"Such a cosy room!"

"The windows are illuminated
by the sunshine through them."

Things I saw and explored today:

The new home of R&B!

The warmest of housewarming wishes to you, Rob and Brendan (and you too, Rocky and Paco, you adorable, crazy, tiny dogs).

TRACK LISTING: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, "Our House"

"This one goes out to the one I love."

"This one goes out
to the one I've left
behind."

Things I saw on Gawker this afternoon:

Reading into the past.

It's a bit heartbreaking to find inscribed books in thrift stores or giveaway boxes on the sidewalk. It's also highly intriguing; one has to wonder what circumstances led to these books being discarded. Inscriptions are usually notes from one person to another, so it seems safe to assume that most of these books were once gifts. Of course, many of the other donated or trashed items were once gifts as well, so why do inscribed books deserve a higher degree of sentimentality? What gives them more value than other gifts -- the fact that the greeting card is permanently attached?

Sometimes books simply must go. After all, we can't hang on to every little thing forever! Yet not every inscribed book found by a rummaging stranger can be a simple case of someone going minimal, with no hard feelings. There must be some instances in which the book's giver and receiver had a real falling out; or, perhaps, the giver died and the receiver found it too difficult to keep the book around. In either situation, the book is too strong a reminder of days gone by.

A few months ago, PF and I found an inscribed book at a monolithic chain bookstore in a downtown mall. It was a guide for fathers-to-be that I'd seen before in a bathroom belonging to the brother of a friend; the copy that we held was not the same one that I'd seen, as evidenced by the names in the inscription. Mazal Tov!, the giver had written in closing, in blue pen, accented by a hand-drawn Star of David. On the cover was a sticker that discounted the price of the book by 50 percent, which outraged PF. "How could they put this back on sale?" he asked, as he prepared to bring the book to a cash register and demand that it be removed from the shelf for good. It's strange that a bookstore would resell a personalized item, but what hit us so hard was this sense of sadness, that the decision to return this particular book was not a happy or easy one. I imagined many depressing scenarios, from a rift between the giver and receiver to a miscarriage forcing the formerly expectant father to get rid of a now unnecessary guide. All guesses drew the same conclusion: the book was too strong a reminder.

"Maybe the guy just needed the money he'd get from returning this book," PF suggested, referring to the receiver, or maybe even a giver with somewhat late second thoughts.

"Yeah," I agreed, "or maybe the pregnant couple already had a copy of it." Why shouldn't this be the reason for the return?

PF handed me the book and I placed it back on the shelf. These logical explanations soothed us, as if we needed closure, too.

TRACK LISTING: R.E.M., "The One I Love"

[NOTE: The image above is the cover photo of an album we have of prints we've found abandoned in various places, like junk shops and the middle of the street.]

"And the things you can't remember tell the things you can't forget."

"So close your eyes, son,
and this won't hurt a bit."

Things I saw this morning:

The cool, soothing, black-and-white tile of our bathroom floor.

After two weeks of "watchful waiting", the predicted miscarriage occurred. As I went through contraction after contraction, my body lost more and more control. There really was blood, sweat and tears. During the most painful passage, I thought I might faint, or at least throw up. I rocked back and forth; I could barely keep my eyes open; I screamed involuntarily; and then, suddenly, it was over. It was like the last five hours hadn't happened at all.

Hours later, my body moves around with no apparent memory of the miscarriage. Nevertheless, I don't think I can go through this again without painkillers (ie. something stronger than a couple of Advils), and I think my body has made it clear to me that I am not cut out for natural childbirth.

TRACK LISTING: Tom Waits, "Time"

"If I walk down this hallway, tonight, it's too quiet."

"I take it,
from his whisper,
you're not that tough."

Things we saw in the ultrasound this afternoon:

Nothing.

Our baby became a phantom. One day, he will disappear completely.

TRACK LISTING: Kristin Hersh, "Your Ghost"

"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.]

"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 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"

"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"

"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"

"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"

"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"

"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"

"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)"

"Those little eyes so helpless and appealing..."

"...one day will flash
and send you crashing
through the ceiling."

PF introduced me to Smooth Talk today, and while I was ultimately lukewarm about the film, it certainly hurtled me back into my teenage years. There are moments in that film that excellently capture the rites of adolescence, including the strange discovery of sexuality (yours and that of those around you). Needless to say, it can be painful -- sometimes physically, and always emotionally -- especially because you're torn between the urge to do something with your body and the confusion of not knowing exactly what to do, or how to do it. [Shiver.]

In addition, the movie made me terrified of raising young girls. Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? indeed!

TRACK LISTING: Maurice Chevalier, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls"

"They think blood is thicker than water."

"But they just
don't understand."

I am lucky: I can count on one, maybe two hands, the number of good friends with whom I've completely lost touch. Even then, those friends that I held so dear, so near until they disappeared, were never what I would call fairweather. Those people were never in it just for fun; they were family.

I've always felt that friends can be as close as family, and sometimes even closer. I'm always happy when my friends confirm this belief; when they act as surrogate parents and siblings; when our relationships endure the most trying situations; and when, even after years and miles have been placed between us, we carry on as if no time has passed. We always forgive the distance, and I love that.


TRACK LISTING: Michael Monroe, "Love Is Thicker Than Blood"

"I really don't mind sleeping on the floor."

"I can't sleep

after what I saw."

Riding the subway, staring at a relatively new organization's print ad -- in which a completed job application for a Kmart-esque store lists an overqualified South Asian doctor's employment history -- I was reminded of how lucky I am to be a Canadian by birth.

TRACK LISTING: U2, "Stranger in a Strange Land"

"It's behind the screen."

"Come back to me
and I'll come back to you."

I'd never thought of Francis Ford Coppola as a director with a stable of actors, yet after watching Rumble Fish last night, I was ready to put him in league with cast recyclers like The Andersons (P.T. and Wes).

Obviously, when making The Godfather and its sequels, Coppola would call upon most of the same players. Including family members time and time again in his films certainly didn't count as Coppola keeping a roster, either. (For the record: nephew Nicolas Cage appeared in three Coppola films; son Gian-Carlo appeared in four (and may have appeared in more, had he not died in his early twenties); and daughter Sofia appeared in six.) Even casting Matt Dillon and William Smith in both The Outsiders and Rumble Fish seems less like drawing from his own reserve than preserving S.E. Hinton "continuity", as both movies were based on her novels. (Hinton herself has a cameo in each film. Poor Heather Langenkamp was also cast in The Outsiders and Rumble Fish, but all her scenes in both films were deleted! Good thing the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise was around the corner.)

Noticing Tom Waits and Laurence Fishburne in the opening scene of Rumble Fish, however, I got to thinking about how Waits had also appeared in Coppola's version of Dracula, and Fishburne had appeared in Apocalypse Now. I became obsessed with figuring out how many times each actor in Rumble Fish was featured in a Coppola film, an obsession that didn't last long, as the research was made quite easy by IMDb's "Find where Francis Ford Coppola is credited alongside another name" search engine. Here's what I found:

• Mickey Rourke, who played the older brother, Motorcycle Boy, later appeared in The Rainmaker;
• Diane Lane, who played the girlfriend, Patty, also appeared in The Outsiders, The Cotton Club, and, er, Jack;
• Dennis Hopper, who played the father, was also in Apocalypse Now;
• Chris Penn, who played a friend named B.J., was in a Coppola-directed episode of Faerie Tale Theatre titled "Rip Van Winkle";
• Laurence Fishburne, who played a friend named Midgit, was also in Apocalypse Now, The Cotton Club, and Gardens of Stone;
• Michael Higgins, who played Mr Harrigan, was also in The Conversation and Coppola's segment of New York Stories ("Life Without Zoe");
• Glenn Withrow, who played Biff Wilcox, was also in "Rip Van Winkle", as well as The Outsiders, The Cotton Club, and Peggy Sue Got Married;
• Herb Rice, who appeared as one of the black pool players, was also in Apocalypse Now;
• and Tom Waits, who played Benny the bartender, was in One from the Heart, The Outsiders, The Cotton Club, and, of course, Bram Stoker's Dracula.

I also confirmed -- in my own head, at least -- that Coppola isn't much of an auteur, despite appearing on this list. I mean, outside of his repeated dipping into a particular casting pool, it's still very easy to forget that he had anything to do with either The Rainmaker, Peggy Sue Got Married or Jack (again...er).

I can't imagine how many other post-Rumble Fish actors join the Coppola collective. For the sake of this entry's length, and your reading pleasure, it's probably better that I didn't check.

TRACK LISTING: Hot Chip, "Look After Me"

"Something's missing."

"But something is found."

When I opened this blog --

-- wait, before we go any further, may I just tell you that I feel UNFATHOMABLY OLD when I refer to "blogs"? Sometimes I can't believe that the word "blog" is considered real and acceptable. I still feel awkward using it, though not as awkward as I would feel if I had to include the apostrophe: 'blog. How long did that go on for? How long did people call them "weblogs"? Blah. I once had a bare bones Diaryland page! Look how far we've come.

But anyway, when I opened this blog back in October, I did so with the sincere intention that I would post an entry EVERY DAY, even if said entry was simply a photo. I was so determined to post every day that I actually cheated once, resetting my profile time zone to Central from Eastern so I could gain an hour on a night when I didn't manage to post my entry before midnight. (Why I didn't just post a stub to mark the date until I was ready to republish a proper entry, I'll never know. It is nice to have that extra hour though, if only when blogging.)

I suppose I thought it would take a major catastrophe to keep me from posting a blog entry each day. I guess I never figured I'd be in a place where computers freeze while opening web browsers, never to load again, no matter how many times the unit reboots. For some of you, this would count as the aforementioned "major catastrophe." For me, it was just my dad's house, and it was kinda nice to have a few days off. Ah, December 29 through 31! we hardly knew ye.

I may find myself without internet access again, or face-to-face with a clock that reads "12:59" and the realization that I forgot to post a blog entry for the day -- and this, I imagine, is when I will reset my profile time zone to Pacific -- but until then, I will do my best. It really is nice to be back home with high-speed internet service and Google searches at my fingertips, so I can quickly find the answers to such burning questions as "Is Anderson Cooper really an heir to the Vanderbilt fortune?"

I must note, however, that it feels a little odd to return to a Canadian city in January and not see snow. As much as I like a mild, sunny day for which boots and gloves are not required, there's something comforting about those chilly white blankets. It's surreal and slightly disconcerting to think that fall has led directly to spring. Maybe I lost more than three days in December.

TRACK LISTING: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, "Slowpoke"

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?"

"We'll tak a cup
o' kindness yet."

Here's to the new year.

TRACK LISTING: Connie Francis, "Auld Lang Syne"

"Vacation!"

"All I ever wanted!"

In a little over twelve hours, we will be boarding a plane for New Mexico (with a FIVE-HOUR layover in this behemoth thrown in)! I'm ridiculously excited, but PF must be over the moon, as they say, since it's his hometown and his friends and family we're going to visit for a week. While we will certainly miss the kitty, it will be great to see everyone in the ABQ again, especially CMP.

In honour of Duke City, I am planning to take numerous photos of our surroundings and post one of these images each day, on its own. (No words -- just pictures.) The accompanying score is an easy choice: all songs will be performed by Albuquerque's pride and joy, The Shins!

Happy holidays, everybody!

TRACK LISTING: The Go-Go's, "Vacation"