret about The Secret!" she exclaims, and taps the top of the paper with her spoon.

TRACK LISTING: Atlantic Starr, "Secret Lovers"

The Sunday Night Lights: No.24

"A gentle voice has spoken:
I am free;
I am free."


TRACK LISTING: Storyville, "There's a Light"

"I'm a man of wealth and taste."

"And I laid traps
for troubadours."

A song isn't "conservative" just because a conservative likes it and chooses to believe what he wants to believe when he "listens" to it. If lyrics are taken out of context, as Amelie Gillette points out, they can mean anything.

It may not be a stretch to include Lynyrd Skynyrd's music in a list of conservative tracks, and I've heard that Neil Peart's politics fall right of center (though he'd likely call himself a Libertarian), but to include a song by The Pretenders? The band with a lead singer who is a notorious animal rights and anti-war activist, and who reportedly advocated ridding the world of "all the economic [shit] [America] represents"?*

How about the inclusion of "Bodies", a song spit out of the mouth of a man known for "anarchist politics"? Here is a man who publicly declared himself pro-choice, probably in order to stop organizations like the National Review from interpreting "Bodies" as an anti-abortion rant (though maybe he was just being his usual contrarian self). These examples, unfortunately, are merely the tip of this iceberg of a list.

I can't believe Rush Limbaugh uses "My City Was Gone" as his radio show's theme song! What a douche. John J. Miller does know that Chrissie Hynde donates her royalties from Limbaugh's use of this song to PETA, right?

TRACK LISTING: The Rolling Stones, "Sympathy for the Devil"

*It should be noted that, thus far, the only sources that claim Chrissie Hynde recommended an economic takedown are conservative blogs. Furthermore, I can't find a single source that provides any concrete information about the concert at which she allegedly made the statement. However, I don't doubt she made it, and I won't vilify her for doing so.

"Everyone must have a machine."

"They say it's going to
make life easier."

IN WHICH WE DEAL WITH THE IN-FUCKERY
OF A MAJOR TELECOMMUNICATIONS COMPANY.

Part I:

Two Thursdays ago -- on March 29 -- our Internet service went down. Figuring it was a temporary lapse, we left it alone for the night. When we found ourselves without service the next day, we checked our connections; we unplugged and replugged the power cord, the Ethernet cable, and the phone line; we turned the modem off, waited a minute, then turned the modem back on. Still nothing.

On Friday evening, PF called our service provider and was asked a series of questions to determine the problem, with no luck. The technician on the phone transferred PF to a senior level technician, who eventually decided that the issue would have to be passed to their Test Centre, who would have an answer for us within 24-66 hours. (I know; why 66?) The delay wouldn't be a problem for us as we were going to be out of town for the weekend.

By Monday evening, more than 66 hours later, there was still no response from our service provider; the Internet service was still down. I phoned the company again to find out what was happening and was immediately linked to an overseas call center, where the technician on the line had no idea about our case. Thus, I was led through the same series of questions PF faced a few days earlier, with the same result: no answer. I was told that a senior level technician would look into the matter and call us back within the hour.

A little over an hour later, PF phoned the company to see where we were at, and was greeted by a local representative who knew exactly what was happening. Apparently, on Saturday, the Test Centre had decided that a technician should be dispatched to our home to solve the problem. The rep claimed that someone from the company had attempted to call us on Saturday to schedule an appointment, but we weren't home. (Unfortunately, they didn't leave a message to notify us of this next step.) PF thanked the rep for his help and scheduled a technical appointment for Wednesday evening, almost one whole week after our service was initially lost.

Part II:

On Wednesday evening, the technician arrived (on time, which we very much appreciated) and immediately set about his task: figuring out the source of our service interruption. It wasn't our fault; nor the fault of our modem; it wasn't even the fault of our phone line. Within half an hour, after a trip to the phone room in the building's basement, he knew what was wrong: one of the service provider's other technicians had fucked up.

Evidently, on the 28th, someone who had just moved into the building, or who was just about to move into the building, had an appointment to have a phone line installed. (Makes sense, right? Most renters switch apartments at the end of the month.) The technician handling this new tenant's case, instead of taking the time to locate the new tenant's actual phone port, simply yanked out our line and stuffed it into another port. Since the number assigned to this new port didn't match our actual number -- the number associated with our account -- our service was swiftly lost. The technician then installed the new tenant's line precisely where our line was once connected. Later on, at the other end of the line, at one of the service provider's hubs, our connection was removed yet again, sealing the (non-)deal.

That's right: IT WAS ALL THE COMPANY'S FAULT. Our technician apologized profusely and literally cursed his fellow technician's carelessness. We thanked our friendly technician for restoring our service, but were left with a couple of questions. One, was it worth our time to report the bad technician's error? Two, if we did report this error, was it worth our time and effort to demand some sort of compensation for the week we spent without Internet access? It feels like we would be overreacting to do so, as we never really needed to go online while the service was down, and the company probably won't give us any sort of refund. To their credit, they never blamed us for the problem. On the other hand, the company handled our case quite sloppily. As great as our technician turned out to be, it was the company that was ultimately at fault, so why shouldn't we say something?

Part III:

We are torn.

THE END?

TRACK LISTING: Newcleus, "Computer Age (Push the Button)"

"Now I find it's not enough."

"It's not enough for me!"

Oh dear lord.

Note that Richards the elder has only been dead for five years. Note also that this incident bears a striking resemblance to something that happened in an episode of Six Feet Under, and how that shit seemed IMPOSSIBLE and RIDICULOUS at the time, like, WHO would try that? Oh, right -- that guy would.

(Scary thought: He may not be the first person to do this with a corpse. Now THERE is something to Google!)

Er, April Fool's! Just joking? (I suppose it would be quite amazing
-- death-defying, really -- if KR was STILL doing blow at 107 or however old he is. It's funny -- when I first read the story, my initial thought wasn't, "He did what with his dead dad?" but rather "I can't believe Keith Richards isn't off cocaine. I guess he's looking pretty good, then, considering...") A woman standing beside me on the subway was reading a blurb about the pre-disclaimer story in a free daily newspaper and her jaw just dropped RIGHT OPEN.

TRACK LISTING: Keith Richards, "Wicked as It Seems"

"I want to impress you."

"Today and every day."

Things I saw on my way home from work today, as I walked to the streetcar stop:

A short man in a giant, bright pink, Energizer Bunny costume. Wow! He is just in time for Easter. I wish he was handing out chocolate.

The giant bunny waves to the people on the sidewalk as he passes them. Two women stop to have their pictures taken with his arms around them.

In the window of the restaurant across the street, there is a row of staff in pressed white uniforms with camera phones held high. Click! click! click! We've never seen a giant bunny in this neighbourhood before.

TRACK LISTING: Xiu Xiu, "Bunny Gamer"

"Your prerogative in life it seems..."

"...is living out
an ad man's dream."

Why would I buy the DVD of a movie, before actually seeing said movie, just because someone told me it was good? What is this impulse? Does it have something to do with my fondness for-slash-crush on the writer-director? It only faintly reminds me of a television show that I enjoy -- certainly no guarantee that I'll love this movie as much as I love that show -- so what is the deal?

This need of mine to consume is crazy! Have I switched The Gaze from my (inexplicably) beloved Butterscotch Stallion* to the Mocha Pony**? Is it always about boy-hots with me? Bah!

TRACK LISTING: The Fall, "Idiot Joy Showland"

*Thank you, Defamer!
**Thank you, Gawker!

"We'd be moving on if I had my way."

"Heavy traffic
is bringing me down."

Things I saw on the ride to work this morning:

A co-worker, chatting on her cell phone, walking by our streetcar as it stops to let on more passengers. The streetcar closes its doors; we float past her and I can see that she is laughing at something someone is saying on the other end of the line.

Later, when she catches up with our crawling car, the phone is gone. She looks really determined, but also unhurried. She is keeping pace with the streetcar and I wonder if she will make it to work before I do. I wonder if I should be surprised.

TRACK LISTING: Status Quo, "Heavy Traffic"

The Sunday Night Lights: No.23

"Grey clouds
on my head;
howling rain
on my window."


TRACK LISTING: No Justice, "Shine a Light"

[NOTE: It's a new "Shine a Light"! We'll return to "There's a Light" next Sunday.]